by Veronica Foale on November 3, 2011
in Me
I dreamt I was running, fast, across a paddock. I was exhilarated and my body was strong and did what it was meant to do. Legs pumping, I remember thinking “YES! I can do this, if I just try. Why didn’t I do this sooner?”
There was no worry about dislocated joints, or torn ligaments. No fear that my body would break down half way through, or that I would do irreparable damage to myself.
It felt amazing.
And then I woke up and reality slapped me in the face.
I was cold and stiff, with a dislocated ankle, something wrong with my shoulder and a stabbing muscle spasm low in my back.
I don’t run, not anymore. Not for a long time and it’s been even longer since running felt good.
Now I walk carefully, with a crunch click in my hip and a mind to making sure I don’t dislocate anything that will leave me screaming in public.
Usually, I don’t remember what I’m missing. Not until my dream self goes and does something amazing.
Like running.
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by Veronica Foale on October 28, 2011
in Me
Someone shoot me now, I’ve decided that I’m going to attempt NaBloPoMo on this blog right here. Either it will extend me and make me write more, or I’ll jump off a (small) bridge (into a fishpond) half way through. Oh and have I mentioned, I’m getting MARRIED in November?
I’m an idiot. We agree. Let’s move on.
***
The timer is our God. Let us all worship at the altar of small magnetic electronic devices that count down seconds and beep obligingly at the correct time. Most screaming can be cured by a declaration of ‘I’m setting the timer RIGHT NOW’ and ‘When it beeps you can and NOT BEFORE.’
Join me in my worship of the two dollar device. It will make your life easier too, with the beeping and the pressing of buttons.
***
‘I DON’T LIKE YOU!’
‘I DON’T LIKE YOU EITHER!’
The shouting starts and I suspect that the trigger was a tale told about a biscuit stolen before the appropriate beeping from our God was heard. They shout it at each other and suddenly, my son is laying flat on his back wailing that SHE HIT ME and SHE NOT LIKE ME.
Time outs were administered as my son sobbed his tale into my shoulder. The hit didn’t hurt as much as the chance that his big sister (his idol, his partner in crime, his mess making helper) didn’t like him.
It feels like the morning is lasting forever.
***
I declared myself to be happy that it was Not Winter anymore and the universe decided that it was going to teach me a lesson. Cursing at the clouds doesn’t seem to be helping.
This is why I’ve changed my worshipping habits and you can find me making offerings to The Timer. Drips of blood and pieces of chocolate, maybe I’ve gummed up the works, but bugger me if it doesn’t look happier.
by Veronica Foale on September 10, 2011
in Me
The time slipped away from me and when I stopped to take stock, I realised that it was September already and months had passed. My daughter turned five (FIVE – where do the years go?) and grew an attitude and my son spends his days clinging to my ankles.
This is life, the time passes and the world turns, until it feels like everything has changed (but nothing has changed) and you’ve been stuck spinning in circles like a spinning top.
How did I get to this point?
I sat down to write, a few days ago and got stuck on all of the things that had happened. A sum total of All Of The Things That Have Gone Wrong and I stopped, stepped away from the computer, and had a panic attack. Surely that wasn’t me? (It was you.)
I didn’t want to think about all of the reasons that I am Not Coping right now, until they slammed me in the face with the Not Copingness of themselves and I had to stop thinking.
Everything will be okay, if I can just stop thinking about all of the reasons why things will never be okay.
Then, everything will be okay.
It’s a slow slide down into the dark places in my mind. Moments stretch into infinity as I imagine the worst case scenarios and how I would deal with them. I’m not sure how I got here, all I know is that I’m sitting at the bottom, looking at the light a very long way up.
It’s always unpleasant down here and the road back up is long and cold, usually.
The screaming outside of my head is never as bad as the screaming inside of it. The way the sound reverberates around, shaking all coherant thought with it, until I just want to curl up in the corner and drown it out with someone elses words.
It will be okay. It will be fine, I will be FINE, this is all fine. One foot and then another. It will be okay.
I’m regretful and despite regret being useless here, it insists on hanging around and I’m raw enough without adding regret to the mix.
Some nights, I dream ghosts and then I have days like today. Dreaming the past, I’d like to stay there. Nothing was broken there (only… everything was. We just didn’t know it yet.)
That’s the problem with dreaming the past, rather than the future. You can’t get there anyway, so there is no use trying.
Better to dream the future.
At least then you’re left with possibility.
Writing is cathartic for me and sometimes, I need to write things out before my head explodes from the words and the hurt going around and around and around.
Sometimes though, once I’ve written them and gotten some feedback, it’s better. The words stop and the insanity stops and I can shake off the hurt and move forward again.
This time, I don’t need to leave the post up. I’ve got no real need to sit and wait for the vitriolic emails to appear in my inbox. And don’t doubt me here, I know they’d appear. This is the Internet and I’ve always known my writing could be found by everybody.
My family is difficult and nuanced and complicated. They are annoying and forgetful and biased. Even when I don’t like them very much, I still love them. I suspect they’re very much like every other family out there.
The people who need to know how I feel already do and the people who made me feel that way in the first place, well, I’m doubting that a shitfest will make me feel better.
I suspect my twitter stream has more spies than Russia and I am fine with that. My twitter stream is not private, in any way shape or form. If my highschool principal was so inclined, he could read what I was up to. In real life, I am intensely introverted. My blog and writing help to combat that and keep me balanced.
So really, this is just me saying that while I don’t feel better as such, I’m not letting it hurt anymore and I’m walking away.
