I Listen to the Rain

Today was my first day back at work after ten days off. You’d think that a rest would have done me good, but it just made it so much harder to cope as I returned to the evil open-plan of the office.

Originally, I wasn’t going to take the long break (Easter through to ANZAC Day weekend) but my doctor advised me to do so for my own mental health. A friend wisely told me to make the most of the time and get out and do things. Initially, I thought this was a great idea; I didn’t want to just become the old pomme de terre of the chaise longue. I had plans to go out and about, visit museums, sit in parks, exercise, and do a number of relaxing (free) things.

Sadly, this didn’t happen.

Most of the week was spent in my apartment either cleaning like a madman or lazing on the settee watching Futurama and Bates Motel.

Oh, I did get to finish my M.C. Escher Jigsaw on Good Friday, so that was a positive thing.

I did catch up with a handful of people. The lovely Rohan & Vanessa came over on Easter Saturday and we had cake and chatted for a few hours. On the Thursday night prior to ANZAC Day, my talented friend Tim came over and I made some pizzas and we watched the classic Genevieve and some Murder Most Horrid. The most recent Saturday, I ventured down to Keysborough to catch up with the lovely Nola and her family. It’s always good catching up with her as she shares my sense of humour.

Outside of these lovely catch-ups, the major highlight was attending a live interview with Jennifer Saunders (luckily, I was given a free ticket from somebody at work – it’s nice to get some perks from the job!) and I finally got to meet one of my greatest idols.

I had a brief chat with her and got her to sign my copy of A Feast of French and Saunders alongside Dawn French's autograph. This book will be an even more prized possession now!

The rest of the break was not as I had intended. My depression kicked in quite heavily and when that happens, I tend to become a shut-in. Even the notion of going out in public chills me to the core and I find any excuse to not get dressed and venture out. Fizzgig kept me company, of course, and I found myself washing clothes that didn’t need to be washed, shelves got polished, cakes got made (and eaten), DVDs were watched, and… well… that’s about it.

I found myself thinking "Nine more days to go…", "Seven more days to go…" etc until it was Sunday night and I was engulfed in the crippling fear one had the night before school restarted for the new term.

The problem is, when I get like this, I tend to dwell on problems large and small and everything is exacerbated to a ridiculous degree. I stress about money, debt, work; I question why some people don’t like me, why I’ll never be loved again, why I have no discernible talents to get me out of this quagmire of stagnant drudgery; I beat myself up over my weight, my lack of confidence, and my stupid brain.

One of the things I find most comforting about being indoors is feeling secure. I can not only hide from the crowds of scary humans, but I can hide from the evil sun (I'm not a goth, I just burn REALLY easily) or enjoy the view of the rain pelting down my window panes. The sound of rain is gloriously effective in its attempt to soothe my nerves.

Of course, there are moments when I have clarity and I understand that there is a chemical reason behind my more depressing thoughts. I won’t take anti-depressants (been there, done that, doesn’t work (for me)!) but I should do the things that provide real-life crutches instead of hiding in fear of the world. I should try and see more people (although, mad brain insists that they would prefer it if they didn’t get to see me, because my evil brain has already decided that, hey, who’d want to see me!) and be more social. It’s sadly not that simple…

The one crutch I did grant myself was the occasional glass of wine. It does have certain healing properties. The only problem is, it often made me wake up looking like this...

Anyway, today was my first day back at work and it wasn't a good one. When a job affects you both mentally, emotionally and physically in a negative way, there is definitely something wrong. I just need to find a way of harnessing my skills - but first I need to discover what they actually are...

Anyway, my apologies if this post came across a little morose. I write as I think, so sometimes it's not quite as coherent or jolly as I might intend.

Castle in the Clouds

Numerous amongst us have often wondered what it would be like to be paid for something that we actually enjoy doing. For those who have found that perfect job, I commend you. For the rest of us, we are spinning around like someone who has had their left foot nailed to the floor and are left to rotate like a panicking sentient wurlitzer. "Why am I here? What is my duty? Ou est le gare?" OK. So the latter is more for those still steeped in the early chapters of Tricolour and the antics of the visitors in La Rochelle; but for the rest of us, we are caught in a quagmire of indecisive angst and weary lack of direction.

I am one of those who feels the almost umbilical pull toward the old qwerty keyboard. There is something inside of me that wants to emulate the script of the likes of Victoria Wood, Alan Bennett, or the chap who wrote the OXO commercials. I want to WRITE!! I want to be someone who one day is studied by Generation F-point-2. Is that too much to ask??

The problem is, I suffer from so much self-doubt and anxiety. Give me a glass of Pinot Grigio and a bag of Red Rock Deli chips, and I feel like Chaucer! But come daylight, I want to hang myself in an oven full of razor blades like the Plaths or Woolfs before me

In a perfect world, I would live, quite peacefully, in a lighthouse (or other remote abode) smacking my fingers against the horrific plasticity of the modern version of Jessica Fletcher's modus operandi and channel dialogue into the fictional larynxes of my beautiful creations (Microsoft Word will not accept 'larynxes' as an acceptable word - which is just one of the many reasons we should have an uprising against the USA. Jeepers, we Brits INVENTED the language, I think we know how to bloody use it... fuckers!), but, alas, no. I am (apparently) condemned to a life of menial tasks and obligatory abeyance of the "system" and the monstrosities within. Who came up with this?? Flippin' 'eck!

So, tell me, my ardent friends, would you appreciate a caustic vendetta against the inhuman system that currently harpoons our simplistic lives, written by the aggressive, yet verbose and articulate ME?

If so, send your written approval on a postcard to the following address. No correspondence will be entered into.

Me

My (rather cripplingly expensive) apartment

Melbourne

Buttocks of the world

Earth

FQ2 UR1

P.S. My "sitcom" has a working title of Mondays and is set in the post-work world of two male flatmates (one gay, one straight) and, each week, vent and condemn the entirety of our modern era and those who work within it over a few glasses of New Zealand white plonk. Sounds workable? I think so!

Preliminnary notes below! Gosh, I am so professional!

This could be MY Castle in the Clouds...

Phoenix From the Fire

OK, so the post heading is a little overly dramatic, but whilst sticking to the song title rule (currently those of Beverley Craven) it gets a bit limiting. Basically, it is about me being sort of back from the Blogging Dead

The thing is, I have finally got my backside into gear and figured out the long-forgotten password to this site, so I can finally blog again.

Passwords are actually driving me crazy. I have spent the last hour going in and out of various accounts (Hotmail, Gmail, Facebook etc.) trying to get verification codes, change addresses, fight zombie chickens, spin plates and catch the smell of purple in a handbag. Basically, it made me very tense and I snarled through my teeth and spat venom. I currently have two hot cross buns in the oven to appease this tension coursing through my body. Those with butter and a hot cup of Yorkshire Gold tea will help, methinks.

Anyway, this is just a quick post to say "Ta-da! I'm back" and you can expect a few indignant rants, some jolly photos, and some efforts at pure hilarity coming your way soon. Well, maybe not the latter as my humour is an acquired taste.

There... isn't that something to look forward to?!

IN the meantime, here is a picture of a man running with some balloons in the rain.

Mr Know-It-All

Yes, the title to this is ironic. I know very little about politics. That being said, I feel the need to get something off my chest. As I am not an Australian Citizen, people may think that I have no right to have an opinion on Australian politics, but I have had to endure weeks of bilge inflicted upon me as a resident of the country, so here's my opinion (for what it's worth).

I simply don't understand why anyone would vote for Tony Abbott. As far as I can tell, voting for him is akin to voting for Pauline Hanson. Those who say "Well, I'm voting for him because I am sick of the Labor Government!" need to realise that this is like saying "I'm going to eat this rat-poison infused dog turd because my recent diet hasn't worked!"

The man has proven himself to be foolish, archaic, homophobic, sexist and an all-round dodgy player. What really upsets me is that I know a handful of people who are quite content to support this mad bastard and I take it too personally because a vote for him is like saying that you have no care for your fellow citizens; you don't think gay men and women are equal to you - that they are second class citizens. A vote for Tony is a vote for prejudice and bigotry. Thanks, twats.

Yeah, yeah... I know a lot of politics is also about money, but nothing I have seen proves that the Australian economy is going to improve. And why are people always swayed by their pockets rather than their hearts or brains? So many political ads this year have been saying "We'll give you $XXXX if we're in power!" - Hmm, bribery... good start. It's maddening to think that so many thick shits will be blinded by this shiny waving golden ticket. YES, economy is important, but there are so many quick-fix answers which seem to persuade the short-sighted. I have said similar about the way businesses work these days - instead of striving to be better and succeed that way, they work to grow the cheapest possible way. I can think of a few gardening and/or architectural analogies about the futility of such ventures, but I think you can see where I am going. Stop me... I am digressing...

I can see some people reading this shaking their heads and thinking 'Yeah, but...' and wanting to slap me. This is why I tend not to discuss politics.

What I would love to see is a Government that puts the rights of people and the community first; a Government that has a heart.

I should stick to writing about trivial nonsense.

Tick Tock

A rare political (but brief) rant from Ben:

Later this year, there will be another election.

Australia considers itself a very forward-thinking country.

But how can democracy truly work when residents have to choose the lesser of two evils? When both leaders of the two leading parties STILL consider certain groups to be second-class citizens AND give the old "thumbs up" to the religious community to continue to discriminate against their fellow man, there is definitely something amiss.

I would love to say to politicians four simple words:

"You could be amazing."

I rarely spout out about political stuff as I am shockingly ignorant when it comes to the finer detail, so forgive me.

Ben's next post: something about kittens.

Sprechen Sie Mit Mir*

A good friend of mine wanted to make a concerted effort this year to learn German (we shall call my friend 'D' as he's a bit Internet-shy, bless him - temptation almost makes me want to refer to him as 'Cynthia', but I am simply not that cruel). As it is often better for one's scholarly devotion to be accompanied by a fellow student, I said I'd join him in his venture.

Some people have asked me why I want to learn German and, to be honest, I don't really have a perfectly good reason; but why the hell not, eh?

After all, I do like German cinema, bratwurst, stollen and Moritz Bleibtreu... and although Hitler was an absolute ****, I cannot help but develop crushes on tall, blonde blue-eyed men.

So, armed with our Hugo CDs and guides, we promised each other (D and I) that we would do some 'homework' over the weekend and meet up this week to go through the first chapter together.

Why on Earth does the man on the CD sound slightly Indian?

I thought that I should make an effort for our first night's lesson, so I decided to cook something German for dinner. Gute Idee!

Thank heaven for Google!

I initially searched for German recipes online and came across many mouth-watering delights, but I was very conscious of my own personal "battle of the bulge", so I started again and typed in the three words HEALTHY GERMAN RECIPES.

Well! You can imagine my shock when I found what no-one else on Earth has ever found before... the END of the Internet!

There were no search results, just the following message...

With deep fear of falling off the edge of the Internet, I retraced my steps and played it safe.

I ended up making a German potato salad with onions, bacon & cider vinegar which I served warm alongside some pork schnitzels with a seasoned sour cream sauce over the top. A delicious way to begin the evening, don't you think?

Note that alongside the German guides, there is also a German edition of Agatha Christie's And Then There Were None, a gift from my friend Chris. I hope "D" didn't think there was a hidden message in this...

The meal went down well, much to my relief, and then the learning could begin.

We sat listening to the first lesson on the CD trying to repeat the various sounds and practised saying the German alphabet over and over.

I think the evening was a great success. We both got the hang of the German alphabet really quickly (so much so, that I found myself reciting it in the old familiar 'Alphabet song' - UK version) and we both get quite a grasp on the different vowel sounds. Admittedly, my ear is not quite as sharp as others, so some sounded the same, but I will learn over time.

If I didn't have someone to do this with, I doubt I would have the discipline to do it on my own. We'll see how the course progresses.

I doubt I will be able to come up with a delicious German meal every week to accompany our endeavours, but I certainly look forward to grasping the language to a point that I can watch Das Experiment with the subtitles off.

* 'Talk To Me' in German! Clever, eh? (Well, only if you CARE about me using songs by Beverley Craven as blog titles...

Fun, Fun, Fun

As I approach this latest blog entry, I am debating heavily as to the structure. I feel as if a non-linear form will make more sense. So, for the time-being, let's pretend I am David Lynch.

Friday morning was the last day I took my anti-depressants. Part of me feels the need to lie and say "I ran out and have to get a new prescription." but as I am a terrible liar (you'll notice me flush, my voice go up two octaves and my toes turn green - the latter only when I am parading barefoot) I find that the truth is easier to reveal despite the recriminations that are heaped upon me immediately afterward. Yes, I cannot deny it; I wanted to come off them.

I know everyone says that you cannot go 'Cold Turkey' with these things (what does that mean, anyway? May I have some hot mash and picked beetroot on the side?) but that's why I planned to do it just before a long weekend. If anything dramatic happened, such as me running berserk around Docklands waving two pork pies and a copy of 'Lady Chatterley's Lover', then I would have enough time to recover. What I wasn't prepared for was the nature of the symptoms. It certainly didn't involve semi-erotic literature or pastry covered snacks with jelly linings.

This weekend, I have experienced the following:

* Vertigo

* Diarrhoea

* Dermal Itchiness

* Brain Shudders

* The feeling similar to having drunk 18 tequilas and a pint of Red Bull.

Not only did I endure these physical symptoms, but I also had dreams bordering on the lunatic. There was a full moon this weekend, but I see that as a mere coincidence. My dreams were long epics attached to more epics followed by further epics; all with seemingly decent story-lines, albeit laced with surreal plot twists and the occasional Non Sequitur juxtaposed with random sexual imagery. (See why I am thinking "Lynch"?)

Anyway, with all this in mind, I have made an appointment to see my (beautiful) doctor tomorrow afternoon.

(I wish...)

Now... let's jump back a step or two and see why I wanted to come off the anti-depressants...

Firstly, there was the number one issue. I didn't actually feel that different to when I began the course way back in August.

Secondly, I was developing some horrible side-effects!

* Unreasonable Sweatiness

* Decreased Libido (not that that should be a huge issue *sulks*)

* Tremendous Weight Gain

* Extreme Tiredness BUT... with:

* Insomnia to boot.

Aren't anti-depressants supposed to make you feel better? I had to buy NEW CLOTHES for God's sake! I am not a woman. Nor am I a particularly good homosexual. I don't LIKE buying clothes. The one thing more boring and awkward than buying clothes is going shoe shopping with a woman!

"Please, please don't write in saying that's sexist... it's not." (Thank you Alan Partridge!)

The only clothes I ever like to buy are retro 1940s style suits with two-tone shoes and snazzy braces. Not exactly the formal wear for a rotund mutant walrus whose pit-stains could put out bush fires.

Before I go on, let's step back again to discover why I was on anti-depressants in the first place:

* I was living in Brooklyn, Victoria. Imagine where Satan would go to commit suicide.

* Low self-esteem

* Lack of self-worth

* Lack of decent finances

* Hatred of my physical form

Now, with those in mind, can anyone see how the side-effects of the pills would make me feel any way better?

NO! I thought not. If my body becomes more hideous and I have to spend money on clothes in order to go out in public, then I am not exactly going to be a happy little bunny!

If you have managed to hack your way through the jungle of tirades, lists and garbled analogies to this point, I congratulate you. I expect at this juncture, you would like a conclusion! Well, hold onto your perky bobble-hats, my friends, for here it comes...

I don't think medication is for me. (Why can I hear raucous laughter?)

What I need is good friends, a bit more exercise and a couple of million dollars. That's all!! Not too much to ask, right?

I shall ask my doctor about all that tomorrow.

If not, I'll settle for a hug

So, that's my story. Opening myself up and putting my heart on my sleeve. It's what I'm good at.

Some people don't like me sharing in this bloggy manner, but I find it deeply therapeutic. I guess it's the theatrical side of me acting as my defence mechanism.

Ta-Da!