Month: June 2017

Comparison between 1st long distance romance visit prep, & 3rd [Don’t read this one, ‘H’ my love]

1st: Car cleaned inside and out 3rd: It’s fine. 1st: Lawns mowed, & edges snipped by professionals 3rd: It’s fine. I’ll do it if I have time 1st: All floors vacuumed and mopped (I only mop once every 3 months to be honest) 3rd: Hope I have time to vacuum 1st: Bathroom shower scrubbed with serious anti-mould stuff 3rd: It’s fine 1st: $170 worth of specialty groceries/organic juices/mineral water bottled at glacier source by albino virgins in single-use-only cotton gloves 3rd: So what’s wrong with tap water anyway? 1st: Gourmet meals planned & prepared, including several desserts 3rd: Shit, I hope I’ve got time to chuck a pot of soup on… maybe ‘H’ can cook… 1st: Haircut/facial/toenails painted 3rd: Aren’t I just loved for my quirky mind & honest, funny blog posts? I won’t go on; I know you get the idea. But it’s only 3 more sleeps now!

bread & butter Vs death: the neuroscience of Arguing

#1. You [with soft tone]: ‘Sorry I’m late for the movie, I thought you said it started at 7 not 6. And the traffic was terrible.’ Me: ‘ I feel pretty annoyed you’re so late, but I guess we can see the 8pm session, or just go home? Maybe we need to check in re the exact movie time on the actual day, so this doesn’t happen again?’ You: ‘I’m so sorry darlin, I felt really bad when I realised I was letting you down. Let’s see the 8pm, and I’ll buy the popcorn. Hug me for a moment first though.’ This is a ‘bread & butter’ misunderstanding and reaction (i.e. just an everyday disagreement). The exchange is clear: You made a genuine mistake, and have owned it, apologised, and given the injured party the power to decide what happens next. Both of you decided to reassure the other that they were still important and cared about, despite the mix-up. Plus long hugs are calming. #2. You [in brusque tone]: ‘Sorry I’m late for the …

This time a week ago I was feeling like shit, thanks

And so was ‘H’. I’m sure you’ve read all about our argument in Episode 9 HERE, or the making up relief in the Update HERE. I just want to say a quick thank you to the variety of readers who commented, and offered advice or support. It truly helped me feel better. I’m sleeping more soundly because of you fellow bloggers in particular: Piglet in Portugal, who consoled me that she’d also had a ‘dummy spit’, but that mine was worse. DFMGhost, who told me to talk it out, and was flagging herself the same advice for the future too. gigglingfattie, who also advocated talking, with best wishes that it sort out. L. Rorschach over at BackInStilettosAgain reassured me that she feels exactly the same when she argues with a significant lover! Widdershins  (who met her wife online 13 years ago when they were living in Canada and Australia) told me to only give what I’m prepared to lose… And finally, Debbie over at ForgivingConnects reminded me to honour myself first, and speak my truth. It all helped. My real …

Update on Episode 9: the sign still applies (phew)

[EPISODE 9 HERE. Worth reading first]. Arguments suck! We all know that. Yet still they explode from seemingly nowhere. One minute everything is cute, cosy, safe and understanding; the next, it feels like the floor has dropped out of your world, and either one or both of you is willing to fight, flight or freeze your way to a land of Disconnection and possibly Sulks. It happens so fast, and furiously. Even for snails. Snails? What the hell do I mean? Well, my Love H is a Snail: slow, steady, sensitive to loud sounds and being startled, quick to retract into the shell, cautious to emerge. I’m more like a Crab: fast, sideways, big claw, unpredictable, fond of dark caves, difficult to prise out. Hard shell, sweet-bellied soft. But no matter your style, no matter your inner totem creature, you gotta T-A-L-K. Whether it’s immediately, or after 24 hours, someone’s gotta make the first move… *sound of crickets for a day and a night* Then H texted. But I’d already written a heartfelt email, I …

Episode 9 Online dating: How I had a tantrum, but found a kitten

This starts with scones for morning tea. An innocent trigger, exploding into a phone fight across 1600kms, as two feisty, stubborn women clash values. “You want space to process? Have the entire state of Victoria then! I am NOT going to text first” rants my inner Grumpy Avoidant dwarf in silence. Arms folded. Hackles up. Snarling. Feel sick though, down in the pit of my stomach. I know this isn’t right or healthy. Ring my dear friend R; launch myself into the story of the fight, feeling myself getting crosser, yet sadder. ‘Why don’t you have a tantrum about this, and see what lies beneath?’ she says. ‘You know, dance round the living room, thrash a pillow, see what you find?’ OK, I can do that. And I know the perfect song: Fatboy Slim ‘What the Fuck’  So I’m 50, and flailing arms, legs, head, like a toddler. I’m shaking out my brain, belly, butt, and bile. I fall to my knees, and pummel the couch. I’m spoilt, selfish, silly, and acting out all of …

Driving with teenage son #4

Me: I need something humorous about driving with you for my Blog… Ooh, look at that ‘grey nomad’ old lady over there with her massive brand new shiny RV … mmm, it’s even got a satellite dish… she must be driving round Australia… that’ll be me one day y’know, spending all your inheritance… Him: Well, that’s certainly not funny.

Smashed eggshells drowning

We are on flood watch again. Last time this happened, due to Cyclone Debbie, we ended up with thigh-high water through my son’s garden-level bedroom: photos and story are all HERE. Nearby towns were devastated, and are literally only just recovering after 11 metres of brown filthy water rushed through the entire CBD. I hardly slept last night. I lay wake from 1.30 till at least 4am, tuning in to every increase or blessed pause in the rain’s fall. I kept picturing my garden 2 months ago, over and over, drowned by floodwater. I’d moved my car at midnight back then, just in time before the water went over the bottom of the doors; last night I kept worrying if I should get up to check it. Early this morning friends texted or called to see if I needed a hand, and I decided to keep ’17’ home from school. I’ve noticed I’m chewing on my tongue or my inner lips, and feel so on edge (plus exhausted). I’m kind of  hyper-vigilant, yet also numb. Expecting …

Episode 8: Best thirty bucks I ever spent

Last night I went out for dinner with 9 creative and vibrant women aged 40-50. There was much talk of art, young children, partners, teenagers, social media, Feminism, sex, hair colour, food, fitness etc; I hope you can picture it. I arrived late, and ended up sitting at one head of the table, between two women I didn’t know, P & S. Slowly our conversations delved deeper, like cats burrowing under the quilt in winter. Do you reveal yourself easily, like P, red-stained teeth, bolstered by her 3rd glass of wine? Or with deliberate care like a tightrope walker, which S actually used to be in her 20s? I’m probably a mix of the two (always without the wine though), and as we chatted about kids and dads, relationships and dating, I said something about ‘…my current tomboy girlfriend in Melbourne’. I noticed the split second of surprise and/or understanding flash across their faces, then we continued talking. P admitted she was currently dating 2 men at once. ‘Go girl!’ I said. S agreed; no …

The Weyward Sisters: Back to Black/ Collaborative Amy Winehouse Tribute

Originally posted on Sudden Denouement Literary Collective:
Rana Kelly/2nd star to the Left, straight on ’til morning Oh, Amy Whenever I go walking In my stilettos, I hear you talking. Dream me up a way Of swishing my hips And pursing my lips And singing your riffs So that I find beauty Like you. lois e. linkens she puts her black dress on in the dark, anxious nails red and messy in their early-morning artistry. he left the candle burning in the winter window – vanilla and cinnamon on a Sunday evening, tears and vodka on a Monday morning. last week’s relief breathes into tonight’s regrets, but the shadowy smear on the glass is all that is left of him. Aakriti Kuntal/Writings of Aakriti Kuntal Rummaging through black air, nauseous red nails bearing oily seas Suffocating existence with conversations, conversations with glittering nail cutters, cracked moons laughing hysterically in them Conversations of fallen boyfriends, of fallen love Fallen being the new being Aurora Phoenix/Insight From Inside She scrawls lines up the back of her fishnet stockings wiggly-lined intoxicated rebellion strutting down…