I have a pretty glass water bottle for my desk …..

I am probably the world’s worst eater according to a schedule person.

I seldom have breakfast. I often skip lunch, and if I don’t feel like eating for dinner I don’t.  Food, right now, is not a high priority in my life.  I am not sure why, but I seldom feel an overriding need to eat.

It is more of a “I choose to eat” and often I don’t choose to.  And I can sometimes get past two days and realise I have not eaten anything.  I just forgot.

One would think I would be über skinny.  Sadly no.  I sense that not eating but drinking copious amounts of wine, probably cancels out the low calories on the one hand.

I bounce between feeling super wired and hyped to being so lethargic, I just want to lie down … for a long time.

I hate drinking water.  I drink a lot of Earl Grey tea.  I put ice in my wine, and that counts as water intake.  I often forget to eat.  I often forget to go to the bathroom.

Last night I met with Lizel who is going to become my “better health, better diet” coach.  Bless her, I am not sure she fully understands the uphill journey she has ahead of her with me, but she is very positive.

We chatted about eating and life, and how it impacts your body, and your everyday life.  The realisation that many common illnesses are diet related.  I nodded, and then leaned over to sip my wine.

I am starting on some Herbalife products tomorrow.

I figure worst case scenario I start and if I drink 3 x shakes in place of meals (that I am not eating anyway) at least it is a start.  Gets protein in, and is very little effort, as long as I don’t make a song and dance about it.

The main point for me right now is to find an alternative for food that I can get in, so that at least my body is getting some sustenance, rather than doing this “famine/feast” thing it has got going on.

I have also bought a really pretty glass water bottle and placed it on my desk, with my cheap-arse glass and it is my aim to drink water during the day.  For me that is a bit of a revolutionary behaviour.

I usually don’t drink any water – at all – so the fact that there is a bottle on my desk is already quite an achievement.  I figure to start I just need to finish one bottle a day – 750ml.  If I can do that, then maybe I can graduate to 2 x bottles of 750ml, and we can see where we go from there.

Part of the aim is to lose weight, I’d like to lose about 10 – 12 kilograms.

But I also just want to feel better.  I don’t feel better right now.

I really need to find a way to get some energy back.  My energy levels are all over the show, and probably directly related to my eating habits.  If I can get that down to some sort of “order” then my blood sugar stabilises and logic tells me it will assist with my mood, my energy levels and maybe help me with my depression and anxiety disorder.

I get that a shake = a help for depression is a bit of a stretch. But right now I am willing to give it a whirl.  I am also hoping that my IBS/Spastic Colon gets some support as well.  Lizel has suggested some Aloe stuff to take in the morning.  She promises is it lemon zesty and I will really like it.  I am always pessimistically suspicious, but I am giving it a go.

I promise never to wear a pin badge “Lose Weight Now, Ask me How!”  If I do, I give you permission to take the badge off my shirt, and stab me between the eyes with the pin part.

So that’s my plan. Herbalife.  Water.  Shakes as meal replacements.  Not amending my wine intake at all.

Day 1 is tomorrow, so here we go.

Having my black dog at heel instead of pulling me along ….

Depression is somethings difficult to explain without it sounding …. a bit er ………. depressing.

It really is not the thing you can put a fun spin on,.  I try to make light of it, but people inevitably look at you more strangely than they did before.

At that point I down the glass of wine I am drinking (real or imaginary), and then you change the conversation as you offer to fill their glasses with more wine (real or imaginary).

Claire sent this link to me, and it is really exactly how depression is.

Depression and it’s little friend Generalised Anxiety Disorder <I have a social and sensory-sensitivity thrown in> is a total jedi-mind-fk.  It does not come with a cool light sabre and that heavy breathing guy in a slightly too big head mask.

Everyone tells you to “just be happy” or “snap out of it” or “you will get over it.”  All I want to do is get the shovel out of the garage, and hit the person in the head.  Then go and lie back on my bed, and stare into the vacant distanc, or close my eyes and wish for sleep to come.

Even when everyone is dancing around and so frkn happy, I sit there and smile and really I want to curl up in a ball somewhere, or at the least hold my breath until I pass out.

Social situations push me further than I want to go.  But I seldom opt out of social things, as the remedy is not to sit in a room, and rock yourself to sleep, but the solution is to put my self into social situations and remind myself that “I can do this, I can do this ….”

I think most people who suffer from depression can win an Oscar for faking-happy.  I tend to have to fake interest/happiness/contentment/mild interest when in reality I just want to somewhere and die.

To add to it, no one says {okay you are depressed, it’s okay that you do not feel the same as other people} so as a child/young teenager/young adult you decide that if everyone is smiling, what you need to do to fit in is to smile …. like a bit of a douche bag, as you really are just mimicking behaviour.

Seems the correct thing to do, right?

I have suffered/struggled/ignored depression for several years.

It just is.  I can’t blame things. I am just made this way. I think there were contributing factors, but to be honest no matter how things had occurred, I probably would have ended up in the same place.

<for me making this observation is a huge step, I have lamented various issues around my up-bringing for several years as a way to pin the tail on to the donkey going ‘that’s what caused this’…. but the reality is that I was made this way, there were some environmental issues that probably did not help, but odds are I would have ended up the same place no matter the journey>

My happiest moments are often tainted because I am smiling, but in reality I am not happy at all.  I knew I should be.  The problem was that “should” never equalled actually “feeling happy.”  I do try though.  Gawd only knows I try.  But it never seems quite enough.  <Excuse me while I leave the room to self-flagelate.>

The last few years have had some okay years and some shocker years.  2011 has been a corker, and really no one deserves a shag-and-a-medal more than Kennith for his trouble this year.  He has so stood there and taken it like standing up like no one’s business.

I am not writing this post, because I can click my heels together and screamed, I am cured.  But right now, with my respite from the {hole that is depression} it is wonderful to see things in life’s full Technicolor … even if it is just for a little bit.

<…in the last two days, I have started to get this gnawing sensation, that things are starting to creep back … that the edges of my pages are starting to crumble … just that little bit …. it really terrifies me…>

Illustrations are from “I had a Black Dog” from the uber fabulous Matthew Johnstone – you can purchase his books through Kalahari (delivery free until the 30 November 2011).

It’s my only child you see ….

I have three children.

I will confess that with baby one, I was a tad more highly strung, and saw “Death and Pestilence” everywhere. I would often lie in bed at night worrying about how my son might be killed or kidnapped tomorrow, and that I need to be still more vigilant.

I started to get afraid of taking my child into a public area and thinking he was not just going to hurt himself, but he was going to DIE.  It made me realise I need to seek psychiatric help and that was not “normal behaviour”.

It’s good to worry. It is bad to be paranoid about it.  All the time.  And not feel comfortable with your child being anywhere, except with you.

There are many moms who are helicopter parents.

They have taken caring for their off-spring to the point where it is actually way into paranoia and not-healthy.  If you cannot go out and leave your child behind (with a babysitter, not by him or herself with a box of matches) then maybe it is time to sit down and have a bit of a think about how connected you are to your child.

I’ve come to realise that the most moms I encounter are so afraid of their child hurting themselves and dying, that they cannot just sit and leave their child to do what children do.

There is this constant fussing and fretting, and checking and re-checking and ……….<eye roll + sigh>

I am not sure whether it is time, the introduction of baby two and baby three, more time, my age, the fact that some times I actually just want to sit and see what happens, that I am not as much of a ”helicopter parent” as many parents I know and see.

For some reason it is often parents who have one or an only child, who just appear to be unable to “cut the umbilical cord.”

Kennith will vouch for the fact that when I am trying to appear calm when it comes to most things my-kids related, but the truth be told I usually am freaking out.

I regularly want to run and just pick my child up, and ensure that they do not get any of the knocks that life has in store for them.  I attempt to appear calm and collected, to allow them in some instances to make a mistake, or take a fall and get up.

I often give off a calmer impression than how I actually feel.

If it was up to me, I would dress my kids in 1 metre of cotton-wool, lock them inside, ensure all the corners in the house are bubble wrapped, feed them only food I had grown and picked myself, and prevent them from ever listening to Justin Bieber!

But reality has dealt me a different set of cards.

I have learnt that I cannot be as “verkramp” as I would like to be.  I need to sit back and let my kids sometimes do things that I would prefer them not to do, because they are kids and they must do certain things, to learn that life is well, life, and that you can fall down, and you will get a scrape, your knee might even bleed, but you know, it is okay.

I am using this as preamble to what happened on Sunday.

Georgia is invited to a birthday party.  I don’t know the mom other than the cursory “hi” and “bye” one mutters in passing fetching and collecting children from the same school.

Her daughter S is having a birthday party.  Party involves strawberry picking and other activities that require children to be transported to Stellenbosch <about 15 – 20 minutes away.>

The plan was that S’s mom transport all the kids to the party and return them to one venue.

I enquired whether the vehicle was fitted with individual seat belts and Georgia would be strapped in.  I was given the affirmative.

I was still cautious, as I am a bit anal about how my child is transported – and non-safety seat belt kids drive me to distraction.

I wanted to make sure I see the car and see who will drive Georgia and get a “feel” for the who, what and how.   If I was unhappy, I would just drive her to the venue and drop her myself, and go and collect her.  No problem.

I am hoping to allow myself the time to assess the situation while I am there. Instead of flying into a hysterical maniac panic before hand and shaking my hear whilse pursing my lips saying “I won’t let my child drive with anyone but me …. I won’t, I tell you, I won’t.”

This is whilst appearing vauely calm, but to be honest I am thinking Death and Car Accidents on the R300 like every other hysterical mother who has opted not to allow their child to come to this party.

I am not going to drop my kid off and wave goodbye and I tyre-burn it out of the parking lot with a gin-and-tonic in my hand.

I want to check who is going with, what the transport is like, and that she is assured of a buckled up seat, and what the vehicle is that she is going to be transported in.

I get to the location where we are all meant to meet.  S’s mom is running a bit late, as party days are hectic.  I am standing there and I start chatting to another mom, her daughter is B.  B is running around and Georgia knows B from school.

I ask if sheis going to let B drive with party-girl S or if she is going to go with the venue with her daughter B.  Polite conversation more than a burning interest to know.

She looks at me and goes: “Yes, I am going to drive to the venue, and B is going to drive with me.  I am very nervous to let her go with someone else - as you know I only have one child!”

And then she smiles knowingly at me.

I am not sure whether I should say: “Oh yes!! I find with three I can be so more laxi-dasie.  Because goodness I have an heir, a spare, and another spare.  Of course I do not mind if one of them dies in a car crash.  That will just be a minor inconvenience.  I have three and all, which is far less precious than YOUR ONE.  When you start breeding them en-mass like I have done, then it is so much easier to not make a fuss if one of them dies!  Yes, you are right, your one is far more precious than my three!”

That is what I should have said.

Instead I thought “stupid bitch” and pursed my lips disapprovingly and decided to get really interested in Georgia and the seeds that fell off the tree.

Side bar:  This is not the first time I have had the comment.  It is easily the 4th or 6th time someone has said this to me.  I am not sure exactly how to interpret it or respond.  Presently I just stand there and think to myself that this person is clearly going to come up with a punch line. If not I need to just punch them in the throat and walk away. 

Acknowledge cartoon source:  http://nickandzuzu.com/

Arguing on the Internet …dick rating …

Julie Hall sent me this and I thought it dove-tailed rather well with yesterday’s post.

The dog that got away ….

Dogs, kids, paintings, lavender – all falls into a similiar category for me “Project!”

Once I decide on a course of action, I make a list, tick off what needs to be done, and it is on like Donkey Kong!

I started the year not wanting a dog.  I sort of warmed to it in the middle of the year.  We dog-sat Satan’s dog mid-year.

I decided I was happy never having a dog in my home. I rethought the thought.  I researched.  I mused.  I sat and day-dreamed.  I obsessed.  I decided I was very keen on a French Bulldog or a Boston Terrier.  Or one of each. Or two of each  <<ssshhh don’t tell Kennith>>

I saw some lovely French Bulldogs. I gasped and sighed.  I will have to wait for the next litter to be considered.

I started chatting to breeders about Boston Terriers.  There was nothing available until next year.  I met a breeder who had a litter.  We spoke.  We emailed.  I named him Dexter.

I was very excited.  Money changed hands. Promises were made. I bought a puppy bed and some puppy food.

The “relationship” went sour.  My money was returned.  I mourn the “loss” of Dexter.

I am back on a waiting lists.

This year will not be “The Year of the Dog” in our house. Kennith suggests we pop down to the local rescue society and pick a dog up.  I have said no, I feel strongly that I want a specific breed from a specific breeder.

Kennith shrugs. I appear resolute.  We do not talk about “getting a dog” to the kids, we talk in code “when will the package arrive?”

So, no dog this year.  I am very disappointed about the nearly-our-dog-Dexter, but I will just need to wait it out like a patient potential dog owner.

The worst “radio fail” prank ever …..

This is one of those radio shows where the DJ and the listener set up a radio prank.  The listener in this case must call her husband and tell him that their nine year old son is not theirs.  You know, because that will be like super funny.

The listener’s husband needs to hear this news and end the conversation  that he still loves her and wants to continue their life together.

If he does this they will get Khanye West tickets, for Valentine’s Day.  <er, there are so many problems with this idea I can’t even begin to list, but moving along…>

With an IQ of 15 you can work out that there is such a slim/non-existent possibility of this going well, that it is not worth the Khanye West tickets that are promised, or a lap dance from Khanye West and McDonald’s fries afterwards.

The call actually ends up going worse than you can possibly imagine.

My guess is they are not going to Khanye West. My guess is Johnny will not have “married parents” on his 10th birthday.

Total shocker.

Link below.

To forum or not, that is the question ….

Just wanted to check – are you ever going to join us back at Moomie, or have you completely closed that chapter in your life? I miss your wit.

I have been asked this question a few times as of late.  I left the last sentence on “ I miss your wit” for no other purpose that to stroke my feathers of vanity.

I am shallow like that.

The reality <and short answer> is “no … I am choosing to opt out of forums … for my own sanity… really”

I do miss Moomie.  It was a great forum for me.  It is run well and most of the girls there are so nice.  They give selflessly of their time and energy.  While I was part of Moomie I often started a conversation in the real world with “We were talking on Moomie about …..” because the forum became part of my life.

There are clusters of people I really liked, almost loved.  There are clusters of people who I would rather reverse over with my car, in the dark, while drinking a McDonalds Caramel Chocolate McFlurry.

The problem with forums, is that it is like standing at a cocktail party.  Yes, you will chat to your own little clique, but you still need to be polite and civil to everyone.  Sometimes you end up in a conversation with someone who really is not lucid or sober.  And who constantly misunderstands you and sort of spits when they talk.

Inevitably you say something you should not have said, and then all hell breaks loose.  Then one starts to argue.  On the Internet.  With people. Of no consequence.  Who you probably would not have spent time with in real life.

My poor judgement caused me to start thinking that a forum was safe and “private” – and that I can speak freely and I was cushioned in a kind of bubble.

I crossed the imaginary line between what is probably good judgement and then just being stupid.

If you put it on a forum, expect it to come back and hit you in the face.  Much like a shit covered spade. Repeatedly.

Without the aid of clever emoticons and smiley faces, people can sometimes take things out of the context they were meant (me included).

I tend to read comments with a “voice” – sometimes a whiny voice, sometimes a screaming voice, sometimes with a Parow accent or a nasal Johannesburg accent – it all depends on the personality which I have attached to the owner.

I associate a personality to each person – and in reality, many of them I have not met.  My perception of them is that they are an entire person, which I have created, in my head.  Based on a few vague conversations, I have created an entire functioning human being – and they in turn think they know me because they know a slither of my life. < the similiarities between forums and blogs are not totally lost on me….>

Kennith says my “social filters” are lacking.   They are, my doctor agrees.

The more nervous I get, the more my ”social filters” fail me.

The more personal I think the space is the more my  “social filters” start to disintegrate.

Add nervousness and alcohol, and the entire process needs some psychiatric care or at the very least a name change and a membership to the nearest witness-relocation-programme.

I learnt that forums aren’t that safe and not really a good idea (for me.)

I learnt that some people are wankers, and you can’t actually change them.  They really need to just let them go off and be wankers, and not waste your energy trying to de-wanker them.

I learnt that I am a bit of a douché-bag and really should spend my energy not being a douché-bag as opposed to try to make other people see my point of view.

I learnt that I do not have the amount of energy that one needs to be able to deal with that many people, that often, in my personal space.

So I have stopped on forums.  I seldom read blogs.  I stop in on Facebook maybe every one or two weeks. Briefly.

Social media did push me that little bit too far over the edge of where I really could safely go.  Forums <my ability to interact on them> were not the cause of my demise but it was a contributor.

I realised that I am not really “able” or “ready” to communicate on a forum and be able to heed the “boundaries” that I should set in place.

Every now and then I see a comment on Facebook from one or two people from the forum-space, and it always makes my blood run cold.  The experience was quite jarring for me, and clearly I am not all “forgive, forget and skip through the daisies…” material.

The best thing, for me, was to remove myself from social media, and right now I tread carefully.

The first two or four weeks left a gaping wound, and I would often hover my mouse over the icon to click-through and go and lurk.

Strange thing happened, people who I really missed realised that they could communicate with me via email, sms or skype, and did not have to wait until I appeared on a forum to say “hi!”  Bless them.  When I felt really lonely and alone, it was a real comfort to have little notes pop up of people who I did miss, who made the effort to stalk me and make contact.

I think I was desperately looking for something there that I needed.  But it was not the space to get it.

Without getting all Freud/Jung on your arse, I really need to look internally to fix my shit, than run around forums and hope someone there can fix me or offer me insights that resonate with me.

I wish Moomie all the best – and really want it to go from strength to strength.  Really.  It is a wonderful forum.  Deja who runs it is so awesome she makes me weep.  She has developed a wonderful place for women to chat and make friends.  Really.

<< As far as forums dealing with moms and for moms, I think Moomie is the best one around.  As for me,  Moomie has had some great spill overs.  I do however still feel an overriding urge to get my car out and reverse it over a few people, but I am in therapy so am working through those thoughts.>>

Who knew I could get this excited about urine and fa.ec.es?

Not me.

Isabelle is 2 1/2 and I have realised I fall onto the side of lax parenting. Baby one and baby two I was all in the “baby guides” and if my child did not hit the mark and do what they were meant to do at the required age, I would get myself pretty vexed and into a froth.

That is the ONLY  reason I can explain that I ever went to Mommy and Baby Groups.

When Isabelle arrived I had bought the baby books, joined “how big is your baby when comparing it to a fruit” emails, I had hired an electronic doppler, I had read what ever there was to read – I was SIKED.

I googled everything.  Even though I sort of knew what was going to happen, andgoogle just made me more nervous and more paranoid, I still googled it all.  I checked and rechecked everything.

When Isabelle was born, I realised I did not have the time to be as “anxious” about Isabelle’s development and worry about every little thing.  I had too much going on, and once Isabelle stopped screaming <around month three or four> I could see straight and attempt to do other things.

I was hoping she would be eating McDonalds, swigging Oros, talking gangsta and taking a dump in the toilet by now – but I had set my hopes a bit high.

Isabelle will be 24 + 6 months in December. I only got her exclusively on solids.  About two months ago I was still puree’ing her food – Kennith made me stop.

Isabelle says about 20 words. The clearest being “dawg” and ”no” – the least clear being “mommy” which I think she is holding out for and drop in when I deposit her in Grade R.  I have stopped sitting infront of her repeating “mommy, say mommy, say mommy, please say mommy, mo-mmy, it’s really easy …. say mommy … mommy will buy you a pony if you say mommy … mommy … say mommy …. crap, just say mommy …. mo…mmy … say it …….”

I got tired of trying to bribe her whilst she looked at me suspiciously. She knew I was not going to get her a pony. And I knew she was not going to do what I asked her to.

Isabelle does not eat meat, unless it is a fish finger coated in crumbs.  She lives a mainly vegetarian existence <we aren’t vegetarians by the way> I just did not get around to introducing meat into her diet.

I bought a book on potty training.  Isabelle is not in the “potty training in a week” mould, and she took a real and aggresive aversion to the potty.

She has wowwed me and in the last month she is pretty much out of nappies.  She uses her white cheap-arse potty when ever she can.  All of this happened while I was “away at the little clinic” and then other people stepped in and took control of my house, as I appeared to be drooling at slobbering on my chin and otherwise engaged.

I am thrilled Isabelle uses her potty.

She has not made one accident, if you exclude the time she missed the potty all together, and the other time when she sat down in her nightie and it was under her arse and then she went “potty” – but if you exclude those two, she is pretty much potty trained.

I am so proud of her I actually gloat!

On the other hand Darron <super sport reference if you can do the Naas accent> is that each potty trip saves us just under R3.00 in nappies. Right now her “doggie” is still wearing nappies, so technically we are purchasing nappies for a stuffed dog …..

We went to a fishing spot on Saturday late afternoon/early evening – I took the potty along. Nothing quite like taking a dump out in the great outdoors.

Bathroom dilemma …

This is exactly what I go through each time I go to a public bathroom.

I can’t wee unless someone is flushing a chain, or there is no one in the bathroom.  I literally sit there and “knuip” while I wait for them to leave, or flush.  And then I can only wee as long as the flush lasts.

I am not sure what exactly will happen if they hear me in the bathroom.  But I am too scared to risk it.

I would have to have full on diarrhea to do a number 2 in a public bathroom.

Forget – I would rather drive home.  From anywhere.  And I have.

Why can’t scam artists spell?

I really do not mind getting “you have won £1,000,000.00″ emails.

It allows me a moment of hope and fantasy.

Listen it is better than “p&nis enlargement” cream, which to be honest I have not received as yet, possibly because I do not have a p&nis and thus do not fall into the target market range.

I love reading a story about how a diplomat’s father died and left him a few million dollars and if I was able to assist I would receive a million dollars for my trouble.

I get a warm feeling when Mr. Smith refers to me as Dear Friend, and suggests I help him out of a pickle.  He relies on our friendship.  He always appears willing to pay me for my time, which really is a sign of a good friend if there ever was one.

I read all of them.  I give each email the time it deserves.  I smile towards the end and then I delete the email – usually.

I would rather get 10 scam emails per day, than receive one call from a call centre sales agent, trying to sell me a cell phone contract or wanting to tell me I have qualified for a larger loan or service.

I feel for them, call operators.  We all have to do a job.  But to be honest, I would rather club seals, or be the seal and be clubbed.

Back to scam artists.  It irks me when the person tasked with writing a scam email does not take the time to run a basic spell and grammar check.   Where is the pride in your craft people? <<that being said there are several spelling and grammatical errors on the SA Blog Awards website that drives me to distraction – maybe it is the same copy writer?>>

One spelling error and the happiness is over for me.  It is like someone shat in my tea.  I really feel quite taken aback, and I grimace.

I, on the other hand, am “permitted” to make spelling and grammar errors aplenty – I am not attempting to extort large sums of money from you via my Nigerian counterpart.

I am suggesting a few basic rules for Master Scam Emailer Draft People :-

1.  Do not stretch logos – EVER.  Logos and images are meant to be re-sized IN PROPORTION.  You can get so many great logos on the web.  Use some time to find a decent one with the correct resolution.

2.  Do not use the salutation “Dear Recipient or Beneficiary.”  It makes me doubt your commitment to creating a working document with a decent enough merge data document.  My son is 9 and he can do a successful mail merge.

3.  Never ever use a font that looks like courier or comic sans.  NEVER.  Don’t do it.  Just don’t.

4.  Do not use clip art on the letter.  It is okay to use a gold stamp or a gold looking stamp.  I have the same “consumer rationale” when I choose wine.  If it has a gold label on it, I am more likely to buy it.  Even if the company selling the wine made their own “gold label” and put it on the bottle.

5.  Why put the name of  person who is writing the letters in the subject line?  It is unlikely that I am going to get excited about seeing DR EDWARD FOX in the subject header.  Discuss your marketing aims internally and then look at revamping your subject header.  I think “YOU HAVE WON AN EXHORBITANT SUM OF MONEY AND THIS IS NOT A SCAM” is pretty catchy and seems LEGIT.

6.  Your letters does go on a bit.  It needs a call to action.   I need to know what I must do.  Apply pressure on me to do it and quickly.  This one does not.

7.  I am no technical genius, but there is no way I am going to take a mail from a yahoo/gmail or hotmail address seriously.  You need to get your shit together in this regard.  I don’t have a solution yet to prevent you being arrested, but give this some thought.

8.  101 spelling/grammatical error – shame on you, shame.on.you!!

9.  Reset the entire  document so that it looks like it comes from one person.  Rather than the rather hectic ‘copy and paste’ which you presently have going on.  Dude, if you are too lazy to format the thing to have one font, one colour and common margin guides, then I cannot spend any more of my time on this.  Typesetters are like R40.00 an hour, for shit sake, have some pride.

10.  Ask a person who has the language you are sending out as a first language to read over your document.  English is fairly mainstream, and if you are going to write it, just find someone who can spell gud.

Guys, all you need is to stick to some basic design rules, and use spell check – it’s free with MS Word, it is not a paid for add on application.

I am making a data base of all the “scam email addresses” that I get sent, and I am going to send my offering to them offering a “introduction to scam letter” course.

Here is my latest offer from…… Dr EDWARD FOX – UNITED NATIONS ….. yep, seems LEGIT!!

Awkward moment …

Charne Timm sent this to me, and it made me do all sorts of snorting.

Took me a moment, and then I saw it …. a shame on so many levels.

Most Creative Breast Cancer Awareness Ads

It’s nearly the end of November, and October which was Breast Cancer Awareness Month is almost forgotten.

The mad rush for Christmas and all things school holidays starts soon, if it has not started already.  If that is not overwhelming you, then the chaos of buying school uniforms/stationery will have you a bit distracted from reality.

If you can spare a few minutes in the shower, how about treat yourself to a breast examination - but ideally book a mammogram before the year is up.

I saw some really creative breast cancer awareness advertisements which were brilliant.

<what are you waiting for?  book a damn mammogram….>

And the one that will sit with you a while …

Mommy you are really looking happy ….

Yesterday when I fetched Connor from school, he said: “Mommy you are really looking happy.”

Me: ”Thanks for noticing my boy, I am feeling happy … but why do you say it?”

Connor: “You just look happy.  I don’t know why.  Are you happy about something?”

Me: ”No my boy, I am feeling happy that is all, nothing really, just feeling happy.”

And that really is it. <<I can’t tell you how thrilled I was that he noticed…>>

I am not better, but I am on the mend.

My head is less filled with the negative/kill myself/kill all of you/oh my gawd I am being targeted thinking.

My head is actually quiet.  I do realise it sounds a bit “insane” to say “the voices in my head are quiet.” But they are. This constant internalised conversations that go on and on … all day … all night are quiet.

I can just sit.  And sit.  In silence.  Because there is no noise in my head.

I feel remarkably happy. Not “skip and sing the sound of music” happy, but definitely lighter, more free, and my head is just not as busy as it was before.

I sit and I smile. Just because I do.

I feel a definite sense of creativity.

There are little projects that I have started, and feel motivated to do. I sit in my garden on the old wooden chair, I dusted off and positioned amongst the lavender.  I listen to the bees buzzing, I sip my wine, I feel the coolness of the glass in my hand, and I just feel a sense of calm. Of peace.  Of silence.  Of not internally screaming.

I am not sure whether it is working with Dr CBT, the medication, Dr Pill-Pusher, the fact that I am sleeping, or the time that I hid away from life in the clinic.

I have no idea what to attribute it to.

I feel a sense of happiness.  A genuine happiness that I have not felt in what feels like forever.  I smile when I see my children and I see Kennith, just because they make my glad inside.

It’s a nice feeling.

It is also a  strange feeling I don’t know what to do with it.  I just sit with it right now.  And smile a bit.

<stay away black dog, for fuck sake say away, you are not wanted here!!!>