muppinstuff

sounds of smashing glass

Once upon a time, anger would rise up in me until it reached this awful, awful point where I wanted to smash something. Actual smashing only happened a few times, a broken glass door at my parents place, an unbreakable (hah!) glass on the concrete path outside in the backyard and once, another unbreakable glass in the hallway of the cafe we owned. None of these smashing events were anything to be proud of and looking back, I have only the faintest sense of what it was that made me feel so wronged, so powerless, so consumed with rage. Other times, when the black dog was at its very blackest, thoughts ran through my head in which I heard the sound of glass smashing and felt my teeth breaking as I crashed the car into a pole. These two feelings, although different are not entirely unconnected. Both involved a terrible, awful, fearful feeling inside, that affected those around. The smashing was a cry for help that pushed people away.  So why am I writing about this?

Well, there was an incident at work last Monday and it hasn't quite left me yet. It's not that I think about it all the time, but I'm still a little jumpy, a bit touchy. When I wrote about it in one of my paper diaries, on the tram (because I've been busy and that was the first quiet time I had that was not taken up with watching telly and knitting), I noticed that I was writing in small precise sentences, like a statement for the police, and that I was fighting back tears.  Not that I didn't have a big cry after it happened. I did. Like others around me, I was all strong and quite useful while it happened but after the police had gone and things had settled, I retreated to the sick room for a big girly sob. And then I had to call mum and tell her and hear Grace's voice on the phone. Then I had to call G who was still in tasmania at the time. I wasn't the only one. There were a few red eyes and shaky hands about. There's something quite upsetting about having someone walk into your place of work with a brand new hammer and without even talking to anyone, calmly smash several touch screens, a computer, the video survelliance unit and a big wall mounted television. Which came crashing down. All the smashing was right at the front of the office which is a fair way from where I sit and no-one was hurt. I don't even think he ever any intention to hurt anyone but you don't know that when it's all happening. The first thing I knew about it was the sound of glass smashing, followed immediately by the sight of people running and shouting for the alarm. The ten minutes it took for the police to arrive seemed like avery long time. Especially with the alarm still running and a frightened customer whisked from the front area sitting at my desk. And not knowing what was going to happen next.

On Friday, I went to the market on my own for some time out and to buy some socks. As I was sitting on the tram writing in my little emergency diary (the one I carry just in case I have to write something), I thought I'd get to the second incident this week. Yep. The second. On Thursday, just as I was getting ready to watch some late night telly (season 5 of The Sopranos) and knit, I heard the screech of tires, the smashing of glass and the grind of metal and plastic, followed by angry shouts. Right outside our house. I went out to have a look, there was kicking (of cars and the ground) and shouting and swearing, steam and glass everywhere. A crowd was gathering and seeing whether there was anyone hurt which there wasn't.  But I called 000 anyway, calm on one level, losing it on another, double checking that no-one was hurt. Again it seemed to take the police a long time to arrive. Actually, by the time the motorbike cop arrived, the young men whose cars had collided had already stopped yelling and were working together to move the cars off the road and the one who lives across the road was sweeping away the glass. Sort of.

Every thing at work was cleaned up very quickly, although the equipment is still broken. We were looked after well, extra staff arrived soon afterwards to help us out and allow plenty of time for a proper de-brief. But it makes you think twice about wanting to go to work. An extra reason to drag your feet a little, to stay under the doona for yet another five minutes. Especially when you're a simple public servant (although our bureacracy is complicated and kafkaesque at times). Sometimes though over the last week, I've thought about the man with the hammer and how he might have felt, having all that cold hard anger inside, why it might have built to that point. And then waking up and realising the aftermath. Will he feel regret, shame, be upset that he frightened people? Someone told me he'll be sent a bill. Apparently damaging commonwealth property doesn't come cheap. Even after it's all been swept away.

back to busy

Back to work last week. Just two short days. It was OK, but enough. Two full days coming up this week which I think will be OK too. It's kind of weird leaving in the middle of the afternoon, so it will be good to work normal days with proper rhythms. With an hour for lunch (instead of half). Being at home for four weeks has made me realise anew what a difference it makes to have an hour to myself in the middle of the day. Especially important when I come home from another kind of intense day and have to go straight into the bath, dinner and bed routine. Complete with tantrums.

Some of my colleagues thought that I had been on holidays (leadership not being specific about why I was absent due to privacy reasons, which I appreciate) but for some reason, that really bothered me. So, I've started to tell people that I was ill, and if they've asked, I've said that I had a manic attack, that it was pretty serious and that I'm getting better. There have some interesting reactions, one being that I seemed alright at the Christmas party and you wouldn't have known. Which may well be true. I guess my actor continued to present the calm/normal facade for short periods, although she did get a bit tired and haggard there for a while. I really, really need my actor, but sometimes she needs a rest.

Some have said they think being honest is really brave but I doubt I'm ever going to buy the whole bipolar / mood affective disorder / mania / depression / whatever it is I have / as just another health issue that can be managed just like diabetes thing until it's not shrouded in shame and secrecy. I'm sure blogging about it and the supportive response I've had is a big factor in why I feel more or less OK about being upfront. Sure, I do worry about my career (such that it is) and about being labelled and about having a return to work program, but less than I would have thought. Blogging means I'm used to expressing my thoughts, used to making a narrative about what's happened to me. That's given me a confidence I might not have had otherwise. So, once again, thank you all for being here. And for reading.

Last week I also had two(!!) by myself outings at night. Firstly a mother's goup dinner at a local place, which was great. Although I felt a little sunworn and sweaty, as I chose not to go home after my doctor's appointment, but to walk by the river with my camera instead, and then catch a tram to the restaurant. Then the next night, drinks (sadly softies for me) with a woman friend at a nearby pub. It was interesting to walk into a hotel by myself for the first time in about eight or nine years and scan the room for my friend. I noticed a number of men of roughly my age group look back. Not that I would dream of anything untoward, but you know, it's a funny/interesting feeling when you're a forty something, somewhat shrewish mother with a partner and all the responsibilities that go with that life to have a man make eye contact with you. Indeed. And then later walking back to my car (on a main road not far from where I met my friend), I was harrassed by hoons driving past yelling take our photo. When I refused, because I was only interested in the lovely soft rain (oh yes!) and the lights, and because I'm fairly arrogant that way, they said, hey look, she's not a man! Hah. All in all though, it was really great to be out and about. I'm going to do it again. For sure.

hall of mirrors

It feels very much like the same old, same old. Once again, I'm really not well. Thought I was getting better but apparently not. Indeed, I have been quite unwell. It's hard to know what to write here, what I might regret (although I can always post edit). Indeed I've delayed writing anything for some days and delayed publishing for several more. It's so absurdly difficult reflecting on this illness, my head feels like porridge and thinking about what's going on inside it ties me in knots. In lucid moments, sensible Janet comes out and says all the right things and then I feel like I'm managing this just. oh. so. well. And that really, I should just be able to go on with my life. Which is actually the loopy me talking, because I can't. Shouldn't. There's a hall of mirrors inside my head.

Last week at work was truly awful. I felt like I had no skin, open to everyone else's feelings. The medical word is labile, from the Latin labilis, meaning liable to slip. I had this feeling before the post natal psychosis. Maintaining control has been like navigating a supermarket on acid without anyone noticing. You can do it, sort of, but it's really, really difficult. And it had begun to feel like normal. Obviously I looked and sounded fine enough on the outside, but wasn't and lacked the judgement to tell someone. Wednesday was surreal. On the way to work, on a packed tram, an old lady fell into my arms. She was about to dismenbark and I was poised to take her seat when I heard her teenage granddaughter say, Nan, Nan are you alright? Someone help. I stood behind her as she fell back into my arms. Someone call an ambulance, I said, and people reached for their mobiles. I helped the old lady onto the floor and was checking for breathing. As she came to, another woman, much more experienced in first aid, appeared from the back of the tram and took charge. We placed her in the recovery position and put something under her head. A connex offical with a backpack arrived and despite the firstaider saying that the old lady shouldn't be moved, arranged for the tram to be cleared and change tracks so the next tram could pass. As I went on to work I couldn't stop crying under my sunglasses. In the end, I think the old lady was taken good care of. It's pretty normal to be shaken when something like that happens, but later and throughout the day, I started to doubt whether the event had actually happened. Eventhough I could still feel her old lady soft body fall against me. Reality was becoming tenuous.

There have been stretches where things have been OK. Including some Christmas shopping, in town, on Thursday morning. Bizarre, I know. Mind you, lunch at my favourite food court eatery (with really good chilli eggplant, mmm) was surreal. A really fat man sat at the table next to me and picked at his food and another man, homeless I think, did furtive battle with the sparrows as he ate from plates left by others. The young waitress clearing tables pointedly ignoring him. I just sat there and freaked out. However with hindsight, it's obvious that good bits have been moving further apart, becoming much more unpredictable. It all came rushing out at my psychiatrist appointment that afternoon. Not only did my doctor have her notebook out, but she checked her notes from the previous two and a half years.When I said the thought of hospital is appealing, she asked me, would you like to go to hospital? I can arrange it, but it would have to be in the public system. I've been in hospital before and decided no, because as my doctor says, hospital has it's own set of terrors. It's likely that I have a form of mania. Not a bright sparkly high, but an anxious unpleasant one. Chances are that my diagnosis has moved from mood affectiveness disorder to some type of bipolar. On hearing this I cried, I blamed myself (as I always do) for not being more on to it. We can manage this, the doctor said, would you react this way if it was diabetes or some other treatable condition? Lots of people make this point and can I just say that I would (at least intially) blame myself for having diabetes. And be upset and frightened. Being faced with a chronic condition is probably always shocking. Even when the signs have been there for a while.

I've told work what's happened. Not too much detail but the truth. Which worries me, but then if just say I have a medical condition, is that really better for me? There's no problem with leave but because I'm taking more than five days off, I'll have a rehabilitation caseworker assigned when I return. Gotta love the public service. I've been crapped off and pretty angry about it all; upset that I'm leaving my colleagues short staffed at a busy time, feeling like a shirker, a fake (love that hall of mirrors) and a drama queen, worried about how I'll be labelled, whether I can still do my job and how it will affect my future prospects. It's amazing how attractive work becomes when you can't. If I'm well enough to go to the Christmas party after work next week, they'll arrange for someone to collect me and Grace. Which is really pretty sweet and decent. But what do I say to people? The other night Dad reminded me I like my work, that it gives me a deep sense of achievement as well as an income. It's important to remember that not coping at work is a symptom of being ill and not the cause. In the past I might have just left. I'm determined not to do that this time.

So everything is on hold. No work until the new year. No buying houses* or other big decisions until I'm better. No driving until the new drugs stop making me drowsy and the crazy has settled. Not too much computer. I didn't leave the house for two days and alternated between nausea, head popping headaches and drowsiness with the odd bout of pitiful crying (but not in front of Grace). It wasn't depressed crying, more sorry for myself, how did I let it get this bad, it's all my fault for not living a better life, being in the mental health system is making me crazy and oh shit, I have to take mood stabilising medication again* and what if I turn into a zombie, and yep, I really am going crazy, kind of crying.

Oh fuck it.

On the good side, we already have some clean bits in the house. Not a whole house, but patches of detailed clean. Expect spasmodic posting and weird comments with bad spelling. And maybe some sewing and jam making. There has to be a good side to this. There really does.

* A house that I really liked sold in our price range today, but doing a major renovation in this state is lunacy - even I can see that. There will be more houses.
* Not lithium which I liked and would happily take again except that it gives me the shits, quite literally. Another one. Side effects (for me) unknown at this stage.  Although it does appear to be working and calm seems to be returning. Yay for that.

what happens when you forget how to breathe

You know how I said on Friday that I was a tad anxious but getting better. Well I wasn't (but think I am now). When I went to see my doctor and she asked me how I felt, the first word that came to mind was, messy. Then as I began to tell her why, she halted me momentarily and reached for her notepad. Always a bad sign. So I'm off work for the rest of the week. I'm not depressed, just really quite anxious, with some signs that I could become a little manic. So I'll probably get some sewing and shopping done.

It feels very strange to be allowed to take some leave from work for my head to clear. Sometimes I feel as though I'm shirking, like you mean that the cure for my illness/condition/way I feel now is to relax and do some things I enjoy? Like sleep alot, sew and go to the beach? Huh? It's so logical yet so at odds with the way our culture functions. When I called work, I was fairly up front. The euphemism we use is that I think I'm becoming unwell. I guess when you've been in hospital for a psychosis and are under a psychiatrist's treatment then you have a certain permission that way. But I've been thinking quite a bit about how the work I do affects me and my colleagues. There's a  lot of talk about resilience and of course I wonder whether I've been slotted into the not very resilient slot. Then again, I always get points for being up front and managing my condition.

Don't get me wrong, I like what my work brings; money, independence and that feeling of being out in the bigger world. I enjoy talking to people (workmates and customers), making decisions, having morning tea and getting things done. But it is also true that in a day I'm likely to see a lot of people who are ill, mad (quite unwell even), needy, cranky, pissed off or just down on their luck. Or have never been very lucky to begin with. And my job might be to ask them some intrusive questions or tell them that they have to do something or that they can't have what they feel they are entitled to. Most of the time though, I'm happy enough about going to work. But I just can't face it at the moment. I don't trust myself to remain anywhere near level, my brain has moments where it feels all tingly, like fairy floss with edge, or it just stops working and I'm a total blank. I teeter between feeling too much sympathy for others and not caring at all. Simple things fluster me. And if something doesn't go to plan or if one of my family members isn't contactable by phone or someone or something is running late, I panic. Most of the time I look like I'm doing OK, but underneath it's all quite frightening.

Anyway, back to this idea of resilience. If I make a list, there's been a lot happening around here over the last month or so. Two of Gerard's friends died, first Steve after a long illness, then Julie, quite unexpectedly in her sleep. Sad and intense. We've both had major dental issues, I had two weeks of higher duties at work, which was pretty awful and has left me wondering whether I should be looking at something else to do after we find a house and move into it. G has started a new part-time job and although him working is a good thing, my life was easier when he wasn't.  And it's a new routine. Again.

We just missed out on a house at auction and although a better one is looking likely, looking through dead people's houses (deceased estates) takes up a good part of each weekend. It's been tiring. Especially with a child who would not wear her new shoes, so had to be carried or left in the car with the other parent. So really, a lot has been going on. I think anyone might get a bit stressed and I actually think that G's had it harder than I have. My doctor thought that was a reasonable enough thing to say but then she said, you have a genetic disposition to... I forget exactly what, but the gist of it was that I am in some special category, meaning I have to take extra special care. Which I don't necessarily think is true. Don't we all have to take care? Does being resilient mean that when life gets tough (as everybody's does every now and then) you just go through it with a stiff upper lip and an extra glass of wine at night? Or that you stop caring and become a teflon person? Or that you simply choose not to be stressed? There are times when you can reframe your thinking but it's not always that simple. Not for me, not for most people. Perhaps part of being resilient is knowing when you need to pause for a little while.

I'm wondering how I make the work I do more sustainable in the medium term. More balanced. More excercise would help, but it's hard to take the extra time in the morning or after work because it cuts into the part of the day I have with Grace. It might have to be after she goes to bed. Definitely focusing on some more fun activities as a family would help too. I loved going to the beach yesterday. Swimming in the ocean was a glorious feeling, as was the rough sand on my feet. Grace has been telling me about it all day; beach, have cake (date scones), take clothes off, water, see fish, mummy go swimming, boats hold on (as in tied to the pier), chips for lunch, go home, sleep in nana's car. Oh gosh, we're going to have to do that again. It was pretty nice. Maybe it's still just a matter of letting some time pass.

pleased

At the beginning of the week all I felt was anxiety. Thrown by the sudden hot weather, dealing with dental issues (mine and Gs), toddler tantrums and shoe issues, work, life, the universe. All at once it seemed just too much and I thought I was teetering on the edge. So I asked for some time off work. They said that holidays at this time were unlikely but that I should take personal leave if necessary. I decided to just let time pass and much to my surprise by the end of the week, things were much better. Despite an infection in my tooth, the one having the root canal treatment. Which would make anyone grumpy.

Last night as I was getting ready to go home and just enjoying that pause at the end of the work day, one of the team leaders called me over for a little chat about what I'd be doing over the next month or so. My current project has been suspended during the holiday peak. As I helped plan this, I knew this would happen but hadn't given it much thought recently. There always being something to do at work. Anyway we had the chat and then she asked how I was feeling and I said fine, crisis averted, and then she said, you've got lots of leave, and we've been thinking you could have Monday and Tuesday off. As rec leave. It's not the whole week but you've been working hard and could probably do with a break. Yes! I said. Oh yes.

I am very pleased! And suddenly the world seems a whole lot more rosy. I saw the dentist last night and he gave me a prescription for drugs, so the infection will be all gone by the time he does the next painful and expensive bit. Already my tooth doesn't hurt so much. And I'll have a couple of extra days at home to spend with Grace, maybe plan an outing with her and nana. There'll be time to move files onto my new computer and enjoy the super beautiful new screen (everyone's photos look so super gorgeous). Time to organise some work clothes for summer, think about the garden and maybe get a haircut and paint my toenails. Must dash though, it's shrink day and I have some childfree time to go shopping. Yes, life is good.

a fabulous day for wallpaper

We went to look at two houses today. One I saw saw thursday before last. It's a total cutie. Nice street, good area. Beautiful diamond paned windows in the front, lots of charming (and some not so) period features, wide hallway, a linen press, cladding (protecting the weatherboards) and tin roof tiles (which mean that the house hasn't cracked under the weight of cement tiles). There's also several sheds, an adequate sized concrete backyard (blech) and central heating (first house we've looked at with such a convenience). It also has rather spectucular wallpaper, different in every room. The kitchen not only has wallpaper, but tiles and a wooden feature wall. And the bestest light fitting I've seen so far. This house comes across as a warren of rooms and some people just freak out, but I love it.

 

The kitchen is on the small side and the bathroom has no bath, which would require some thought, but there would be all sorts of possibilities for tweaking these things in the future. There would however be  two small studies.

But wait there's more... Another house, also in a good area for us, but with a better floor plan. Didn't make sense on the internet, but once we walked around and saw where the light came from, it did. Unusually for the era, it seems to have been sited to allow northerly light into the kitchen and dining area. The lounge is a little dark but that's OK. And the linen press is in the bathroom, which is not ideal, but the bathroom does have a lovely deep bath. Also a house with two studies.Touch and go as to whether it will be in our price range, but.... takes a deep breath, it could be.

The killer is, it goes to auction on the same day as, but after, the other one. Which is probably more likely, but this one is slightly better, especially as it is now. With work and a small extension, the other one could be better in the longer term. But they're both good. Of course, we may get neither.

In other news, I seem to have developed a twitch in my right eye. Can't see it, but if I put my finger over my eyelid, I can feel it. Which means I probably should be avoiding computers and television. So I had a nap this afternoon, but I wasn't really tired. Maybe a little nervours about work next week? I put my hand up to do higher duties while a colleague is on leave and am one of three in my office to take a turn at this role. A little taste of where I might go in the next year or so. I have all sorts of ideas about what I'd like to do in the job, but it's only two weeks. Of course I'm nervous. I always turn into a little bundle of anxiety about things like this.   

yellow

Hmm well, I had lots of ideas about taking a picture at work (with my name badge on even), but every time I got up the nerve, I rushed so much that I didn't set set the camera correctly or used the most unflattering angle possible. This was taken a week or so ago, one night before going home. Pre-haircut. Which I still like, eventhough it doesn't look anywhere near as glamourous as it did after the hairdresser styled it. And really, I think I'm doing pretty well if I wash my hair and remember to brush it when it's dry. Next time, I'll get them to cut it a bit differently to take that into account, but I'm not losing sleep over it.

So what can I say about the bathroom at work? It's very yellow. There are signs reminding one to use the brush if required, and handy cupboards. A shower in case you ride your bike to work and a hand dryer that dries hair very quickly. Apart from the usual business, it's where people come to cry or have a moment alone, away from the public. There are of course other spaces; the tea room, the sick room (which is also used as a prayer room), the smoker's area outside, the filing bay, the carer's room (for when you need to bring your child to work), the forms area (which would be a two year old's evil payground) and my favourite, the big cupboard of recycled folders, out of date stationary and odd bits and pieces. The other day I found a pile of beer (or soft drink) coasters with the logo on them. Mmm, this is the same organisation that has shorts as part of the coprorate wardrobe so you're actually allowed to wear shorts and sandals to work, but not blue denim.

I didn't get caught in the act but what would I have said if I had? The blog isn't a secret but I don't talk about it at work. Sometimes I go for a walk at lunch time and take photos and I don't mind if people see that. But taking a picture of yourself in the bathroom, now that's just weird! 

More bathrooms here.

new do

It's been one of those weeks at work. Not a bad week per se. Just emotional. Which I guess is part of the deal for me working for an organisation that touches peoples lives the way it does. Sometimes I really wish I could talk about work in more detail. Suffice to say, on Wednesday, I had a long interaction with a customer that at one point had us both in tears. In the middle of an open plan office, rather than at my desk up the back where I sit every other day. It was like we were in a little bubble. I did manage to collect myself and go on to do the necessary tasks with bureacratic efficiency. Which is important, because at such a time, you really don't want to get caught in some bad administrative loop.  After the interview ended, I went to the tearoom for a mental health moment and for the rest of the afternoon I was pretty good. I was fine on the first tram home, but when I got to the park, to catch the second tram, I just sort of dissolved. I took some photos and thought about my customer and thought about my own sadness. And I thought about how, five years on, I'm really not sad anymore. Except for at odd times, and when I hear about the sadness of others. Especially people who are beginning a journey of sorrow.

It has to be a good thing that I'm not still sad, but there's part of me that is surprised about that. Or a bit uncomfortable. Even though there will always be a deep feeling for our son Frank in my heart, letting go of that big sadness is hard in itself.There were quite a few tears in the park and when I got in the tram to go home, my eyes were still sort of leaking quietly.

So I'm on the tram, thinking my sad thoughts and my I'm not sad any more thoughts. Thinking about writing a book one day, after buying a house, after settling in, one day... The light is streaming in through the scratchy windows. I look across at a woman talking on her phone. And I think, right out of the blue, I want that haircut, I want her haircut. And I want it soon. No more bobby pins, or hair elastic. It's time to go short. The next day at work, I asked around for a hairdresser in the area and found somewhere that was reasonably priced and that could fit me in today. And ta-da... From the deep, to the most extraordinarily shallow...

The colour's still fresh, it's full of product that smells like coconut and has been ironed with what looked like a flat version of the old fashioned curling wand. The hairdresser thought it most amusing that I'd never had my hair flattened straightened and that I don't own a hairdryer. No doubt it will look a bit different once I return to my scruffnut ways tommorrow. But it feels really good to lose the hair. I'm really pleased with how it looks. And how it feels. Different. Lighter.

And it really is OK to be (mostly) not sad anymore. Maybe one day soon, I'll be able to not cry at work when I hear sad stories and just be helpful and considerate. Without crying. Which isn't really helpful. But happens. I am in awe of how people in some professions do it, you know nurses, social workers, shrinks... etc

snotfest '07, the recovery

We spent the whole weekend resting. No housework, no outings (except to see Steve on Friday night but we were home by seven), Grace has had two naps a day and I've had one or two myself. Simple healthy food. We're trying to be nice to each other too. Not always easy when you're sick and grumpy and a bit tired of it all. Or you're only two and you don't understand why you can't run all the time.

I decided not to go to work today. And felt a bit guilty. Then when I rang one of the teamleaders this afternoon to say that I was taking tommorrow off as well, I found out that four people had called in sick today, which in a small office like ours is quite a lot. So if I'd gone to work, it would have been really hard, more guilt. But basically I felt like shit unless I was lying down. Lying down is OK. As is looking at Flickr, messing with the camera and reading blogs, but only for a little while. Anyway my teamleader asked if I'd been to the doctor, he has to ask because we have an attendance strategy, and I said that I couldn't get an appointment until Tuesday. But that if I miracloulously felt better, I'd ring in the morning and let them know that I was coming to work. I then told him that I'd been sick for three weeks (he's been on holiday) and that I was well and truly over it, that I seemed to be catching every new bug that walked in the door, and that Grace and Gerard had it now as well. And that I was beyond soldiering on. He sighed.

But truly, I worked out tonight that I've actually had this cold for four weeks. I know I'm not the only one, the supermarket this afternoon was full of people who looked like the walking dead. Why do we keep going? I know a cold isn't that serious for most people, but this soldiering on for weeks is rubbish. A few days, OK. If I'd stayed at home in the first place I mightn't have passed it on, I wouldn't have let my system get so run down. I wouldn't have had so many weeks of feeling like crap warmed up. It's crossed my mind that if there was a really serious influenza outbreak that it'd probably start like this, with everybody still going to work, still going out and about.

Being sick is innately depressing too and I was starting to feel my moods slip below what's normal for me. Little things were throwing me and big things were devastating. Now that I've had four days in a row with at least ten hours sleep (8 at night, 2 napping) my mental state has gone from precarious to fine. I still feel pyhsically ill and a bit sad because it's September, but I don't feel on the edge. In fact, I'd say that lightness and a sense of optimism are returning. Happiness even. Alongside the sadness. Indeed I seem to be able to feel the sadness properly, if that makes sense. Let this be a lesson to me.

And can I just say a heartfelt thank-you to those who commented, emailed or otherwise shared about my last post. Sometimes it all tumbles out and it really does help to have a place for it to fall.

day one in the tardis

So today was the first day of my week and a bit rec(reation) leave. A week off plus my one in four Thursday tacked onto the Friday I normally have off. If that makes sense. I wouldn't know, because I feel completely scattered, like I need to unwind really, really fast and then get things done and then relax properly. All at once. A week seemed quite a long time at first, but now that I've made a list of what's going on each day, it really isn't. There's only one day where I don't have something planned. Except for the second Sunday. Most of the planned things are lovely (and I wouldn't change them, no not at all) but I wouldn't mind replicating myself so that there was a week of activities and socialising and a week that could be dedicated to lying the couch, sewing and mooching around. Most days I only have one thing to do, and except for the day of the dentist which I booked because I think I'd be a whole lot happier if my teeth didn't hurt and because I couldn't get an appointment at my favourite dermatologist to have the weird (but not serious or really painful) bumps on my legs seen to, the days are filled with nice things. And no doubt, there will still be a fair bit of mooching and faffing. And hanging with Grace, who often likes to wear pink.

This outfit included pink trackies and ugg boots. Last Sundays outfit featured the yellow raincoat and the 'lo 'lues top, a constant favourite, even though it isn't pink. We pretty much let Grace choose what to wear, within the dictates of the weather and without wearing seven hundred outfits a day. Not that I take her shopping for clothes yet (except shoes and that's hard enough). So it's really a pretty limited sort of choice.

Today we went to the toddler reading session at the library. I bumped into a few people I know from round about and had a natter. Grace listened and played for a short bit and then an older girl taunted her with the information that they had taken the teletubbies DVD and that therefore Grace couldn't have it, ever. Luckily her mother stepped in. It's such a scene the Brunswick Library. G took Grace home while I had a good long Savers session. I'd really like to get my work look sorted a bit. It's not really a suit sort of place, but I seem to keep falling too far into the scruffnut zone. So some shopping in the city tommorrow. And later in the week maybe some sewing or at least some planning, so I can ask sister Betty to make me some new things.  I did buy a new coat which I'm in two minds about. The perfect charcoal grey Country Road pea coat with wool lining and a sort of heavy waxed cotton outer was just a bit too small. I hummed and ha-ed and decided that I really couldn't buy something that might fit me later. No matter how perfect. I ended up getting a shortish dark blue wool cashmere boxy coat with a big collar that could be a bit stylish or a bit old lady. It's hard to tell. Perhaps I should just get over myself. At least I won't be wearing my raincoat or the old man's coat all the time anymore.

On the way home, I took a whole lot of pictures of the magnolia tree near the station which is covered with new blossoms, a sure sign that winter is coming to an end. Joy. I'm doing a CAE course which I expected would teach me how to use photoshop elements, but it's turned out to be a lot about photography in gerneral. Learning lots of new stuff but there's not really enough time to practice properly. And it's confusing. Oh well, I'm sure I'll pick something useful up and it's good to have hobbies.

Maybe I can take some night shots tommorow, because we're going out. At night. Without child (who'll be staying at Nana's). To see the big Bob. Oh the excitment!!!