DP: Writing Space

In all my years of writing, I would have to say that some of my best writing was done at school. After I had completed my work and had some spare time I would absorb myself in my folder and let all my thoughts spill onto the pages of my notebook. I had a vivid imagination, and along with the bullying I had to endure, I found it very easy to write my poems.

In more recent times, I have done my writing on the laptop. It’s usually done when on the bed propped up against a pile of pillows. I find it easiest to write alone, but am able to write when I have company. When I write I find that I sort of switch off and ignore what is going on around me which is why I write alone as I don’t want to be rude and ignore anyone of they’re talking to me and I’m switched into writing mode.

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Some days are just like that…

Days when you plan to just chill out and relax but then one thing happens after another and next thing you know it’s late at night and you’re exhausted…

Not sure how long it’ll be before I get a proper “chill out” day…
School Holidays have just started so now I’m busy keeping the kids amused for a fortnight.

I’ve got a few ideas of things to do… not sure what I’ll actually get done though.

My pillow is looking mighty fine right about now…
Time for that appointment with sleep… I have a busy day (well, almost 3 weeks) ahead of me.

Good night.
XO

Writing 101, Day 19: Free writing.

Free writing.
But IS it free? What part is free? Is it free because it doesn’t cost any money? Is it free because I am not restricted to writing about anything in particular?
In a way I guess this isn’t really free writing after all because we have been asked to write about 400 words. Possibly even more if we’re on a roll.

You know what? I just thought of something… What if I had’ve been a smart arse about this assignment and done something like this:
one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten…
Yeah, it would have been funny writing numbers, but it would have got very boring… plus where would I stop? Or would I stop at all?

The question is though- what DO I write about?
It’s no real use talking about the current weather here as it’s the middle of the night. Well, I’m not sure if it’s the actual middle of the night, but it is late. It’s currently 1:40am. I should have been asleep at least a couple of hours ago but here I am, still sitting up in bed typing away on the computer writing blog entries.

I never used to be a night owl. I liked staying up late sometimes, but I used to much prefer getting up early in the mornings, you know- around 6:30am or so.
That was before I had kids though. I’d get up at that hour and feed my pets, listen to music, write to my pen pals… even go to school or work, depending on what year you want to talk about.

Now though, things have changed.
Sometimes I don’t even know who I am anymore. Am I an early bird? A night owl? Am I even worthy of having the title of being a Mother?
I know I am a Mum, I’m a wife too- but just because I am a Wife and a Mum, it doesn’t mean I am a good one.
I do the best I can, but more often than not I feel that I am constantly being judged. I feel that no matter what I do, it is never good enough for anyone.

Some days I find it hard to function. I just feel I’m not up to doing anything. It’s those days when I get told that I don’t pull my weight, that people are disappointed in me because I “hibernate in the bloody room all day”. Some days I simply just don’t have the energy. I hate making excuses for myself, but it’s hard to explain an invisible illness to someone who has never experienced it.
It’s hard to explain to someone that I can feel fine at times, some days I will feel unbeatable and I will want to do a day’s hard labour, I feel up to spending the whole day cleaning, gardening, exercising, looking after the kids and more… but then there are other days when I don’t even want to open my eyes.
I’ve spoken to my Family Doctor and Psychologist about it. My levels of energy are related to some of my health issues (bad back, depression, my circumstances to name a few) but I hate using those things as “excuses”, but I don’t know how to explain how my energy levels can be so drastically different from day to day.

I honestly feel that living in the city (yes, I know I technically live in the suburbs- but I’m talking general city/country here) is what makes me feel like shit, but I doubt I’ll ever be able to live somewhere that is beneficial to my health. I feel that country lifestyles are so much healthier. Less smog/pollution, a lot of homes are on larger blocks which means there’s room to grow your own food, have pets, somewhere for the kids to play, etc.
I have expressed my desire for a tree- or sea-change to my hubby on many occasions, but it basically comes down to money- what we simply don’t have enough of. I’m not sure we ever will have enough. That’s pretty scary to think about but I think it’s a reality I have to come to terms with.
I feel like a pathetic example of a Mum- I have a hubby, 4 kids and no money to put a roof over their heads. Because of that, we’ve got no choice but to live with the in-laws.
It’s not fair on them (in-laws)- they have pretty much retired and should be able to enjoy their life and do as little or as much as they want but they are stuck with a full house.
It’s not really fair on the kids either as I believe they should be able to experience what it is like to truly be a child. Living in an extended family/multi-generational household is a lot different to living in an immediate family (Parents & kids) set-up.

Am I being selfish? That is something I constantly ask myself.
Am I restricting our little family? Myself? The kids? Hubby?
I don’t want anyone to resent me for not letting them have the life they wanted. I don’t want to carry that burden.
But when I find myself constantly trying to please others- I find that I am stopping myself from enjoy life. It is as though I HAVE to deny myself pleasure and enjoyment so that others can hopefully have the life they want.

I just don’t know what to think sometimes. It is also a reason why I don’t talk as much as I don’t want to come across as self-centred and greedy. Whenever I tend to open my mouth and say something, I feel that I always upset someone. That’s not the reason why I open my mouth to speak, but when I do, it makes me feel extremely worried about upsetting others. And if I feel I may have possibly upset someone, I get all stressed out, worried and anxious and nervous and upset myself, usually for no reason (if I believe what others say to me).

I just want to be happy. Is that too much to ask?

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Writing 101, Day 18: Why did they do that?

Mrs Pauley is a lovely lady. I don’t know why the police and those other people went inside her house. I heard Dad say something to Mum about her being evicted. Evicted; isn’t that when they kick you out of your home without you wanting to leave? That’s not fair.

Mrs Pauley is like a Nanna to me. Sometimes I even call her “Nanna Pauley”, Mum and Dad says it’s polite to call her that. Mum said that what she called her when she was little.
Mum has lived here forever, but not as long as what Mrs Pauley’s been living here for though. She’s been here longer than Mum… longer than ANYBODY!

My best friend is scared of Mrs Pauley. She reckons the house is haunted. She says Mrs Pauley is old and cranky. I think she’s just misunderstood.

When Poppy Pauley died everything changed. Everyone started behaving differently, well, not everyone- not me. The adults. The adults who knew them got very emotional. I get it how people dying isn’t good, it’s quite sad when you think about it actually. Someone who you love will never be alive again, they’ll never be able to talk to you. That’s not nice.

Poppy Pauley used to keep the gardens looking beautiful. There were always millions of flowers in the garden, all the colours of the rainbow but now that Poppy wasn’t around, the weeds had started to take over Nanna Pauley’s garden. That made me sad as I knew Nanna loved the pretty flowers.

She couldn’t look after them properly because she was in a wheel chair and it made things hard for her.
Now it looked like these people were trying to take her away from her home. Why would someone want to do that to an old person? It’s just not fair. Was it because the garden wasn’t being looked after? If it was because of that, I’d offer to help her and look after the garden.

All I can do is just sit here on the steps and watch… watch Nanna Pauley from across the street.
I can hear Mum inside, she’s whispering something to Dad. I’m not exactly sure what she’s saying but I heard her mention Nanna’s name a few times. It sounds like she’s crying too. I hate it when Mum cries. That makes me really sad. Sadder than when I had to bury my goldfish, my first pet EVER.

I can hear the people telling Nanna to get out now. Telling her they have to get the locks changed. That sounds scary. Where will she go? what’s going to happen to everything in her house?

I wish I could help her.

She just said something about how she doesn’t have any money but can pay the bills once the will is finalised. I don’t really understand all that but if the money in my money box would help her, she could have it. Have it all.

I’m getting sad now. I don’t know what to do. I want to be brave and not look scared so I guess I’ll just slouch forwards a bit and cradle my chin in my hands, that way it will just look like I’m bored, but they won’t be able to see my lip quivering and the tears falling out of my eyes and onto the bottom step.

I can’t help but stare. I don’t know what to do. Nanna Pauley is looking over at me. Her eyes seem very distant and she is being wheeled away by the police man. Even the police man seems sad.

I remember when I was little how I used to go and visit Nanna and Poppy Pauley. They used to tell me stories about their sons. Stories about all the funny things their boys did, about how they used to play on the street, they even chased my Mum once!
The boys don’t live there. They moved out before I was born. They used to visit a lot. Mostly after they finished work I think.
OH! I think one of her sons is a police man. I remember now… a few times she had a police man visit. He didn’t always wear his uniform, but I could tell that he was a police man- he just looked like one.

I think it was her police man son who was taking her out of the house. He looked the same as the man who used to visit.

I don’t know… this is getting scary for me now. First, Poppy Pauley dies… now Nanna Pauley is being taken away. I don’t like it. It’s scary. I don’t want to see anymore.

I think I should go inside. Maybe ask Mum if I can go to my best friend’s place for a while. I just want to feel safe right now.

Writing 101, Day 17: Speak Up.

Standing firmly in place
Sun washing through my hair like a lathered mess
Voice inside me quivers.
Unable to speak but knowing I must
It is my turn to shine
To shine like a torch in a dark tunnel
A tunnel that is long and dark-
almost never ending.
Almost.
My eyes gaze over the sea of faces in front of me
My palms become sweaty.
All eyes are directed to me
They are waiting
Waiting to hear what I have to say.
I have to speak
The words cannot come out
It is not stage fright
My lips are not sewn shut.
I am scared.
I admit it- Public speaking terrifies me.

 

This was written in a style that I loosely connected to Karin Taylor’s style of poetry. She is one of my favourite artists.

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DP: Riding the roller coaster that is my life.

If I had the choice to relive the last week I’m not sure if I would want to do so.
There has been illness in the family, early mornings, extremely late nights and next to no exercise.

I guess there’s nothing wrong with early mornings; it’s just when they are very cold- that they’re not as fun as they could be.
The same goes for the late nights too… well it was in a way an early morning as I didn’t get to bed until after 4am!!! I thought about just pulling an all-nighter but decided it was probably not the smartest thing to do. I used to be able to do it years ago… but I’m the oldest I’ve ever been.

Actually, thinking about the whole “Groundhog Week” scenario in a more general view, thinking to all my life up until now- I don’t think I’d choose to live 1 particular week over and over.

There have been many memorable moments in my life that I would love to relive again numerous times, but there are also moments that I never even want to think about again- let alone experience again.

That’s the thing with life and living… you never know what’s around the corner. You don’t know when your number’s up. It might be now, or tomorrow, next week, next year or maybe not for another 77 1/2 years. We just don’t know.
We may as well try to make the most of it, we may as well try and do things that we enjoy as living a tiring miserable life isn’t fun at all.

Take time to stop and smell the flowers, swing on the swings at the playground, kick all the autumn leaves that fall to the ground, lie down on the grass and watch cloud formations…
Learn to think like a child again- don’t worry so much.

 

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Between Point A and Point B was the Wisteria in full bloom.

This might not be the clearest photo, but I was caught up in the moment when I took it. I was walking between my home and my children’s school.
The Wisteria’s beauty took me by surprise.
I was having a bad day when I walked by this plant but looking at it’s stunning flowers made my day seem that little bit better.

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Writing 101, Day Sixteen: Circling like vultures.

(Part 3)

Circling overhead, the menacing birds reminded me why I had taken on this job.
To reunite people with the things they loved so they wouldn’t feel lost, so they wouldn’t have a part of their own soul dead inside their hearts.

The assortment of items that came through my warehouse was unbelievable!
From things such as phones, teddy bears and jackets to more obscure things like prosthetic limbs, false teeth and jars of kidney stones. I had honestly seen them all.
Some things had obvious value, other items looked worthless but I am sure they were priceless to someone as each and every item has it’s own story.

Take the raggedy old blankie for example. That was a truly moving reunion. It belonged to a middle aged businessman. It was a blanket that had belonged to his Mum. It had been on her bed while she was pregnant with him and she kept her son warm with the blanket during his childhood. She was tragically killed in a house fire the day after he left home. The blanket, what was left of it, was all he had left of his mum. Losing the raggedy old blankie forever would have killed the businessman.

Seeing children reunited with their toys is always lovely. Some children are so very thankful. Some even go to the trouble of writing to me to thank me for finding their best friend. I keep every single letter and picture that I receive from the children. I really appreciate their gratitude.

I have met many characters during my time here too.
One in particular that stands out would be the lady who lost a container of rocks. Well, that’s what I initially thought they were. They didn’t look like anything fancy or of any value but that’s where I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Once the lady and her container were reunited she went on to explain what they really were and allowed me to have a good look for myself.
Those rocks were in fact fossils and gemstones. It was amazing. I knew that fossils and rocks came from the ground, but when you’re only used to seeing these objects in museums or jewellery stores, it does come as a surprise to see them in their raw state.
I must have had a look of amazement and disbelief on my face as she asked me if I would like to choose one to keep. I didn’t need to be asked twice. I thanked her over and over and pointed out a small piece that I felt drawn to. It was beautiful, the detail was so delicate. It was something I will treasure until the day I die.

 

(Part 1): https://cockatooscreeching.wordpress.com/2014/06/07/writing-101-i-was-once-lost-but-now-everything-else-seems-to-be-lost-instead/

(Part 2): https://cockatooscreeching.wordpress.com/2014/06/24/writing-101-day-13-finding-a-new-love/

 

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Writing 101, Day Fifteen: CANCELLED

CANCELLED

It was like I had just been stabbed in the back. Or had I just had my right arm cut off? Was it as bad as both things happening at once?

I had just read the sign that hung off the fence, swinging at an obscured angle, but it was real nonetheless.

The show was cancelled. It was done. Kaput.

The show I had attended each and every year of my life up until now, was now no more.

Devastating didn’t even start to describe how I felt. I was beyond disbelief. I guess you could say it was a surreal moment. Surely this wasn’t happening. I didn’t want to believe it.

I wouldn’t believe it.

I pinched myself hoping I’d wake up from this nightmare.
Nothing- no change. I pinched myself again, harder this time.
Nothing.
Over and over I pinched myself hoping to wake up but I had to come to terms with the fact that I WAS awake.
This WAS real.
It WAS happening.

There was no more show. After over 100 years, it was no more.

Falling to a heap on the ground, I put my hands to my eyes which had, by this stage, began to well with tears.
I couldn’t contain my emotions any more- I started to sob, silently at first but it soon turned to loud crying, almost to the point of wailing.

I had to do something. It couldn’t end like this.

It couldn’t.

 

 

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Writing 101, Day 14: To Whom it May Concern

Dear Glue,
You told me that you would stick around forever. You told me that we would never be torn apart.

You lied.

I should have never trusted you. I don’t know why I ever did. I was warned about you. All the things you claimed you could do, but when it came down to the nitty gritty- you didn’t have a clue. DID YOU!?

You never really understood what permanent meant. You only ever wanted to be like the sticky notes… just get up and move on when you feel like it. You never wanted only one… you wanted to have as many possibilities as you could imagine.

“Stuck like glue” is a saying for a reason. It wasn’t said for you to make a joke of it.

I’m over it. I’m moving on.

I’m going to start seeing Superglue. He stays put. He won’t go anywhere after setting in for the long haul.

I’m over you and your crap.

From Me.

 

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