Tuesday, January 21


Today my dear blog, you are going to pretend to be an empathetic listener while I pour out some...feelings.

Feeling No. 1

I do not like days where strength evaporates in the night, leaving me no note to explain WHY. I find strength's long unexplained departures obnoxious, and I know deep down that this is not a relationship I should rely on for my happiness. But every time he returns, I'm besotted and become emotionally entangled. He departs, and I'm re-gutted. It's very complicated.

Feeling No. 2

I am bored. Not in the six weeks of school holidays way, but the 156 weeks way. I am bored of trying to quell my boredom from dawn {not literally} till dusk. I have been trying to un-bore myself for years but the lack of boredom results in the lack of health. We go round and round in this dizzyingly slow manner and I just hope I don't perish of it. Actually, my thoughts on perishing wax and wane.

Feeling No. 3

I feel trapped in my body and I have asked many skilled physicians to let me out, but no one on earth seems to have the key. I just hoped I'd be out by now, and yeah.

Feeling No. 4

I run out of positivity at times. I say, "I am tired of continually striving to be upbeat and motivated. I want out." And then I cry and cry because out isn't on the menu.



Sunday, January 12

muttering in public

Today I was sitting in the car with Wolfgang my pup, our windows all the way down to prevent us from melting. I saw a six foot man with a protruding tummy coming down the street. He was wearing a polo shirt tucked thoroughly into faded navy track pants. The trackpants were pulled almost up to his chest, with the cords hanging out. I could see that he was talking to himself, and as he passed my window I caught what he was saying.

“My disability.”

Then there was silence. A few seconds later,

“My disability.”


I just sat there feeling stunned and sad. I wished he had been singing to himself, or muttering about the beautiful weather – but he was pondering his and society’s perception of himself. I wanted to go and tell him that he was great just as he was, that he didn’t need to sweat it. I wished he didn’t even know he had a disability, that he could accept himself without a label.

I found it hard to forget him, hard to see him so internally disturbed by this view of himself. Then it was dawned on me that I was just like him. In my head, a hundred times a day I mutter,

“My disability.”

I say it when I wake up and face the day at home, and when I get weak cleaning the bathroom, when someone asks me what I do, and when I send another message saying ‘no’ or ‘less’.

I’m painfully acutely aware that I am abnormal, and that people aren’t into abnormal. I absolutely dread that moment of discovery in conversation: that I am disabled.

I wished most for the man not that he was able bodied {I do wish that too}, but that he could walk down the street unconcerned by difference or disability. I just wanted him to embrace being him without all the fear. I wish that for myself. I see all the ‘can'ts’ and ‘no longers’ and ‘abnormals’ and the thought that my life is less valuable than another’s is like a load of lead. Just imagine if the whole motley bunch of us mostly ailed humans stopped adding the requirement of seeming ‘normal’ and simulating ‘ideal’ to our diverse issues.

I think if I lived within the boundaries which allow me to function somewhat pain free, and let go of all the “Help, I don’t have a career!  Help, I’m a social failure!  Help, people must judge me because I can’t do things!” I’d stand a chance at less misery, more joy, more living. I want to live the life that I lead at peace with the path I am on. Enough with the muttering, more of the appreciating, loving, giving and receiving grace.   

Thursday, January 2

the chronically well and incredibly successful


Be gentle,
always delicate
with every soul
you meet,
for every single morning
you wake up,
there is someone
and secretly,
that they 
had not. 

Tyler Knott Gregson

An old friend wrote," Wishing you all an amazingly productive and and incredibly successful 2014."

Amazingly productive and  incredibly successful. I tilt my head to the side, and think about these alluring words. 

Resolutions are plastered all over social media at the moment, and some of them bring a wry smile to face.

Eat more dinners at home.
Go on more road trips and adventures. 
Loose weight.
Dream big. 
Change the things you don't like.

I hope to stay peacefully put in my quiet home, to gain some healthy kilos, and to let go of this detrimental desperation to change my situation. I want to stop comparing my life to the amazing producers and the incredibly successful and the chronically well - because that's when my simple joy is zapped and discontent stabs me. I wish to endure the snail pace and hype free without bitterness and envy. To etch 'wait' on my heart.

I just want to slowly and gently continue, with a peaceful acceptance and no loss of hope.