Tag Archives: personal



I mentioned last post about how I’ve been trying to not use my phone when I’m doing social stuff, because I want to be a part of things. It’s harder than you’d think, because we’re so conditioned now to document every meal and moment, and to take and re-take photos to prove our spontaneity. There’s a place for this, yes, but for me? I’m trying to be more in the moment.

But sometimes, I really do not like the moment.

This morning was the icing on a particularly nasty cake I’ve been baking for a while now. I was running late for a cycle class, and I do not cope with being late. So I took what I thought was a shortcut, and found myself going straight past the gym. I turned around and promptly repeated the exact same sequence of turns, and again… going straight past the gym.

As I sat at the lights waiting to do a third u-turn, I heard myself say something. Actually, it was pretty loud. Chances are the person waiting at the lights next to me also heard it.

One thing I am good at doing is talking to myself in ways that I wouldn’t dare or even dream of talking to other people. And to prove a point, I have turned what I said into a beautiful meme:


And looking at those words, I feel ashamed of myself. I would unleash total fury at anyone who dared to use those words towards someone I love. Even towards someone I don’t know. You don’t talk to people like that, not in my world.

Except… I do. To myself.

And I’m sitting here, writing this, and I just want to cry. Because I know I meant it, at the time.


When I eventually got to the gym, I pushed myself through a big cardio workout, because I’d totally and utterly missed the class I wanted to go to. I was stretching afterwards, and a woman who’s become a good friend plopped herself down opposite me to chat.

We talked about time. About how moments are so important, and without investing in the importance of time – instant, immediate, now time – life kind of loses meaning.

It reminded me of a conversation I had last night, where again time was the topic. Don’t rush time, don’t force yourself forwards into things you can’t possibly predict the best outcome. Don’t worry about things that you don’t have the information about yet. Just be now. Time.

Which reminded me of a conversation I had on Sunday. Time. Time doesn’t exist, you just have now as your guarantee. Don’t let anxiety mess with now.


I need to remember those words I said to myself. Not because they’re true. But because of the horrific cruelty behind them, that I directed to myself. And I need to remember how I spent that moment, that time. Because life is so fleeting. I cannot put more time into talking that way to myself. Because fuck.

I might hear me.

I thought about things that I have heard other people say about me.



photo by @kimmi_joy


There comes a point where you can make a choice.

And I choose moments. I choose now.

And as hard as it’s going to be to change the thought patterns of a lifetime, I choose to remember that I have done something amazing. That I am strong.

And that I am about to help other people set themselves free.




The problem with pain


Here I am in the New Year. Fresh starts and new beginnings and goals and hope and all that stuff. And I’m starting the year as one of the “lucky” people: I have a home, I have friends, I have family; I have excess of everything I need.

But it’s day 5 of 2015, and I am already feeling like it’s just all too hard.


Not the reconstructed ankle – that is amazingly good. In fact, I’ve been tracking down fun runs and training guides and bothering my physio to teach me to run again.

But the thing is, in the last few months my left Achilles has completely lost the plot. It’s swollen and scarred and shooting flames of pain and discouragement up my leg like there’s no tomorrow. And when it is doing a particularly enthusiastic job of this, I almost wish there was no tomorrow. No, I’m not a suicide risk. But if you have ever lived with pain, you’ll know what I’m talking about.

It’s a constant reminder that I still have a bloody long way to go.

It’s a stab in the guts that sends the very clear message that even though my ankle is recovering beautifully, I still can’t do what I aimed to be doing. After seven years, this is beyond a blow. I’ve done the waiting. I’ve done the surgery. I’ve done the recovery. I’m doing the physio. And it is still not enough. Basically, I’m walking around feeling a bit like this:


I want to be all inspirational and shit, and tell you how I’m fighting it and offer a list of search-engine friendly hints and tips for managing pain – but I’ve got nothing.

The other element to this, though, is the way the pain and resulting lack of sleep makes me behave, and react.

I’m a fucking turd.

I’m cranky and I’m short with people and I’m anti-social. I want to avoid stuff that makes it worse, but I have a blatant inability to say no. I’m also stupidly stubborn, which is why there’s a roast in the slow cooker.

The problem is, I don’t want to be that person. I don’t want to be that cranky, limping, growly, avoidant person. I’ve worked my arse off to be where I am now, and everything is still, still impossibly hard. I wanted to be running. I wanted to be booking fun runs, not just admiring them from afar. But here I am. On the couch.

I just did a dash to the pharmacy and pelted the pharmacist with tears and words and limps and questions. He sent me home with a cream that is really poorly spelled, but apparently good for this kind of thing. I’m putting my hope and faith and trust into a cream that is grammatically incorrect. It’s a quandry, one my anal little brain has to get around.

I’ve been keeping busy:

Image by The Naughty Corner

Image by The Naughty Corner

And I am trying to do the right things. It’s just such a fucking blow, especially at this stage in my recovery with my ankle.

Solutions? Well, my GP is throwing ideas and approaches at me. But it comes down to something I don’t feel like I have a lot of: time. Because this pain is ludicrous. Because I’m quickly becoming a horrible person. Because I’m rapidly giving up.

So to distract myself, I keep hooking. I throw endless tennis balls. I drink coffee and try really hard to not be a turd.

I do have one good story to kick you off for the year: I was having a merry wee on the loo the other day, and as is my habit, I was singing enthusiastically to myself. I turned my head slightly to the left, and locked eyes with our neighbour. I pretended not to see him and tilted myself forward and scrubbed the vanity.

Time and place, friends. Time and place.

How’s your new year going so far?

The little things: A list of my top ten.


I’ve kept the brain cells churning after yesterday’s post regarding happiness. And I’ve arrived at the conclusion that I am indeed a simple girl. Because when I list the things that make me happy, or at the very least with force my mouth in an upwards motion, there’s not a lot on that list that isn’t easily accessible.

Here’s my top ten little things:

10. The perfect hot drink. I’m a coffee girl through and through, but tea also has a place. But whatever the beverage, a hot drink warms you up from the inside out. Todd Carney should give that a go.

9. Cloud spotting. Cloud porn is awesome. A mate of mine is the king of cloud photos. Check him out here. The best thing about clouds is that they are there even if you don’t notice them. On cloudy days, anyway.

8. Watching the dogs interact with life. Totally hilarious, often touching, and guaranteed to make me grin like a loon.

7. The current strawberry scented soy melt in the oil burner. Oh My God. Here is where you can buy them.

6. Immature, yes, but that moment when you know there is a big belch brewing, and you find someone to do it in front of. The awkward silence that follows such an act is another favourite of mine.

5. Texting, talking, emailing with the frigging awesome people in my life. Particularly the once who have moved interstate. Miss your arses.

4. Too much wool and yarn. THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS TOO MUCH. But I can get a ball for less than $3 and make a beanie or a beard and be a happy camper. This get up is similar to one of the prizes on The Naughty Corner Facebook comp.


Image by The Naughty Corner

Image by The Naughty Corner

3. Cooking. Particularly baking. Banana and blueberry masterpiece:

Image by The Naughty Corner

Image by The Naughty Corner

2. My people. My sister, my adopted sisters, my besty. My dear Dad. The aunts and the uncles and the cousins and the brother and much longed for. My beautiful beloved, who loves me even when I am a moody horrible git.

1. Life. Because I’ve realised it’s actually pretty damn good.

What are your little things? What makes you smile?

Good Mourning


This morning started at 3am. Scouty was barking in the tone she has that comes before tantrum, so I woke my beloved to go and check it out. She did, because she is awesome.

She found Scouty barking at Harry, who was hogging the dog bed and wouldn’t let her up. My hunch is that Scouty needed a wee, got up, and while she was tending to business Harry swiped the warm spot.

I pondered these things while I languished in the warm spot my beloved had left.

She then returned to bed and snored for the next five hours. Little sleep was had, friends.


Be sure to notice the size of those paws. Image by The Naughty Corner

Be sure to notice the size of those paws. Image by The Naughty Corner

In the real morning – when the sun was up and teeth were brushed and work clothes donned – we let the dogs inside and had our morning frolic, followed by a game of ball. Then my beloved and I returned inside and the dogs eventually followed.

It was while we were catching up on The Voice tending to serious computer work that Scouty rumbled back inside.

She jumped on my in my jarmies. The paw prints she left were laced with neither love nor friendship.

They were laced with poo. Dog poo. All over my jarmies.

My beloved gasped and did a semi-commando roll off her seat. She landed on the coffee table, which continued to roll with her. On the floor she lay, all high vis uniform and giggles, while Scout pawed me with her stink feet. Feet finally clean, Scout frolicked outside. My beloved clambered to her feet while clutching at the developing bruise on her hip. I chased her in my new poo jarmies, desperate for a cuddle, which she refused to give.

Then we saw the trail of destruction.

Friends, I have just spent the better part of an hour mopping up poo, cleaning carpet and washing jarmies.

How was your morning?