playing

travelling

Ethan sent this on to me today +I had to put it up. It has its toes fairly firmly in cheesey-but-true territory + it somehow sums up the current vibe. (It's the vibe man, believe me.) A friend sent it to him + credited it as a toilet door discovery, Port Douglas, 1998...

The travelling woman

Come the dawn, after a while you learn the subtle difference between holding a hand and chaining a soul.
And you learn that loving sometimes means leaving, and company doesn’t mean security.
And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts, and presents aren’t promises.
And you begin to learn to accept your defeats with your head up and your eyes open, with the grace of a woman not the grief of a child.
And you learn to build all your roads on today, because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain – for plans and futures have a way of falling in mid flight.
And after a while you learn that even sunshine burns, if you get too much.

So plant your own garden, and decorate your own soul – instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure, and you really are strong, and you really do have worth.

And you learn, and you learn. With each goodbye you learn.

I'm going to say goodbye to the blog for a little while, or at least until writing feels right again. There's a little too much sad + serious stuff going on between my ears + I need to treat that differently, give it more breathing space. I may post some images + other stuff in the meantime. I may post nothing. Who knows... I may be back in five minutes time. Right now I'm travelling, + sometimes you just gotta go with that til the next destination reveals itself.

the small things: crock full o goodness

One of the joys of my new home has been the return to sharing meals with people I love. I don’t think this can be underrated in the great scheme of things – particularly connecting with + enjoying life. The days of egg-on-toast-for-one are over… for the time being at least. And what a blessing to live with two people who value the same things. I’ve had to fight to even find a place in the kitchen over the last few weeks. More often than not tea is planned before we part company in the morning + we’re haggling over who’s going to wear the chef’s hat. Could have something to do with the household make-up – one long-term foodie, one nutritionist + one big-eating routine-lover. All interested in what we put in, how good it tastes + the impacts it has. It’s possible that I’ve never eaten better!

The other benefit of a shared approach is that we learn from each other. Ethan mentioned that he was keen to get a crock pot + I recoiled. My strongest association with crock pots is the stuff that got served up in stale vol-au-vent cases at family functions. Sloppy grey muck, passing itself off as chicken + mushroom, after having had the bejesus cooked out of it. No flavour, no texture, no fun. It’s important to allow yourself to reverse positions though, + I’m doing just that. Over the last week we’ve soaked up soupy goodness from the pot-o-love. Chicken + vegie + pea + ham. This morning I’m making use of the said-same slow-cooking equipment to stew up a big pot of beans. Smells of tomato, thyme, pepper + garlic are seeping into the house + making me feel glad to be alive. Cooking is serious therapy for my soul + I need to remember that.

Tonight we’ll sit around the table + review our weekends, laugh a lot, listen to good music. I might serve the beans with warm tortillas + salad. Hopefully Sal will drop round from next door – it’s her crock pot + she deserves a share. Tomorrow night Carolyn + Jen will be here + we’ll do it all again. And it will feel like home + family, just like good friendships do.

fridge poetry thursday

gone to see a girl about a dog

I’ve been battling the black dog over the last few weeks. It’s a fight that I return to from time to time + it can be triggered by the very small (sometimes imperceptible) or the very large. The very small can be harder to attack head-on, because it’s so generic + yawn-inducing. Feeling like I lack direction, some stress at work, a certain anniversary, too many grey days… + suddenly… bam! I’m face to face with the dog again. The most debilitating part of depression – for me – is the tedious familiar can’t-be-bothered-ness of it all. It’s like taking a sudden unexpected step into thick, grey quicksand. Whooshka! Where am I now? Oh shit, it’s this place again.

I understand the “snap out of it” sentiment of people who’ve never experienced depression, because I will that on myself. Just snap the fuck out of it! But my genuine motivation to snap to has been usurped by a generalised urge to crawl under the bed until the world goes away. I could talk to someone but I can’t be bothered. I could pick myself up + go for a walk but I can’t be bothered. I could write about it but I can’t be bothered. I can’t even be bothered with the fun stuff, + where’s the fun in that?

In this situation I have to push myself back towards what I know. Tackle the small malaise with the small things that have already proven themselves. Good food, good exercise, good sleep (as far as the insomnia allows) + good company. If I focus on how beautiful those things really are, + discipline myself to discard the unnecessary extras for a while, then this too will pass. If I get sucked down by the fatigue + irritability + lack of joy then I’ll be entering a mighty big hole that takes a mighty big effort to dig myself out of. Like Jose says, don’t let the darkness eat you up.