Better...

This isn't about a house.

Or money.

Or even drugs and alcohol.

For Me; it's about a total lack of respect and trust. Non- communication and abuse.

Both mental. And physical.

The bottom line is This Is About Our Kids. My kids. And I don't care if I love you anymore or not. Nothing will change until you accept that the Real problem we have is that We Don't Communicate. Me writing this letter is Proof of that.

But it's the only way I have to get my point across.

And that's Sad.

I don't know if we can work this out. I'm willing to try but I don't think either of us will ever change enough that it makes us good relationship role-models for the Kids.

And they deserve More.

They deserve Better.

The Goat Song...

I just heard that Adam Sandler might be the new Intruder on Big Brother.

Fuck. I knew I should have auditioned this year.

If I ever met him I'd sing him my own rendition of The Goat Song.

Complete with actions.

For Those of You who haven't heard the song; Enjoy.

It went down a treat at my Sister's wedding...

Behold.

The Goat Song...

I am a simple goat
I live on the back of a pick-up truck
The Old Man tied me here with a 3-foot rope
Am I happy he don't give a fuck
"Hey goat,
I'm gonna beat your head in with a hickory stick"
Sometimes he uses his fists
He's filled with anger, and filled with rage

And tells me I smell like piss
His drink, Jimmy Bean
His chaser, a bear
After that, various alcohols
That's when the beatings get so severe

Asleep I pray he falls
But don't feel sorry for me
Things weren't always this bad
Why, when I was a young talking goat
The Old Man was just like my dad

I come from the hills of Europe
That's where I met the Old Man
He was lost in the woods, I gave him directions
He gave me a tuna can

Then he stopped in his tracks
And he said, "Hey Goat!
Would you like to live with me?
I've got a house with a pick-up truck
In a place across the sea"
I said, "Sure, why not, I've got no family
You seem like a nice guy"

So we went off to America
The home of the apple pie
On the boat, the Old Man told me
I would be a present for his wife
"A talking goat!" he exclaimed,
"She'd never seen this in her life"
I felt so special!

Well, I just couldn't believe it
After all theses years I finally had a friend
He trimmed my beard
He scraped my hooves
I prayed it would never end

But when we got to his house
There was no wife
Only a short, short letter
It said: "I'm leaving you for your broher
Because he fucks me better"
His eyes filled with tears of sadness
His heart was filled with grief

To soothe himself he drank a pint of Old Granddad
And beat me like a side of beef
I screamed, "Send me back to the hills of Europe!"
He just shook his head and said, "Nope!"
No one will ever leave me again
To make sure, put on this 3-foot fucking rope."

Present day, I've been on the truck for 51 years
My only friend is the AM radio
Sometimes the neighborhood children stop by
But it's always rocks and beer bottles that they throw

At first they're excited to see a talking goat
They gather around to hear what I have to say
But I guess sometimes my stories go ont too long
So they leave and giggle I need a bidet

But you know there was a night
That I did get off the truck
When the Old Man was passed out drunk
Three neightborhood kids took me to a rock 'n roll concert
The kind of music, old-school funk

It was the first time I got off the truck
The music made me lose control
The lead singer asked if we were having fun
I said, "Fucking crank that rock 'n roll!"
The women at the show were beautiful
As they danced sexily on the soft grass
One of them even petted my fur
Fuck me in the goat-ass!

Then some long-haired guys grabbed me by the horns
And threw me in the mosh pit
They passed me around and treated me nice
Untill I nerviously sprayed them with shit
Then the music stopped
And everything was quite
And all the rock 'n rollers started a fucking goat-riot

Kill the goat!
Kill the goat!
Kill the goat!
Kill the goat!

They chased me under the bleachers
They chased me onto the street
They chased me into an alley
And said I was a dead fucking goat meat
But then I saw a sight
That I never thought I'd see

The Old Man swinging his hickory stick
But he wasn't swinging at me
"Fuck you, pot-smoking turkeys!
Don't you press your luck!"

The long hairs ran away screaming
As I scrambled onto the truck
When we got home, the Old Man said,
"Goat, you broke the sacred law
No! Please! Sorry! Shit!
I'll let it go this time, but if you leave again
I'll break your fucking jaw!"
Super! Great! Okay!

"Thank you Old Man, for saving my life
Thank you again and again
You could have let them barbeque me,
But you acted like a friend"

"I'm not your friend, I don't even like you
I'm just not drunk," he said
To prove his point, he drank a bottle of grain alcohol
And beat the fucking shit out of my Head

That night i suffered i cuncution
Deep inside my goat brain
I still canot feel my tailbone
And I'll probably never walk straight again

I guess you'd call me a scapegoat
A punching bag for the Old Man to mock
Just because his wife left him
For his brother's abnormally large cock

He could have been my buddy
But instead he's a crazy old fuck
And, once again, I go to sleep in my eternal home
The back of the pick-up truck

Goodnight, Old Man!
Yeah, goodnight Goat!

Post Script...

I ordered Chinese for dinner at half past five.

Little Son and I ate at six.

It's nine pm now.

And Hubby's still not back.

I knew it.

Hypocritical Shit...

For some reason Blogger won't let Me name this post...

For the Record it's called Hypocritical Shit.

So it's the School Holidays and I've used up all my babysitting quota; my Parents have been minding little Son for Me while I go to work and as such I don't feel like I can then ask them to mind him Again while I go out drinking at the Pub...

So I stayed in last night. For the first Friday in ages.

I dropped Hubby at the Pub straight after work; he didn't even come home first to get changed. I told him I would probably have a few glasses of wine. He said he'd get his own way home.

About seven he called and asked if I was too drunk to drive. I told him I was. He asked what was for tea. I told him that little Son and I had toasted sandwiches. Eldest Son was at a slumber party.He told Me he'd be home soon.

I vaguely recall putting little Son to bed. He sleeps in our bedroom due to the fact ours is only a two bedroom house; unfortunately he has acquired the habit of wanting either his Father or I to lay down with him while he goes to sleep. Usually it's Hubby who does this; as he goes to bed earlier than me most nights...

Anyway, I think I planned on getting back up again after little Son fell asleep, but I was pretty drunk and fell asleep Myself. When I woke up again it was twenty past four in the morning; the television was blaring in the lounge room and I hadn't turned off the heater.

Hubby wasn't home either.

Hypocritical Shit.

After all that Shit he's been giving Me about Everything.

I went back to bed until eight thirty. When I woke I checked my phone and realised he'd tried to call around one thirty. What for; if I'd still been awake I wouldn't have needed a phone call from Him to tell me the obvious. That he wasn't coming home.

I would have already guessed That...

I was sitting on the back verandah when I heard Him banging on the front door; he brushed past Me into the kitchen when I let him in and grabbed some money to pay for the Taxi that was waiting up the top for him to pay the fare. When he came back inside he fed the dog then came out to where I was sitting. He sat down opposite me and waited until I looked up at him.

Him: What've you got the shit's with?

Me: Nothing. And you're not going to either when I go out next time are you?

Him: No.

Me: Cos that'd be a little bit Hypocritical; now wouldn't it?

Him: I guess so.

Me: Good. Glad we got That sorted. Do you still want me to drive you down to the bank?

Him: Yeah. And I wanna go past the Bike Shop. Should you get some shopping?

Me: How much money are you getting out?

Him: All of it.

Me: Then we'll get Chinese.

So we went to the shops; and while Hubby went to the bank I went to IGA. I got little Son and I a butterfly cake each and then met back up with Hubby at the fruit shop where I wanted to get some mushrooms and tomatoes to go with our bacon and eggs. Then we drove past the Bike shop but it was shut. Hubby got out of the car and walked down an alley to see if he could see his motorbike while little Son and I waited in the car.

And waited...

He hops back in and tells me Twink has just rung him. Apparently it's Jase's birthday and they are all going for a few beers this afternoon. Will I drop Hubby back at Twink's he wants to know. I drive over to Twink's a little faster than I should.

He pats my arm just before he gets out of the car. I flinch. He looks at Me but I'm looking out the rear-view mirror; determined not to make eye contact.

Him: What?

Me: I'm working tomorrow remember. Just be home before that. You have to mind little Son you know.

Him: I know. What have you got the shits with?

Me: Nothing. I'll enjoy my Chinese by Myself. Seeya.

Him: I'll be home by then. I don't wanna sit around drinking all day.

Me: We'll see.

Then he scabbed one of my cigarettes and shut the door of the car.

I drove home. On the way I stopped at the Bottle Shop and got a carton of VB.

And Here I sit...

Mister Jay And A Trivial Pursuit...

MR J is the name of the trivial team I'm a part of on Tuesday nights. I've been going for the last six weeks or so with my best mate M and her fella J. I'm R naturally. So that's how we came up with our name...

MR J are the reigning champions; we kick butt on the trivia floor. Not that the competition is fierce. There's the Boozehounds and the Chardonay Girls in the corner but the pub has only been running the comp for a few weeks; it's sure to pick up once people hear about the hundred dollar a week jackpot. It'll be seven hundred dollars next week; and MR J are keen to win. M and I play trivia in front of her heater after work at least one day a week to practice- and in doing so I've learned that the Olympic abbreviation of DJI is for the country Djibuti.

I'm a bit of a trivia buff; I'm not actually all that good but I like it. I was in another team called General Havoc until my Hubby got jealous of Me having my own night out at the pub with 'his' mates where he was expected to mind the children so I could do something other than be a mother and wife. He hated it when I used to have to go to uni classes at night too. I couldn't tell you the number of times I missed class because he would fail to come home to mind the kids. He would tell me that he had forgotten the time but I know it was because he was jealous of Me being out of the house away from his control.

Is it paranoid to say that? Because all of our friends even make comments such as "He's let you off the leash has He" and "How'd you manage to escape". It's a bad running joke but so true.

I messaged M Tuesday afternoon telling her I had a strong feeling my Hubby was going to make it difficult for Me to get to Trivia. I knew he'd have a stink about me spending money at the pub when I have just incurred all these car problems and because we are practically broke until the insurance comes. The thing is Trivia hasn't cost me one cent apparent from the very first night. Because MR J have won every week and we've been given a bar tab of thirty dollars to spend the following week;so I just make sure I keep within my ten dollar share budget. That's three middies of beer; which I sip slowly so that I'm sober enough to drive home at eight thirty when it's finished.

Hubby's been difficult about it every week; the first week he rang at least three times demanding that I get home immediately to put little Son to bed. He was having trouble enforcing his No Rules Policy by the sound of it and taking out his lack of parental ability on Me because I had dared to go out for longer than two hours. The irony was that before I'd gone out he had been at the pub Himself for three...

Do I ring him and up and demand he get his drunken arse home? No. I actually enjoy the peace when he's not here. I can watch my 'crap' television programs that he hates so much without interruption...

So he goes for a beer with Twink and Mac about five o'clock. I know he had no intention of being home by six thirty. About a quarter past I messaged him and asked if he was ready to come home yet; he messaged back that they'd all just won a Trifecta and wouldn't be home for a while.

Fine.

So in order to prove that I'm the one who has the 'partying-too-much problem' he decides to stay out until ten o'clock himself. When he got home he went straight to bed and so didn't fully appreciate the fact that I'd neglected to make him any dinner; there hadn't seemed much point with the eldest Son at Grandma's for the night and little Son was content with a toasted sandwich. And I'd been too pissed off to be hungry...

I slept on the couch.

The next morning it was business as usual. I drove him to work in stony silence; still fuming about last night's events. I admit I didn't have my mind fully on the road. That's when I inched my tyre over the merge lane and was clipped by the truck...

And in answer to His obvious question- No; I didn't see it coming.

I spent most of the day trying to track down a quote from a panel-beater; only for Hubby to tell me we wouldn't be forking out money we didn't have to when we could just buy the parts from the Commodore shop and he'll put them on himself. As long as it's done within the next few days I'll be happy; the last thing I need is a defect notice on a banged-up car that I haven't even paid for yet.

Still; there was good news from the assessors of XIP- and we've agreed on a price and I will be getting the cheque next week and we can get on top of these problems. Right?

Not quite...

Hubby wasn't impressed with the payout. He barely listened when I told him I'd managed to talk them up a thousand dollars on the original figure they offered. These little accidents of mine were costing him a fortune. What was I thinking- almost running into a truck?

Well I told him; actually- I was thinking how shitty I was at You for fucking up my trivia night.

Then it got a bit nasty and heated for the duration of the car-ride home. Little Son was yelling at us to Shut Up and telling Me to call the police on Daddy. I stopped at the pub- ran in and gave Mac five dollars to buy me some tickets in the Fishing Club raffle; when I got back to the car Hubby was on the phone with Twink; organising to go and have a beer. I got in and started the car. He asked for some of 'his' money. I told him No. He was staying home with little Son and I was going to play Trivia with General Havoc tonight seeing as I had missed out on playing with MR J on Tuesday. I drove home as he ranted away at me.

I started cooking tea; I've never gone out without first making dinner for Him and the kids. I thought he was outside feeding the dog. But He'd shot through.To the pub. Without saying a word...

My Text: Ooh aren't you funny. Never mind I'll just pay eldest Son fifty bucks to babysit.

His Text: Don't push your luck.

My Text: Be back by seven or I'm locking the door and if by chance you decide to kick the door in again I'll do whatever little Son tells Me don't be a prick your whole life it's only trivia.

His Text: I won't be coming home again.

My Text: Okay suit yourself.

Then; half an hour later...

My Text: In the next day or so we are going to have to sit down and talk about this; if this is over for real we still have shit to discuss; I don't want this to end nasty; call me when you are ready to talk.

I didn't lock the door; He'd said he wasn't coming home so I didn't bother.

He walked in at ten o'clock. Ate the leftovers. Went to bed. Without a word.

And I slept on the couch...

I don't think I've ever told you my Hubby's real name- but it starts with J. Now go back and read the title of this post.

Pretty apt hey?

It Never Rains...

I currently have four vehicles registered in my name.

There's my dearly departed XIP; our family car that I washed down the drain three weeks ago during the Long Weekend Floods. Once I've heard from the assessors a payout figure I'll be able to cash in my number plates and will be reimbursed for all the un-used rego. Any day now. So They keep saying..

There's my Hubby's Katana; a piece of shit Suzuki that he's almost destroyed by trying to fix himself. He'd hate it if He knew I'd just said that but it's so true. He's taken it apart that many times now and everytime he does it only gets more worse for wear. He finally managed to get two cylinders firing so I begged him to take it to the Bike Shop before it broke down again. It's getting assessed as we speak- but what a waste of almost a full year's rego. It's been off the road since November...

Then there's the Ute which we recently bought from Hubby's work- two days before the storm. It's a 2000 model so we really got it for a bargain when you think that we only paid a thousand bucks for it. It needs a new gearbox- but what they hey? We knew that when we bought it. That's why we got it so cheap. As soon as I've found another thousand to get it fixed we'll sell it for a good profit and pay some money off the personal loan we used to buy XIP. That's the Plan. Fingers crossed...

And finally there's the Commodore I've just bought as a replacement for XIP. We haven't even paid for it yet (Jen Jen's boyfriend is selling it to me and was happy to wait until after I got paid out so that I'd still have a vehicle in the meantime) so I'm still technically having a lend until my Insurance Company coughs up. Which is why it was so totally frustrating to get side-swiped by a truck yesterday morning on the way to Hubby's work. I guess I'd be considered at fault as I was trying to merge- and it was pretty lucky that he only just clipped us or else I might not have been around to tell this tale. There's not too much damage; the driver's side mirror was smashed off, the front guard and bumper were dingled and scratched up, but the car is drivable as the tyre still freely moves. I've got no idea how much it's going to cost Me to get it fixed yet...

What do They say?

It never rains; it fucking Pours.

I'm Awesome...

Six point seven two Billion people Can't be wrong!

Hurricane Disney...

Just as the alarm went off I heard my Mother talking to my Hubby in the lounge room...

What's he doing home I thought?

Last night we'd decided he'd call his boss in the morning to organise a lift to work with him- to save on petrol as we are broke until Wednesday. Well; strictly speaking I had six dollars in my purse- and that was to somehow pay for petrol, dinner for tonight and cigarettes. Of which there were none in the house.

Or pot.

Or enough food to make Hubby his customary three sandwiches.

Apparently...

Bullshit!

What about a loaf and a half of bread?

What about the hunk of corned beef; leftover- from only one night ago?

What about the tomato; or those three carrots- or that cheese I had grated into a container rather than put on last night's pasta bake? Didn't He wonder why it wasn't as cheesy as usual?

I admit the cupboards are a little barer than usual; and Hubby blames Me for going out and partying rather than spending money on the shopping...

Maybe He should have kept that ten dollars he put into the poker machine on Friday night; that would have paid for the cold meat 'good enough' he wanted for his gourmet sandwiches. Maybe if he had he might not have disputed Me spending the ten dollars when I went halves with Jen Jen in a Square. That's just half a Trip, friends. It barely even affected Me.

I was affected More when he kicked me awake early Saturday morning at Twink's place. Hubby had crashed out on the lounge earlier so I took advantage of the spare room to catch some zeds; I don't think I had been asleep half an hour before he booted me in the ribs and told me to get up because it was time to leave.

I left; leaving Twink to drive him home. I heard him arrive shortly after I did but it would have been eight o'clock before he came into our bedroom to wake Me up again...

"Your Mate's been texting". He threw my phone on the bed. It was Jen Jen. Her fella had the shits at her to for getting on it and she was planning on heading to the pub as soon as it opened.

"This early? Still sleeping" I texted back.

I got up and had a cigarette and took the Usual shit from Hubby as he went off at Me for leaving him at Twink's after he'd kicked me awake. It's my partying ways that cause Us to be so broke all the time; struggling to even feed ourselves and keep ourselves in cigarettes and petrol. It's the fifty dollars I allow myself to spend on Me each Friday night. I told him I can choose to spend my 'pocket money' how I like; just how like I don't tell him what he can and can't do with 'his'- which he freely spends on whatever he likes( and it's not cold meat). He told Me he was leaving and so I asked him When. He again told me he's been wanting to leave me for ages. That he's been planning it for some time. He told me he'd even go and live at my Mother's if he had to...

So Go And Ask Her Then I say.

I took the last fifty dollars and left him with nothing. No smokes. Not a cent. I knew the poor bastard wasn't going anywhere.

I drove to Jen Jen's and we made the decision to buy some steaks and grog for a BBQ later that night. I got two sirloins and messaged Twink to tell him to pick Hubby up after he'd finished work and bring him over to watch Collingwood smash the Swans with Everyone like we'd planned. He messaged back that if we started on each other he was leaving. I wish they knew it's almost always Him that starts on Me...

By the time hubby arrived I was very drunk; the four litre sack of crap that was all I could afford was going down less than smoothly. He'd been on the piss with Twink all afternoon long at the pub. He was nice to Me in front of our friends.

After the game Twink left and Hubby and I made up before we fell asleep together on Jen Jen's fold-out bed. It was good; sweet hard and passionate all at once. It felt like he was making up with Me. And in my drunken state I still gave him one hundred and ten percent of Myself.

Sunday; we drove home early in time for little Son to be delivered home by Grandma. Afterwards we continued being together in various carnal ways. It felt like I had the old Hubby back. It was short lived...

Monday I had to go into work early and got home late. The Disney on Ice mob have been staying at the hotel where I work and were checking out; they've had the entire hotel booked out for a week and most of the rooms were a complete pigsty (we were warned that we might still be cleaning rooms at seven that night like they had to the last three years when they've stayed; we weren't that late but it was still a six hour shift)though they did leave behind plenty of goodies which all of the housekeepers divvied up at the end of the shift.

I got a bottle and cask of wine. A can of red salmon. A loaf of bread and a carton of eggs. Tomato sauce and cooking oil. Unopened pasta and cans of chicken and corn soup. My Boss even passed me on a tiny satchel of pot that she found under one of the beds- god bless Her. I drove M home and took my loot home. It was decided to have Salmon Mornay for tea; not bad for a Monday night when we are broke. Sometimes it's toasted sandwiches or nothing...

So there really Was nothing for Hubby to make his lunch with this morning, See? That's why he couldn't go to work Today; or any Other day when he thinks he hasn't got something to take to work for lunch. He just stays home. He doesn't even bother to call them and tell them he's having a 'No Show'. He does this about once a fortnight; for various reasons- it's not always about his sandwiches. Sometimes it's just because he can't be arsed going after being out at the pub all night. It's lucky he hasn't got the sack. So instead he reduces his paycheck by about a hundred dollars; which in turn won't be a part of This weeks shopping budget either. It's a vicious circle.

Looks like it's Vegemite sandwiches for Him...

Whoreder...

Two weeks later and the sun has finally come out from behind the storm clouds.

Much has happened...

We're still waiting to hear from the Insurance company;beyond certain the car will be written off. One of the girls at work's car was written off and it hardly got the seat's splashed; let alone went through what my poor old car had to. We should hear back by Friday morning.

My Parent's back bedroom is getting recarpeted; Dad's been busy moving everything out of my old cupboards; funny how I thought I had Everything that I wanted from my childhood home. Not so. In the four bags of things Dad was ready to chuck I've found the following keepsakes...

The Muppet Show Book and Richard Scarry's Book of Going Places; which I have already bestowed upon Little Son...

Photographs from my year eleven school trip to Jindabyne; back when my good friend Goof was healthy-looking as opposed to Heroin-chic...

Books on how to care and love African Love-Birds...

Nearly all of my primary school work-books; maths spelling written expression social science...

An autographed concert program of Don McClean...

Two semesters of the Open Foundation Course notes; including all course texts...

An ancient copy of The Witches by Roald Dahl...

Three of my high-school diary's...

A photo of me kissing my first boyfriend Danny on a bean-bag...

A controversial coffee-table book from the early 80's called Dingo Lingo (all Australian's would know the relevance to the Lindy Chamberlain murder trial of her own baby Azaria- for which she was acquitted after serving three years of a life-long sentence...)

A photo of my friend Dano and I meeting Sebastian Bach from Skid Row...

Two Mad-Lib's books that my Grandmother gave me...

An unused embroidery kit (anyone know how to do 'crule'- you can have it?)...

Plus a thousand birthday cards and letters from my Scottish mate T who I've loved and adored since we were ten years old...

And my Father was going to throw them all away! I've since rescued them; brought them home. After all; if I've kept these things- some for 25 years or more- then I must want to hold onto them.

I'm such a Whoreder...

R.I.P. XIP...

Well it's certainly been a LONG Long weekend...

Friday; the storm clouds started rolling in as I was driving Hubby and his mate to work. The prediction of a wet weekend seemed to be coming to fruition and the forecast was bleak- the East Coast expecting strong gale force winds and one hundred plus millimeters of rain.

I drove little Son to school and then headed into work; just managing to avoid the first real downpour of the day. We slogged away at it until we heard the news report at eleven am- a tanker was in trouble off the coast of our Town- and had run aground on a reef in eighteen metre swells at one of the local beaches. The twenty two Phillipino crewmen were being winched to safety in horrendous conditions by the Rescue Helicopter. Most of the other ships waiting to enter the Harbour had already headed out to sea- but the Pasha Bulker had come ashore on one of my Town's most favourite and historic beaches; Nobby's Beach at Newcastle, Australia.

Then it started hailing and my best mate M realised that the whole Third Floor was taking in water. That took up our attentions for a while...

When we went downstairs the Office Girls were busy Googling the Pasha Bulka to see firsthand a giant ship stranded on Our Beach. It's eerie; seeing it There. So close to where my Grandma's house on the Hill was. So close to the Obelisk that my cousin Gnome and her friend's accidentally blew up(they were lighting firecrackers and hit a pocket of natural gas underneath the Obelisk; which created an explosion) and the Fort and the Rotunda in the Park. Parts of my childhood.

After work I dropped M up to her daughter's school and then collected little Son. By now the rain was bucketing down- there were reports of a semi-trailer jack-knifed on the highway near the Cemetery but when I rang Hubby he said I could still get through. So we drove to collect him and his workmate.

No dramas there; most people were avoiding driving in this weather unless they had No choice. It was still a busy Friday after work- people still had to get home. I had to get home. I had to drop Hubby off at the pub first and then his Mate. As I drove away from Hubby I hit the First of the puddles; my car barely made it through and seemed to shudder for a few minutes afterwards- but then I was going all up-hill and things seemed like they were improving. However I was busting for a wee and all the rain wasn't helping things. So I stopped up near the Bush Reserve and ran through the rain to the picnic tables and did a piss near the picnic tables. It took probably five minutes and was more than likely the reason for what happened Next...

The rain was still coming down in buckets. On the way to Hubby's mate's house I drove through another giant puddle; again barely just making it through. On the way home I make the stupid decision to go the fastest way possible- and end up going the downhill way towards my house. Downstream you might say. It wasn't a great idea.

They were turning everybody back at KFC. I made the decision to go towards my Mothers house- the water was a foot deep on the road and some smaller vehicles were already floating uselessly by- their drivers gesticulating madly behind their windscreens. People like Me. Mothers with kids trying to get home on a Friday after school. I drove on past; scared I'd suffer the same fate Myself...

I had to do a U-Turn at the cycle-way; it was already underwater. I went back then up and around into Princeton. It was also a foot under water everywhere I went. I saw the SES guy directing traffic over a flooded storm water drain; the guy with the Ute had just made it so I thought I'd give it a go behind the little Corolla.

Stupid mistake.

The Corolla stalled. Then I did. The water was up to the door but quickly started creeping up the side of the car. I told little Son to take off his seatbelt while he crawled over into the front seat onto my lap- and wound done the two front windows. Little Son was asking in a loud frightened voice if we were going to die. The SES Guy was wading over to us at this stage- helping my Son from the car while I scooped up what I could from the centre console and I took off my shoes. The water was freezing as I stepped out of the window up to my thighs. I waded against the current as the black water took out the fence of a neighbouring house. Then I sat in the SES Guy's car as I watched my car start to float away before coming to a rest against the broken fence; the Corolla wedging up against it.

Nice Park Buffoon; I thought.

Eventually SES Guy gave little Son and I a ride around the corner to my Mother's house; there was flooding everywhere- even if I had made it across where I'd gotten stuck I would have been caught at three more 'Puddles' on the way. My Mum's Fir tree had fallen across the back verandah and the pool had overflowed into the two back rooms but they still had power at this stage. I got little Son dry and watching a DVD and then called Hubby to tell him I'd lost the car. He was stranded at the Pub and already half-cut. He wasn't too impressed when I told him what had happened.

There were puddles Everywhere I told him. I couldn't have avoided them All. I had just wanted to get home...

I'd left my phone in the car too; so I foolishly and against my Mother's wishes rugged up in one of my Father's raincoats, put on my Mother's size eight rubber thongs and braved the icy wind and rain again. The water was around my knees the whole way and the thongs kept floating off my feet but I made it. By the time I got back to the car the water had pushed both the Corolla and my car up against each other and the guard rail over the storm water drain had been broken by the force but they hadn't fallen in at least; and the water was subsiding away from the bonnet of the car- but it had still been submerged so I know it's more than likely a write-off. At least it's fully insured.

At least we weren't washed over the drain...

The storm washed away a Couple from Clarencetown. And a Family of Five. And a Man from Lambton.

If I'd gone into the drink I probably would have died trying to keep little Son from drowning.

I found my phone above the water line. It still worked. I trudged back to my Mothers wearing little Son's school hat; seeing tens of cars stranded in puddles along the way. Eldest Son and two of his friends were stranded there for the night also- making up the numbers; so I decided to keep going homewards to sleep at home. Anything was preferable to sharing a bed with both little Son And my Mother...

By this stage my Dad was home from the Raffles; and he drove me down to the train station in his four wheel drive. I still had to cross another frozen swollen storm water drain- but I wasn't far from home and got home without any further incident.

I fed the dog. Sent M a text telling her that I'd killed my car. She sent me a text back; R.I.P XIP (that was the first three letters of my rego plate). Twink bought Hubby home somehow. We went to bed...

Apparently the power went out at one thirty in the morning. Eldest Son and his friends woke up to 'blue flashes' of lightning. My next-door neighbour's woke up at the same time with a Gum tree crashing through their roof. I somehow slept like a baby.

When I got up Hubby was gone with my Father to try and move my car- which luckily hadn't fallen off the drain into the water overnight. It's engine was full of sticks and debris and plastic things. It'll most probably get written off. Oh well. Shit happens. I rang and organised a tow-truck and informed my Insurance Company. The tow-truck can't come until Tuesday because there are around five thousand vehicles in the region who are all in the same boat (that was a bad attempt at a joke)...

We've borrowed Hubby's mother's car for a few days but I'm getting the feeling I'm going to be without a vehicle for at least a month. I went and picked up bus timetables today. I haven't had to catch a bus in fifteen years!

Least I learnt One Thing from all of this.

I Can Not drive through Puddles.

The Suspension Is Killing Me...

Oh the Fucking Dramas!

Where to start?

Regular readers might recall posts I've written earlier in the year that my little Son had been having trouble adjusting to life at Big School...

For reasons I've already told some of You my Hubby and I decided to change schools only four days into the school year; mostly due to the fact I thought my little Son would feel intimidated and threatened- and hence not learn very much- from his Then teacher (I'll call her Mrs Crankypants)...

So we moved schools. So far so good? His new teacher, Miss Hot-Young-Blond, and little Son seem to get on famously; She appreciates his cheeky side but is stern enough to keep him in line when warranted. I can also tell He's popular with most of the children; even the sixth-graders hi-five him as we walk into the school gates and all the children say 'There goes little Son's Mum' when I walk past, too. He's known. For better and for worse he's known by every teacher and student in the place. All three hundred or so of them.

There have been a few 'incidents' in the playground; mostly between him and another child who I'll call 'Billy'. They have similar personalities- both rough and tumble boys-boys- to them it's Fun to throw sand and small sticks at each other while playing in the sandpit at lunchtime. If it's Not Really Hurting Each Other then it's not doing any harm; in their eyes at least. In the mornings when I drop little Son at school they seek each other out straight away; immediately re-launching into the same police-style Cops and Robbers game that they played Yesterday and The Day Before...

They Both like this game. They both don't understand why they have to sit on the 'thinking chair' or miss out on play at lunchtime. They especially don't know what Miss Hot-Young-Blond or Mrs Principal mean when they rabbit on about School Rule Number One; Thou Shalt Not Hit Other Students.

Was I so in the Dark about my Child? Don't I know Him at all?

Here is The Letter; minus the Names...

"This is to inform you that I have today suspended your Son from Second-Chance School, consistent with the procedures of the Department for suspension and this school's disciplinary code.

He has been suspended for aggressive behaviour towards another student yesterday. It was reported that He punched a classmate in the neck. This has caused serious damage and the student has been hospitalised due to the seriousness of the injury. According to the family he is waiting to see the cardiovascualer surgeon in the morning. Treatment or surgery will follow.

He will be suspended from School for four days from Thursday to Tuesday inclusive. Our experience is that your assistance and co-operation in working with us will more readily lead to resolution.

On Monday He attended the Planning Room for a series of repeated incidents including aggression towards others and throwing sticks at students. Due to his late start at our school, the Itinerant Support Teacher Mr Nice-Guy has been supporting him in class and in the playground to a transition to school program. Mr Nice-Guy and class teachers have expressed concerns about His aggression towards others and his lack of remorse and inability to respond to discipline.

If His behaviours do not improve markedly then he will not be permitted on the Early Stage 1 zoo excursion, even though you have kindly offered to accompany him.

I will meet with you in my office on Wednesday at 9:30 to discuss His return to school. You may wish to have a support person present at this meeting. You are responsible for the care and safety of Him while he is on suspension. The School expects that he continue with his studies while suspended. I will ask Miss Hot-Young-Blond for some work for Him.

I have included a copy of the School discipline Code and the Departments procedures document on suspension on page 2 and a section on appeals on Page 7.

Yours Sincerely

Mrs Principal."

So what happened; I hear you ask.

When I arrived to collect him on the Wednesday afternoon Miss Hot-Young-Blond came directly over to speak to Me; saying that little Son had been involved in an 'episode' and that the other boy's parents had had to collect him early because his neck had blown up like a balloon only minutes afterwards. Little Son was in Mr Nice-Guy's office, along with Mr Stern, and so in I went...

What happened in Dolly Corner? What had made little Son hit the other kid in the neck? His face had brightened when he first saw Me but it soon turned dark again when I started in on the questions along with all the teachers. It was his turn with the Policeman's Hat; he said. The other kid wasn't sharing it with him. When little Son was finally wearing it the other kid started up a chant of 'Na Na Na Nar-Na'. Little Son hit the other kid (it Wasn't Billy this time) in the neck. He didn't even cry. And then the trouble was over. Or so it seemed.

Especially as far as little Son was concerned.

I gave little Son a drilling the whole way up to collect Hubby from work- the drive takes about forty minutes on a good day through heavy traffic. I was pretty harsh on him. No icecream or treats for a week. No Playstation. No 'Hit and Run' Simpson's game. All the things he loves the most. See? You don't get fun things when you're Naughty. When you are good You can have those things back again and won't that be good? Because I know You are a good little boy Most of the time, aren't you? And it's not nice to hurt our friends- now is it?

Yes Mummy. No Mummy.

But I couldn't keep riding him about it Continuosly could I?

When we got home he asked for a bowl of icecream with sprinkles please.

And I snapped...

He cried. No sobbed. I know he knew I was sad and angry that he'd hurt that other kid. He knew it had made me disappointed at his behaviour. But he doesn't have a malicious bone in his little body- and he felt like a ragdoll as he cried in my arms. My guess is that he was scared- scared at what he'd done. Scared of seeing Dad. And Grandma. Scared of having to front up to Mr Stern and Mrs Principal.

That night I called my Sister. Her eldest has Autism and as such she's no stranger to behaviourial problems or suspensions from school. My Nephew's almost a teenager now and started highschool; She's done the hard yards with him. She told Me to expect a lot of blood, sweat and tears...

What For, exactly; I wanted to know. It's only sand and stones.

What would happen if he was in a pit full of guns; she asked. According to Sister he's utilising the 'weapons' he has at hand; sand sticks and stones. If he had a gun at his disposal Sister has no doubt he would have tried to use it.

He's five Readers. What could I do but defend him?

Naturally Sister turned the tables onto Me. It's mine and Hubby's fault for being at the Pub every Friday night. Our fucked attempt at being Parents. She told me to Act My Age. I shouldn't Want to go out drinking on the weekend with my Mates; I shouldn't expect my Mother- or any of Hubby's family- to mind our kids on the the weekend. She even took it upon herself to call my Mother and get her to back out of minding little Son for the night when she was the one who had offered in the first place...

I didn't know I was the one on suspension. I'd worked five days that week.

It didn't stop Me; Hubby and I took it on in shifts. He went out first then after I picked him up CC and I went out for a couple of hours while he and little Son went to bed. My Sister called me on my mobile and left me a text. Where are you? I ignored it for a while then rang her home number. There was no answer so I left messages on her mobile. I'm HERE. Fuck I was dirty with her. If I'M to blame for my little Son's behaviour at school because of how I've raised him; if what I've done has caused this- then surely everything She's ever done is the cause of her kid?

Maybe if she hadn't had that affair with that married man and gotten pregnant; maybe if Nephew hadn't been shunned by his own Father and that family- maybe my Nephew might've turned out differently too?

Who Knows?

Anyway- there's more to this story...

But I'm running late and the toilets are waiting.

Finding Emo...

I am one of the original Emo's.

Pre-label.

Before there was a name for people like Me.

Me...

An Emo without the Ohh...

On With The Story...

Just to reiterate a Fact...

The Only good thing that has ever come out of my association with Golden Shower Boy is that he was the one who first introduced Me to my best mate, M.

And so On with the Story...

Last Friday night we all were sitting around at Twink's place; drinking, drugging and generally carrying on with our usual nonsense. My Hubby and Razzle Dazzle were both fast asleep on the lounges- we'd just gotten a taxi back from Town after Hubby and I had been refused entry on the grounds of Intoxication but- as you'll see- My night was far from over.

Jen Jen, Twink and I were still up and partying. Mac was around Someplace- he's somewhat in disgrace after Last weekend when my Hubby and CC busted him in a compromising position with his own brother's missus; and then Golden Shower Boy arrived. Off his head and ready for a fight.

With Your's Truly.

I never know how these things start. And given our rocky history I think I am well entitled Never to even speak to him let alone pretend to be nice just because he's my Hubby's so-called Mate.

I could go into how when we first met seventeen years ago- when he threw me up against a Colourbond fence by the throat calling me a Slut because I wasn't interested in his sleazy attentions. I could tell you about Melbourne Cup Day a few years ago when he verbally assaulted Me down at he pub in front of Everyone; I could also tell you about the barrage of revolting texts and phone calls my Hubby and I received last year from him after he accused my Hubby of 'cutting his grass' with the bitches he fucks. And that's not even Half of the Shit he's done.

But I won't. Because I've told You those stories already.

Golden Shower Boy has been away working in Western Australia for the last nine months or so. To put it mildly; it's been pure bliss. He's only back for about ten days before he pisses off again- but that's more than enough time for him to create a shit fight.

I was pretty well off my head...so the details are quite sketchy from this point onwards. What I know was that I didn't start it; he came at Me with all guns firing. I was half rolling my eyes at the absurdity of his accusations and half reeling with the incredulous bullshit he was trying to spin. He'd say his Piece and I'd bite back with my own insults. You get the picture...

So then he left; thinking he'd won. I looked at Jen Jen and the tears welled in my eyes. I'm sick of his abuse. He's not even my friend- he shouldn't get to say shit like that about Me. A few minutes later he returns; mocking Me when he sees the tears. Then Jen Jen stands up and starts yelling at him to fuck off and leave me alone; as I hadn't even provoked his attack- right into his face; because she's a bar manager and doesn't put up with Shit from the likes of Him. I half-hoped Razzle Dazzle would wake up and hear Golden Shower Boy abusing Jen Jen- only because I know he would never stand for his girlfriend to be spoken to like she was a piece of shit.

Jen Jen must have rattled him anyway- because he left; this time for good...

Then- Monday, after work I was walking past the bus stop when I see one of Golden Shower Boy's ex's. My Hubby thinks she's as mad as a cut snake but so would I be after putting up with Golden Shower Boy for as long as she did.

T says Hi; tells me she'd just been cleaning a house near by. I explain that I've been working as a cleaner also- at the Hotel. We both agree that cleaning is hard work. She asks if I knew Golden Shower Boy was back in Town; I say Yes- that I saw him on Friday night but I didn't go into details. She said she knew because he called her up (presumably for a fuck while he's back in Town) and that she was glad to be Out Of That Situation Once And For All. I reckon the whole conversation was over in ninety seconds or less...

Then last night; my Hubby gets a text from Golden Shower Boy.

"Tell Buffoon I know she was talking to T the other day".

Like I went out of my way to catch up with T for a coffee and wax lyrical about Him or something. If anyone can figure out his problem with Me this time I'd love to hear from You...

This is fucking Harassment I tell you.

Bloggio Ergo Sum...

Translation?

I blog. Therefore I am.

Thanks to the wonderful Miss Understood for nominating Your's Truly for the highly prestigious "Thinking Blogger" Award! I have proudly displayed the award to the <----
of this page.

Now here were my instructions...

1. If, and only if, you get chosen, write a post with links to 5 blogs that make you think.

2. Link to this post so that people can easily find the exact origin of the meme.

3. Optional: Proudly display the Thinking Blogger Award.

Okay; here goes. Being a Thinker this shouldn't be so hard; but I do warn you I've never added links to my blog so they most likely won't come out the way they ought. If they Don't then may I suggest you access the Blogs of Note from my sidebar...

1.
China Blue; The Girl With The Golden Mind. I Do love this girl's sassiness, supreme wit and extraordinary writing ability. Do yourself a favour and go by China Blue's blog if you haven't already.

2.
Meet Gempires. Spoken-word artist and Wordsmith extraordinaire. She's an as-yet undiscovered writer with a talent for expressing even the simplest of ideas in rich textured prose. I can't piss in this Girl's pocket enough, though I'm sure she would rather I stopped...

3.
Bitter and Twisted. Two thirty-something Mother's who've only just entered the blogosphere with their new blog Sting My Heart. These two girls are two Thinking Bloggers if ever I met them. Oh; hang on. I haven't. Or have I...

4.Enchantress; a name I have come to associate with friendship- she's a warm and sincere working Mother of two who continues to surprise Me with the down-to-Earth and honest approach to Life and family that she so often displays in her writing.

5.
Comic Mummy; A Mother-of two currently doing the comedy circuit with children and Hubby in tow. She's a talented writer and performer who's so close to getting that massive Break that will jettison her into the comedy history books. Is there such a thing? I'm not entirely sure there are- but watch this space anyway to find out...

So there you go, fellow Bloggers. Check the links (did they work) and give my Nominee's for The Thinking Blogger Awards the support and applause that They All deserve. In some way or another they have all touched my heart and helped me through the nights.

Even if they don't know it...

The Aftermath...

For Those of You who have been following along at home...

Wednesday Night...

I picked Hubby up from work and drove him down the Motorcycle Shop to get his fork-oil and coil-thingy that he needs to fix his Piece of Shit. After twenty minutes sitting in the car I drop him at the Pub; he tells me he'll only be staying for an hour or so.

He asks if I did the grocery shopping today on my day off; and I start to explain the Banana Fiasco that saw Me dashing from the supermarket back to littlest Son's school with a mere thirty dollars worth of groceries(I had barely started) but he cuts me off mid-sentence that it doesn't matter and that he'll order pizza's for dinner from the new Pizziera up the road and once he's ordered them I can drive down and collect them both.

So far so good?

I hadn't actually been planning on taking Him either Too or Fro from the pub this afternoon; but I figure it's an escape from both shopping And cooking tonight- so I accept. It gets close to six; he orders the pizza. Little Son and I drive down to collect them and we get icecreams for the kids for after they've eaten. We're hardly a familial picture of Bliss though; I know I've got a lot of shit on My mind but I wanted to let the majority slide for the evening; at least while we have little Son in tow...

So we eat pizza. It's good. On the thick side but not too crusty. The phone rings and it's Twink; asking Hubby back down to the pub. He accepts on the proviso that I drive him there and He gets his own way home. He's happy with that.

An hour later Twink rings and asks Me if it's okay if I drive him home when I pick Hubby up. I wasn't going to pick him up at all, I explain. My days of pandering are all but over. But then, Twink has done me favours before; just last week he picked me up from Jen Jen's after a big night and returned me to My car..

So I say Yes.

Big Mistake.

An hour later Hubby rings and informs- no, Tells- Me that Twink is going to ring up shortly and in no way am I to offer him a ride. He can wait until Hubby is ready to be driven. There's no way Hubby is having Anybody rely on his Bitch for a lift; Buffoon shouldn't be expected to drop everything and drive everybody home just because Twink is ready, willing or able.

Twink calls.

I drive him home...

Rationalising that it's been half an hour since Hubby called and He Did say that he would be ready to come home within half an hour. Twink's apologetic; his I-don't-mean-to-cause-shit speech at the ready. All I'm doing is offering a Mate a lift home and he always has to make it into something more. Why I don't know.

Maybe because he knows the Shit it will cause?

On the way back from dropping Twink home I stop at the pub and call Hubby from out the front on my mobile.

"Ready?"

"Nup." Said in a smarmy voice. "I just got myself another beer. I thought I TOLD YOU not to take Twink home until I was ready. You don't listen, do You?"

Well; no. I don't. Because I'm a free person who doesn't need to be Told. Won't be Told. And I can drive a drunk friend home when I've been sitting at home for an hour waiting for their call so that I can go to sleep whenever the fuck I feel like it. Twink's done it for Me.

Have You, Hubby?

Call me later then, I tell him. If you're not ready yet- that's fine,too. And when I get home I do something Stupid. I send him a text.

"Who's playing games now?"

This; because he had a go at me the other day for not acting responsibily. And because it's only Tuesday and he's the one who's drunk and been on the piss for hours while I've been at home doing the homework and dinner and bath and bedtime for the kids. After all the shit he slayed Me with last time about being a hopeless Mother...

I'd been at home People. It was only Tuesday.

Another hour passed. Fido and Miss Fancy Pants drove Hubby home. I'd warned Fido not to send him home to Me in such a bad mood but in Fido's defence even He couldn't have predicted what was to follow...

He stalked me from room to room; my pleas to talk about this shit Tommorrow falling upon deaf ears. At one stage I went downstairs to hang the wet washing out only to hear him say from the verandah above- "Where you gone,Slut?". He's angry I drove Twink home. Angry I didn't put him first. Angry I didn't listen.

Eldest Son woke up first; followed closely by little Son.

The rest; I'd rather not go into...

Suffice to say he spat venom my way; Again. Said how much he wishes he wasn't with Me anymore. Why would Someone Like Him want to be with Someone Like Me. You've heard it all before. I told him "We aren't together. We just have to keep the peace until tax-time and then we can sort out the money and get You some transport to work and a rental bond on a place for Me."

He kicked Me out onto the couch for the night. And I truly thought that was It...

So I wrote the following letter;

"Please read this, Hubby...

I haven't done this for fifteen years for Nothing. I love you, Hubby and I'm sorry if you don't feel that I do. If it's over then I hope we can be mates again one day- at least for the kids if nothing else.

I don't know if this can be fixed but I know I don't want to be without You. You are the most important person in my life- besides the kids; and this is killing them. If it's over then we have to make it work on some level for their sakes.

Maybe we just need to be separated for a while- I'll go to my Mother's for a month if you think that might help. Or give counselling another go? I don't know what else we can do; we've let it go too far for anything else to work.

I'll ring Government Agency tomorrow and tell them we've broken up if that's what has to happen today- but I hope you're willing to give it one more try.

I hope you love Me enough to try. Please. I don't wanna fight with you.

Love Always, Buffoon."

Then I went to sleep. In the morning I was woken by Hubby; sitting next to Me on the couch where I'd slept for the last three nights.

He kissed me softly on the lips. Said sorry.

And here I am...

Still.

Forgotten Facts...

It was All Because You and Twinkle Toes rang up and got Me off the couch on Saturday night to go to a barbecue at Fido's house...

I was happy staying at home watching the television with Little Son- nursing away my latest drugover. I hadn't slept much the night before; Ecstasy does that to you, you know. But it was You who had let me off my chain in the first place; coming home after a six hour stint at the pub Yourself to mind Little Son for Me while I went out with Mac and Jen Jen. You knew what I would do if I had the opportunity. You knew- because that's what You would do, too, given half the chance. You did it two nights before, Yourself.

Remember?

I'm not entirely to blame. We've both been taking too many drugs and drinking too much for way too many years. I'm not the only one with a problem, either- though I realise it's a difficult thing to admit to the first time that you do. I've struggled with these addictions of Mine for years and know it's no easy thing to 'fess up to Yourself- of All People; because it's easier to stay the same than admit to having wasted your Life in the relentless pursuit of the next wasting.

I thought that was the way in which to get you to open Yourself up to Me. I suck your cock so much better when I'm drunk or high. Like it's the Real Me who shows no inhibitions- the Me who isn't ashamed of wanting to ask to be fucked hard like the true Inner-slut in Me craves. Like that hot, big-titted redhead from Bad Wives 2...

So I thought we were on the same page for a change...

Don't you remember the conversation with Fido that we had? In which we discussed Little Son going to sleep in his daughter's bedroom for a few hours so that I wouldn't have to drive home so soon? When he said that would be More Than Okay and Alright I took what I took. And an hour or so later-just as the full effect of the acid I had dropped was beginning to take it's hold-was when You decided that it was time to take Little Son home to bed.

The fact is that Neither of us should Ever be high while our child is around. It shouldn't be a way of Life for him. And I shouldn't be expected to jump into our car and drive him home when I am heavily under the influence of them. Understood? He was fine to to bed and I would have waited until I was sober enough to drive. All he needed was someone to lay down with him for ten minutes until he fell asleep. I should have done it Myself. I should have known You'd have a phobia against sleeping in pink and purple painted bedroom...

That was the Catalyst, my Friends- for what followed...

So little Son wouldn't lay down. He wanted to stay up and play X-Box. You came out to where I was sitting with Jen Jen and made out that Everybody was ready for home-time. Jen Jen was 'suffering the flu'. Miss Fancy Pants had to get up early for a karate seminar. Everybody wanted to go and it was Me who was holding them up. Apparently. I look at the beer I just cracked; it's not that late and We'd already made arrangements to stay longer after all. And now he wants me to drive. Immediately. Now. It's not far to Jen Jen's house. Only two hundred metres and at the end of the street. I grab little Son's bag of stuff, his pillow and Wiggles blanket and go to get little Son. I've got the shits at You for guilting Me into driving when I've only just gotten off my head on acid. I'm angry that because you can't sleep in a purple and pink bedroom that creeps you out You make me do this.

I walk into the kitchen- you're telling Miss Fancy Pants something with a genuine look of "Give me sympathy" on your face. I see his eyes fall on mine and his expression changes to one that gives away the fact he was just bitching subtly about Me.

Talking about Me?

Yes he sneers. Angry now; especially when I make comment that it is because of his dislike of the pink and purple bedroom. A fact he'd admitted to earlier in the evening.

No he says. This is what He has to go through Every Time he takes me anywhere. This is because I don't know how to tell when the Party is Over. This is because I have a Problem. What is it; he asks Me- yelling at Me even though I'm now holding our five year old Son in my arms; little Son's yelling at Us both to Stop and crying that He doesn't want to go anywhere.

I put him down and he goes with Jen Jen- but not before seeing his Father make a shove towards Me and grab at my throat; lightly enough not to leave bruises but strong enough to shock Me. He's telling me something like Get your act together Bitch and I yell at him to get Fucked and that he's not coming anywhere with us. By now he's sitting on the front porch with Twinkle Toes-who was apparently telling him that it wasn't so cool for him to lay his hands on Me like that-still with the same venomous look in his eyes. I don't know if it's actual hate or just rage...

What makes him so angry with Me? Could it have been the trip he took himself? Drinking for six or seven hours straight? Not wanting to sleep in a purple and pink bedroom? Could it have been Fido's ultra-annoying childhood friend who's visiting tonight- the one who's been picking arguments and fist fights with everybody all evening? Could it be that he didn't want to upset Miss Fancy Pant's karate plans for the next day because he has a massive crush on her and wants to fuck her?

Truth be told it might All be my fault. My fault for always being the first to arrive at the party and the last one to leave. My fault that I have no self-restraint when I drink and won't allow anyone to tell Me when I've had enough. But doesn't it make me funnier when I'm stoned? Aren't I the hilarious kind generous friend You'd like to have in Your circle? Don't get the wrong impression about my group of Mates- they are all hard-working fast-living fun-loving and deep-thinking group of Individuals and Couples I've ever known. Perhaps I shouldn't Out them; but the majority socially take drugs and drink to excess on the weekends, too. Our lives are one continual party and that's the way we like it; we even joke we should pay weekend board to each other because none of us like to go home.

The party has to end...

I drove the short distance to Jen Jen's; the fight seemed to keep me sober and I arrived without incident. Luckily. We are just getting into bed when the phone rings. It's Twinkle Toes. They're coming up to get Hubby's cigarettes- which I've inadvertently taken when I'd packed up little Son's belongings. I go to bed; taking the cigarettes with Me- thinking Fuck You; you don't get to come over only to get a cigarette. I want a fucking apology this time. I send him a text; telling him he's piss-poor excuse of a man for laying his hands on Me when he knows full well that I couldn't fight my way out of a wet paper bag. He might not have actually hit me but he threatened to; with fist drawn back and chest pumping and eyes full of mad hate directed at my Being. Who I am; all I represent...

And then I go to bed. Little Son wakes me up and Jen Jen makes him a Vegemite sandwich for breakfast. She tells me that after I went to bed they came and left- cigarette-less; and stayed the night at Twink's place( who also wouldn't have driven so soon if my Hubby hadn't killed the party)- adding that there was no way she was going to offer The Prick (my Hubby) one of her's- especially after his little 'unnecessary outburst'. She's not even taking sides; and while I was grateful to her for letting me stay over I knew she was pissed off being placed in the middle of our argument. I don't blame her; all of our Friends have witnessed it at one time or another, though perhaps this incident was one of the worst She's seen.

I drove home about ten the next morning. Hubby wasn't back from Twink's so I set about putting on a load of laundry and doing the washing up while I waited for the inevitable. The gate squeaking signalled his return. He came in and asked for a cigarette.

I pulled my hand back; holding the cigarettes out of his reach. Got anything to say, I ask him. Like sorry for grabbing me by the throat last night- or for making me drive when I'm over the limit and on acid? We're yelling at each other and Little Son comes in as his Father rushes me off my feet by the throat, slamming me into the kitchen bench- holding me there with his fist pulled back and trembling. Just Itching to Do It. Don't You Fucking Hit Me I tell him- my body seemingly offering No resistance; save a feeble flick of the cigarette packet aimed at his face. It misses but he lets me go and grabs the packet before storming out to the back veranda; yelling abuse, tormenting me that he Doesn't Like Me Anymore and to Get The Fuck Out.

I am- I tell him. Just grabbing a wet school uniform for little Son so he can go to school. Don't ever touch me again- I tell him; grabbing my purse and the packet of smokes. I don't even have shoes on. It's eleven am...

AT the bottle shop I buy a six pack. I know my Mother is only going to rag Me out for drinking but like I told her later What did she expect Me to do after my Husband had just kicked me and my kids out of our house? Lucky really, I explained, that I hadn't bought a four litre cask of crap like I really wanted to do. Then My crap wouldn't have bothered me even half as much.

Why do you stay, Buffoon, she later asked me; in Effect- why do you like the Life you have-and I had no answer. But I do know that the drinking and the drugs aren't the Real Problem- they are just a visible symptom of Whatever it is that I am suffering from. But I'm getting ahead of Myself...

So I'm drinking my beer on the front veranda of my childhood home- playing Snap with little Son. Hubby has noticed I've taken the smokes as I fled and calls Me up. Smokes he paid for but didn't buy at the shop himself(due to his very real Shopping-phobia; just recently I sent him into a shop to buy a doughnut for our little Son and he came back empty handed saying he just couldn't handle the crowd)but none-the-less His because He earns the money around here. And bring back my money Bitch. All $32.85 of it. Because it's mine. And then Fuck Off again. So I did. I was even sorta calm as I delivered them into the mailbox; where I presume he retrieved them from as soon as I drove off.

Back to the veranda and beer...

I sat there an hour constructing a text message; trying to put across my side of the story; how we had discussed with Fido staying longer at the party. That regardless of how much it 'pissed him off' it wasn't His right to grab my throat and menacingly threaten to hit me- especially in front of little Son. Even if he didn't hit me it felt like He Could have. And I know that he finds this a reasonable way of expressing his anger when things don't go the way he likes it. When he feels like he has lost control of what I am, or Aren't doing. If it's not up to his expectations then he can treat me in any manner he wants. Even if it makes me scared of him...

He rings back- yelling more abuse at me and telling me he's not interested in reading or hearing about my bullshit excuses anymore because he's heard me do it all before; justify my actions when I am just one fucked up person- and then hangs up in my ear before I can say hardly a word. This is why I have to write you a text message, Hubby; even if only to get the chance to voice a single thought without it being cut down and ignored. To be Ignored;to be Unheard by the one I love- that is emotional torture. It's mental abuse.

That-and more- I wrote in the next text...

And He called back. Again. All he hears is More Bullshit from Me. I'm only escaping the truth of Myself in my delusions; he doesn't care to hear it. It isn't His problem.

Well, No. I'm Not.

His problem is that he has never apologised for a thing in his life. He has never Once felt sorry for hurting Me all those times; verbally, mentally, emotionally and physically.

So followed a sleepless night on the top bunk in my Parent's spare room. My old room. The computer room now. I must have woken up thirty times wedged up against the wall; little Son's foot square in my back. I don't know if I slept badly because of the distinct lack of space or because I'd had no bed-time bong...

Next morning I woke and took little Son with Me as I went home to make up his lunch-box for school. He didn't want to get out of the car and wasn't keen to go inside but was happy enough to play in the yard with Chopper until I'd done what had to be done. Then we left again; my intention wasn't to start another fight in front of our Son today. He'd seen enough in the past few days- and had thought up his own solution for the problem; "Just call the police Mum and they can take Daddy away to the Jail". Why would the police do that? "Because Daddy's a Dickhead Mummy". That's why.

So I took little Son and dropped him off at school with a kiss; came home and showered(remember I hadn't showered in three days or changed my clothes in as long)and walked down the back where Hubby was working on his motorbike. It's sat in shed, broken, for the last six months and I've been driving him to work everyday. I guess he's working on it now so that he doesn't have to rely on Me to get him there each day.

Are You ready to talk yet? I ask him. No; Not really- is the response. I'm sick of having the same conversation each and every time we go out anywhere. That You're not ready to go home. It's a broken record Buffoon, and I'm sick of the shit. So do You want me to pack our bags, then I ask? I don't give a fuck really, You say. I'm doing what I want to do from now on. I've got this shit(pointing at broken motorbike)that I want to get done today. You do whatever the fuck you like.

I turned on my heel without another word. Grabbed my phone, wallet and car-keys and drove to my friend's CC's house. She was sitting on her veranda with Bubby and her two Sisters. Her Hubby, Norty,on a rostered day off, offers me a bong almost as soon as I walk through the door. So I have two- and then explain to CC the situation I've just left...

CC is the sort of person who can Really get into another person's head. She's a Virgo like Me; empathetic loyal and emotional. She listens whilst making me a fresh corned-beef sandwich and we both lament there are no pickles; and after she has given advice and tried to assure Me that This episode will end the same way as it always has, with Me and Hubby remaining together, I leave to confront Him again in a discussion about Exactly What Is Happening Here With Our Domestic Situation; should I be packing our bags for a more permanent stay at my Mother's, perhaps or are we going to try and work through this One Last Time? Norty and CC have offered to put me and the kids up for a few nights until we get it sorted but if it were a permanent end to the relationship then our permanent residence for at least the next six months would be at my Mother's and Father's. And just quietly; this scenario scares the absolute bejesus out of Me.

It's about 2 when I get home. I'm not surprised that He's not here- and if I know Him at all; he's at the pub with Twink. It's nearly three when my phone rings. Will You and little Son and eldest Son be home tonight I'm cooking hamburgers and want to know how many tomatoes I need to buy at the shop? The shop? He's actually going Into a shop And buying something? Unbelievable!

I call CC, who informs Me I've left my wallet under her couch*- and tell her we won't need to stay at her house at this stage, thanks for the offer anyway, but he's asked if we'll be here for hamburgers for tea tonight. This is His way, she says, of saying sorry and that he wants me back home but just doesn't know any other way of saying it. I'm dubious about that. I think it's more to do with the fact his motorbike is still not going and he'll need someone to drive him to work in the morning...

And lets face it- I need him, too. For the moment at least. If keeping the Peace for a few months means I can stay in this house on my own terms until I find somewhere else to live then I will keep the Peace. If it means staying home on the weekends so I can save up the money needed to move out then that's what I'll do. If I have to work weekends then I'll do that too- in fact I told my Boss yesterday that I am now available every weekend if needed- when I'd only been If I can hang out here until Tax Time then we would get enough money to get himself some transport to get to work and enough for me to move out without having to beg money from somewhere else. Because whilst I love her I couldn't bear to live at my Mother's again. I need my Own space.

But if You think I will stay in this house- or in the bed we've shared for the past fifteen years-without an apology or some sort of admission of wrong then You are the deluded one, Hubby. I'll do extra shifts. I won't go to the pub or spend money on drugs. If I have to I'll sell my antique Bottle pictures that my Grandmother gave Me. I'll get the money together for a bond on my own place. Above all; I'll leave on my own terms, thanks- this is my home, too. A place where I deserved to feel safe and loved.

It's about Time I was honest with Myself...

So I will make the necessary changes in my Life.

No more games Hubby. I promise.

If actions speak louder than words then I'll show You All. And Hubby doesn't even have to know.

I'll make the changes for Somebody important...

Me.




(* NB When I returned to get my wallet I took up a bottle of pickles for CC and Norty for the leftover corned beef.

Because that's the sort of person I am...)

Mayday...

Right now I am hanging out for an apology that will never come...

I really thought We'd been getting on better lately. Reached a better understanding of the other. Or why else would you have told me the other week that you loved the same things about Me that everybody else does? Why would I be able to forgive the horrible things you said Last Time if it weren't for the fact that I can move on from them? I never Forget though. The hurt has gone on for far too long...

So I decided May Day was going to be the day I started moving on with my Life. Do things for Myself that promoted rather than hindered my progress. I decided not to drink or smoke pot From Now Until Further Notice- meaning that I was having a break from drugs/achohol rather than abstaining from it Forever- I'm not even Close to being ready for that kind of committment; but when I finished work one of the Girl's suggested we have a quick beer down the corner and have a flutter on the Pokies; and then there was a message from Jen Jen on my phone asking if I wanted to go halves in some green.

So, So Long, Good Intentions.

After a few rounds with the Girl's I dropped round to Twink's where I met Jen Jen. We had a few more rounds at our Local Pub and then I dropped Jen Jen home while I went to collect little Son from school. I was five minutes late so used the lame-o excuse I was late finishing work. I hope Miss H didn't smell the alchohol on my breath.

I bought a six pack for when I got home; I'd already busted my May First Resolution. And with a sappy-bag full of mull I was now set up for a fine evening. Lucky I hadn't told anybody about those Intentions of mine, hey? I so hate disappointing people...

This morning I woke, drove Hubby to work, got stoned and realised that I had no banana for little Son's morning tea at school. A quick trip down the shop later had this rectified and I dropped him at school and proceeded on to the Shopping Centre to do the weekly grocery shopping. Crisis averted; or so I thought.

I'm in the Fruit Section, looking at bananas, silently congratulating Myself that I had bought enough to last the rest of the school week- when it hits Me. The bananas I'd already bought weren't safely in little Son's lunch box at all- but were still sitting on the front seat of the car because I'd been too stoned and/or pre-occupied to remember to put them in. It just serves to highlight how much I need to change my Life. It's going down the gurgler.

It's May Day alright.

Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!

Below is from an email my pen-friend The Hot Scot sent me this morning. It's message really struck a chord with how I've been feeling the last few days...

"As we grow up, we learn that even the one person that wasn't supposed to ever let you down probably will. You will have your heart broken probably more than once and it's harder every time. You'll break hearts too, so remember how it felt when yours was broken. You'll fight with your best friend. You'll blame a new love for things an old one did. You'll cry because time is passing too fast, and you'll eventually lose someone you love. So take too many pictures, laugh too much, and love like you've never been hurt because every sixty seconds you spend upset is a minute of happiness you'll never get back.

Don't be afraid that your life will end,
be afraid that it will never begin."

Apparently if I send it on to all of my Friends then a Miracle will happen Tonight.

We shall see.

Been Here Done This All Before...

The following is an entry from my personal diary- dated the First of November, Two Thousand and One...

It just about sums up how I feel today. How Time stands still.

Been Here. Done This. All Before.

" I know what Hubby's priorities Aren't.

Us.

As of now I give him my blessing to meet someone else. Maybe then He'll move out and leave us alone. Why do I even care about him- let alone love him- when he's so pathetic? He must think he's either shit-hot or that I'm a complete fuck-wit. He has no respect for Me and totally disregards my feelings. He has not listened to Me in years; no wonder I'm an alcoholic. I'm not pissed at the moment but Christ I'd like to be.

He's pissed the bed for the thousandth time- and now he's asleep on the couch in the nude. I've put the wet sheet on him to make him feel at home. It's not even the act of pissing the bed again that makes me wish he was gone; it's knowing that this is how it's always going to be as long as were together. He's the biological father of two kids and a Father to neither. I think sometimes he's only doing the best he can but it's like he's not even trying, actually. He couldn't care less. I don't believe him when he says he cares anymore. He can't. He's incapable of caring about us because he doesn't even care for anything-he's admitted it to me before that he doesn't care about anything- so that has to include me and the kids and his family and friends and everything else in his life. He doesn't even care about himself; but he's a lot higher on the list than anything else.

It's always what He wants.

He says women want everything- which isn't a surprise if they get Nothing.

I'm trying my hardest- I really am. Even if it doesn't look like it sometimes. I try and do the right thing for everyone. I won't even finish uni until I've tried to fix this broken household. Eldest Son's the only one with any hope left and how long will that last unless I take him out of this shit? How can I subject a baby to it?

I won't even let Hubby touch the baby if he comes home drunk and stoned like he does. I can't stay here; I shouldn't I know. It's fucking me up. I'm not strong enough to leave him; just like I wasn't strong enough to leave my Bastard Ex. That was the only nice thing He ever did for me- leaving when he did. Hell; I wish I'd never met That Bastard...

This isn't as bad as that scenario; at least I love Hubby. Why is another question.

I really must be some sort of bottomless pit of emotions that needs to be nurtured. There's Nobody for somebody like Me. No one could ever fill me up enough. I've heard Dr. Phil talk about people like Me on Oprah...

And I know I'm supposed to learn to somehow fill Myself up but I don't think I'm capable. I have too many bad opinions of Myself for me to compliment or comfort myself; too many insecurities. I just really need someone to look after me for a change- I'm not as strong as people think. In fact I'm really quite weak. Maybe I should just check myself into Local Mental Hospital or somewhere like that.

Is it possible to have a nervous breakdown for Years?

If so- it would take even longer to cure it; given that( for example) if you're sick for a week- it generally takes two more to get over it completely. That's probably why the Doctor thought I should be on anti-depressants for two years- so I would have properly gotten over my depression.

But No.I felt better so I stopped taking the medication. I admire people who know better; who don't think that what they are going through is a figment of their imagination...

I want to know if Hubby regrets me having these pregnancy's. Is that why he can't touch it- as if doing so would contradict his reality? Is that why he's so aloof to me lately- or even, in fact, going as far back as when Eldest Son was born? Psychologically he doesn't want to admit he Hates his responsibilities as he sees that I've made them. Us.

It's not being scared. It's being hateful and resentful for letting Themselves get in that predicament They're in in the first place. I want to know the answer to this question that I fear to ask for already knowing the answer.

That's fucked up Thinking. But there you go.

Opus."

(NB Just re-reading that makes me feel physically ill...)

I Am...

"Who'd want to fuck someone who looks like a twelve year old boy?"

This was the latest attack from my Hubby- said with malice and intended to wound my already fragile self-esteem. This from somebody I love. From somebody who hates Me.

"I'm not going to sit here and listen to your bullshit".

This because he doesn't understand Me and has never tried to. This because he'd rather make me out to be unbalanced and mentally fucked up than listen to another perspective on our fucked up co-existence. This because he doesn't think I'm worth the bother.

I am.

Nine Things...

Stole this blog entry idea from Miss Understood's blogfriend, Blessed, while I was tooling about on the computer tonight...


For each numbered question, list that many things as your answer.
For example, 1 thing for #1, 2 things for #2, 3 things for #3, and so on!

1. thing you have done this morning.

*Went to work


2. things you plan to do this weekend.


*Going to a BBQ at my friend Jen Jen's house
*Drink copious amounts of alcohol.


3. things you wish you had.
*will power
*a mortgage
*a Beagle


4. celebrity men you think are handsome.
*John Barrowmen (actor in new Series Dr Who)
*The guy who plays Mike Delfino in Desperate Housewives
*Robbie Williams
*Rob Thomas

5. celebrity women you find attractive.
*Gwen Stefani
*Pink
*Beyonce
*Patricia Arquette
*Britney Murphy

6. Foods you love you don't eat often
*Vindaloo
*Salt and Pepper Pork
*Cheesecake
*Omelettes
*Canneloni
*Banana Cake

7. ways you would spend $1 million.
*New house
*New car
*Holiday to the UK
*Buy a racehorse
*Shopping Spree
*Donate to charity
*Give some to the fam

8. personality traits you think are important.

*compassion towards others
*honesty
*good sense of humour
*to be kind
*loyalty
*able to keep an open mind
*tact
*humility


9. People's Blogs you regularly read...

*Miss Understood
*Enchantress
*Comic Mummy
*Mr Husbland
*Gempires
*TaraD
*AlexSuze
*China Blue
*BananaHole

Care to do your own?

My Dorkiest Story Revisited...

Thanks to Miss Understood- for giving me the idea for this post. I may even enter the Dorkiest Story Ever Competition Myself! If you'd like the link try this one- or at least Google it if my first attempt at linking fails.

So here is an earlier post from my blog in which I longwindedly explain my dorkiest ever moment; it was then called The Story Of The Bogey Hole Cutter.

So Enjoy...

Eye.

My third class teacher once told me that I should never begin a story with the word 'eye'. It's a funny word when you say it in your mind, though, isn't it? Like 'sleep'. I'm saying this now because this is how things are for me; and sometimes I'll have to write things with a pen first before I can type them. So things might get a little confusing at times.

I'm telling you now so you know that this is how my story will be told- from the inside out. There are no real character's except for Me. It's nobody's story but mine. To completely confuse you I will add and delete paragraphs as I go, so just try and imagine that I am speaking to you if that will help. Don't be too worried; I'm not from a cult and I don't want to convert you to my way of thinking- I personally wouldn't like to be a clone- and even though I am an ugly witch on the inside, sometimes, basically I think I'm pretty harmless.

These are conversations of my mind, if you like, or trains of thought, and how I live my Life every day. You may have already noticed that there are often more than two meanings to everything I wonder. Eventually that might bother the shit out of you- but try and take the time to figure the words out. I like to remember things that other people don't find memorable too, so if you're the kind of person who hates that kind of thing then I suggest you stop listening right now.

I'm not sure yet if anyone will ever get to read this. For one thing, it will probably become more like therapy the more I get into it; which isn't necessarily a bad thing- for Me anyway- and at least I'm warning you now. For another, I am on a bit of a manic high at the minute, but when that ends I will probably go back to being my unmotivated self and this story will never get written. And I don't want you to hate me for being self-indulgent or insecure either. I can't help the way that I think anymore than I can rewire my brain; which could by all accounts be sitting in a lab in a vat somewhere.

Also; this isn't something I have chosen for Myself. More than likely I need professional help. Believe me- I've tried to get it but not one professional I've seen has yet been able to say what is so wrong about me. It isn't funny being depressed, paranoid and crazy, but it can be something you can learn to live with; even when those who are around you can't. I think I could stop putting the chemicals in- but where's the fun in that? There isn't. So if I'm drunk or stoned for a few hours a day I must deserve to be, right? Why shouldn't I have a few good hours out of an otherwise crappy day?

There. That's enough of an explanation. I hope you understand and are still here. I'll call this first story School Daze. Almost everything is true. It should be relatively painless. Read what I say out loud if it helps and in reverse when you can- it won't make any less sense; and good luck...if you're confused then imagine how I feel.

School doesn't seem like ages ago at all when I think about it. It was about the time that people really started to notice that I was a bit strange sometimes. I've always been a thinker; I like to know the meaning behind things and if I can't find out I'll make one up. Which is how, I suppose, I ended up with the Bogey-Hole Cutter.

I should explain, firstly, that my Grandmother lived in a haunted house at the time but has since moved to a lovely little unit near the shops with only half the number of steps to climb. Apparently when you are eighty, even if you are still fairly fit, this is a fairly important consideration. But the big old house had an old sea-captain named Ernie living there once, and, after he died, he lived in the manhole near Grandmother's bedroom. At night, when the wind came whistling up from the sea with the crash and salty mist of ocean spray, sometimes Ernie would come and make the pictures on the walls move. Or at least I think he did. That house played tricks on your mind.

A lot of my nightmares have been played out here. Every room has got it's own story but my favourite place is on the Landing. You've got three choices of steps to take; choose left and you are with the other kids. Choose right and you can eavesdrop on the adult's conversations at the end of the long corridor, and when we choose going downstairs we love siding down the wooden banister all the way to the bottom. Apparently the Landing is where the Uncle once pulled a gun on the Cousin too, but I liked it so much because there was this set of eight pictures on the wall that I could really relate to for some reason- even then.

It was a story about a family who at first lived the good life, but once they were introduced to the Bottle their lives' went up the shit; and the father ends up murdering the mother, and then he gets sent off to a lunatic asylum- all because of the Bottle. It's almost funny; but that seems to be how my own life is turning out- just like in those pictures. I just haven't been murdered yet and the baby hasn't died from starvation. I got my hands on them again recently. They are mine now, for the time being at least they live in my cupboard. As soon as I'm not being lazy I'm going to paint the walls and hang them in the hallway of my house where they now belong. Perhaps. Or maybe I'll end up having to sell them to pay for my rotten teeth; caused by my own ritualistic experiences with the bottle. Ironic huh? I was fascinated by those pictures when I was younger but how could I have known that those pictures would end up resembling my own life?

One thing I hated about my Grandmother's house was turning off the lights in the downstairs hallway at night; you'd pull the string at the bottom of the stairs and then have to bolt all the way to the top of the flight with the wind and I don't know what else chasing you, your heart bursting, until you reached the safety of the big brass bed that sagged in the middle and could dive under the musty patchwork quilt- trying hard to force the visions of Stephen King's pale vampires firmly from your mind. But when you finally do stick your head out to breathe you see at once that the Pink Lady and the Blue Boy are out dancing again. Her skirt is being blown softly in the breeze; you can see the ripples of fabric billowing-even the bow beneath her floppy hat is moving gently with the breeze. She is at once beautiful and scary. I don't like to look at the Blue Boy as much- he generally only wavers for a moment or so, and anyway he's pretty creepy. I, for one, was not upset to learn he got so moth-eaten in the end that he had to be thrown out. All around Us are silhouettes of something. And then there are the black dark nights when you can't see anything at all, and they are somehow worse.

But in the mornings there is the antique telephone to play with and we play secretaries and make prank phone calls. You see, we weren't totally naughty children- I even think Grandmother was fond of us once upon a time. Sometimes we even did normal things. But there was this one time we said in a prank to a vet that our Chihuahua was unconcious in the driveway after having mated with a Great Dane. We didn't even have a dog at the time. I don't suppose that's funny to you- but we still laugh about it sometimes.

We are nosy little beasts as well; a trait we have picked up from every other female in our line, and rummage through desks looking for more exciting things than recipes and receipts. Diaries are a good find but finding a Will is even better, as are personal letters. They have information that can be stored and retrieved when it's necessary. At any one time in our family there is at least one person who is holding a major grudge against someone else. We've all had a few turns at it. No-one's perfect. It's funny, though, that while they are not speaking it seems like everyone else talks about no one and nothing else. At least for the first year. It's not that hard to see why. Everyone needs to have some ammunition when they are under attack, and should gather ammunition in times of 'peace'- so if you can't hide the evidence it should be destroyed, in my opinion.

And it is only my opinion. Some people would have you think that there is nothing wrong with how I am but lots of other so-called normal people have often commented on how warped my life seems to them. The truth is that I don't know how to be any different than what I am. I can't help being circular either, so I deny it and pass it on to my children like it was passed on to me. Some people never learn that the only way to lie really well is to tell most of the truth in the first place-then it's just a case of remembering what details you omitted and, if I'm going to be completely truthful, I do that quite a lot. I fake the facts. But I never forget what really happens either, and the Real story is always the more interesting story of the two anyway, wouldn't you say? My family, more so the older members, have the annoying habit of trying very hard to forget the truth- and then they alter history to suit themselves and that's the version they end up believing. Of course they don't see it this way, but that's just a part of the Disease.

In truth; we didn't spend a lot of time staying over at our Grandmother's house, but I can still remember walking down past the Fort and dangling my legs from the the wafer-thin sandstone cliff tops I perched on- how or why it didn't snap off like a sand-biscuit and get me dashed on the rocks below I'll never know- while watching the hang-gliders sail through the air above. You can see the waterhole from atop the cliff, a swirling mass of froth and foam, and the swimmers- who brave not the icy water or choppy sea but the green kelp that is creeping with crabs and other biting things; things you have to tread on if you want to get into the water. It doesn't help when your Sister's and Cousin are reminding you of this every step of the way, either, and it's dangerously slippery to boot.

At this time the waterhole, known as the Bogey-Hole, holds deep significance for me as my class was learning about it in Social Science, as part of the curriculum for the First Fleet and Settlement, and I am fascinated that the Convicts had been made to dig this hole out of rock as a bath for the Governor. How could they have done it when the water was rushing in on them every second, for instance, and what tools could they have used to dig the rocks out with, deeply enough to form such a deep pool?

I begin to imagine this tool- it would have to be hand-held, with a serrated edge and would probably resemble what Grandmother has in her desk drawer near the antique telephone. I steal it before going home-which takes a bit of effort I might add- and for my homework that night proudly draw this object in my workbook. On the following Monday I arrive at school with my secret and gleefully show my teacher the Bogey-Hole Cutter, which I explain is now my Grandfather's knife that he found near his house up on the Hill when he was building his new garage.

To cut a short story even shorter, I wish I could have seen my own face when the teacher explained that it was not the real Bogey-Hole Cutter at all- but just a very old cheese knife. I still have it too. Well, I can hardly take it back now can I? It's been mine for twenty-four years!

I suppose the most embarrassing part of this story is that I still insisted it was a Bogey-Hole Cutter and got up in front of the entire class and told them all about it. I'm sure that some of them even believed me.

And having said that, it won't come as a surprise, will it, when I tell you that I've been doing and saying stupid things all my life.