just a cliche
Originally posted on Angels Blog:
Just when you think that you have things in life pretty much sorted out in the back of your mind, boom, bang, fuck me it’s all happening all over again.
that old feeling of having been here before and done this shit already seems to come crashing back to the forefront of your mind, as you find yourself standing back in front of that same old same old mirror that place you know you have been before and done this whole thing only to find yourself repeating it all over again.
For me this boom bang harsh slap to the face called reality was discovering that I am pregnant again.
After finally coming to terms with, maybe even accepting that babies for me now would be my grandchildren, I had decided that I was too old to have any more children, and was more than happy with the way…
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Being a creature of habit change and I are not what you might call friends, in fact we are almost enemies, I have my routine, and that’s the way it is, anything that changes or disrupts that routine well let’s say it does not sit well with this little black duck.
On the outside people don’t see that I am sick ( for a lack of any better term) and for the most part I don’t realise it until something happens in my world which reminds me just how difficult at times managing a traumatic brain acquired injury is.
One of the complications I have learned to deal with to a degree is agoraphobia.
Agoraphobia: An abnormal and persistent fear of public places or open areas, especially those from which escape could be difficult or in which help might not be immediately accessible.
Persons with agoraphobia frequently also have panic disorder.
People with mild agoraphobia often live normal lives by avoiding anxietyprovoking situations. In the most severe agoraphobia, the victims may be incapacitated and home bound.
Agoraphobia tends to start in the mid to latens, and the onset may appear to be triggered by a traumatic event.
Which makes you wonder why the hell I would choose to live in a small country town?
It sure as shit made me wonder as I stood looking at my new home to be, covered in cobwebs, paint chipped on the outside, gardens overgrown to state the least, with a mini Picasso of a child who was the previous tenant, one who had a flair for writing on every single fucking wall.
Now not being in my new town a month yet, I have spent every day literally getting high on fumes from cleaning products and now as a last and I meant last resort paint.
It would turn out that this little artist, has used some form of permanent marker to leave his marks on my walls, alongside his zoo of dogs footprints and scratches, bones in the back yard and god only knows what else.
Looking back at the photos from day one, I am surprised at how clean this house has become yet still horrified at how dirty it is, as I take to the walls like some crazy women with an o.c.d, cleaning off the never-ending marks that have been left behind by the tiny want to be artist, as I look at the locks his parents have on the bedroom and hallway door.
Now this in my mind is not normal to have locks that are fucking massive and over sized placed on your interior doors to keep your child out.
Yet with screw driver firmly in hand those locks are coming down, Jesus Joseph and Mary never in my life have I had to nor wanted to lock my children out of a room that I have gone to the extreme of buying god damn locks that look like they come out of some medieval dungeon.
Kind of makes me wonder what the parents were thinking, as I go out into the veggie garden, and start slashing away at weeds and half the veggies that were in their, to try to restore some form of tidy and less unsightly mess out there.
Yes creature of habit, one that cannot stand filth, still is intolerant to people, and is still as opinionated as always, now in an even smaller town than the one I was in previously, however let’s just say that I may no longer be physically present I am sure that my memory will remain.
When I believe in something strongly I am not one to fizzle away and sit in a corner quietly, that’s not me, it’s not who I am nor Is it somebody I can pretend to be, so when I had my opinion on permits for animals and pets, it was one that I took all the way and continue to fight.
How is it that a person can retain a permit to own 9 dogs on their land yet you’re not allowed to own one goat unless it has 800 meters of unencumbered land?
9 fucking dogs, one goat?
Somebody please do the maths here and tell me how the hell that one adds up, when a dog barks, stinks and fights, it also has the risk of hurting kids, even adults when it decides to strike out, yet a goat on the other hand, does not stink, will not bite, does not have that issues of scratching walls, chewing carpets and literally destroying a home?
I shake my head in total disbelief at the local council rules, as I continue to throw my arms around and make my opinion on goats and dogs one that is heard throughout the Australian government, if for no other reason than to be a thorn in the side of the local Councillors who should be doing a better job than the job they are currently doing.
All said and done, I still wonder how a person with agoraphobia, can have and is living in a town more isolated than any town I have ever seen in my life.
When in reality although yes I hate malls, shops and going out into public in general due to the effect it does have on me, it’s also a fight that I must fight within myself to simply stay sane.
Yet here in my small town, in a day I am lucky to see more than two people out and about, which on one hand is great, on the other, well it’s not so great for fighting the fight of agoraphobia.
I chalk it down to life experience, it certainly is an experience that I will remember for a lifetime, yet it’s not one that is neither good nor bad, its different I give it that, considering I am to date the most disorganised human on the planet yet I can’t say I hate or love life in a small country town, it’s one that grows on you, and somehow its one you learn to grow with.
I certainly don’t miss traffic lights, or busy streets, traffic or herds of people pushing and shoving as they make their way through the daily rat race of life.
For now I love my garden that is no longer looking like a jungle, I love my goats and taking them for a walk in some sort of peace and quiet and I love sitting on the veranda in the afternoons looking at the mountains that surround me, as I breathe and discover me again.
After myself having the fortune (she writes with sarcasm in her tone) have being with an alcoholic I have learnt that many people who suffer from the addiction to this demon that lives inside the bottle, are not only great manipulators they also have this way about them, this way of getting what they want one way or the other.
I have come to figure through many breaks, fractures, and bruises that alcoholism is the world’s most selfish of selfish addictions, as the person who is addicted to the demon does and will do whatever they have to do in order to make their actions, words, and thoughts into some form of rational & logic they will find a way to justify what they do, say, how they act and react regardless of the detriment that their addiction has to anybody around them.
It has been said that never a truer word is spoken than when a person is drunk.
Now having that thought in the back of my mind, I glimpse back to the past where I remember all the words slurred from my ex as he would blame me for everything and anything that was wrong or was going not quite to his plan within our relationship, I remember things that he claims to have never said or things he claims he never meant to say when the drunken hate surfaced.
Similar to what brings me to the words I am typing now, as I think back to a visit through the week last week that threw me back into the tail spin which comes with having the wondrous post-traumatic stress disorder.
I would hear the scuffle on the dirt drive way, and the banging of feet as they made their way to the top of the veranda.
There it was the trigger to a week of fucking literal hell for me, the neighbour, drunk, with his good old Australian cowboy hat on.
Slurring his words, as he announced all that he had done to assist me and mine since we had become the towns newest arrivals and residents he stood brazenly in front of me, reciting the list of things he had almost memorised, none of which I had asked him to do (just for the record), for example the week of moving into the house, there was literally no yard, it had been left to turn its little allotment into a giant overgrown jungle and was in desperate need of a slasher to come into sort out the haven for snakes, spiders and god only knows what else could make a home in the over grown green abundance of grass and weeds.
The neighbour was kind enough to come in hand with his wiper sniper as he offered to slash back what he could, as a welcome to town token, not a person who would take no for an answer, before I knew it, he was off slashing back the overgrown jungle that had formed over the months.
This act of kindness being one which was of course was on the top of the things that he would remind me of on his list of things he had done to help.
So there it was, the very cliché ringing through my ears as I thought to myself no act of kindness ever goes unnoticed, no act of kindness from anybody out there is ever done without some form of repayment.
Suddenly it flooded me, that the world is overall the same be it city or country there is not one person out there who does not expect some form of gratification, by means of their chosen payment to be given to them, for what they view to be an act of generosity, an act of selflessness, a favour, whatever you want to call it.
As I choke on the fact that this man will get his gratification in the form of a carton of beer, the very thing I swore I would never purchase in my life again after I finally left a relationship that was toxic, one that was built on the fumes of the very shit that I am finding myself purchasing as a form of gratification for the so-called kind acts that this person has shown.
Sometimes the best things to do are to bite our lounges, to do that thing we say to ourselves we will never do, and to thank a person who is already and addict to the poison with no intentions of stopping this addiction by thanking them with that very poison that consumes them.
As I have stated before and state once again, life in the country is very different to life in the suburbs or along the coast line, however one thing that is not different is people do nothing for nothing, there is always a price involved one way or the other.
Sadly once more the price incurred here is the price not only of my pride, but it is the price alcohol has on it, the unseen price that many of us continue to pay regardless of how many times we think we have paid this debt off, the debt continues to go round and round, just taking on different forms.
So cheers old mate for doing that slashing, that one time, and cheers for the lend of that shovel I wish now I had buried you with, however something deep down in my heart of hearts tells me that each night you get yourself tanked, you bury yourself just a little deeper in your own sad watery grave, a grave that you think hides your hurt, your misery and your past, yet what you do not see, is that watery grave you drink yourself into, is only bringing those things you hide from, run from and try to forget, closer with each sip you take from your foamy wake.
usually I am no green peace activist or tree hugging kind of hippie, yet when it comes to those of us out there including animals who have no voice, I am far from one to sit back and be silenced by the bullshit red tape that governments hide behind.
This is one of many things that urks me, and frankley sickens me to the core that in a country such as ours here in Australia things like this are continuing to happen.
Animals may not speak in the same language as you nor I yet trust me they still speak to us, in their own way.
If you have ever owned an animal you will know that it talks to you, lets you know how it is feeling, what it needs or simply is there for you when your in need of a friend, a companion, an ear that you know can’t and won’t tell the world what your secrets are.
I am of the opinion unlike the opinion of certain politicians here in Australia whose name I will not mention due to himself in fact giving himself more than enough media exposure with his remarks on unemployment already, that no person chooses to live below the poverty line and be on any form of unemployment benefit.
For many who do not understand nor know the feeling of living life below or on the poverty line, a brief description of it is as follows, no money equals no food, falling behind in bills such as utilities, equals no power, no money equals being unable to meet basic human requirements to survive.
These requirements which Maslow himself outlined, were shelter, clothing and food.
Now being unemployed leads to many and I mean many different issues for individuals as they fall into the trap of no money to pay for the car to be re-registered, or fuel to go into that car should you be able to drive it legally on the road, to get yourself to an interview should you be lucky enough to have one.
No money also makes life a living nightmare as people struggle to simply survive much less pay rent and constant bills even keep on top of their physical health as we quickly see them slump into an all-time low often falling into depression, again not a positive nor ideal situation to find yourself in whilst on the hunt to find some form of employment.
Constant knock backs, or no replies from prospective employers does not do a great deal for one’s self esteem nor self-worth, as you find that with each job application that you submit at least 20 or more people have also applied to the same employer for the job.
Often people are under qualified to for fill particular jobs, or they are at the opposite end of the scale finding themselves over qualified therefore not gaining a certain position that they have applied for.
Which again is throwing us back out there onto the rhetorical door of being judged, living and feeling like shit, and then top it off have some dickhead politician make statements about living on the dole, and how those whom are in receipt of this payment can and should be able to live on the amount they receive each fortnight.
This statement however coming from a person who is well and truly over paid and living on the pigs back as they say on an average wage of $600,000 per annum, meanwhile the unemployment benefit pays just over $19,000 per annum.
The unemployment payment does not give the person receiving it access to free or should I say paid by the government a car, expenses for travel, and all the rest of the nice pro’s that government employees receive.
Yet the politician who is earning far too much in tax payers’ money in their own wage per year, will and does come out in public and state that their needs to be an end to those who are living life on the dole, that those on welfare payments are lazy no good no hopers, who choose to live in a manner that is very close to being third world.
Now when challenged the politician whom makes such bold accusations about the unemployment benefit being more than sufficient, will back down from their words, as the challenger is those on these type of payments challenging the overpaid liars to live themselves without their cars, and their payouts that they receive for six months, not one week, not one fortnight, that shows the loud mouthed politician nothing.
Yet this loud mouthed know it all about how hard the real people are actually doing it out there, has no fucking idea, when they continue to allow asylum seekers into our country, giving them an allowance to live on, including housing, which includes a fully furnished house, for themselves and families to live in, whilst the Australian people sleep behind rubbish bins and go through hell to secure any form of housing for a night.
Now please tell me where it is in the whole painted picture of life in Australia as it is, does any of this make any sense?
Why is it that those seeking refuge and asylum come to our land, and don’t stop somewhere else, such as one of the islands they pass on their travels to get to what they see as a free pass?
I mean Jesus fucking Christ America does not seem to have the same if not similar problems with the boat people as we do here in Australia, although America does have higher numbers of unemployment and all the other statistics out there, for one reason, the united states is bigger than Australia therefore holding more families, more individuals and more people over all than we here in the sinking shit pit of red soil ever could.
Yet the government continues to make remarks and comments about those living on unemployment benefits, the amount of alleged crime that is increased, the number of teenage pregnancies and the rate of drugs and other substance abused issues that we have here.
Forgetting that them the governing bodies of our country are the very ones who have turned us into nothing more than an ash filled, muddy land slide of mixed races, international diseases, and dying spirits that the good old Australian was once known for.
Those within the government have turned the Australian people into what is seen by the world to be racist, to be rude, to be the intolerant pricks that the world views us to be.
Just read all that is listed above, and then thank the Australian department of immigration for all they do each day as they hand out a stamp to every tom dick and goat that walks off a boat, and onto our soil.
As they stand in the chambers of parliament and argue that one side of the Australian government hates females, yet the female who is currently heading our country, did not get voted in to her role by us the Australian people, as I recall a male by the name of K Rudd got voted in by the people, yet Ms Gillard his right hand took his role, when he was not even in our country.
When we look at the news we see the stories printed of those who are living in poverty the spikes in homelessness within a wide range of age groups, there is no place to lay blame on alcohol or other substance abuse, the simple facts are there is no employment out there for individuals to gain any form of extra or supplemented income to survive, why? Because the government need to have people who are suffering, they need to have people who are vulnerable, in order to maintain some form of control.
Over the past few weeks I have spent time up cycling things that I had forgotten I had even owned.
I have turned old vases into pot plant holders, learned how to decoupage, collected countless duck feathers and used them to make some really cool hair ties and guieni pig bling, you name it I have found a way to turn nothing into something.
From finding a way to turn plain old toilet rolls into flowers, to extending the compost bin in the back yard, to rewiring and fixing wire fencing around the yard, putting back on fence palings and digging drains, I have come to realise that everything can be re used again, as opposed to thrown away and replaced.
City life and country life are two very different ways of living; let me assure you of this.
The city, is a place where life seems to be so busy with everything that we tend to throw things away, as we replace them by simply going to the closest shopping mall, where as the country on the other hand does not have the luxury nor does it need it of the shopping mall just minutes from your home.
When we live in the city we may think that we are doing the whole recycling thing by putting plastics, glass and whatever into a separate rubbish bin prior to it being collected, this gives us a sense of doing our part for the environment, allowing us to throw it away and think we are doing the right thing.
Yet for every bottle that your throwing away you could simply be using for something as small as a pot plant holder, or a bird feeder.
For every lid that you’re throwing away that was connected to that bottle you could be collecting until you make an outside ornament to hang, after you add a few personal touches to it, maybe some paint or whatever your artistic feel is at the time.
Yet when we live in the city we have this excuse, it’s an assume excuse its one we say ‘I don’t have the time to do that kind of shit, because I have to work 72 hours per week, fight the peak hour traffic to get there, and when I get home after fighting once again the traffic, I couldn’t be bothered, I am to fucking tired’.
Yes the city life gives us so many excuses as to why we cannot do things, as I learn that I can do so many things I would never have seen myself doing 12 months ago.
12 months ago I would never of imaged myself feeding chickens in my yard, nor would I have imagined that I would go on a daily hunt for feathers which come off the ducks, I would never have dreamed I would could, and have built a compost heap, and yes the myth I had thought was a made up fantasy of leaves, grass, and fuck knows what other shit does turn into soil.
My god, I would never have thought that I could make soil, but I have, I do, and at the end of the day, I make it into the shower, as I wash off the sweat, the dirt, the dust, and I feel a sense of pride, a feeling of accomplishment, as I look down to see a Callas on my hand.
Me with a Callas, dear god, never would I have thought that 12 months ago I would be wiring fences, learning how to use chicken wire to fix palings, shovelling drains to stop the house from flooding nor would I have dreamed that I could and do prune trees, rake leaves, and somehow find a use for things that I would once disregard and throw in the rubbish.
I have never been one to have a green thumb, damn I could never even grow a weed if I had tried, yet now I have 7 gardens, baby tomatoes growing from clippings I borrowed (wink, nudge) from the plant next door, I have a wheel barrow full of plants that is thriving, and plants in pots that I have made from coke bottles, as I cut them in half and used them as pot plant holders.
I have flowers that are not dead blooming in my front garden which I had to shovel shit loads of dirt into to make it some form of level as myself and four-year old boy painted the rocks that emerged after the grass was slashed and the garden began to appear.
The big pods that fall from the palm trees have been the coolest thing since we cleaned them up and gave them a once over with paint, now using them as these funky garden ornaments, which also act as a shade for plants that are actually growing.
I am shocked and proud at the same time, just how much sweat, swearing and hard work has gone into something, yet what has come out of that sweat, and swearing and hard work is immeasurable.
Although I have experienced my first true heart-break this week when my favourite and most tame chicken passed away, which yes I do know sounds almost fucked up, a chicken for fucks sake, the hurt was no less than when you lose a dog, or a cat, tears have flowed pretty much all week since she died, she now has a place in my front garden with a cross, made from sticks, and an angel where she is buried.
I don’t think I will ever be able to do the whole country killing your pet thing and eating it, as some people here seem to do with ease, my neighbour being one of these people who can eat his ducks without a second thought, however then again he is a bit of a moonshine man (wink, nudge) if you know what I mean.
I am more than happy to feed my chooks, collect my feathers, and turn the compost over as I watch the leaves and crap turn into soil, I am more than happy to continue doing as I do and learn new things each day, in a world that is one with the city yet so very different, here in the country.
Earlier in the week I had to go back into the suburbs, where I was totally shocked at firstly the people within them, and then how close the houses were to one another, the cars everywhere, the shops lined up one after the other, as I wondered how the hell did I ever manage to live in a built up suburban area for so long, considering I suffer from agoraphobia, and acute panic disorder, alongside a trillion other wonderful things.
I wondered how it was I was able to deal with living in-built up areas, with people rushing by, with so many different types of people who were out and about doing their thing.
All I know was I was more than grateful to arrive home to the safety of my world, that has become my home, as I opened my eyes after falling asleep in the car on the way home, the sigh of relief as we pulled into the drive way, was a sigh of finally knowing where I belong, and feeling that feeling of being home.
A feeling I have longed for, needed, and searched for a feeling that I have finally found, I am almost complete, a few things still need to fall into place yet I am sure the universe will allow them to fall when the time is right, as I continue on my country road, doing what I do and simply loving every minute of it.
Ask most females about porn and they will normally go coy blush and tell you how its disgusting, or say they find it degrading to women, truth be told chicks love porn as much if not more than most guys in the world.
We may not admit it, and to the outside world this is a taboo subject, yet face it ladies, you all see a nice female body part and look twice before deciding that you instantly hate the women with that admirable body part out of some form of ‘god I wish I had her tits’ the fact that you don’t is the reason why you find yourself looking for any reason to hate that girl with the tits you wished you had.
Porn does not mean that a female is bi sexual, nor does it mean she is a deviate and is try sexual it simply makes us human to say the least.
Yes we all look, and yes we seem to sway more to the female to female side of the sexual pornographic images, simply because, lets once again face it two women doing naughty things with each other is much more attractive than two males.
Why is it that we seem to find two women more attractive than two males? Maybe it’s our society and how we have become conditioned to the image of two chicks as opposed to two guys, maybe it’s because two females are viewed to be what we see as part of the norm, I mean for some reason females seem to go in two’s to the toilet when out in public, they freely hold hands, and will greet one another with a hug, or kiss, females are far less inhibited when it comes to showing emotion’s in public than two dudes.
I have concluded that not only is the saying, men are from mars and women are from Venus one that is true, yet it is also one that is accurate.
Women will and do go to any length to disguise their enjoyment when it comes to any form of publically discussing or showing their like of pornography, yet men, well its natural or so we in the majority of society assume it to be natural.
Contrary to the belief that men are more visual creatures than females this is no more than a load of shit! We chicks too are just as stimulated by what we see, hear and feel as our male counterparts, yet we females are somehow more reserved when admitting this fact.
While it’s true that women are very good at closing their eyes & getting off by mental imagery, we are just as much visual creatures — if not more — than our male counterparts, & it’s infuriating to know that one of our five senses is being dumbed down because of our particular gender.
Even more infuriating is the number of women who hide the fact that they are visual creatures by denying that they look, watch, read, & enjoy porn for fear of seeming abnormal & perhaps even a little unlady-like.
The amount of women viewing porn is growing quickly; the numbers just keep increasing, despite the fact that we remain acutely silent about it.
Just like masturbation, pornography is not very much discussed amongst women.
It’s kept hidden away, never mentioned or acknowledged.
Wouldn’t it be fucking fantastic if we could speak just as openly about our relationship troubles to our girl friends as we can about the things that turn us on visually, that being porn?
Wouldn’t it be absolutely freeing to be rid of the guilt that often comes with getting off?
Furthermore why do we girls allow ourselves to feel guilt about what gets us hot and Horney?
Maybe it is the way girls are brought up, all sugar and spice, sit with our legs crossed, don’t bend over in a short skirt, all that kind of thing, when the reality is, we love bending over in short skirts feeling the air brush past our hot girl parts, you know the parts I’m talking about, but we don’t dare share this with anyone, hell no, fear of what others will think, they may think we are just perverse sluts oh heaven forbid.
From my point of view I see nothing and I mean literally nothing wrong with knowing what a girl wants and how we want it, I also see no shame in liking porn, there is as they say a fine line between art and porn, I wonder if by fine line they mean that line between a women’s legs, the one that spreads open to show our pulsating clitoris’s and our moistness when we are aroused?