You are the love of my life.

And maybe I'll never be brave enough to tell you, but you are.

Sanity, Stupidity and Somewhere in Between.

[Retrospective Entry]

I can't sleep.

It's 0440 and I've been trying for a while. I can't sleep. Something abt work, warm and a touch of the crazy are keeping me awake tonight.

My psychologist lent me a book the other day. Funnily enough, it was the second one she lent me and perhaps the least useful of the two. It's abt narcissitic parents and their tormented spawn. It was initially alarming in its insight, frightening in its realism. It captured all the things I've felt and experienced growing up. It was therefore, horrifying and yet reassuring.

I didn't know crazy people had that much of an effect on their children (hello?!) and I certainly didn't realize how widespread said crazy is/was.

There was also a certain amount of liberation felt with each page turned, as I finally realized that I am not inherently evil, cruel or crazy.

I've stalled in my reading of the book, however, as if knowing of others is enough. I've lived so long in madness, after all. Why fix it now?

...

The psych is changing my life. Slowly, softly. She's changing my life where I was not capable of doing it myself, or knowing it were possible before.

Sometimes, I can even imagine living a few more years. Maybe even growing old.

...

I've been thinking abt buying a guitar.

This isn't a new thought process. I've thought abt buying one since being at St George's... I've just not actually done it. Partly, it was the money - a couple of hundred dollars thrown at something I probably would bury, and done on a student budget, was really inadvisable. If I wanted to eat that month, I'd prob also have to tell mother abt it. Double ouch. ...And partly, it was the problem of anonimity - hard to hide that you're learning (or torturing) the guitar when you're living in the dorms.

...But here I am years later and I'm not in the dorms, have a few bedrooms in which I can hide the guitar and neighbours who shouldn't be able to hear me and really shouldn't care. To top it off, I could afford the stupid thing now. It would be unpleasant to be a few hundred dollars short if I discover that all I'm really good at it bashing the thing... but i also wouldn't owe anyone an apology.

....

Hmmm

*splutter*

Flipping through cable, I saw her. Some new music video that actually featured a high-waisted pencil skirt and her hair all in curlers...and she still made me sit up and pant.

And I think that Beyonce may well be the girl for me.

(something abt being pregnant and making a film abt Daniel Pearl's life de-throned Ms Jolie. No offense intended)

I hate to be annoying...

But I thought

I'd just share my moments of sanity and annoying-ness with everyone.

...it is, after all, late at night and I've got no one to talk to.

Firstly, I've figured out that I'm ill-suited to ED. Much as I like it, I make lousy decisions or perhaps, get flustered into lousier decisions than I would have otherwise made. I've made enemies in ED. Don't ask me how but a combination of my jangled nerves and ineptitude/ignorance has meant that I'm nastier than normal. Not with nurses but with other doctors, senior doctors. I can really see my career going far after this term.

But

the good news is

I'm not suicidal. I'm not out of control, self-mutilating, self-loathing, self-flagellating. Sure, I feel shit. I'd like to never go back to ED again, but I'm not doing anything more concrete other than feeeeeeeling bad.

You know, I don't even think it's a lack of study from years before. I think I'm lousy just becoz I get scared so much I then lose it and become C-R-A-P.

But who cares becoz I've got love.

I've got the most wonderful boyfriend, who's also my silliest friend. I consider myself unbelieveably lucky that after all the shit I've done in my life, it's still worked out so I have Acb.

Acb thinks all fun things should be done together. He never says this but just assumes that we roam as a gang. This was evidenced by his recent invitation to Melbourne for Xmas.

Acb: So, I'm going to go home (Melb) for X'mas coz I just realized it was over a weekend.

Self: Oh, ok. Have fun!

Acb: Yep, so are you coming?

Self: Eh?

He makes me laugh all the time. He's so adorably silly. Silly silly silly! Not suave at all! (yay) He steals sips of my drink when my back is turned, he fills my house with his alcohol and his DVDs then steals my side of the bed. We're always tickling each other (I hope some of you out there haven't yet thrown up). I feel as if we've fallen out of one of those stupid romance-lite films, we're that annoying.

Ahhhh... but this is all I've ever wanted so

*smile*

I'm keeping it sane.

R-E-S-T-O-R-A-T-I-O-N

The impossible has occured, folks, and like the proverbial fog, I genuininely felt it lift....

My sanity is back by my side.

I am mad no more.

...And The Beatles were right after all: all you need is love.

I see a world with curtains thrown open, and walking through crowds. I see a life without fearing my partner's intellectual prowess or social standing. I see a life in which I do not work (nor do I want to) 18hour days.

I see a life worth leading, worth having.

I see a life with true love.

I am free.

Nausea, Nauseating, Nauseated

I confess that perhaps, my resident and reg were right. I am nauseatingly enthusiastic.

Keen, as my resident would say. Keen keen keen, and all that said with bug-eyed, grit-teeth conviction.

I found myself excited abt the blood gas machine today in ED. The idea that colored printouts with acid-base graphs would come up was kinda cool. Very exciting. The idea that Rez and I were going 50% of the doctors available tonight was exciting too. But this was also 10am and I thought I'd have gotten some sleep after that.

It's now 5pm and I've slept 1.5hours. I'm sure to embarass myself tonight, if for no other reason then sheer fatigue.

I've been nursing a headache, referred from my clenched jaw and bruxism, for a day or so now. Somehow last week, I must have so happily gotten into the night grinding that I was unable to open my mouth fully for the pain come daybreak. Good grief.

I've come to the conclusion that my enthusiasm is directly proportional to my fear and dis-ease. Since I am always uncomfortable and nervous, I project as very excited and happy. It's a strange series of unfortunate coincidences.

This morning I also almost walked into my formed boss. The one who offered to by my fine jewelry. I was also already late. I wondered abt the justice in my life.

Gar.

I suddenly feel sleepy.

And enthusiastic.

Jaw hurts.

Keep your grandma at home tonight.

Muchos Gracias

I had pictured my home laid bare. Torn from limb to limb by crazy, drunken fiends (aka invited guests), a mini riot started on my street.

Nay, that's not how things transpired but I'd like to thank everyone who fronted to the wee house warming anyway ;)

Thanks especially to those who turned up extra early to keep me company and to A and L-S who got music organized even if my budget stereo could not accomodate it.

A huge thank you to Acb (who doesn't know this site exists, much less will see my thanks) who made food from scratch, put up with my spack attack re: mad facial rash, brought along beer, helped me clean up after the fact and who puts up with me in general. - It is you I adore... even if some barbie doll will probably lure you away at plastics dressing clinic.

To those who couldn't make it, you were missed.

House house Thought

Garh!

For the last 2 days I've had to think abt, clean and pay for stuff to be done to my humble abode.

The kitchen has finally been tiled. Hours were spent chatting with the genuinely very nice tiler becoz I felt it impolite to slink back to bed after the 0700 wake-up call. Tradies are a unique bunch. 0700 on a Saturday is ungodly.

So since then, I've had to clean up (ewwww.... gritty substances coming into contact with my fingers... ewww), do more laundry (aka still cleaning up), and now have finally found time to browse Etsy again while scoffing down 1/4 of a mud cake.

I feel vaguely unwell for various reasons, none of which is genuinely somatic.

I'm balking at the mess contained within my home, the prospect of a party (w/ very few friends), at starting another week at OPH with the world's laziest surgical registrar and at the sun. The sun in particular, for it beats down upon me relentlessly as if to say "you can hide no more" becoz it is spring.

I am nauseated at myself and everything else.

I.. I.. I..

I don't know if I ever mentioned my saddest, most awkward moment in Russia to anyone but the girl who stood with me as it occured.

Maybe that was becoz I never quite lost the sense of disquiet that filled me when it occured.

Outside the Park Kultury metro station, my 'home' train stop, there was a series of little cart-stalls selling a lot of food and one or two with books and magazines.

Sometime into the middle of my stay there, I found myself ever able to drink kvas, a beverage the color of cola that was apparently traditional in some way. It contained a tiny amount of alcohol and carbonation and tasted rather like chinotto in retrospect. I liked the stuff, god knows why, and was queing up to buy a cup when the little old lady approached me.

Tiny and wearing a kerchief, she shuffled up to me, hands cupped. I towered over her like the horrible Western tourist I was and was startled to see her beg. She reminded me of my own grandmother and it appalled me that no one seemed to notice her.

Park Kultury wasn't a tourist hub and we appeared to be the only foreignors around. Perhaps elderly people begging were commonplace for the locals but certainly, they weren't for me. At least not then - in all our weeks there - as this was the first time I'd ever seen a pensioner beg. Not a maimed war veteran, not a gypsy, but an old woman like my grandma.

I fished out my wallet and, forgive me, chose the smallest denomination ruble bill I had. 50 rubles, if memory serves (probably doesn't). I gave it to her tentatively becoz she'd started to move down the kvas queue by this stage.

She took my hand and looked up at me. "Spaciba" she said, eyes meeting mine.

I didn't cry then, confused and startled. But everytime since, the memory has forced tears.

The Russians, at least those I encountered, were not a touchy-feely bunch. Almost surly in their reserve, none of us really had any friendly encounters with the locals outside our lecturers. The last person on earth I thought would take my hand was an elderly Russian woman, forced to beg from a Westernized chink.

I instantly regretted my stinginess. I should have given her more, goddamn it. If she had been my grandmother, wouldn't I have hoped someone would give her more? What would more have meant to me? One less souvenir?

How could someone let their grandmother beg like that? How could any state let the pensions persist without adjusting for inflation? How could any state reduce its old and infirm to begging?

She shuffled away.

I stared after her a moment and then at my feet.

Her face haunts me even now. Her quiet way. Spaciba.

Turns out this happens a lot in modern Russia.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/programmes/from_our_own_correspondent/5413226.stm

Some Movies

In a bid to keep myself from dangerous pursuits (drugs, alcohol and self-harm), I took to renting DVDs over the last two weeks. To that end, I have seen the following:

• Beautiful Boxer (Thai)

I liked this one - a slightly romanticised version the true story of a champion Muay Thai fighter and transvestite. It was recent and won either honorable mention at some poncy film festival or an actual award.

I liked it more before I realized that a paucity of dialogue may lull one into the false impression that everyone featured is profound.

Still, Muay Thai is beautiful and I have a soft spot for alternative lifestyle choices.

• Y Tu Mama Tambien (Spanish)

This film had an alarming amount of sex and full-frontal male nudity (good grief, why?). It was funny in a strange, pointless kind of way. I loved the narration which broke in every now and then with a depressing tidbit - past and present.

I was horrified to discover that the famed Gael Garcia Bernal has the same profile as one Gregory L. Paulson, my former fiance. I imagine he doesn't look quite so Greg-ish in all films but the similarities here were alarming. It made some of the sexual content hard to reconcile.

This film actually had substance, and allowed some guilt-free voyeurism. Not quite sure why it was such a big deal when it came out but it was good nonetheless.

• Kandahar (Urdu/ Pashtun?)

Another lauded film. It begs the question: are these accolades truly deserved or handed out to people the judging commitee pities or finds sufficiently topical?

There were beautiful scenes here... which were drawn out for several minutes too many.

The plot was flimsy and, frankly, stupid.

The doctor character was a great inclusion though. Probably the film's only saving grace.... that and the fact that it was short.

• Gen X Cops (badly dubbed English. Probably Cantonese to begin with)

I love a good HK gangster flick.

This was just terrible, not helped by the lack of genuine Chinese spoken on the copy I watched. Terrible. Yucky yucky.

The Gen X Cops were alright-looking. As one expects HK pretty boys to be, all streaked hair and poses. The story was shit though. I tried for 3 hours but couldn't stay awake for the while thing.

It was 1:20pm.

If that's not telling, I don't know what is.

...In other news... hmmm. I don't think there's other news.

Tick tock.

Acb returns to Perth sometime this weekend. I'm not sure how this will actuallywork out. It seems a lifetime since last we were together. And in that time, I've filled the void with work.

Sweet work.

Saving Grace

Yesterday was a bad day.

No longer able to distract myself, the night fell on a scene of neurosis-fuelled inebriation. There was a poorly painted canvas and several poorly constructed and even more badly decorated bits of furniture.

I thought today when I rose, hung over and feeling sorry for myself, that perhaps, I would have calmed down before making it to my psychologist. That I would report, objectively and with an abstract detachment, my fall from grace the night before. I would talk abt it as an incidental, no longer appreciative of the moments themselves or their origins.

Not so.

Thankfully.

I went to my psychologist today feeling as wretched as the night before. Or perhaps less so for I was sober and lacking the honesty that comes with drink. I felt poorly in the car on the way there. Awash with self-pity and self-loathing.

Self-loathing mostly.

And she challenged me to examine my thought processes, to question what I thought was truth and fact. She challenged me to make the calls required, to send the sms-es.

And for that, I am grateful.

For that, I am ashamed and disgusted with myself, having seen the facts for what they are and were.

I wonder now, how I could have gone on without her. Certainly, I would have gone on. On and on. I have lasted decades feeling wretched. At that rate, I would surely last millenia.

She is slowly changing my life. Slowly changing me. Making me a better person. Making me someone I can live with and live as.

I cannot imagine a day when I don't wish to hurt myself. To lynch myself, to flog myself for every indiscretion, real or percieved. When I don't embarrass and irk myself. But perhaps, this day could exist now.

Must Find

Must find way to keep from feeling awful abt self all the time.

Who hid ETSY from me?

I've fallen in love with Etsy, the site where true cottage industries and business-minded craftsters flourish.

There's a million things on sale - everything hand made by someone who's creative or crazy, mostly both it seems.

I've perused handmade bath products, drooling all the while becoz everything seems to be food based. I've looked up all sorts of silly kitsch things that I've dreamed up while sitting here in the 'cold room' of my house.

All bundled up in an old Ralph Lauren blankie (wierd trivia bit there. I wonder how my family has one of these) I've enjoyed every one of my minutes on the site.

Sadly enough, I am again confronted with the knowledge that I'm a lazy little imp and should make most of these things myself. If only for myself and not for any kind of sale.

I love the site though, all soothing colors and not-so-good search tools. I love it becoz it reminds me of how I chanced upon my favourite ring, now immortalized in gold, at the art gallery markets when I was 15. A journey of discovery indeed. And one in which I come to my usual conclusion

- I am neither skilled nor creative enough.

Go forth with a flourish, folks.

Sprinkler

When I arrived home today I saw my neighbour's ute in his driveway for the second day in a row.

My neighbour's name is Charlie and he has an accent like mine. A middle-aged Caucasian, I like him for his quiet greetings and lack of intrusive questions. IMHO, he's the best kind of neighbour to have - friendly and yet barely there.

Another segeway into evening on the Lye driveway.

I waved to him as usual and sang out "Hi Charlie."

And as he greeted me, it occured to me that he probably did have a lawnmower... which I promptly inquired about.

Of course, halfway through my question, I realized that I have no, none, zero interest in mowing my own lawn. WTF. Why the hell did I ask? ...Oh yeah, I remember now - becoz mowing it myself seemed less troublesome than organizing someone to mow it for me....

Turns out, he has a shit-ass mower but his other, middle-aged ute owning friend (who I see sometimes) has a better one and probably wouldn't mind mowing my pathetic patch-o-grass for a minimal fee. Or patch-o-tall weeds, as it really is now.

Ah hah.

Then I thought," hey, he might know the secret behind the reticulation."

And after some fiddling, he did.

Turns out tap needed to be on AND sprinkler knob needed to be on simultanously. Hot damn. The new-fangled shit they'll come up with these days. The courtyard sprinkler system has eluded me for months. I'd been running into my courtyard armed with a bucket (filled at the kitchen tap no less) since moving in here. A foolhardy venture each time as it involved an ungainly dance across my newly laid carpet.

Hmm.

And for one moment there, I kinda wished that I did have neighbours of the old skool variety.

It was nice knowing that I liked the folks next door. Nicer still knowing they didn't mind me.

Kalmykia

Did everyone else know this country existed?

http://kalm.ru/en/

An entire Buddist nation within the Russian Federation? A nation populated by Kalmyks who seem... very Asian in appearence? A geek-filled place that has, at its head, a fellow who is president of the World Chess Federation?

http://www.newtimes.ru/eng/detail.asp?art_id=615 What an excellent picture. No ego evident at all. (and it sounds like he's embracing autocracy as only an Asian and, dare I say it, a product of socialism can.)

I think I've just found my next holiday destination, folks. A place that combines my love of dodgy places, Russian language and Buddhism.

I wonder how I'll arrange this holiday... But wait, I'm sure this year's chess championships in the capital Elista have put the place on the damn map by now.

2

1.) My first ever fruit/herb/edible plant has produced a large green lump. I was looking at it the other night with disdain when I realized that it's a nascent strawberry. In spite of myself, I was charmed and have been staring out at the plant every day since.

I'm enchanted by the idea that this could occur. That it's true - plants produce fruit. And my plants will produce fruit even though I care for them but grudgingly. I've wondered abt that strawberry since .... should I eat it when ripe? Would that be a cruel thing to do? As if separating and devouring the plant's young?

Poor plant.


2.) I came to the realization yesterday that Perth is finally getting more African immigrants.
There weren't too many Asians when I arrived (but now the proverbial cup runneth over) and there were no Africans. But now, I see a few walking the streets, working in stores and there's even a few doctors at my hospital.

This realization made me smile.

Finally.

"A building gets torched. All that is left is ashes. I used to think that it is true about everything - family, friends, feelings - but now I know that sometimes if love proves real, and two people are meant to be together, nothing can keep them apart...
If the people we love are taken from us, the way they live on is to never stop loving them.Buildings burn, people die, but real love is forever."-Sarah, The Crow.

I wish I could change who I was and how I react.

I wish I could be something other than what I am. There's no better or worse, just other.

Other than me.

You're right: if paying money makes me believe statements of the bleeding obvious, than it's probably money well-spent.

Odd Moments

I finally had my end-of-term review done yesterday by my last consultant. It's funny becoz I cannot imagine any consultant considering themselves friends with the interns but mine does. And I s'pose he actually is.

He wrote on my form that I had a "great work ethic" which was hilarious becoz who'd have thought there'd come a day when I was hardworking. He also wrote (having cleared it with me first), that I was hyper-critical of myself and that this was an area for improvement. And when I tried to laugh it off he gave me that sad look he always does and was very silent.

It was a good experience. Becoz even though the assessments are arbitrary and everyone seems to be told they're excellent, he'd actually thought abt my performance and was honest.

I told him last term that I was planning on getting help for my self-esteem.

I think after several weeks of just the two of us running the team, we're much closer and more comfortable that otherwise expected. I got to play registrar and in return, my boss had faith and trust in my psychiatric skills. What a pity I could not turn them inward to help myself.

My former boss said that perhaps I'd hated medical school becoz in it I was nothing and no one of consequence. And that after growing up with my parents, being someone was pivotal to me and my sense of self-worth.

I was floored becoz that is absolutely it. It had never even occured to me. I had always considered my folks the most silly, spastic bunch of people ever. But I guess, there's much they've achieved and their standards have been relentless. And now mine are even more so.

Walking back to my car, I thought also of what my psychologist said on Monday and I am astounded.

There's so much abt my life and myself it seems I do not know. I am so riddled with bias that I've failed to see even the most obvious things. Even the things that mean the world to me. Even the things I want to see.

So where do I go from here?

*splutter*

Garrrrrr.

I had a moment last night with two of my closest friends when I realized that perhaps, one of my bosses had made a pass at me.

I was relating a work story and then, blam (a la the Batman Series), it hit me. Goddamn it, I'm a fool.

Silly Vicki had just thought everyone was being nice and friendly.

It was an interesting experience though. It made me realize, albeit a little more suddenly than I had initally hoped, that I am adult now. A real, working adult - ripe for workplace sexual harassment.

My resident has commented that perhaps my "keen-ness" gave the boss the wrong impression. ... I cannot help but think he has a point... And so he has been nominated as my "keen-o-meter" to keep me from such faux pas in future.

I'm gonna miss working with him. I feel as if he's one of the very few new friends I've made all year. And yeah, I know that becoz of all our spare, Osborne Park-style downtime, we've become closer than we would have otherwise but it's still nice. And I realize that when the term ends, he'll go back to his world of nice Christian-Chink-doctors and I'll return to mine of drunking former UMATers. He will remain a good guy, however, and he will be missed.

In other news, the saga of The House is finally drawing to a close.

I have made the bookings and the house will be 100% ready for human habitation (yes, what have I been doing here) in slightly less than a month. Cable TV, fully refurbished kitchen, the whole freaking works.

Tah dah.

...Accordingly, I have made the ultimate commitment to a house-warming. And indeed, there have even been enthusiastic RSVPs - better still.

And so even though I hate to think of dirt being trekked anywhere near my home, I'm excited and a little scared.

Finally, I have decided that today marks the end of my ridiculous, over-enthusiastic, misinformed, misguided over-working. If the one thing I want is true love and if all i do is hide from life, then truly, never the twain shall meet.

So here's to the end of over-working. Here's to taking a chance on the one thing that I'm sure I want when I'm 65. Becoz you can't control everything and that's how true love is to be found.

Becoz somewhere in my subconscious, lurks the girl who asked a stranger to marry her simply becoz they had a shared vision of love everlasting. And even if that was truly a fiasco, I wish I could find that girl once more.

All for love, my dears, all for love.

[for] he that made this this knows all the cost, for he gave all his heart and lost.

Movement Most Mystifying

I have capitulated and moved somewhere where the desire, however misguided, to have photos on my blog is not met with demand for money.
And so folks, I have come here following L-S's footsteps.

My old livejournal will continue to exist till the LiveJournal gods deem otherwise.

The old link - which also contains a link to another site (yeah, fuck yeah, I'm filling the Net with crap as I do my own home) with photo 'albums' - probably still has some value. If only to stand as searing, pitiful testament to my state of mind....

And the photos? they remain, although all new ones will be posted here.

*look right for the links ------>