Friday’s Narcissism

So last night we rocked out. Watched eighties movies and music videos on DVD and danced and it was good.

But, more importantly, damn, we are a good looking bunch, even in our pyjamas

Alarm Call – Bjork – SOTD

I know I’ve said it before, and posted the video. But this is one of those songs they’d put on the Greatest Hits of All Times compilation of Cath’s Life.

Alarm Call – Bjork.

I have walked this earth
And watched people

It doesn’t scare me at all

I can be sincere
And say I like them

It doesn’t scare me at all

You can’t say no to hope
Can’t say no to happiness

I want to go on a mountain-top
With a radio and good batteries
And play a joyous tune and
Free the human race
From suffering

It doesn’t scare me at all

I’m no fucking buddhist
But this is enlightenment

The less room you give me
The more space I’ve got

It doesnt scare me at all

You can’t say no to hope
Can’t say no to happiness

It doesn’t scare me at all

I want to be on a mountain-top
With a radio and good batteries
And play a joyous tune and
Free the
A-human race
From suffering

It doesn’t scare me at all

This is an alarm-call
So wake-up, wake-up now
Today has never happened
And it doesnt frighten me

It doesn’t scare me at all

You can’t say no to hope
You can’t say no to happiness

It doesn’t scare me at all

Because, dudes, it doesn’t scare me at all.

If you have not read this, do it now.

Seriously. Just click here.

(p.s. Thank you Graeme for this insight. You rock)

Dear Cameron, Monsters Don’t Eat Carrots

Dear Cameron,

Monsters don’t eat carrots. You see, Cam, this fear of the dark that you have, it’s not your fault. I was the same as you as a little girl. I was scared of the dark. And the truth is, I slept with my light on until I was fourteen, and did again between the ages of twenty-two and twenty-three. But that’s because of the catatonic bird incident – a story I will tell you one day, when you’re much older.

Somewhere, someone is laughing at me for that.  I am okay with it.

Cameron, it’s simple. Your amazing imagination runs wild in the dark. Every corner becomes a cave and every shadow a fire-breathing dragon, I know.

But, tonight, as I put you to bed, reading a story of Fairies our divine friends, J & R, gave you for your birthday, and you told me that you too wanted to build a fairy house in the garden, you were still perturbed. Perturbed by ideas within your free-spirited imagination that run wild and make the curtains into cobwebs.

And, as we do every night, as I put the lamp off and you say..

Mommy, leave the door a little open so that some light comes in

And I say…

Of course, Cam. Did you eat your carrots?

And you say…

Yes! And I can see in the dark!

And I said

I think it’s time for me to tell you a secret about the dark.

You see, Cameron, monsters don’t like carrots. They’re so silly. So full of their own grumpiness and stomping around, and they never eat their vegetables. They think carrots are stupid. But, you and I…You and I know better.

You and I know that carrots are fantastic vegetables. They are your second favourite food, dipped in mayonnaise. They help you grow, they’re orange and match the curtains in our lounge and, most of all, they help your eyesight. So, we know that if we eat them we can see in the dark!

So, you see, Cam, you can see in the dark. You can tell it’s me who comes into the bedroom late and you can see your shiny ballet skirt laid out on your chest of drawers. In the dark, you can see.

But, in the dark, monsters cannot see. And if they cannot see, they won’t go into the dark. And, of course, if they can’t see, it’s because they didn’t eat their carrots!

Stupid monsters. They don’t like carrots.

And, as you drift off to sleep, to dream of fairies that become butterflies, I know, somewhere in your dreams, you’re eating your carrots.

Hey! That’s Me!

Thank you, LK…

I got interviewed here

Oh, and a rant..

Dear Spam mailers, text message spammers, spam comment posters and flipping telesales marketers…

quite simply. Bugger off.

I do NOT want your Viagra, porn links (on both counts, I lack the required equipment), alleged lottery winnings, out of the blue inheritances from people I have never known, and/or free trip to the Bahamas. More over, if I want a funeral plan, I’ll call you up. Also, don’t try and sell me credit cards – I do not think it’s a good idea. And no thanks on the new cellphone contract, I have one. And oh, for the dude who phoned me to tell me he could totally swing me a better rate on my bond… do your research, oke. I am not a homeowner and don’t intend to be any time soon.

As for the woman who has phoned me no less than twelve times to offer me insurance for my trailer (yes! seriously!), I will tell you now, lady, I don’t own a freaking trailer.

And don’t, for the love of all that is holy and wonderful, tell me I have been SPECIALLY SELECTED FOR THIS AMAZING OFFER. You’re lying. I know you’re lying. Stop lying. I was not specially freaking selected. I just happened to be the next person on your call-list. I know this because you’re clearly working through the alphabet. I have a relatively small group of the people with the same surname as me, and yes, some of us are actually related, or aren’t but we still know each other and no, we weren’t just a freaking lucky family to both be specially selected, we just happen to fall alphabetically under each other on your freaking call list. Special selection, my bumbum. More like selection via spelling.

But, most of all, to the dude who tried to sell me a newspaper subscription and would not let me get off the telephone…who told me that if i subscribed, I could have access to all the articles online too…and I responded ‘dude, I’d rather save trees and read my news online, thanks…and who, in his clear desperation to attract my attention towards his special offer said…but madam, trees are less important than being up to date with the news…and I said ‘dude, nothing’s more up to date than twitter…

To you, sir, I say …don’t ever call me madam…

Pleasantville vs Paradise.

This blogpost is a ramble.

The truth is, it should be an email to someone, but, as I wrote it, I realised there’s something I needed to say. Considering that this is where I say stuff, I’m saying it, and I know they’re reading it. It stems from a conversation I had with them and whilst I think it was a good one, a necessary one, I thought I needed to clarify something. It probably stemmed within from before that, to a conversation I had with someone else a few weeks before, where they asked “do you really need me in your life?”…and I answered “no, but I do want you in my life”. Will this make any sense? Who knows. If anyone will understand it, I hope the person it’s intended for, will.

It comes down to this – needs versus wants.

I’m not shy about the things I need to survive. I’m not shy about them and nor am I shy about the fact that, on brute strength and insomnia alone, I can pretty much fulfill my own needs. Yes, there are times where I need help. Yes, there are times where the people I love (and you know who you are) need help. And I will, always, try my ultimate best to be RIGHT there.

But, there’s a subtle difference here I want to illuminate. My 2am call list is not made up of people I need to survive. I cover my own needs. It’s made up of people I want there, and they want to be there just as much.

If you look at old Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, I don’t agree with it. At all. That got me into a lot of trouble at school, once upon a time. Which is probably unsurprising. You see, old Maslow placed love way above physiological needs.

And in my fourteen-year old brain, I thought, but, how would a child ever have their physiological needs covered without having love first. I mean, if you have a kid in your care, you love it. That’s the way it goes. Even children in the worst state of poverty, are fed and cared for by the people who love them – be it their guardians, parents, carers, whoever – it’s someone who loves them, even if just for a moment. People don’t just do something without a motivation. And yeah, sometimes, that motivation springs from a need. I get that much.

So, when in my questioning of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, I was told to be “a good girl and stop questioning my teaching or you’ll have to go to the office…again”, I shut my book and stared back. You see, my problem is, my need for self-actualization totally outran my need for acceptance or social conformity there. I didn’t feel any need to be accepted. I felt a need to be heard.

So, when I look at my life and yeah, I think I have the physiological needs covered, and I reckon I have a good proportion of all the other levels of needs covered, when I say I don’t need someone, it does not mean I don’t want them.

To me, a need requires a dependency. Something I am inherently afraid of and yet, my life thus far, seems to show an alarming rate of them. That in relationships and friendships I have become dependent in the past. I count very few people in that list of dependencies now. That’s come from experience – years and years of experience. What’s more, it’s unashamed mutual dependency. It may not always look like it, but we both know it. So when it comes to standing in queues for each other, fighting with each other over life choices and holding each other’s hands at our parent’s funerals – we’re there. We are just there. There is never any questioning in times of crisis, there is never any wavering of this. We are just there. You are one of these people. Even though you and I both know we hate to admit it.

Perhaps it’s part of this growing up I seem to be doing. Albeit slowly and stubbornly. Heh. You see, the people I need to have in my life are in fact the people I want in my life.

Want them? What is this want thing, Cath? Let me explain…

If you knew you had a loaf of bread at home to make a sandwich, would you still have that mint chocolate you’ve had your eye on all day? The answer? Yes. Oh, and yes, you should be eating chocolate if you’re reading this. If you’re not, then I am ashamed of you

So it’s a weird space for me, at this time. The people I feel the need to have in my life, are in fact the people I want in my life. Okay, not such a weird space. In hindsight, actually a really good space. And it’s not about how often they pay me attention. It’s not about how often I see them. It’s not about whether or not they know every minutiae of my life, or I of theirs. It’s about the fact that they exist. And that I exist. And that we know, without doubt, that we’re  a part of each other’s lives. Entirely. It goes beyond the social invitation and passing of sometimes lame greeting cards. It goes right into knowing how they take their tea and deep down into understanding 2am text messages that say things like “8 points” or “salad walked in” or “PWP”. It’s the random phone call to just blurt our exciting or awful news, just to be heard. It’s an inherent understanding, garnered over years of being real with each other, that goes beyond any need to be accepted. It’s the people who can come over to mine at any time and make their own tea and not have it feel weird, and I at their homes.

It’s strange. I spent many hours in my room, after being berated at school for not listening, wondering about why I had so few friends. And now, years on, I wonder how I got so lucky to have the ones I do have. The real ones. The people who get me, and who I get.

It’s the wants in our lives, our desires, that keep us surging forward. It’s like having the black and white version of life rendered by yourself, and then having the colour put in that brings it truly to life. It’s Pleasantville versus Paradise. And I choose to live in this colourful life.

Just like I needed to get some work done this evening but, I wanted to write this for you.

It means our lives would not stutter to a halt if we left this, but, it would lose all of it’s colour. And I never, ever want to live in a black and white world. Just like I chose to mix up Maslow’s perfectly layered Hierarchy of Needs, I choose to live this life of colour. And I am thankful for it. Every day. Even when it’s being downright crap to me.

I choose it, I love it and I’m grateful you’re in it.

Sometimes being this awesome is exhausting.

That’s my Cam, back from the dentist. She was so brave. Mama loves you, so much Cam. Clearly it’s tiring being this awesome.

SOTD Friday

So,  here’s the thing.

Mine had me waking up this morning with this song in my head.

The last text of the day.

Everyone needs one.

I keep dancing.

Nothing changes.

I throw the punches and we laugh together at my dis-coordinated ways.

You keep dancing.

Nothing changes.

You smile and still, still the world lights up.

I need this weekend. So much. I need this weekend to shut my computer, my brain, my heart, down.

Just for a bit. Just to recoup. Just to muse. Just to remember who I am. To sleep.

The first day I heard this song I was fifteen, and probably not as fabulous as I thought I was.

That said, at least I was trying.

The first day I heard this song, I was on a field, under the sunshine, dancing to this great band (then Henry Ate) that would probably be on my walkman for  a long time.

They were. They still are. Except now it’s on my iPod as I walk down the street.

To imagine a day without you means to lose one day of my own life. That never changes. It just can’t and won’t.

Trust me on that one. Like you trust me with toasties.

In exactly the same way, that I’m really still that girl in the sunshine, attempting fabulousness.

I feel you were there all along. Strange as it seems.

I always knew somewhere, you were.

I knew you were going to be here long before you even knew which stickers you wanted on your car.

I knew it at fifteen, just like I know it today.

I always know you are.

That’s never going to change.

Trust me on that one. Like you trust me with toasties.

A repost

I posted this a while ago.

But this evening, I’m posting it again. This is for a friend.

Someone I know, someone I respect and admire from afar. Someone whose family is in my thoughts. I want to write this person a letter. If it bores the rest of you, I don’t really care much this evening. What I care about, is that in her hell, I don’t want her to feel alone.

For you, you know who you are. I found you with a little help from a friend, and read up on what’s occurred. I am so sad for you, and those around you. My heart in my throat when I read of your pain.

But, there you are, brave with your pain. Brave with your ending and beginning again and brave with your tears and not afraid to tell the world why you are. Brave for your loved ones, and braver still to face up to the lies around you.

I want you to know that I’ve been there. I’ve been there when you discover the lies. The untruth. The unexplained obsession with things that would normally not seem out of bounds but suddenly mean the world. I’ve been there when you cannot deny the truth to yourself and worst of all, to anyone else.

I’ve been where you are. On that landscape of rock and sheer cliff-face. And it’s not just fucking scary. It’s beyond hell.

I’ve been there when your reaction is to say “I don’t know what to do” and hope like shit that some direction will come. I’ve been there when the walls of your home sound like they are crumbling within themselves and you cannot hold them up because your arms can no longer reach.

I’ve also been there, when you have to build them again.

I want to tell you something that got me through the day that I discovered the end of my world. What I didn’t know then, was that it was just the beginning. But that’s not important to you right now and it really shouldn’t have to be. Right now all you can think about is surviving this torrent and that’s the right thing to do.

A friend said to me, on the day my walls crumbled:

Cry. Cry until your eyes won’t run any more.
Scream. Scream until your voice falters and does not cooperate.
Be sad. Be sad until your feeling is ended.
Write. Write until your hand falls off.
Loathe. Loathe until you feel numb from it all.
Go robotic. Go robotic until your auto-pilot clocks out and Mission Control has to take over.
Feel. Feel everything right the way through until it’s as thin as rice paper.
Do not apologise for any of it.

But, don’t. Don’t let it get the better of you.

If I were worried about your ability to do this, to make it through it, I would have said so in the beginning.

But, I’m not. You’re strong. Yes, only the strong can admit to being weak so, stop berating yourself and remember that you are strong. And I know you are.

Because you threw the chair.