Monday, May 28, 2007


I'm having one of my semi regular bouts of insomnia at the moment. I'm seeing way more of the middle of the night than I want to, and I have to admit that much as I love my bed, I would love it more if I was sleeping in it, not lying in it wanting to be asleep.

When I have managed to sleep, I've been having some very bizarre dreams. While I napped this afternoon (yes, I'm having a couple of days off work all germy), I dreamt that I was travelling first class on Atlantic Airlines designing their mini golf course. I don't know why no one has thought of this earlier, I'm sure it would make long haul flights so much better. All of a sudden the cabin filled with smoke, and I was escorted to the emergency exit and got to use the slide. Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeee!! When I got to the bottom of the slide I found myself in a cupboard. I opened the cupboard door and found myself in my company's Sydney office.

Over the weekend, I dreamt that the boy and I had a pretty spectacular fight, and he managed to say all of the things that hurt me the most. And the look of scorn on his face. I woke up really upset, and it took him a bit of convincing for me to believe that he hadn't actually done all of those things.

One night last week, I woke my brother up with my screaming. I had been dreaming that gangland murderers Carl Williams and Tony Mokbel were chasing me around the inner city of Melbourne, just constantly trying to kill me and shooting at me. Whenever I found refuge from one of them, and tried to catch my breath, the other one would pop his head around something and start shooting again. Pretty bloody terrifying.

I really wish I knew what the hell was going on in my head. Roll on the sleep study.

Thursday, May 17, 2007

A question of etiquette

What do you do when a healthcare professional you see regularly and trust, starts peddling multi level marketed vitamins to you in the middle of a consultation?

In your head

I often wonder what really happens inside my head, and how my thought processes do what they do. How do I remember some very peculiar things, but can't keep track of where the keys are?

This week has had some pretty special examples. I was at my physio appointment on Tuesday, and my physio asked me what I had given my mother for Mother's Day. A pretty reasonable question, and it was only 2 days after the fact. What did I say I'd given Mum? A watermelon and three bags of potting mix. She looked at me askance, and I tried again. I gave mum a watermelon and three bags of potting mix. I felt myself giving that head shake that you do when you are trying to get something out of your head and tried again. I gave mum a watermelon and three bags of potting mix. I gave up and wrote it down.

I think I've got an evil sprite living in my head, programming the very scary jukebox from hell. So far this week on high rotation I've had Blame it on the Rain by Milli Vanilli, Take it from me by Girlfriend, Help me Rhonda (conjuring up scary visions of Gordon from Melmac) by the Beach Boys, Delilah by Tom Jones (velvet, that was you!), and Zombie by the Cranberries. The only way that I know how to get rid of any of them is to start singing god save the queen. I don't mean the lyrics either, just that dum dum dum dum dumdum over and over, clearing the mind for the next scary set of song lyrics.

The words that I'm thinking in my head aren't the ones that I'm typing either. This blog entry has taken ages to do, because I have to keep rereading and realising that when I type wear I really mean where. It has happened with the other thing I've been writing (aka righting) too - I seem to have a bad case of the typing homophones. It really is most disconcerting. Even more unfortunate has been my inability to type my name incorrectly. If one vowel is replaced by another vowel, my name becomes something quite obscene. If nothing else, I've been very entertaining for the people around me.

Oh, and for those who may be wondering, it was a wheelbarrow.

Friday, May 11, 2007

He sees you when you are sleeping ....

I'm concerned. I seem to be suffering from prophecy in hindsight. Way back in December, I completed a meme about icky Christmas songs, and pointed out the creepiness of Santa watching me when you sleep.

My sleep patterns have been all over the place for the last few years. I can function for weeks on about 4 hours sleep a night, or can have horrendously broken nights sleep - pick an hour, any hour and I've seen it this week. I can also sleep really violently - when I got up the other day I had to rescue pillows and beddings from all over the room, and put the rest of the mattress back on the bad. I'm not even going into my dreams.

To cut a long story short, I've been given a referral to a sleep specialist. They will be doing a sleep study on me. I haven't been able to stop singing "Santa Clause is coming to town" since. My big concern though - what on earth do I wear to be watched sleep? I'm not your nightwear kind of girl - whenever I wear it it tends to end up on the floor, so I generally avoid it. Any suggestions?

Tuesday, May 08, 2007


Dear crutches,

It's over. The seven weeks and two days we have spent together have been truly special. I don't know how I could have managed to function without your support. I can't imagine what life will be like without holding my arms all the time, but I'm going to try. I'll be walking around without you, listening for the echo of your feet.

It's not all bad though. I'll still spend every waking hour with with your cousin, the medieval torture device. Hopefully I'll be able to end that relationship soon too.

Thanks for all of your support

thisisme xox

Monday, May 07, 2007

Rest well

For the first time in my life, no pet lives at my family home.

Tonight, just after 6pm, my brothers cat was put to sleep by the local vet. For the last 16 years she has had a pretty good life. Even tonight, when my sister went to find her to say goodbye, she was coming back down the street after visiting the neighbours. She hasn't been well for the last year or so, but her will to live, and obvious enjoyment of life has stayed our hand. Yesterday, she didn't want to eat, didn't want to drink, and was obviously suffering from paralysis of her back legs. She didn't even try to hide from a visiting dog. She spent the rest of yesterday on her sheepskin on the couch, being patted in moderation, sniffing at hands, and occasionally condescending to lick at some of her cooked chicken, heated in the microwave. Very much the centre of attention, being the grand lady she always tried to be.

My brother is devastated. He spent most of last week at the family home, looking after her while our parent's were away on holiday. I think he will be glad that he spent the last week with her, "kicking back, watching tv, hand feeding her", grooming her and letting her sleep on the bed. I don't think he is there yet. We've gone through a lot of tissues here, and I got home to find a note telling me that he "need(ed) to go out for a while, might not be back til tomorrow". Then he filled the note with a stack of domestic stuff about hanging out the towels, keys, and then just signed it with RIP Miss McP. I lost it then.

I thought I was OK. I knew that it was time for her to go, and I've been expecting it since last year. I managed to hold it together all day at work after seeing her this morning to say goodbye. She was still with it, sniffing at my hand and licking it, but she was so cold. I've talked to Mum three times today, sorting out the logistics of the family and everyone saying their farewells, I've had three phone calls with my sister, with her getting more and more upset every time, and Mum says she just sobbed for 45 minutes at home tonight. Once I got home, and read that note, and listened to Mum on the answering machine talking about it, I lost it. I'm still sitting here with tears streaming down my face. Thank goodness for aloe vera tissues.

There are no pets left at home anymore. The four of us have moved out, and are apparently mature adults. I have my cat. My sister has her chickens and her boyfriends dog. My other brother has his dogs. The brother living with me doesn't have any. We don't have any pets that we have shared time with all together any more.. We've lost that common pet ground as we all move on with our lives. We are still family, but we have more apart than together.

We won't see your round ginger, white and brown face peeking out from your grass hut again. You won't accost every person walking past the fence from your perch on the letterbox.

Rest well, Miss Puss. You will always sleep under the geraniums now.

Sunday, May 06, 2007


I can't believe I'm adding more attention to the ultimate waste of space, but I haven't been able to escape this in the news, and everytime I hear it, I yell at the radio, or the tv, or make rude gestures at the paper. Hopefully I can write it out.

Paris Hilton, get over yourself. You drove drunk. You lost your license. You were put on probation. One of the conditions of probation is that you don't break the law. You were told to attend an alcohol education program, and enrol by February 12. You hadn't done it by April 17.

You drove without a licence. You got pulled over. You signed a piece of paper that acknowledged you shouldn't be driving. You were caught again. Speeding. Driving at night without headlights on.

Stop playing dumb and blaming your staff for you not knowing. You signed a piece of paper acknowledging you shouldn't be driving. If you are dumb enough to sign things you don't understand, you are definitely too dumb to be driving.

Driving is a privilege that comes with responsibilities, not a right. You forfeited that right when you chose to be so irresponsible.

Right now, the only people affected by your actions are yourself and your family. You are lucky. You could have killed someone. You could have injured someone. You could have killed yourself. That's not hot.

Time to grow up. Accept the punishment you have been given. Try not to make money off it. Just once. When you get out, pay a driver. I'm pretty sure you can afford it.

Tuesday, May 01, 2007


My head is awhirl with scrambled thoughts. Whenever I have a moment to myself, I find myself composing sentences. The sentences don't ever seem to make it any closer to coherence.

I feel a bit like my brain is off on a whistlestop tour, occasionally checking in to tell me where it has been.

From the postcards I'm getting, my brain is:

Still giggling at random moments at Velvet's post
Worried about my mum who has decided to send her blood pressure through the roof
Deeply besotted with the new sheets. Egyptian cotton, 400 thread count. Do you know how hard it was to take them off the bed to wash?!
Having slightly disturbing lustfilled thoughts about Jamie Durie on Dancing with the Stars
Wondering if this is going to be the year of the boy baby. All of a sudden all my ex housemates are having baby boys.
Still giggling at random moments at Velvet's post
Sad for my friend who has farewelled his parents on their return home, and does not know when he will get to see them again.
Very happy with my boy - he keeps just making me smile at random moments
Giggling hopelessly at the Chaser and their version of Greased Lightning - check YouTube in a couple of days - it will be there!
Still giggling at random moments at Velvet's post

My attention span of a gnat is driving me nuts - hopefully this will help clear it.