#989 The f*&king application

I sat at my desk today, trying to write.

Here is my desk:

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Hold on. Let’s take a closer look, shall we…

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Yep. It was that kind of day.

I had held off on a to-do list item for a while now. And it wasn’t just ANY to-do list item. It was a writing one, one that involved applying for a writing course that I was hoping to put concerted effort into if approved – not only because it was a long-held passion of mine, but because I had to find something to do next year when my 11-year job came to a halt.

In applying for this course, I had to write a cover letter detailing the stage and progress of my novel, as well as include 1500 words of prose.

But, what would I write?

“Uh, so I wrote this book, about 20,000 words too long. And then I sent it out to agents with no luck, so I kept re-writing, and then I got it down (slightly), but then by that stage I had a baby.

I totally went off the ‘pitching book to agent phase’ because you know, said BABY and all, and then found another avenue to express my love of writing – in blogging.

And you know blogging is sooo much easier. No one is there correcting my work or telling me I can’t get published. I write what I like, and when I hit post, the whole world gets to see what I’ve written, whether they like it or not, think it is smart or not, and whether they agree with me or not.

But I really need to get my head out of the sand and start doing something with my novel, hence why I am here. SO. PLEASE. HELP. Accept me into this course before I start yet another blog.”

Or, something like that. Like, how could I actually put into words the last 6 years of my writing life?

I did my damn best. I put something together, I was honest, I added the words “cringe” (because I really was cringing as I put it all together) and prayed that it would be received well.

How horrible would it be to actually be rejected for a writing course? Like can you imagine… you want to pay someone a considerable amount of money to teach you stuff, and they go “no sorry, we don’t want you to pay us.”

Shudder.

To their benefit, the programme wants to make sure that the level you are writing at is best suited to their course, or else they can suggest something else for you. They don’t want to waste your money, which is actually admirable.

Still, I need help. And today I was so glad and grateful that I finally got around to writing those few pesky letters and emails I was putting off for so long, because I couldn’t actually put down in words, what I had been doing with words, all these years.

But I got there… and I hope that I actually, get there.

#953 The best part of Google

‘Google is greash.’ I actually have that tag floating around on this blog, and I use it often.

And yes, I am dedicating today’s gratitude to it. When you get to the bottom, you will understand why.

Because it is not a frivolous or materialistic thing. Sure you can find things online, buy them and have them delivered to your door… but that is not what I am grateful for.

Sure you can search for the lyrics to your latest fave song, and be singing along to it within minutes of finding it… but that is not what I am grateful for.

Sure you can turn to it in times of wordly need, and search for the synonyms of breakable, just as you can look for the antonym of exhilaration… but that is not what I am grateful for.

Sure you can look up your city’s weather in 2 weeks time, and try to determine if you will need to re-think picnic plans for that weekend… but that is not what I am grateful for.

Sure you can search for the most uncommon, weirdest and rarest object (try the image of the cat in water saying “I’ll F&*k you right up,” a round rug no bigger than 2 metres diameter in various shades of blue, and silver 1970s Pontiac wheel trims  – that one is on Hubbie), and it will still give you some kind of info, even including where to get it…

But that is not what I am grateful for.

Instead I am grateful for this: I am grateful to Google, because as much as you can find the most obscenely tedious and trivial things on it, so too can it help you mend your heart.

You can find online forums and support groups of people who are going through the same thing you are.

You can speak anonymously, when in real life you can’t speak up at all.

You can feel comforted by the fact that you are not alone, and there are in fact hundreds if not thousands of others like you that have gone through, and are going through the very same thing.

You can feel a little less lonely, a little more connected, and happy in the fact that there are others who can help.

In this regard, Google excels.

So today, Google… I thank you. ♥

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#950 The 5-minute parental break

I wonder if my peers out there who have their parents look after their kids, realise how lucky they are.

I mean, it is a GOLD deal. You have the people that raised you, who love you and care for you and who are your number one supporters, caring for your child. You might be at working, getting your hair done, or even lucky enough to get a night out with your partner while your parents put your kiddies to sleep at night.

I was lucky for a short time anyway, where my parents co-assisted in watching baby girl when I first went back to work after maternity leave. Although it was only part-time, there was the greatest security and comfort in leaving my daughter with them, knowing she was being looked after, let’s face it, with MORE care than they had ever looked after me!

It lasted just under 2 years, until health issues and a major move impacted the schedule, and nowadays, they aren’t involved.. in that way.

But when I go to their place, I love, that I will always know the care, love, and babysitting duties are always there and on offer 😉

My parents said today: “Go and lie down. We’ll take her outside.” I was feeling tired after ALL THAT FOOD (i.e. Mum going overboard as usual) and was just feeling a little heavy, so I took the advice they had so adamantly laid out for me.

I lay in my old room, looking at the picture that has been on my wall for at least two decades.

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I can safely say with 95% confidence that it was given to me on my 12th birthday, and I can even tell you with assurance who gave it to me. I find there are many things from my childhood that are cemented into me, whereas ask me about my early 20s and I am all “HUH?”

But I lay there for all of 5 minutes, enjoying the calm, listening to my breath, my body, and the happy cries of baby girl yelling excitedly from the yard.

So when I got up, I naturally spied on them from the kitchen window and saw them playing.

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I could have gone back to lie down. But I decided it was better to join them. 🙂

 

#850 Walk like a Shaman

Have you ever felt like you weren’t being heard?

Well, maybe it had to do with the people you were talking to, NOT LISTENING.

We are all predispositioned in our views on the world and our personal opinions, based on the experiences we’ve had, the teachers who have taught us, and the things that moved us into our own a-ha! moments.

We talk and talk and talk. It really only matters though, who you are listening to, and whether they are your kindred spirit. When seeking guidance, advice, help, if you are chalk, and the person you are talking to is cheese, well… it serves to reason that their advice will centre on the dairy, whereas you are looking at a blackboard kind of approach.

You get my drift.

I know that it is beneficial to widen the horizons and look outside the square – this applies to all parts of life, with the region of seeking outside help included. But when you feel like your soul is trying to tell you something, and wherever you go to for help, you can not hear any words of comfort, you can’t see any glimmers of wisdom, and you can’t feel any deeper meaning or connection that makes you think you might finally be in the right hands…

You start second guessing yourself. You start to doubt that inner voice, that quiet yearning tone, and wonder if your soul, is in fact, what you think it is.

You start to listen to the majority.

I depend a lot on my instinct and intuition…

Thank God for that.

Because today I found someone who speaks my language. She not only spoke with comfort, wisdom and meaning, but she actually spoke to my soul, and confirmed to me all my darkest and deepest fears and wishes.

They had been true. I had doubted myself, for nothing.

The feeling of relief and gratitude that I still hold in me from this meeting today, is profound. My soul is light, my head is clear. There is no stopping me now.

The waves of repercussions I am still getting from having met face to face with this amazing human, are still echoing through my body, and I hope they don’t leave… not now, not soon, not EVER.

Today, I met a Shaman.

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Photo by Allef Vinicius on Unsplash

#799 (Tiny) kitchen hand

I was preparing dinner. One of the things on tonight’s list were these too-easy mini pizzas I make using puff pastry, and they work just as well as a side dish as they do in baby girl’s kinder lunchbox.

She spied me, making them.

“Mama me help?”

I must have grumbled, or made no response. I was in one of those moods. You know that mood where you just want to get shit done, instead of entertaining someone and being all patient?

Sadly in that moment, I wasn’t the ‘let’s do this together honey!’ Mum I try to be. Rather I was the short-tempered and cranky ‘I’m busy!’ Mum.

I must have realised this though, because even when her back was turned as I got to a part that she could do, instead of quickly finishing them off myself, I called her over.

“Do you wanna help me sprinkle cheese?”

And after she did that, narrating “sprinkle sprinkle sprinkle” as she went, she then asked

“Can I roll?”

I breathed in deep for that one. God help me how would they turn out? … But sure, why the hell not? It was just rolling.

They turned out beautiful. One broke in the middle half-way through, but I didn’t even care. I had suddenly seen ourselves through my eyes 5 years earlier, and realised that she was helping me – wanting to help me in the kitchen – something a pre-Motherhood SmikG would have clapped her hands with joy for. Something a pre-baby me would have thought was the most cherished and beautiful thing in the world to share.

And so I pushed my busy-ness to the side, and stood in the glow of gratitude.

#675 Helping Hubbie no.2

I was rushing around the house 20 minutes before leaving for work, trying to organise some Christmas treats to bring in.

Usually I bake gingerbread men and spread the Christmas cheer. I still had tradies in the kitchen yesterday, so freshly baked gingerbread was NOT going to happen.

I got baby girl popping in chocolates in little bags for me, while I started writing on the little cards for each of my work colleagues.

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15 minutes now. Crap. I still had to eat.

A pleading look, a sweet question, and one fast Hubbie later, and I was eating this:

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He looks out for me and I love him so much for it. I asked him to make me a cheese and tomato sandwich, and he threw in some cucumber and ham and sprinkled salt and pepper all Masterchef-style, and bam! lunch done.

I drove off 5 minutes late with a bag full of individually-wrapped and personalised Christmas chocolates, but I didn’t care because my belly was happy.

🙂

And on a side note… I (well baby girl) wrapped 13 lots of choc for my work buddies… though I really would have wanted to do less. And why? Because Christmas. Though there are people I am closer to than others, and some that I feel are NOT deserving of treats as are others… I just couldn’t omit certain people simply because of our work relationship or what I think about them most of the time.

And so then I thought, ‘if I can ignore the crap for one festive day, how about we ignore it for the other 364 days of the year?’

???

Food for thought…

 

#640 Saved by the Family

“I’m f^&ked,” I wrote to Hubbie from work this morning. “Heads up.”

He knew what that meant. That meant I was going to come home later in the day, plonk myself on the couch, and moan about how much pain I was in.

And I did exactly that.

Baby girl assisted by sitting really close to me and telling me I was her best friend in the whole world, cradling my face from time to time, and saying every so often “yay, Mama home.”

Hubbie helped by cooking dinner and doing ALL the washing up.

Both HUGE things. I mean, love, attention, food and home maintenance… I should get sick more often, yeah?

NO. Most definitely, no.

Back to normal tomorrow please.

But it is nice to know, my loved ones have my back. ♥

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Photo by Daria Nepriakhina on Unsplash