Abnormalities

It’s common knowledge around these parts that my family is full of eccentric-type nutters, myself included.  Not that it’s a bad thing but it has its moments.  In a world where mental illness and mental stress are now the norm – some members of my family can give those categories a run for their money, be somewhat challenging or at the very least, downright entertaining.  I’ve managed to keep a lid on most of mine over the years but I suspect that if I had ever done drugs or alcohol I would be spending a bit of time in the local mental health unit by now.

My father is no exception.  I wouldn’t call him crazy but he is definitely out there.  I suspect he has undiagnosed adult ADHD from my stints working with psychiatrists and my discussions with them about him over the years.  He has managed to navigate through his life in blissful ignorance in times of stress with a somewhat childlike attitude to problems and an attention span of a mudskipper.  Mum undoubtedly has shouldered most of the day-to-day burdens, bills and disasters and would probably only now just be getting out of prison for murder if they hadn’t separated twenty years ago.

I get along pretty well with Dad although it can be hard work keeping up with a conversation with him as he flits from one subject to another, talks loudly at lightspeed, looks blankly at me when I ask him a question, says “eh?” and then answers it.

Shopping is fun with Dad albeit a little scary because I never know what he is going to do next.  I have lost him in department stores because he has wandered off or stopped to have a detailed conversation about almost anything he can think of with somebody he doesn’t know.  Going to the cinema is a real challenge as I can’t hear the dialogue over my father’s constant queries about what is going on.

I often take him with me when I go to buy something because he gets bored and has nothing better to do but I try to refrain from taking him into electronic stores because he is likely to come out with something that he didn’t want and knew nothing about but just had to have because it was shiny and had a lot of buttons he could press.  I took him with me once when I went furniture shopping and he managed to smash a three hundred dollar lamp because he was so excited looking around at all the fancy items he wanted to buy he didn’t see the two-feet-tall designer lamp sitting on a side table near his gesticulating right arm.  The manager insisted, however, that we didn’t have to pay for it after I purchased a very expensive guilt-driven dining suite and my father purchased a plush leather recliner that he said he was going to buy anyway.

They certainly broke the mold when they made my father – and for all his oddities and foibles growing up with him was never dull.  He often took me on his adventures and I always returned home not always unscathed but still alive.  He added to my childhood ideals and experiences.  To me being different, odd or eccentric is just another facet of being human.  Thanks to my father and my family I don’t really believe that there is an ideal to live up to.  Human beings are made to be faulty – it’s just the way it is.  We break, cope or strengthen in different ways depending on our map of the world.

I’m not even sure that there is such a thing as being ‘normal’ or whether it is just a media-generated phenomena that the disillusioned and brainwashed feel the need to aspire to. Thank God for weird dads.

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Arachnophobia

I don’t like spiders.  They scare me shitless.  I can’t even look at one in a magazine or on my computer.  I have to quickly turn the page or scroll past at light speed.  I’m not sure why as I know they can’t move off of the media and jump out and bite my ass.  Tell that to my ass though.

I’ve had my share of spider horror stories although I haven’t been bitten.  No doubt I have come close as I’ve wandered around in the garden or bushland at times but what I don’t know won’t hurt me.  It’s the in-your-face stuff that makes my hair stand on end and my brain melt into my spinal cord.

My first experience was the result of a good deed gone wrong and probably why I never offered to vacuum my adolescent room ever again.  My mother housed the crusty old cleaner in a box, in a cupboard and out of the light – an obvious favourite haunt of the eight-legged horror which I felt rather than saw as I put my bare foot on an enormous huntsman that continued to wriggle its way to freedom from under my foot and between my toes.  I doubt very much my feet hit the floor for the rest of the evening and I spent the night at my friend’s house.  I tend to wear foot covering everywhere these days except in the shower.

I managed to avoid any chance encounters until a night on the town with my future husband turned into a nightmare as I walked through a group of trees near our destination and straight into the biggest spider web I never saw.  I’m sure I looked a picture of grace and dignity as I danced around like a lunatic trying to get the sticky stuff off me but when my date walked up to me and flicked a huge spider off my head and onto the ground I lost it completely.  He still talks about my screaming sprint past the jazz club windows while the patrons cheered me on.

Not long after that my son and I were downstairs sweeping the entrance when we spotted another large huntsman near the roof.  Commonsense and past experience prevailed and I left it alone but not my son – he decided to poke it with his broom which knocked it onto the floor and straight up his shorts.  I am ashamed to say that I laughed so hard I cried – until the wretched thing ran down his prancing legs and straight up mine.

My last and most recent experience with a spider once again involved my son.  We were putting out the garbage and spotted the largest red back spider we’d ever seen in a web at eye-level on the carport.  We both got close enough to look at the red stripe running down its back when it moved towards us and the sensor light went out at the same time.  We both nearly knocked each other out in the dark as we bravely scrambled to get away from it.  Needless to say we both lived to tell the tale and the spider was dispatched with haste.

I see a few huntsman spiders here and there now and again but I leave them alone.  I figure if I don’t bother them then they won’t bother me but if I find one in the shower with me then all bets are off.

Tattoo me

I’m a tattoo lover.  I’ve had tattoos for quite a while and most of them have been placed in covert places to avoid the scrutiny of stuffy co-workers and management lest they have a conniption.

In the last few years, however, I have come out of the tattoo closet in a big way and decided that it is okay to display tasteful body art in places that can actually be seen all of the time by every freaking person on the planet.  I have decided that I really don’t need to please anybody but myself and can be an eccentric nonconformist if I want to be regardless of that woman in the corner store’s worry that I’m going to steal something from her shelves.

I now sport an expression of creativity and of love for my pets, past and present, intertwined with roses down my right arm.  Some people like them but others behave as if I am going to rob them at gun point.  This isn’t a real problem for me as it sorts out the cheese from the crackers as far as I’m concerned and I am left with those who actually like me for what I am regardless of a bit of extra colour on my skin.

My mother came around eventually.  She is stuck with me regardless and she knows it.  The same goes for my husband.

One day when I am old I might regret having had them done but I doubt it.  When my memory fades a little all I will have to do is look at my beautiful body art and be reminded of my life and the happiness those furry little souls gave me when they were around and I will almost certainly smile.

Beginning Again

It’s been a while since I posted but lately I have found that I have more time on my hands and more motivation to put my ‘creative writing’ skills to use once again.

I am having somewhat of a sabbatical from work at present – or rather a prolonged ‘holiday’ suggested by my husband after my work-from-home job as a medical transcriptionist became less than desirable and started to create moderate-to-high stress levels in our household.  Five years as a medical transcriptionist was enough for me, particularly as our company transferred to foreign ownership and I found that after a long-term projection I would wind up doing the same amount of work for less money – but with the same amount, if not more, stress from line count quotas, English second-language dictators and other transcriptionists with a propensity to cherry pick the best dictators given half a chance.  My recent difficulties in a Singapore hospital and the resulting anxiety and insomnia from my health issues sealed the deal and I sailed off into a semi-retirement sunset and slept soundly for the first few weeks afterwards.

Over the last two and a half years while I have been working I have also been dabbling in photography and what started out as a sideline interest has now blown out into a full-blown obsession with all things pertaining to Canon cameras, lenses, shutter speeds, apertures and ISO.  I am devouring camera magazines, doing online study courses and joining photography groups locally and online.  I am offering my services to all and sundry in an effort to gain more experience working with light and attempting to direct my models like a true professional.

Of course now that I am no longer chained to the computer for prolonged periods of time I am taking obsessive to even greater levels with softboxes, speedlights, strobes, a gathering of an assortment of toys, blankets and fluffy objects for future anticipated shoots of babies, puppies and anything in between.

My husband, as usual, keeps his distance most of the time from my hobby and rarely bats an eyelid over my purchases or my must-have items.  His motto in life of having a happy wife is to have a happy life might be short lived if he ever got wind of my pro Canon 5D Mark III I bought for a ‘good price’ last year, however.

In the meantime, I am slowly becoming what is known as the uncle Arthur in my husband’s family.  I get invited to all the best parties and functions and my popularity is soaring in my small social set.

I am slowly finding myself again.  My grandfather, the only other member of my family to ever pick up a camera and do something worthwhile, would be very pleased.

My new eyebrows

I went out and got myself a pair of new eyebrows the other day.

Sounds a bit weird when I say it like that but nevertheless, that’s how it happened.

I’d been thinking about it for a while, as I was sick of ‘looking’ sick and having no eyebrows made me look like I had some kind of medical condition.   While, yes, I did have a medical condition – I didn’t really want it to involve my eyebrows.

I found the perfect solution to my dilemma online with cosmetic tattooing.  I wasn’t sure about the authenticity of the ‘look’ but I found the perfect cosmetic tattooist who used a gentle ‘feather’ approach that could be almost mistaken for real hair in the brows.  I’m not sure what I was worried about really – I’m covered with tattoos – but while my body is my artistic temple I didn’t want my face looking like a painted Barbie doll.

It all went pretty well – or so I thought until I spotted my husband’s face when I breezed into the lounge room later that day.  He didn’t say anything but right now  they are a little dark until they settle and I have my second session to add lighter ‘hairs’ is finished.  As my face is quite pale by comparison I guess they will take some getting used to.  I’m not quite Morticia Addams but I’m sailing pretty close to the wind as far as he is concerned.

I’m not really bothered.  For a long time I’ve had either very little hair or a penciled line to frame my eyes, so anything more than that is going to look a little odd for a while.   Besides, I’m not the one who has to look at them all the time.

So far it’s been plain sailing but then again I’m not much of a social butterfly.  I will be testing them out at the local diner on Friday night for our usual island gathering.  I think it will be safe to assume that if nobody stares at me for more than five seconds straight unless they are speaking to me, I will be flying under the radar.

I’ve lived with the weirdness of no hair, some hair, bandanas, no eyebrows, lots of tattoos and very pale skin for some years now.  If I can find a way to enhance one thing about myself – kudos to me.

I’m back…..

Well I’m back.  It’s been a while.  Nearly a year in fact.

I will now use the old cliche that ‘life got in the way’ but illness and time has a way of not playing fair… and so here I am.  I hope to be able to add reasonably regular content this time around.  I will also attempt some half decent stories every now and again.

I have my good friend Jo to thank for bringing me back from the writing dead.  She has started her own blog and I don’t want to be outdone.  So thank you Jo.  I hope to be critiquing your blazing good foray into legendary writing status in the near future.

For the record it has been a nearly interesting 12 months in parts.  I’m still soldiering on with my MT work and making a half-decent attempt at pegging doctors’ and their linguistic idiosyncrasies.  I fear I will never reach the great heights of MT elitism but I’m earning a regular income and that has got to account for something.  I’m not aspiring to great levels, simply because I would like to have a life and health restrictions limit me to part-time MT semi elitism only.

In the meantime I will be finding at least one or two days per week to jot down my thoughts and process the flickerings of literary creative goop bouncing around between my ears.

Stay tuned….

Acceptance

I’m having a blue day today. Not a bad day. That’s different. A bad day is when I’m late for work, get pulled over for speeding, arrive at work late anyway, get docked for it, have to work with the office manager from hell, miss lunch, get a migraine from not eating, and drive home in peak hour traffic. In another life I used to do that, but not now, and not today. Today is a blue day.

Today I’m at home.  To be honest, I’ve been at home for a few months now.  Mainly for health reasons. I”m studying, and working on working next year, but not today. Today I’m giving myself permission to feel down if I want to. I let it stay and I don’t fight it.

I recently had an operation that I am recovering from. It takes a while for the body, and the mind, to recover. Fourteen years ago, I had an operation to remove a brain tumour from my head. It took a long time to recover from that too, sometimes I think I’m still getting over it. In my mind, the recent operation and the past operation,  although unrelated,  have reinforced a sadness inside that will take a while to go away. The first operation rendered me infertile. I was unable to conceive naturally afterwards, and the subsequent IVF treatment over the years ended badly, with two miscarriages on our final attempts.  My most recent operation was a complete hysterectomy, necessary for me to remain in reasonably good health, but not without it’s physical and emotional trauma.

I’m grateful for what I have. My parents, a brother, a loving husband, and a son born previous to my history of bad health. But it doesn’t stop me from feeling a sense of loss, and an ache inside that can’t be fixed in a hurry. It’s not  independent of me, but it’s another part of myself that comes out every now and again on my blue days, and it needs to be accepted, not analysed. Why am I like this at times? I know why I’m like this. I wanted another child, maybe two. I can’t have them. I feel sad at times, but not all the time.  I accept this. Blue days only become unacceptable when every day is a blue day. And I’ve been there too, and managed to pull back from it when I accepted it rather than fought it.

I don’t think we are conditioned, as human beings, to be happy all of the time. It would be virtually impossible. But we can be at peace a lot of the time and accept what is. Having the blues is way of working through something the right way, and come out the other side with some kind of acceptance, understanding, or forgiveness. Some things can’t be fixed. I know that as well as anybody. Maybe they don’t need to be fixed. Maybe I can accept it for what it is. One day.