Posted on March 6, 2017
I’ve been abandoned, and I have abandoned. Here’s the list:
Bernadette Luvara – I left town with my parents when I was 10. We didn’t have Facebook. Sorry.
Nicolina Grimaldi – I felt superior. I didn’t respect you. Sorry.
Nancy Camarda – I left for uni. I felt like a loser. Like you wouldn’t get me. Sorry.
Maree Lavecchia – We were everything. We loved. I left. You cursed me. Sorry.
Anna Lazarevic – You had a kid. You didn’t get me. I felt judged. Sorry.
Connie Athanasiadis – You had a kid. I didn’t get you. You resented me. Sorry.
Rachael Kacen – You had a kid. I hated it. Sorry.
Samone Bos – I don’t understand. I’m jealous. Sorry.
Posted on March 6, 2017
Would you like to some Australian/Italian coming-of-age fiction set in Victoria in the 1970s? My novel, “Floating Upstream”, has been enrolled in the 2017 Smashwords “Read an Ebook” promotion, which means it’s FREE for a few days, as is my book of poems and short stories, “Girls”. My writing focuses on girls and women who are less than perfect, and simply trying to work shit out in a culture that doesn’t want them to grow and move on.
You can find both ebooks here. Simply use the code SFREE and download for free!
I’d love to hear your feedback. I’m on Goodreads here.
Posted on February 19, 2017
So I read about The 100 List recently. Sounds like a bucket list kind of thing but it’s a little different. It’s not a list of things you hope to do before you die. It’s a list of 100 things you will do while you’re alive.
Same Same but Different?
So this is a keynote speech from the guy who decided to do this, Seb Terry.
I’m working on my list right now, starting with:
- Learn to play guitar
- Learn to play piano
- Complete a big embroidery to hang on the wall
- Lose weight and keep it off once and for all
- Renovate our home
- Go whitewater rafting
- Get my PADI license and go diving
- Get a great book publishing deal
- Foster animals
Posted on December 19, 2016
Sometimes you want to disappear into your made up worlds. You want to have all of their lack of give-a-shits.
You want to much more than this thing you have now.
You feel owed.
Why are you still fat?
Why aren’t you successful?
Why do you hate it when someone looks over your shoulder to see what I’m doing?
What is your truth?
You’re incapable of creating when you’re here and now.
What happens when you’re fixed? Do you become irrelevant?
Do you die?
Posted on August 3, 2016
One day looks like the other day
Looks the same as tomorrow
Eat shit bullshit repeat
Joy is pretend
Found between the sofa cushions with a bunch of stale unsalted peanuts and one sugared almond
Joy’s the sugared almond
Costs a bunch and rots your teeth
Joy’s elusive, not an unsalted peanut which is everywhere
Like a sugared almond, Joy is for special occasions
And they’re distant as a memory
Repetition is a pack of unsalted peanuts
Always on sale
The olds buy them in bulk packets with bland labels
Everyone can afford repetition
‘s’just that I don’t want it
Day as today as yesterday as tomorrow.
Posted on August 3, 2016
Today I cried and made a choice.
Today I chose the wrong way but I know I chose it.
There’s nothing like walking into your bedroom to find your lover staring at the wall, defeated.
Because I made a choice.
He didn’t like.
At least I’m not a lamp made of skin.
I heard this. I don’t own it. I’m not Jewish.
But I’m told I lived in a kind of concentration camp.
I feel nervous at this because I’m not sure anyone is allowed to own the idea of the concentration camp unless they are Jewish.
But it resembled one – albeit with food and school and the rest of it.
My therapist describes my concentration camp as a solitary life, where a child cooks for herself from the age of six, where she has no friends, no family, not until after 5. Where bullies were the norm. Where she sat at the front of the bus, the low seat next to the driver. Where she was the last kid off the one hour bus ride home.
My therapist tells me that my concentration camp looks lonely. Where the adults are unpredictable, even in anger. Anger involves oranges flung at mum. Unpredictable anger where a car is driven towards a pole. Unpredictable anger who didn’t come home until late at night. Mum was sad an lonely and thought she was responsible for killing her mother, but didn’t worry about how she was killing me.
I don’t know who I am. Stories flood my brain and I don’t know what’s real and what’s a lie. My dreams feel more real than my memories, at times.
I made a choice tonight and I’ll live with it.
I grabbed a bottle and chose to drink it.
Should I feel bad that I feel great for the first time in months?
How did I make my therapist cry?
What does it mean?
I feel like everything I tell him is a lie.
What is it?
I’m told no at every turn.
And it makes me 15 again, want to say “fuck you, even if I agree, I’m saying yes”.
No to painting the bathroom blue.
No to more cats.
No to more dogs.
No to making.
Posted on July 14, 2016
This morning (a Sunday) I made the decision to stay in bed and read, fart around on Facebook, write a pros and cons list, watch my dogs sleep, play with the cat until she tries to kill me… you get the drift.
Because, seriously, making decisions is hard!
Posted on March 5, 2016
So I don’t usually believe in astrology.
I know that certain signs conform to certain traits, but I certainly don’t read my daily astrology because, who cares?
But I DO believe in TWO major astrological phenomena:
1. The Saturn Return.
2. Mercury Retrograde.
Why? Well I reckon it’s because these are the two stages of life that actually manage to FUCK UP YOUR ENTIRE LIFE. And seeing that Mercury is my ruling planet, I’m easily influenced whether I know it or not.
What’s happened to make me want to say this shit?
- I was alone 3 weeks ago and started to cry. I’m on anti-depressants and have NOT cried in years. So it freaked me out and I decided I wanted to die so I drank a tonne-load and took a tonne-load of random pills. Luckily, I sent fucked up messages to my friends and they passed them onto Jeff. One of my bestest friends and, well, she’s like a daughter, came over and let herself in the house with her keys and sat with me with her new girlfriend until Jeff came home.
- A week ago, I was feeling so amazing that I decided to drink and take an extra dose of my antidepressants so I could feel more amazing for longer. (You know like when you take E and then chase it with another after another looking for the initial high?) Instead, I became psychotic. I screamed like a banshee, bit and hit my husband, screamed for the neighbours because I was convinced he was trying to kill me (he was not), he called 000 and the ambulance came and took me to hospital. I was a version of me I haven’t been since I was 17-19. It wasn’t even scary to me. It was just a real feeling. I simply stopped caring what happened to me. I begged for my beautiful Holly to be there and she came without a thought. Jeff tells me that I flipped off the (very nice) nurses when I discovered they could not keep me in hospital because I was there voluntarily.
- I went to a drug and alcohol centre to be interviewed for options. I am desperate now.
Those are the three crazy events. Also, though,
4. I also heard back from a local writing mentorship group I’d applied for that I have been shortlisted for their mentoring group and went to an interview yesterday.
See? Mercury Retrograde! Anything is possible.
The first day back at work after the hospital visit was hard. I didn’t know how to behave like a normal person after what happened. How do you just act normal after that?
I also didn’t know how to thank and apologise to the people who were there for me. I still don’t know.
I’ve learned a few big things.
- I used to love making things. After the first nervous breakdown three weeks ago, I sewed and crocheted like a crazy person in a crazy ward. I’ve missed this shit.
- I’ve decided to live/eat/be locally. There is an amazing community in Melbourne’s West, many of whom I’ve met through our shop and various businesses in the neighbourhood.
- I want to make a chicken coop and I want chickens and home made eggs cos they’re rad.
- We’re eating at home more, thanks to Hello Fresh. Seriously, we haven’t thrown away food since we started our food box/recipe deliveries. Get on it.
- I’ve been to my psychiatrist 3 or 4 times in the last couple of weeks and given the cost (no private health insurance so that’s around $140 out of pocket every visit), I wonder how people who have little income can manage their mental health.
- I need to drink less. Drinking is my current habit of choice. I’ve had many that I won’t bore myself with. Reminders are so yesterday.
- Facebook is great for communicating with actual friends and for asking questions of groups you’re into. Everything else is bad news for me, so I’ve removed the visible widget from my phone.
- A friend’s sister killed herself a few weeks ago and talking to her made me realise how hard suicide is on the people who remain. Suicide isn’t selfish. It feels like the only option, sometimes, but your friends and family will never recover, and that’s really sad.
I’m retelling all of this not for some narcissitic reason but because we look normal on the outside. But there’s always something happening inside.
Thanks for supporting me.
See this pic for this post with the woman and the birds? That’s how I want to feel!
Posted on November 18, 2015
This one time, when I was twelve, I burned a book. Not a book with cover – no back nor front – but a book, anyway. The book contained 112 pages of angst the size of a high school basketball court. I don’t regret it. Not now. It was probably a pile of shit the size of a high school football field.
Years later, I sold 523 books at a garage sale to make room for 522 piles of shit in my 4-car garage. Not a single one of those 522 items could fill the void made by those books. In the meantime, I have turfed 519 of those piles of shit from my garage, and the three remaining don’t fill as much as a match box.