Showing posts with label Asperger's. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Asperger's. Show all posts

Monday, 9 October 2017

No More Regrets


Well howdy doody and how are you? Can you believe I said 'howdy doody'? I don't even know what it means! Never mind.

I am  here to talk about regrets. I have blogged about this before and came up with a whole list which you can read here.

The thing is, I re-read the list and thought about it some more. Because I love to over think things. And I began to wonder.  The root cause at the crux of some of these regrets is my ongoing battle with anxiety.

The question I'm asking myself is this: is anxiety something you regret? I mean, if you have an anxiety disorder it's not really your fault, though it is your responsibility. Fault/blame and responsibility are two different things to my mind. You can't be blamed for struggling with such a thing, but you are responsible for managing it.






Considering that my anxiety is clearly linked to the fact that I'm autistic and that is to do with the way my  brain is wired, saying I regret certain things where anxiety is at play is almost like regretting my entire existence.

I guess I'm not making much sense. Bear with me. I mean, looking at that old list I made a lot decisions based on fear and not being able to manage negative emotions. But at the time, I didn't understand that. Perhaps I didn't have the maturity or the knowledge. I mean, I didn't even know that I'm autistic until I was 40!

And even when I knew that I had an anxiety disorder, I didn't really accept it truly and properly. When anxiety in the form of panic attacks first tapped me on the shoulder many years ago, I thought of it as something more like a broken arm or a virus. Eventually it would clear off and that would be the end of it. But as anyone who struggles with this beast knows, it simply doesn't work that way.

It's only through accepting it about yourself and taking responsibility for managing it can you move forward and live a decent life. And honestly, looking back on it, I wasn't even given adequate treatment at first. It was only through my own perseverance that I kept going and trying things. Nobody ever even suggested that I see some one or pursue any help. It's almost like you're not taken seriously with these things if you're a woman... Especially one like me who has been a stay at home parent for many years. Anyway, I was trying to make a point but as usual I am rambling!

I'm just wondering about the futility of regretting things in life when you're an autistic human who has an anxiety disorder. I can say that I regret anxiety taking over my life, but at the same time, I was never given the correct tools to address it.  Somehow it seems that I've had to be very resourceful in trying to help myself and come to terms with it.







I've had six years to digest my diagnonsense and it still seems like there are often things I have to figure out and try to come to terms with.

I'm not organised. I am not a happy bubbly type. I don't know how to put it into words without sounding really negative. I am not really the person who would ever take off and go trekking by myself or do big gutsy brave things. I am not loud or opinionated or ballsy. And while I admire people who are, I can only be myself.  I am stuck being myself. A lot of times I think I should be things like confident and positive and I'm just not.

It's like if some people work out something they want to do they seem to know exactly what to do and the steps to take and then sustain it. I'm not like that. I can do certain things at times for periods of time, but not sustain it long-term. I can do one thing really well for a while. I can't do all the things.

Having anxiety and being autistic and introverted and all those things takes up a great deal of energy. I am who I am. And it is what it is.

It sounds odd, but I've realised I have to forgive myself for a lot of my perceived regrets or mistakes I made.






Ultimately I have wonderful parents, Mickey Blue Eyes and the boys and a small circle of family and friends who care about me and mean the world to me. And I want to concentrate on that. I did make some good decisions in life. Not that I want to bang on about cancer all the time, but having a brush with it certainly makes you realise you don't want to waste energy on a bunch of regrets.

But I do regret the 'howdy doody' thing. That was pretty dumb.

What about you?

What is your attitude towards regrets? 

Monday, 30 January 2017

My Thoughts About Routines.

Hello lovelies! I'm back again. The school term has started in my part of the world. And I was ready. Not sure that my boys were, but they'll survive. 

I now have two high school boys, in year ten and seven, and one grade three boy. I am not allowed to post any photos of them, so you'll have to imagine how handsome they are.  That's my totally unbiased opinion!

It's a little bit dispiriting when you see all the other special parents proudly posting their back to school snaps. But I really don't like having my photo taken either, so I kind of get it. 

Anyway, this back to school thing means that I'm supposed to get back into a routine. 

BUT....

Here's the thing. I am really bad at them. It's another one of those curious Aspie dichotomies: I crave order and routine but I am rather inept and ineffectual at being the person who's supposed to be in charge of creating it. Sigh. 

I looked at Facey this morning and the first thing I saw was this article. It really resonated with me. Especially this part:


  1. Lack of executive planning skills. Executive functioning describes the skills we use to organize and plan our lives. They allow typical adults to plan schedules in advance, notice that the shampoo is running low, or create and follow a timeline in order to complete a long term project. 
  1. Most people with high functioning autism have compromised executive functioning skills, making it very tough to plan and manage a household, cope with minor schedule changes at school or at work, and so forth.

Story of my life.  

Honestly, the start of the school of the school year fills me with equal parts anticipation and trepidation.  In one way I'm glad to end the holidays, but I'm also on edge with the persistent feeling that I can't keep on top of everything that needs to be remembered and done. I always feel like I'm letting my boys down because I am not a typical multi-tasking, briskly efficient mum. 

It's a classic case of 'the blind leading the blind'. I don't know how to teach my boys to be organised because I have no idea myself.  I have calendars, diaries, lists etc and I still struggle. I am trying very hard to accept myself and work with myself instead of against myself, but being ad hoc and disorganised doesn't seem to be a very useful thing in life. Weird. 

Most of the advice out there about becoming organised or establishing routines seems to (mostly) come from naturally organised, neuro-typical type people.  I need to find the bits that work for me and discard the rest. It's all easier said than done! 

In other related news, I've been attempting to have a routine of writing 'morning pages'.  This is a process introduced by author Julia Cameron. The idea is that you write three pages each morning. You don't think about it too much, just write whatever's on your mind. A kind of a free writing, stream of consciousness type thing.

I haven't been totally successful. It's been on again off again. According to Cameron's book The Artist's Way,  this process is meant to unlock your creativity. All I seem to unlock is yet more waffling, discursive drivel. Dammit.  However, it is quite soothing to sit and write the old-fashioned way with pen and paper. Remember those? 

But anyway, whenever I get in the doldrums about all of the above I just repeat this word: 

PANGLOSSIAN. 

Panglossian. Panglossian. Panglossian.  PANGLOSSIAN! 

No, I haven't suddenly gone stark raving mad (that happened AGES ago), I'm just reminding myself of my word(s) for the year. (Look it up, it's an awesome word!) 

Besides, there was another article I read somewhere on the internet about personality traits and happiness (I can't remember which website it was to reference it... See?) and supposedly being orderly in no way correlates with happiness. Winning! 

Now I'm just going to pretend I'm organised and go and write a to-do list. And I'll definitely write the word panglossian down a few times as well. 

And before you know it, it will be school pick up time again! Later! 


What are you like with routines? 


Tuesday, 14 June 2016

My whole life is a domestic disaster

A peculiar sensation has come over me. I wonder what it is? Something so unfamiliar I cannot define it. I have to think about it before it unfolds in my mind. Yes, that's it. I'm smug.

I ticked off a list. That is HUGE. For me. I'm scatterbrained.

It seems to be a curious dichotomy about me that I crave order and routine, but am thoroughly inept and incompetent at actually creating at. Weird. 


I needn't have been so smug. Predictably my foray into organisation didn't last. And even when I have ticked these lists there is no discernible evidence of activity in my surroundings. My home still looks haphazard and sloppy. Sigh. 


This week I've looked into various organisational apps including  FlyLady, Habitica. Evernote and Todoist.

I was determined that the time had come when I would finally morph into a Domestic Goddess. With a capital D and a capital G.

Or maybe not. But that's okay, because what I lack in housekeeping skills I more than make up for in poetry writing skills. Yep, I'm poetic GENIUS. 

Here's proof: 


I need to have a schedule, a rythym, a routine
Make my home a sanctuary, immaculate, pristine

After all, I hear you say, you don't have an office job
You've no excuse for being such a lackadaisical slob

But, I reply, my house is frightfully pokey and tiny!
I glower and pout, all whingey and whiney

Before you judge me, why don't you do the math?
Don't patronise me with your presumptuous wrath

Residents total five, but rooms only seven
Hardly anyone's idea of domestic heaven

We live here in CHAOS*, clutter, confusion
Where 'Better Homes & Gardens' is just an illusion

And yes, I really must confess, it does cause stress
To live in pandemonium, such a muddled-up mess

But it seems that I'm a freak without the neat part
I want to clean it up, but don't know where to start

It's simple, you say, you have to make a list
Then tick it off, forget your daily Facebook tryst

Dutifully I write it down, commence the first task
It's tedious, time-consuming, school hours fly by fast

When the day is done there seems to be no reward
I'm grumpy, dissatisfied and frankly terminally bored

Snap out of it, you say, don't get into a tizzy
A dedicated Domestic Goddess must always keep busy

With my tears of anguish I slowly wash the dishes
The suds go down the sink along with all my wishes

Wishes for a gleaming home, all shiny and new
Lots of lovely, pretty things, a dishwasher too

Look, you say, all you need is a trip to Ikea

This is as appealing to me as explosive diarrhoea

But there's no time to waste, I have to cook dinner
Now's my chance to prove that I'm a culinary winner!

When I look inside the fridge my expression turns wary
Judging from it's contents I expect the dinner Fairy

Tsk, tsk, you admonish, don't you understand?
You should always have this sorted, make a meal plan!

Then get your children involved, everyone must help!
My kitchen is as big as a postage-stamp, I holler and yelp 

Ignoring your disdain, I defiantly order take-away
Getting out of bed was my biggest mistake today

Sure, I could have put some soup on and left it to simmer
But the chance of it being  eaten? Not even a glimmer! 

I should have tried harder, worked longer and faster
It seems MY WHOLE LIFE is a domestic disaster! 

Before long it's time to go bed and admit defeat
So I can get up and do all again. Rinse. Repeat. 

It's something that is terribly difficult to explain
It's not my fault that I have a typical Aspie brain

I struggle with something called executive function
Forgetting absolutely everything expect to have my luncheon

Now I sit here still feeling dejected and forlorn
I want a clean house, but I'm constantly torn

Somehow I never achieve anything no matter how I slog
For now I say forget it, I'd much rather write this blog! 

You're welcome. 


*CHAOS = Can't Have Anyone Over Syndrome

Side note: as I'm about to hit publish on this post, my house is actually surprisingly tidy (for me). So I've got about a half hour window for anyone to drop in right now. Oh wait. It's school pick up time. The boys will be home shortly. CHAOS again! Oh well, I tried! 

Linking up (late!) for I Must Confess

What is your biggest domestic disaster?

Monday, 29 June 2015

The Truth About Lies

Today I am talking about lying and deception. Truthfully, I am a terrible liar.  I simply cannot do it. Okay, maybe that was a lie...

I'm sure I've told a few polite little white lies that we all do from time to time.

You know the kind.  You say: Yes, your baby is gorgeous! Meanwhile you're thinking: Doesn't look like a monkey AT ALL. This is completely awful but necessary at times.

As far as telling a despicable or heinous lie, I seriously can't remember ever doing so. If I did try this, I would never be convincing.

There is a theory that people with Asperger's  don't lie or can't lie. I'm not sure if this is true or not. Maybe I'm just a nauseating Pollyanna type. Or perhaps I simply don't have any imagination or acting ability.

Apparently the Aspergian inability to lie is related to impairment in something called Theory of Mind. Also, it is common trait to be blunt and direct, valuing justice and truth. Admittedly, I do not possess this bluntness myself, but I still find it  impossible to lie. 

Naturally, there are certain things I tell myself that don't ring true: just one slice of cake won't hurt and so on. I write complex and detailed To-Do Lists now and again which turn out to be total fiction. Whoops.

I'm not exactly sure how people can live a life of deception. Particularly by having torrid extra-marital affairs. I know I sound very preachy and judgemental, but I just couldn't achieve the complex level of pretence. It's probably my tendency to forgetfulness, but I'd end up being caught in my own web of lies. I just cannot lie. It's a shame really. Because obviously I have offers ALL THE TIME. I've had to leave a string of dejected would-be lovers all sobbing and bereft.



Okay, that IS a lie. There has never been even the remotest chance of me having an affair because nobody has ever even attempted to get their leg over. Not once. HMPH!


Well, there was one creepy old dude with pants up to his armpits who got a bit too close in a crowded lift once. Plus, a crusty old octogenarian who chatted me up briefly at the Community centre where I attended my (off-campus) Tafe course. It's nice to know I've still got it if Mickey Blue Eyes ever decides to trade me in or drop off the perch! FTW!

I suppose I can slightly stretch the truth at times. Especially here on this blog and also by telling Mickey Blue Eyes that an article of clothing is an old favourite I've just dusted off out of the wardrobe instead of brand new. But I might forget to pull the tags off. Sprung. 

I'm sure I've lied by omission. Plus there are the inevitable excuses and fairy tales you end up telling your children. The shops are shut. Those rides at the shops are 'out of order'. And yes, of COURSE Santa is real! 

Maybe I'm not such an angel after all. Oops. 

Perhaps I need some further practice at fibbing. After all, as an introvert there are so many times I need to avoid socialising or small talk. Here are ten excuses to get out of these awkward events:

  1. I'm late for an appointment! 
  2. I have a terrible throat infection.
  3. The kids are sick. (It turns out that having children is quite convenient!)
  4. My car is broken down.
  5. I already have a prior engagement.
  6. My grandmother passed away and I'll be attending a funeral. (One grandmother passed away long before I was born and the other many years ago and I never attended the funeral [it's complicated], but details!) 
  7. The kids have sporting commitments.
  8. Busy, busy, busy with ongoing renovations and painting of our house. Simply can't have people over. (The fact that our house is in a permanent state of CHAOS [as in Can't Have Anyone Over Syndrome] is COMPLETELY IRRELEVANT).
  9. I'll be out of the country! (Sadly I'm never out of the country, so I have to have this fantasy somehow)
  10. Finally, if all else fails you can always use the good old 'something suddenly came up' excuse from The Brady Bunch. Yes, I've watched all the groovy and high-brow shows.
Of course I'd never be able to pull off any of the above excuses in person. But these days a quick and dodgy old text message makes it so much easier to just glibly lie! Yay for modern technology!

So I think we've all learned something today. We're pretty much all big fat liars and we're lying if we say we never lie. With that, I'll end it here. I'm off to do the house work. Which is a whopper. But you already knew that.

Linking up for I Must Confess.

Can you lie? What's the biggest lie you've ever told? 

Tuesday, 17 June 2014

The A - Z Of Me



A is for absent,  because I always seem to be absent from this space lately. Oops.  I’m an absent-minded sort of person as well. A is also for Asperger’s which I was diagnosed with at age 40 in 2011.

B is for boring as batshit. I’m even boring myself with this blog let alone anyone else which is why I’ve been so conspicuously absent. B is also for my three boys aged 12 (almost 13), 10 and 5, who are anything but boring.

C is for cake and Carpenters: my two obsessions. C is also for classy. Clearly I am.  Classy, that is. Shut up.

D is for daydreaming because I’m constantly ‘off with the pixies’ and a space cadet.

E is for effort. I find everything in life to require monumental effort while I’d much rather be daydreaming while eating cake and listening to the Carpenters. It’s weird that people won’t pay you do so. Hmph.  E is also for exercise endorphins. I have to force myself to do the former daily in order to achieve the latter. An even louder HMPH! . Did I mention effort? Why can’t you get endorphins by sleeping?

F is for forgetful. In fact, the only reason I’ve survived on this planet for 43 and a half years is because eating is the one thing I don’t forget. Which brings me to the other F: FOOD.  Some people eat to live, I live to eat. I mentioned that I was classy.
G is for great, galloping, gargantuan, garrulous guacamole. Oh okay, I couldn't think of anything for G, but that's pretty impressive alliteration there, right?

H is for hope. I’m hoping I’ll come up with something interesting. Nope. Sorry.

I is for Infertility. Unbelievably now, there was a time when I thought I’d never be a mother. My boys were all miracle babies. I is also for Introvert. I take introversion to a whole new level. I’m so introverted that I make other introverts seem like loud, exhibitionist extroverts. At least I'm good at something. Thanks to  Susan Cain we’re all the rage now. Introverts are awesome and all that. So ner to all you lowly extroverts.

J is for the juxtaposition of two of my favourite things. Read on...

K is for Karen. Carpenter, of course. I sort of like her a bit. Ahem. I realise this is just repeating part of C but I couldn’t think of anything else for K, okay? It’s ironic that two of my favourite things are food and the World’s most famous anorexic but I like to mix things up. This is what I was referring to above with the whole juxtaposition thing. I'm not really sure if that's a word to be honest but it sounds impressive.

L is for Lego, the evil nemesis in my life. This Cancer of toys seems to multiply and spread to every corner of my house while I run around trying fruitlessly to keep it one area. Sigh.

M is for Micky Blue Eyes because I should probably give him a mention seeing as we are coming up to our 19th anniversary later this year.

N is for noise which I don’t like very much. N is also for Ness which is what most people call me and led to the title of this blog. I’m so original.

0 is for original. See ‘N’ above.

P is for People, those weird, scary creatures. I find them simultaneously fascinating and terrifying. But, as Barbra testifies, people who make people are the cluckiest people in the world. Or something. Therefore, I’m glad I made my little ‘tribe’ of people where I belong.

Q is for quiet. I have always been quiet. If I had a dollar for the amount of times I’ve heard expressions like: “You’re the quietest person I’ve ever met!” or “You should come out of your shell!” I would be richer than Gina Rinehart.  My greatest skill is the impressive ability to just shut right up. This is a skill that more people should consider developing. Shut up. Literally. It’s not that hard. I do it all the time.

R is for reading. I’ve always been a book worm. I’m happier with a bag full of dollar books from Vinnies than a closet full of designer clothes or shoes. R is also for ranga. I am one. The fact that I need a little..erm..’help’ (hair dye) to remain one these days is completely irrelevant.

S is for scotch which is a favourite drink.

T is for tea which is my favourite non-alcoholic drink.

U is for unicorn because I am a majestic unicorn. This meme says so. So ner. See also: R


V is for Vanessa because it’s my name obviously. Duh. Everyone calls me Ness, though. Except Mick and my parents who’ve stuck with the Vanessa thing. The boys call me Mum when they’re not calling me other things.  Apparently Mum originally wanted to call me Rachel or Rebecca but Dad wasn’t as keen. They briefly decided on the name Monique until Mum saw Vanessa Redgrave in the movie Camelot and thought she and her name were beautiful. Therefore I became a Vanessa. Thankfully, as I don’t think I look like a Monique but I look exactly like a young, beautiful Vanessa Redgrave. The resemblance is uncanny really.

Me



Vanessa Redgrave. It's like we're twins...
 

W is for weird. I’m quite weird. But you already knew that.

X is for x-ray. I’ve had one or two in my time which isn’t very interesting but I’ve never played a Xylaphone so that’ll have to do.

Y is for “Y’s a crooked letter and Z’s no better!” which is something my Mum used to say to my brother and I when we were children in reply to our constant round of “Why’s?”

Z is for the sound of everyone snoring by this point. My cure for insomnia is now complete. You’re welcome.
Linking up belatedly with Kirsty from My Home Truths for I Must Confess.


                                            Who can honestly think of anything about themselves for X, Y and Z??

Monday, 10 March 2014

Box Office Bogan

It's quite obvious that my life should be made into a movie. In fact, I can't believe that nobody has ever approached me with a movie deal already. I mean, the story of my life has everything: triumph, tragedy, comedy, pathos, bogans AND cakies. Clearly all the ingredients for box office smash.

The only remaining question is: who should play the coveted part of yours truly? Just because Angelina Jolie is my doppelganger that doesn't mean she should automatically get the part. That wouldn't be fair. I'd have to give other actresses a fair chance too.

What do you mean you don't see the resemblance? You need to get your glasses adjusted! Or I do. As well as my medication. Oh alright, I suppose Nicole Kidman may be much more suited to the role being Australian and a tall, elegant, beautiful red head. Having two out of five of those things in common would certainly count as a resemblance, I'm sure. No? God, you people are hard to please.

Then again, you could have a point. After all, Cate Blanchett is the newest Oscar winner. Therefore she may well be keen to take on yet another stellar part which will be guaranteed to get another Oscar nod. She still has to catch up to Meryl, after all. This could be her most challenging role to date. A character who rarely talks. There will be no pages of witty dialogue to learn, instead she will have to use subtle nuances and blank expressions to convey the complexity of this bogan. Plus, there is the fact that she will have to shrink in height while quadrupling her width. I smell another Oscar right there, Cate.

Oh! I know! People were always telling me that I looked like Gillian Anderson when that Scummy and Mouldy show was all the rage. Well - at least one person did. They were being scathingly sarcastic but DETAILS. I'm sure that with some coaching from the brilliant Meryl she could pull of an Australian accent. Instead of "The dingo took my baby!" which became Meryl's oft repeated classic line from Evil Angels, the classic line from the movie of my life would be:

"The kids took my cakie!"

Riveting viewing right there.

However, after pondering on this important question for a while, I've realised that the perfect casting as me would be the wonderful Toni Colette. Not only is she Australian but she's also originally a Boganville girl herself. Apparently she grew up around these parts. I probably walked past her at the shops as a teenager in the 1980's, sporting a tragic perm, so I can practically claim to know her. The fact that she is jet-setting around the World starring in movies and my most exciting outing is STILL to those same shops every week, means nothing. My life is still worthy of a movie, dammit!

 From such humble beginnings Toni reinvented herself and went on to become famous and successful. And rich. And a great actress. And I think I hate her. What does she have that I don't? Talent? Yeah, you got me there.

Anyway, she's my ultimate choice to play me. I'm imagining her as a sort of middle aged Muriel (meaning me) which she could pull off with weight gain or a fat suit. It would almost be like a kind of sequel of sorts to Muriel's Wedding except it could be called Ness's Marriage or The Secret Dream World Of A Cakeaholic. The soundtrack would be peppered with Carpenters songs bringing back a wave of Carpenters nostalgia the way Muriel did for Abba.

"I want my life to be as good as a Carpenters song!" my character, played by Toni, would declare as Top Of The World trills cheerily in the background.

Then, in typical Hollywood fashion, there would be the obligatory, albeit completely fictional, happy ending when we finally leave Boganville forever having obtained that McMansion in Boganville Heights.

Micky Blue Eyes, the boys and I bundle into the car and drive off beaming at each other euphorically  as we shout:

"GOODBYE BOGANVILLE!" 

This time Please Mr Postman beats jauntily along as the credits roll. This song has absolutely nothing to do with the plot or ending. There just aren't that many upbeat Carpenters songs to be honest.

Alternatively, I could use my adult diagnosis with Asperger's Syndrome as the central theme. The film would then turn into a heartfelt and gripping drama about the complexities of living with High Functioning Autism equivalent to Rain Man or that movie about Temple Grandin starring Claire Danes. This would show how I have triumphed in life despite the diagnosis becoming a brilliant bogan blogger and enviable Yummy Mummy and MILF. I do have children and I find cakies and chocolate quite yummy so I eat them a lot. That is what being a Yummy Mummy is I think. And the boys tell me quite frequently that I'm a 'Mum I Love Forever'. That's the meaning of MILF, right?

So many options. Right. Time to place a call to Toni's agent seeing as though she is not responding to my emails. Can't imagine why.....

Linking up with Tegan from Musings Of The Misguided for I Must Confess.

                                                    
                                                 Who would play you in the movie of your life?

Tuesday, 11 February 2014

Sefish Bogan?

.
I  was sitting here in blissful, wonderful silence this morning reading this post  by the wonderful Emily at Have A Laugh On Me and her questions got me to thinking. Yes, that’s what that  burning smell is. I do  occasionally think about  other  things beside cake or Karen Carpenter. See? I waited until the third sentence to mention them! Hmph. 
I love quiet time. I guess it goes with the territory of being quiet, shy, introverted and an Aspie.  Yep, I certainly hit the jackpot there with all those marvellous traits. Apparently, I don't know how to spell marvellous anymore as it has just appeared with one of those annoying squiggly red lines under it. Or spell, period. Isn't that just MARVELLOUS? Or however the fuck you spell it. HMPH.


I also have to confess that sometimes this fervent love of solitude makes me feel like I may be a tad selfish and self-absorbed at times. Which is just plain silly, right? This is a theory that I've actually had suggested to me: that quiet people are selfish. At the time I remember thinking that this was utter bullshit but of course I didn't say anything. After all, I'm quiet (or selfish depending on your point of view) so I kept my 'what a load of bullshit' thought to myself.



The irony was that this occurred in a group I attended to do with confidence building.  Oddly enough being told that you're considered selfish didn't do a great deal to boost my confidence. Funny about that.


Another funny thing is that I before I had children I kind of knew this about myself - that I had an extreme need for quiet time and solitude and that this would probably be my biggest challenge with having children. In spite of this, I still plunged ahead and had three of these delightful creatures, proving that in addition to being selfish I am also a masochist. On the plus side, it's nice to have yourself figured out at this advanced age. Meaning, the wrong side of forty. I’m a selfish, self-absorbed masochist. Nice.



Which brings me to Emily’s question  about volunteering for the school tuck shop, P & C or as a parent helper. As a stay at home mum who doesn’t do any of these things am I being selfish? Even though I feel  like I have  valid reasons, are those reasons selfish or wrong?




Reasons:





I don’t have good people skills:  People are scary. You have to talk to them and make eye contact, which are two things I am simply not stellar at. Should I force myself to do so in spite of this?





I have helped in the canteen at the boys soccer grounds. Once. Shut up. This involved a hatrick of skills I do not  possess. Talking to and serving people,  remembering orders and adding up the money. I was a nervous wreck at the end of an hour and have never wished to repeat the experience.





I struggle with just helping my boys with their homework. This is something I’m not proud of, but there it is. It’s quite humiliating to not understand primary school homework, so  perhaps I do need to  return to school. However, not as a parent helper, but as a student, so I can learn basic grammar (this blog could certainly benefit from it) and maths all over again and how to spell words like marvellous. Plus, I’m sure I’d still look quite cute in a uniform and pig tails. No?


Previously, I took Mr 5 to a Play Group where the interactions between parents sometimes became slightly political while I  tried to remain like Switzerland – neutral – and not get  involved. For this reason I prefer to avoid P&C committees with the same sleuth like elusiveness I employ in avoiding the I Quit Sugar craze. In fact, that is where you would find me at Play Group. In the corner where the morning tea cakies were, shoving them in my gob to avoid talking and, you know, just because I’m addicted to cake. Ahem.  If  P&C meetings involved cake of any description, I’d be a candidate for The Biggest Loser before the year is through.


I did volunteer to help in the library at the boys  previous school. I figured that I do have a Library Practice Diploma (even though it's more than twenty years old - details) and experience working in specialist libraries ( a long time ago, but again- details). I was given a stack of books to take home and cover. I didn't mind doing this. Where other people might find it tedious and prefer social contact, I'd rather work with books than people. I'm weird. So perhaps I could try that again and play to my strengths.


Now I’m back to my original point about LOVING quiet time. I as I stated, it does seem somewhat selfish but the truth is that I desperately, desperately need to have time to myself or, to be completely blunt and honest, I feel that my mental health starts to suffer.  In order to function as a mother of three boys and keep on top of everything that goes with the territory I need time to recharge. I also need to do physical exercise and break a sweat every day. I know everyone needs this, but as a person who has challenges with anxiety requiring medication I need this like I need air. It does seem selfish and a tad self-absorbed at times but it’s the truth.


 And that little myth about having more time once the kids are all at school? That’s what it is: a myth. Sorry to burst that bubble if your kidlets are not at school yet. I personally find that school brings with it much more stuff to organise and remember and also constant socialising in the form of school fetes, assemblies and the inevitable birthday party invitations that arrive. These are things I need to pace myself with. As someone on the spectrum, I have different challenges than other Mum’s who perhaps can handle the whole multi-tasking, socialising, P&C committee attending, soccer Mum thing with greater ease than me.





And ultimately, as I read in the book Power Over Panic by Bronwyn Fox, my mental health  has to be more important than what someone might think of me. This is now my mantra.





Do you need quiet time to cope with the demands of parenting?  How do you recharge? Or do you think I’m selfish?




Monday, 3 February 2014

Sport Makes Me Snooze

It is totally un-Australian (that's a word, right?) of me but all sport bores the bejesus out of me. There. I said it. I've always really wished I was the sporty type. One of those Mum's who turn up at school pick-up clad in tight Lycra looking svelte, spray tanned and smug. I think I can safely say that at age 43, it just isn't going to happen. I loathe Gyms and abhor all team sport. I am uncoordinated and uncompetitive. Considering that I had to Google the word competitive because I appear to have forgotten how to spell and apparently the synonyms for competitive are: ruthless, merciless, aggressive and fierce. I'm reasonably certain nobody has ever uttered any of those words and my name in the same sentence. It is quite clear that I was never meant to be an Olympian. Unless they ever make Cake Eating an Olympic event. Then I'm in with a shot.

I do not even enjoy watching any sport. Cricket and tennis are just the three B's to me. Meaning, bats, balls - BORING! Micky Blue Eyes, who is thoroughly addicted to all things soccer whether it's playing or spectating, cannot comprehend my antipathy toward sport. To him it's the equivalent of saying you don't like breathing.

"You didn't even like any sport when you were a kid?" he'll ask in utter bewilderment.

"No," I assure him.

"I don't understand how you could be a kid and not enjoy running around, playing sport," he stares at me as if he doesn't know me and is worried that he may have married some bizarre alien creature.

Perhaps it is something to do with being Aspergian. I gather that a great deal of us do not gravitate toward sport. I don't mind doing a bit of moderately paced basic aerobics (grapevine, anyone?) as long as it's not too complex with too many fancy moves. And as long as I don't have to wear leg warmers and a leotard. The 80's, Olivia Newton John and Jane Fonda have a lot to answer for.

I've recently taken to doing various workouts on Youtube at home. I'm weird. This way nobody has to see all my wobbly bits jiggling up and down or how hopelessly uncoordinated I am. I can wear my daggiest, most comfortable gear. It works for me. Kind of. It might work a bit better if I wasn't addicted to cake. Ahem.

As far as watching sport, the only thing I can tolerate watching is figure skating. There is music and they have pretty costumes and the moves are incredible. Although it does make me feel a bit wobbly and dizzy just watching them spinning around.

Thankfully my parents never insisted that my brother and I had to do any sports when we were growing up. I would have found it torturous. Micky Blue Eyes is most insistent that our boys should all be doing at least one sport. Mr 12 and 9 have been playing soccer for a number of years now and they seem to like it, especially Mr 12. They have also learnt to swim. I haven't learnt to suddenly become all passionate and intense about soccer even when it's my boys playing. I know. Mother Of The Year, right? The shame....

Plus, having an interest in sport would certainly be an advantage when it comes to small talk. Another thing I am simply not stellar at. Sigh. Instead, when people start discussing the tennis, cricket, footy or anything else with balls in it, I sit there and fade into the furniture. Some sporting dude apparently became Australian Of The Year and I had never even heard of him. Don't ask me to remember his name. Shut up.

On the plus side, at least I will always have a convenient cure for insomnia. I watch sport - instant snooze fest. In fact, after writing this, I already feel a Nanna nap coming on...

Oh well, that's me. UNsporty Spice. Later, dudes.

Linking up with Kirsty from My Home Truths for I Must Confess.




                                                         Is it UnAustralian to not like sport?

Friday, 29 November 2013

More Boring As Batshit Bogan Bullshit - Because I CAN

Hello from Boganville! Yes, I am still alive, thanks for asking.

I'm trying to write something here even if it's crap. It's hilarious how I put the word 'if' in that sentence. Funny me. I'm SUCH a comedienne. Or something.

Anyway, what can I say about all the things I've achieved whilst missing in action?

I'm a svelte size 10, addicted to exercise and healthy eating and planning an amazing trip to Europe on our private jet while we wait for our mansion to be built, Micky Blue Eyes having finally followed through on his promise of becoming a millionaire by the age of 40, ten years later??!!

Nope. Can't say that. I CAN bore you with the same old boring as batshit bogan bullshit, though. You're welcome.

In fact, I've been missing in action because I've been extremely busy doing lots of interesting, important things. What, you ask? Okay, you didn't but I'm telling you anyway. So ner.

Here is a comprehensive list:

Sleeping
Eating
Reading
Sleeping some more
Eating some more
Reading some more
Shopping - but only because I needed more food so I could resume;
Eating
Shopping again - but only because I needed more books so I could keep on:
Reading
Sleeping -because all that reading and eating is EXHAUSTING.

I may have showered at some point, too. After all, I would have needed to frequently with all that exertion. Exhausting. Phew.

In between all of this monumental effort I did manage to schedule in a pap smear which was fun. SAID NO ONE EVER.

I also managed to schedule in a Girls Day Out with some friends and a spot of shopping, having finally accepted that Christmas is not going to be cancelled. I ventured to the shops with some trepidation expecting the familiar wailing of Mariah Carey but instead there was more of the old Jingle Bell Rock action happening which is quite jolly and cheering at first. However, I suspect that in another 26 days or so I shall be Jingle Bell Rocked OUT. Says the woman who can listen to the same Carpenters songs over and over and over for 30 years. Shut up.

On that note, (listening to same songs over and over) I not only DO NOT care what a fox says but I do know what I would like to say to the creators of THAT particular ear worm as my boys are rather enamoured with it. If you do not know what I'm talking about, consider yourself lucky.



While shopping, after having lunch with the girls, I ventured into Target, being classy like that, where I spotted a fetching shirt and vest type arrangement which I thought would do for Mr 12 to wear to his Year 6 Farewell. I popped the vest over the top of the shirt to see what it would look like. When it looked good I took it to the cashier and handed it over absent-mindedly. The cashier proceeded to scan the shirt but not the vest just as absent-mindedly. I had unwittingly ended up with a bargain. Or became a closet kleptomaniac. One or the other. Ahem.

It also transpired that Micky Blue Eyes and I had completely forgotten that it was my mother-in-laws birthday that same day until my father-in-law reminded us. Therefore, I came home from lunch and went straight back out again for dinner with the the out-laws. The next morning yet more shopping was planned with my parents. This meant I had to go out AGAIN in order to drink coffee and spend money. I mean, honestly it's exhausting and extremely rude to have to suffer indignities. HMPH!

Also, Mr 12 had his final High School Orientation on that same Monday and I had forgotten to complete the necessary paperwork for his bus pass application and so forth. Oddly enough this kind of scatter brained forgetfulness does not seem to endear me to Micky Blue Eyes. Sigh.

In a futile attempt to become more organised I had printed out some calendars, filled them out with all of our upcoming things to remember and pinned them on a cork board near the computer desk. Somehow they managed to go missing. When Mick found them again I realised I had totally forgotten to take Mr 5 for a free hearing test at his Kindy the previous Friday. Oops.


I had actually managed to score a hatrick of forgetfulness. Mother-in-laws birthday, High School paperwork and a hearing test. This could mean I'm already on the slippery slope to Alzheimer's or that I have ADD. Or all of the above. Interestingly, I have taken online tests for ADD and scored through the roof for having it but what I am meant to do with this information I don't know. After all, it hasn't changed a thing worked out so well receiving my Ass Burgers diagnonsense. Sigh.

On a brighter note, at least I never forget to eat like some wacky people! So that's something, right? Ahem. And I never forget to feed my children. Mostly. They don't even have to dig for worms anymore! It's been raining so there'll be plenty of snails for them. Done. Dinner sorted.

And I don't even go to paid work! Can you imagine if I did? I'd probably forget my own children's names! Oh wait...

There's a reason I call them 'honey' or 'sweetheart' all the time and Mr's 12, 9 and 5 here. Oh dear.

On that note, I'm sure there was more I was going to tell you - but I've forgotten what it was...

Until next time, take it easy and I'll catch up with you later!

Ness

What have you forgotten about lately? 



Sunday, 3 November 2013

Life And Other L Words


You may have noticed that I have been missing from this space lately. If you haven’t then I would prefer it if you would please just pretend that you have for the sake of my fragile ego. I might cry otherwise and it wouldn’t be pretty. It would definitely be an ugly cry. Hideous, even. Not that you would be able to see it but I’m hoping that just the thought of having that image in your head would be disturbing enough.
The reason for my absence is very simple and can be summed up in one word *:

Life.

That shit gets busy sometimes.

Not to mention the other L word.

Lazy.

SHHHHHHH!! I said don’t mention that word!  Oh right, it was me who mentioned it. Silly me.  As if I would ever be so frightfully lazy that I simply couldn’t be bothered boring you with this blog. That never happens. No way. Well, not very often anyway. Ahem.

Anyway, I may as well bring you up to date with everything that has been keeping me as busy as a blue arsed bogan fly. On that point, do flies really have blue arses? I digress but you know me, always asking the important questions.  Back to being busy -I was going to let you know what has been keeping me so busy. In keeping with the lazy theme I will do so in the good old convenient ‘I can’t be arsed with anything else’ bullet point form.  You’re welcome. Here goes:

  • Children: I have 3 of them. They are rather time consuming, requiring constant feeding, bathing and cuddling on a daily basis. Who knew? It was so much easier having a pet rock. (It was a 70’s thing. I’m showing my age. Sigh.) Except for the cuddling bit. Children are cuddlier, I must admit.
  • Husbands: Actually just one husband.  He is here ALL THE TIME. All day. Every day. Constantly. He regularly attempts to engage me in conversations about things I have no idea about. Like finches or shares. He even made me feed his finches worms. This may be grounds for divorce. Did I mention that he is here ALL THE TIME?? Don’t get me wrong, I love the man. I’d just love it if he left the house occasionally too. Of course I’m conveniently ignoring the fact that he did go to Darwin for 10 days recently (which is why I had to feed the finches) and to Wollongong  just the other day. Minor details.
  • Mr 4 became Mr 5 yesterday.
  • Mr 5 had Kindergarten Orientation this week with two more sessions to go.
  • Mr 12 had High School Orientation with more sessions to go.
  • I bought a new Dyson. This has resulted in me momentarily becoming all domesticated and actually using it regularly.  I’m sure the novelty will wear off very soon.
  • I am trying desperately to regain Exercise Addiction. Between this point and the former, I fear the end is near.
  • I also bought some new saucepans. This was all good until I realised I had to rearrange the kitchen cupboards in order to fit them anywhere. And possibly even cook with them occasionally. Ahem.
  • Counselling- my regular counsellor buggered off or something so I had to start over with another one. Hmph. Then, after I had one appointment and booked another, they had booked me in with yet another counsellor. It’s like a game of Musical Counsellors. Awesome.
  • I finally rang up again about a so-called Adult Asperger’s Support group only to be informed by a woman sounding like a bogan Shazza (not that there’s anything wrong with bogans, of course) that the group was for carers of people with Asperger’s not people with Asperger’s. Natch. Why would we need support? We’re a bunch of self-absorbed, stimming, monologuing arseholes with no empathy. Silly me.
  • Wallowing ,like the big sooky la la I am. See previous two points.
  • Yet another L word – Lego. Dealing with Lego in some way or another takes up an extraordinary amount of my time. Buying it, assembling it, and cleaning it up from every corner of the house so I don’t suck it up with my Dyson.
  • Children: Yes I know I already mentioned them. But they really do take up SO MUCH TIME that I thought they were worth another mention. I’m not complaining about this. In fact, I’ve been deliberately spending more time offline in order to spend more time with my boys. This has resulted in the following games, mostly involving Mr 5 and sometimes Mr 9:
  • Pretending to be a dog. Mr 5, not me. I’ve gone so far as to actually give him water in a bowl. If I give him a collar and leash that would be taking it too far, right?
  • Pretending to be a bird hatching out of an egg and building a nest. Mr 5 again. Ditto, if I put him in a cage that’s going too far, right?
  • Hide and Seek- an old favourite. However, I can now no longer squeeze into the same hidey holes as I did when Mr 12 was little which is rather disconcerting. Apparently not quite disconcerting enough to make me pass on the cake for Mr 5’s birthday yesterday. Classy.
  • Blue screen of death – this happened with one lap top which means we have only one and Micky Blue Eyes uses this for work. So I miss out until we get another one. Sigh.

Therefore, I will most likely continue to be missing in action until Christmas. Oh NOOOOOOOOOO, I said the C word!!  I tried to cancel it but nobody listened!! HMPH.  Okay, that’s it until the next exciting episode of Days Of Our Bogan Lives. I will be busy with all of the above when I am not sulking  in the corner about my failure to cancel Christmas. Sniff. 

Later, dudes.

What has been on your bullet list lately?

*The fact that I could sum it all up in one word did not stop me from banging on with another nine hundred or so. You’re welcome.



Monday, 14 October 2013

A Post About Nothing

I Must Confess I have nothing to say. Absolutely nothing. Just so we're clear, I repeat: NOTHING.

Well, nothing interesting, anyway.

But that's never stopped me before.  So, in keeping with the Seinfeldian theme of this blog, I bring to you a rather riveting post about nothing. You're welcome.

I'm sure you're all bursting to know what is going on in the dim, dark recesses of my mind. It is well known that I am extremely deep, enigmatic and introspective. Always brooding, ruminating and contemplating the very important issues in life such as:

Why did Karen Carpenter have to pass at 32?

Why can't I have my cake? And eat it too?

What can I have for dinner? Especially when that pesky old Dinner Fairy refuses to show her luminous face. Hmph.

Why is Gilbert Blythe a fictional character? And why couldn't he love ME not Anne?! I have red hair!

In addition to such pressing issues, I am also constantly wondering why exactly is it SUCH a herculean task to keep a house consisting of approximately 7 rooms anything even remotely resembling clean or tidy? Therein may lay the answer....


If I am really being my usual happy, sunny, perky, cheerful, positive self - and we all know that's always the way I roll - there may be a few other things I would pause to pointlessly ponder over, such as:

Why am I so shy?

Why am I so introverted?

Why do I have Ass Burgers?

Why do I have dizziness/middle ear or some fictional thing I made up according to some specialists?

Why do I keep asking pointless questions?

I have been dutifully trotting off to see my counsellor. She gave me some information regarding an Adult Asperger's Support Group which was not terribly far from Boganville.  Therefore, I did not have an excuse to procrastinate about going to one anymore. But I did anyway. I put off making the call until after the school holidays. Finally, I pressed in the number. A robotic voice informed me: No one is available to take your call! Please leave a message after the tone. So I left one, tripping over my words and feeling foolish as I did so. That was nearly a week ago. Nobody has called back.

Meanwhile, I had an appointment scheduled with  my counsellor which was confirmed with a phone call from the centre. Half an hour later somebody else called back and said my counsellor isn't doing counselling anymore and would I like to make an appointment with somebody else?  This is annoying when you're a shy, introverted Aspie. Having to start over with a  new counsellor. Sighing, I agreed but she said she would have to ring back with an appointment time. That was days ago. Nobody has rang me back.

I suppose that means I have to go to the tremendous effort of ringing them again. If I get the machine again, I should leave a huffy. indignant message. Except I won't. Because I'm too nice. GAH.

Why can't I be a BITCH?  I went for a whole two paragraphs without a pointless question so I had to slide another one in. Shut up.

In other extremely fascinating news, I need to buy a new vacuum cleaner. I am going to get one on Thursday or Friday. This will probably be the most exciting thing I do all week. I was perusing the Bogan Box last night and thinking that it resembled a brothel until I realised that I have no idea what brothels actually look like. They're most likely MUCH cleaner than my house. I mean, just think about it. If you were going to have kinky, illicit sex you'd want to be doing that shit on freshly laundered sheets, right?

In the midst of all this excitement I managed to win Slapdash Mama Sarah's Blogaversary Competition! I've never won anything so this was quite thrilling indeed. She wrote a lovely poem about me or actually about Boganville I think, which was quite charming and you can read it here. Thanks Sarah!

Of course this leads me to another confession. In writing this poem, Slapdash somehow managed to 'out' me and reveal my darkest secret.

You may be shocked to discover that I am not really a bogan despite my Boganville address. GASP.

Oh okay, I outed myself in the comments (and every other week here in my own space, when I bang on about The Carpenters). Minor detail. Anyway, since I've really got nothing else to write about except the same old boring as batshit bogan shtick, I think we can all just overlook that and go with it, right? Besides, whether I'm really a bogan or not is debatable. I live in bogan territory and that alone is enough for some folk. So ner. Added to the fact that I write gibberish with dubious attention to grammar and phrases like so ner. So ner. NER NER NER NER!!

THIS turned up in my Facebook feed the other day.



 To the person who posted it, it worked. I am, quite frankly annoyed that nobody is with me on this cancel Christmas thing. It will be your own fault when you feel like poking your own eyeballs out from hearing Mariah Carey wailing about what she wants for Christmas for the billionth time. You've been warned.

Another thing that has been bothering me of late is the fact that I suddenly  remembered that a few months ago a lovely blogger presented me with one of those Leibster Awards or some such thing. Anyway, because I perpetually have my head lodged firmly up my posterior and I'm SUCH a space cadet I have forgotten who that lovely person was and not responded. So, whoever you were THANKYOU. It's not you, it's me, okay?

And that brings me limping to the end of this pointless post about nothing. Stay tuned for the next post when I'll actually blog about SOMETHING. Or nothing again. You never know. Ahem.

Linking up with Kirsty from My Home Truths for I Must Confess.




'                                      Should  I really ask another pointless question? Oh look, I did!

Monday, 9 September 2013

The Buried Hopes Of A Bogan (Or Something)

It's hard to believe that I could have any regrets. I mean, just look at my life. I'm a 42 year old unemployable, overweight bogan living in a fibro box in Boganville. It doesn't get any better than that, right? However the truth is, my life is a perfect graveyard of buried hopes now. That's a sentence I once read in a book and I say it over to comfort myself in these times that try the soul. Not really. The first part about the buried hopes, anyway. I've just always wanted to use that line out of Anne Of Green Gables. Ahem.

Anyway, onto my regrets. Deep regretful sigh. SIGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Surprisingly I do have  a few. I think it would probably be a good thing to confess to them and let them go. I'll feel so much better and move forward free from regrets, a huge weight finally lifted from my shoulders. That, or I'll just add this post to the list. Who knows? Only one way to find out. In no particular order I present my list of bogan regrets:

  • I regret decorating the living room of my parents house with a texta pen when I was around three years old. Sorry Mum!
  • I regret kicking that boy in the shins at school when he tried to comfort me because I was peeved about not getting to go home early one day when my brother did. Even though I don't remember exactly who you were. Sorry, dude.
  • I regret reading my Enid Blyton books under the desk at school. (Actually, no I don't. Honestly, what 10 year old book worm could put those books down and concentrate on their long division just when George and Timmy the dog were about to catch those nasty smugglers? None, right? The thing was impossible.)
  • I regret cutting off my long hair when I was 14.
  • I regret then thinking that a mullet perm was a good idea. Or any perm.
  • I regret wasting so much energy thinking I was 'fat' when I was younger.
  • I regret turning down that lucrative modelling contract when I was younger because I thought I was 'fat'.
  • Okay, there was no contract. I just made that last point up to see if you were paying attention. As if you would believe that anyway. Did you? Don't answer that.
  • I regret making that up, okay?! (Not really, I have to get your attention somehow. Ahem.)
  • I regret saving up a sizeable chunk of money when I was young, ostensibly so I could go overseas and then just getting married and putting it into a mortgage and never going, because now that will never happen. An even deeper regretful sigh. SIGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.
  • I regret perceiving being such a quiet person as extremely negative trait and not seeing it as a possible strength in having a library career.
  • I regret the consequence of the above perception. This resulted in me 'burning my bridges' in almost every job I had. I ended up leaving because I believed it was only a matter of time before I was fired. I have since learnt that this is common thing that Aspie's do.
  • Sometimes I regret not knowing that I am Aspie sooner than age 40. Unsure if it would have made any difference so I don't spend too much time on this regret.
  • I regret turning down Brad Pitt's proposal because then he went and married that bloody pouty Angelina Jolie biatch.
  • Okay, you caught me making up stuff again. I admit, it was a bit obvious that time. As if anyone would turn me down for Angelina. Unthinkable, right? Pfffffffffffffft.
  • I regret replacing my exercise addiction with a cakie one because now I'm struggling to reverse that.
  • I regret going to Weight Watchers a few years ago and doing so well, losing weight, only to fall off the wagon spectacularly and regain. See above point.
  • I really regret that anxiety has become such a presence in my life and is something I struggle with constantly. Enormous regretful sigh containing all the sorrows of the ages. SIGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH.
Having now confessed to such a long list of regrets I must add that I am (slowly) learning to accept myself and the way things are right now, rather than focusing on 'could have beens' and 'shoulds' and 'what ifs' and all that maudlin stuff that can be quite draining and a waste of energy. After all, I haven't listed any murders, have I? Oh wait. I accidentally murdered my dog. Oops. Long story. I do deeply and profoundly regret that. Sorry Betsy!

Right. That's it. Nothing else. I've never been arrested, been caught naked or done drugs or anything illegal. Damn. I'm actually frightfully boring. Maybe I better go and get arrested just so I can add something interesting to my list. I regret being boring. On second thought, being boring is what I do best. Especially with this blog. You're welcome.

Linking up with Kirsty from My Home Truths for I Must Confess.


   What are your regrets? Or do you have more of an Edith Piaf approach to life and have no regrets?

Thursday, 1 August 2013

The Best Thing I've Ever Done

What is the best thing I've ever done?  I have NO IDEA.  Ask me what I've never done. That would be easier to answer. The list of things I've never done and will never do is rather long and detailed. The list of things I will never do if I live to be a hundred and one, even longer.

I've never:

  • Travelled to far away, exotic places, unless you count Dubbo. And I certainly don't.
  • Had a thriving, successful career, or even any sort of average job that I've been remotely good at.
  • Made a five year plan. Or even a five minute one.
  • Known what I wanted to do when I grow up. Still don't.
  • Made friends easily and consequently had millions of the things coming out of my arse. Or, you know, I've just never had millions of friends. Forget about the arse thing.
  • Been adventurous. I've never wanted to do anything heart racing such as bridge climbs, white water rafting or bungee jumping. I'm a two feet planted firmly on the ground kind of girl. 
  • Been the owner of one of those sleek and blindingly white homes seen in magazines and on the telly.
  • Been stylish, elegant and effortlessly chic. Instead I've always be the one wearing too much eye make-up and a dodgy, at home dye job teamed with bargain, sales rack clothes from not very classy stores. 
  • Been one of those competitive 'Tiger' Mums, bragging about my kids  and how brilliant they are to anyone and everyone.
  • Been competitive, period. I can't win the race, because I'm never in it.
Anyway, I could go on for days with this list. Instead I'm supposed to be telling you the best thing  that I've actually DONE.  The truth is, I really don't know. Or maybe I do. It's just that it's not the things I think I should have acheived.

I will never have a home that looks like THIS.

I've stumbled through life, feeling like an alien. Along the way I managed to have the odd job, (even if I thought I was never very good at any of them), make a few friends, get married and pop out a few sprogs. Nothing remarkable. Nothing remarkable at all. Seemingly.

Also, before all of that I managed to survive through several years of infertility. The fact that I ended up conceiving at all was all because of the shit I did to help myself. Actually exercising like a demon and being *gasp*, healthy. Then, after we had our first two boys, Micky Blue Eyes was diagnosed with bowel cancer. Surprisingly, that wasn't very much fun. Okay, not surprisingly, but we got through it. Just when we had picked ourselves back up of the floor from that little shock, we had another shock. I was up the duff again. But this pregnancy ended in tragedy, when I lost the little man at 19 weeks, and, to make matters worse, still had to go through birthing him. That was actually the WORST thing I've ever done. I'm  supposed to be telling you the BEST thing. I'm getting to that. I think. I hope. Maybe. Whatever. You've probably stopped reading by now, anyway. Sigh.

I think the point I am trying to make is that sometimes the best thing you can do, the biggest achievement, is to survive all the worst things. Does that even make sense?

I've survived all of the above and am still relatively sane (okay, it's debatable), as well as bumbling along through life without the diagnosis of Asperger's until I was 40. Did I mention that? That was a fairly big deal for me and a gigantic yawn for everyone else. Which is what this post is turning into.  Sorry!

Plus, the fact that I've survived all of this and went on to become a Professional Bogan, boring everyone with this bogan themed blog is quite a stunning achievement in itself. Whether it's stunning in a good way or bad way- well, draw your own conclusions. I think you know what mine is. I'm a very proud bogan blogger. So ner.

Now I am also facing one of my biggest challenges yet. Potentially giving up cakies. I know. Heartbreaking. If I survive this, it could possibly be my biggest achievement to date. I am having a Glucose Tolerance Test on Monday. I get to carb load for the next few days before finding out if my cakie addiction has caught up with me. This should be interesting. Or boring as batshit, really. Stay tuned. Or tune out. Or whatever.

Linking up with The Lounge. which is being hosted by Tegan from Musings Of The Misguided.


What is the best thing you've ever done? It may not be what you think...