This is a huge week at work, and I’m not going to have time to write. Not writing is like not eating. Or like eating capsicums or something that I hate. When I don’t write, my brain feels full and cloudy. The moral of the story is, if you hang around until the end of the week, you can cop the brunt of my full cloudiness. I’m so good to you.Leave a comment | 2 comments
I arrive at the clinic and feel the blood drain from my face. I want to be done with it, to feel relief and freedom, and I hate myself for it. Gaz has been agitated with me from the early morning, and to not feel his warm hands around me exacerbates how empty I feel.
This is the third time I’ve been to the clinic in the past month. I take my patient information form and try sitting in a different corner of the waiting room. I am crippled by terror and I make a desperate call to another clinic. - Please, I’m desperate, do you have any places today? - I’m sorry, I don’t think we do. – I’m already at the other clinic and I just can’t do it, help me. – Come in at 1 and we’ll see if we can squeeze you in.
I run from the clinic to Gaz, who is sitting on the ground next to my car with a cigarette. He is lit up like a bushfire. He doesn’t look at me. My phone rings. – Hello, we’ve had a cancellation. Can you come in now? – Yes.Leave a comment | 18 comments
This morning I sat inside a cliche and breathed the air: a pond with floating Mallard ducks, a weeping maple and a half rotten park bench with a dedication to someone’s lost love. I wasn’t late for work, but I knew I could be. I was trapped in the soft sunrise, sleepy but kept awake by the crispness of the daybreak.
I was vaguely aware of the garbage truck in the street and the traffic on Wattletree Road, pummelling and punching its way to the city. I scratched my head at the “NO WEDDING PHOTOS” sign, wondering if the City of Stonnington had something against women with silly parasols and slightly uglier but not so ugly that they ruined the overall look bridesmaids. I chose not to worry about it. I had an hour before I was due at work and felt determined to spend it being slow.
I decided to notice things in a deliberate and measured way. I considered the Japanese Maple to my left, tangled in knots, its barren arms smooth and gleaming. Its red leaves had mostly dropped in the colder weather, but they were nowhere to be seen – a gardener must have raked them. I imagined an enormous zen garden rake grabbing and shifting the cultural stereotypes. I felt the impending stress of my day begin to seep away.
In the quiet stillness of the park, my brain began to talk to me.
What time is it?
It’s not even 8, I said. Plenty of time to be slow.
Did you write the presentation?
Don’t be silly, it’s not a presentation. I’m just going to talk for a few minutes.
What if they think it’s a presentation, and then you just talk and you haven’t done anything in Powerpoint at all?
Fine, it’s a presentation. I can wing it.
Did you remember to give the kids money for the cake stall?
What about Lily’s runners? I bet you cleaned the dog poo off, right?
Are you serious? There was dog poo on them? She’s gone to school with dog poo on her?
Yeah, but don’t worry, at least you got to slow down for a few minutes.Leave a comment | No comments
Warning: this is an update post about my Pozible project and you shouldn’t read it if you don’t want to.
Sometimes, when you have depression and anxiety, things are a bit like this:
“WHY AM I EVEN BOTHERING EVERYONE WITH ALL MY SHIT THEY DON’T CARE I’M INSULTING THEM BY EVEN THINKING THAT THEY MIGHT CARE DON’T WORRY I WILL JUST SEE MYSELF OUT OF THE PLANET.”Leave a comment | No comments