Get up girl

So I had a massively awesome weekend.

A friend was flying to Sydney, stopping off in Orange for fuel. And he offered us a lift. Do we want to scoop up the kids and zip off to Orange to visit the fam? Um, yes obviously let’s do that!

It was very very worth it. My first time in a small plane and all the awesomeness that is flying at 400 k’s, 10,000 feet up. You feel every wing shift and can see the ground the whole time – AMAZING!

Spent time with cousins I hardly get to see, the kids had a ball and I got plenty of bubba cuddles in. I am one happy lady.

Downside of awesomeness? My body will always ask me to pay for it. I have to learn to accept the pay off for doing anything that uses a lot of brain power and physical doing.

Today my eyes won’t work properly, because like all my other muscles they are freakin tired. Imagine that all your muscles, nerves and even your skin were just fucking done with today. Now tell yourself to get up and go. You’re basically suffering from body wide, intense flu symptoms and you’ve just told the old body unit that it needs to put in a full day at Uni today. Body and mind are gonna have an argument about that for sure.

I know I’ll pay for it later. I know all the self care options are sitting at home in a tool box I rejected today. I know I’m facing an 8 hour day armed with stubbornness, headphones and a kick arse playlist. It’s not enough, but I can get by until my pre-planned day off. I hope. I will hang on by my fingertips until my day off and hand out gold stars all the way.

Until then, I will dance this broken body of mine to school. I’ll be grateful I can do it. I will thank this poor old bod of mine for rising when she didn’t want to. I’ll treat myself to a bath at the end of the week. I’ll keep up my meds and check in for a physio sesh. I’ll do all the back ground blah blah blah it takes to face up to each day. Because as much as I argue and roar and cry and scream with frustration sometimes, I’m still here. My body still works. My brain is firing on most cylinders most days. What more can I ask for? It’s a bad day, but I’ve had worse.

So this week I know I’m asking a lot. I know there’s a physical list of consequences, some I’m getting ready for. Some might be a surprise package. I’m borrowing from Peter to pay Paul, but I just really want to be here. It matters to me.

So Fibro, with respect, please back the fuck up and just let me have three days. Three days, and then you can kick my arse for four.

As always for me… when in doubt – dance. Get em headphones on and boogie my arse into the car.

I can.

Or I can’t.

But I’ll still try.

Stay weird peeps,

X Bon

Stay You

Lately, I’ve realised that trying to be a grown-up has made me shrink again.  I’ve been thinking smaller, and my voice has quietened.  Which might be why I haven’t been here much. I’ve been aiming for an easier version of myself.  Easier for other’s to get along with anyway.  And I for one don’t think that’s actually what adulthood is all about.

I’m tired of being reasonable and responsible.  I’m tired of having to smile in grocery lines just to prove that peeps like me can be kind. I’ve exhausted myself, trying to keep my freak on a leash.  I am so sick of representing the nice side of weirdness.  It’s making me cranky.  I’m becoming intolerable – to myself. For once I wanna tap into my moody teen bitch and bring her forth to get people to back up off me for a bit.

So I think for a while I’m gonna get loud again.  I’m going to take up space and not apologise for it. I’m not going to smile on the days I don’t bloody feel like it.  I’m not going to waste any more of my time making other people feel ok about who I am.  Because no matter how ‘nice’ I dress, how much I cover up my tatts or god forbid, take my piercings out, I’m still me.  I’m still the awkward chick whose foot lives in her mouth.  Who laughs at the wrong time and sings off key. I’m tired of fighting my nature, just to be accepted by people I don’t even care about.  So the mum jeans are going to the op shop, the hats and scarves that cover up this head of mine are going in the bin. In fact, everything I’ve ever brought and keep for the days I have to look the part is all going.  Because I am the part.  I’m me, in all my weirdo wonderfullness.  So to the people who don’t want to be anywhere near it… please take yourself calmly to the nearest exit. It’s ok if you don’t like me, there’s no accounting for taste. But do shush on your way out, keep the hate inside and let it poison only you.

I’ve spent a long time making myself stronger, braver, truer. After all that work  I just can’t fit back into the box anymore.  So despite going back to uni, learning new skills and aiming for a whole new career… you can bet I’ll be showing up to job interviews as myself.  Who knows? The world might just be ready for me now.

I guess in a nutshell it comes down to that old saying: Always, always be yourself.  You may as well, becuase you’re not cut out to be anybody else.

Stay weird peeps,

X Bon

prove yourself

 

Me and My Shadow

It’s funny how a dog becomes a best friend in a way no one else really can. And yes, this is coming from a self confessed cat lady. I know I’ve mentioned Crowley here a little bit, but I wanted to introduce her properly, in all her wonderful-ness.

When I had to say goodbye to my little old Bam Bam my heart broke. She’d been my girl for 14 years. The first dog I owned as a grown up. My very best baby girl.

I knew I would need another dog. I’m not the type to grieve alone and lonely. We had little dog Nikki with us still, but she’s not ‘mine’ the way Bam was. Nikki is a little ball of rescued nervous ticks. She’s sweet and stubborn and as good a version of herself as she’s ever going to be. But in her heart of hearts, Nikki belongs to herself. She’s loves us is her own way. I’m sure she appreciates being warm and loved and taken care of. But she has no ‘mum’ so to speak.

And so the search began. We always prefer to adopt. I sent in applications. I wasn’t too fussy per se. I wanted someone smart, funny, trainable and loving. Someone who needed me as much as I needed them. But my applications came back no, no, no. No one really trusted little old Nik to be a good role model for a working dog pup. I have a big old soft sport for working dogs. Border Collie’s preferably. To me they’ve always been the people pleasers. The dogs most keen to be in mix of family life, but still have a primary ‘boss’. I wanted a heart dog again.

Because somewhere between me getting sick with Fibro and Bam Bam starting to decline from heart failure I realized I would need someone to be with me the way she always was. Someone who would still want to be right next to me on days when I couldn’t manage to fight through the pain and get up. Someone who wanted to be with me on the down days, as well as the better, more active walk-in-the-bush days.

Enter Crowley. Found for me by a dear family friend. She was a special pup, and her rescuer wanted the very best fit for her. I held my breath, said yes and hoped like hell they liked me enough to trust me with her. They did! We drove over, anxiously hopeful, to meet her. She was immediately delightful. Running around a farm, trying to get the cat to play with her, cheeky in a sweet, dorky, big footed way that made my heart say YES so loudly I’m pretty sure she heard it.

She kissed my kids and sat cuddled in my lap all the way home. She likes her daddy, adores ‘her’ kids… but she loves mumma most. I don’t want to go overboard, but she’s so much more than I hoped. She’s mine and I am hers and she made the loss of Bam Bam easier to bear. She lies on my legs through every panic attack. She greets every human with love and kisses. She looks at the cats the same way a dorky younger sister does her aloof older siblings and just wishes they would pay attention to her. She greets Dad after work like a hero returning from abroad. She’s so gentle and caring towards Nikki. She worries over her and helps keep her warm by snuggling up in the same bed. Especially now as Nik recovers from surgery and a cancer scare.

Crowley is a perfect match. Somehow the right dog found her way to me and I am grateful every day. I will live up to all her expectations. I will train her well and return her love ten fold. She’s my shadow, my soul dog, my gift. If she’s watching I like to think Bam Bam would be happy for me. She knows I will always love her, and in true baby girl style, she’s probably very happy I’m not lonesome anymore.

Thank god for ‘man’s’ best friend eh?!

X Bon

Is the Apocalypse here already?

I never apologize for not being around on my blog much. Such is life.

And I’m still not here, here. But I’d do love being here. Which is cool with me. I checked.

I just have a puppy story I think is worth reading if you want a little grin on your face as you go about your day…

So today I have gotten up, dressed and promptly gone back to bed. Bed is good. I’m not sorry. But I do have to adult just a little bit today.

So I go outside to take off Little Old Nikki’s pajama’s, do some brain training with Crowley Puppy and feed them brekkie. After which Crowley got up to show me her bestest trick yet. Ready? It’s pretty great. It’s actually what woke me up this morning, but I just thought the world was ending and ignored it.

Crowley is proud to present —-

‘How to entertain yourself when you’re human is having a slow morning’.

Drag a half empty 20L water joey from Coles up the stairs… boom-boom-boom and then throw it back down again rumble-rumble-crrraaasssshhh.

She calls is ‘Random Apocalyptic Noises Using Household Items’.

She’s pretty proud.

I mean she sure knows how to find joy in recycling. And she’s using her imagination which is what any parent really wants to see in their kids.

Gotta love dogs. They have endless amounts of goofiness! And she’s shares all her achievements with me so I don’t feel left out. She’s pretty much perfect… to me anyway.

So good morning world! Glad that wasn’t the apocalypse after all. Carry on about your business.

I’ll just be over here. Hugging my dog.

X Bon

P.S Crowley was really worried when I said I was going to put up a picture of Nikki too.

Because we luvs her and donts wants the world to think that she doesn’t even knows how to chews up her bed.

I said it’s ok Crowley, we all have different hobbies. No one will think any less of your ‘little’ sister. Promise. 😉💕🐾

Lost

It’s unclear why this anniversary of our miscarriage has hit me so hard. Maybe it’s because we’ve decided not to have any more kids, and it makes me remember the first.

Maybe it’s because my two living kids are older, at school and the empty nest is echoing around me. Whatever the case, this year is harder.

It’s been 11 years since we lost you. We move forward, but we never forget. Each step both further away and also closer to you.

It’s takes courage, my dear, to be so far apart.

I’ll carry you forever, right here in my heart. 💕

#pregnancyloss #angelbaby #foreverloved

Down and Up

It’s been a rough week. Fibro is kicking my butt cos apparently it hates any sort of weather change… and it chucks the biggest tantrum if that weather change is Winter!

But it’s been good to go down. Because then I know I can and I WILL come back up again. Even if it’s tough and really sucky and it makes me literally cry… I have to know I will come out of it.

This is not going to be a long winded post, cos frankly I don’t have the wind for it! It’s just a post about a shitty couple of weeks. It’s about knowing it’s ok not to be ok. And not just because that’s a really catchy phrase. Because it’s true.

So, I’ve been properly down for 3 days straight, which isn’t that long physically, but Ive been feeling it loom for a couple of weeks… and that plays havoc with me mentally. Because when my body says ‘lie down and don’t move’! And my brain says ‘shhhhh you’re so tired you can’t speak English, time to sleep’…. it’s really fucking tempting to give in and let lovely lovely depression take the wheel. Because if the Black Dog takes over, I promise you I will sleeep. For daaaaays. And probably enjoy it.

BUT getting that beast leashed again is too damn hard.

So I get up. I feel out my bones and ask them if it’s a dancing morning. It is! Oh hells yeah!

I grab my big arse head phones. The ones that mean I can’t even hear my own pulse or breath.

I make my bed as I get my feet under me and start to pump up the music.

I listen to three songs.

1: We’re Killing Strangers by Marilyn Manson

Because it has a wicked fucken beat and he can soothe the angry beast. I can’t dance for shit, but I do anyway. And my body doesn’t move the way I’d like it to… so I’ve taken to doing a sort of interpretive dance. It uses all my muscles, it’s bang on the beat and it feels really good. I may look like an electrocuted pidgeon, but I feel as powerful and Childish Gambino.

2: Better Son/ Daughter by Rilo Kiley

Ohhhhh yeahhhh. Let’s bring it down, take it in and streeeeetch it out! This song gets under my skin in the best way. From the outside this sounds like yoga. I LOVE yoga, but again my body dictates what we do today. I’m cool with it, you silly old thing. So I take this bod o’ mine through a heavily restricted/personalized stretch sesh. And it feels gooooood. Take that OT, I AM doing what you suggested! Just… in my own way. Gold star!

3: Why Can’t I Touch It? By Buzzcocks

This one means it’s time to get up before I fall asleep on the floor. Get my inner, slightly less spry, Punk Bitch up and moving. Put the kettle on. Help my very old cat Nev through his morning routine.

I have to act like an adoring butler during this, or he gets offended and won’t eat. And I have to keep the other cats away from his food without making it look like I am. Oh, and give him privacy but be ready to open the door because after food comes the enormous need to evacuate… I won’t go into detail. Let’s just say we both regret it if I’m not paying attention.

I move through the house while the kettle makes it’s racket, just checking everything is ok, cos I’m gonna crash out in 5, 4, 3…

I make my cuppa. Tea should be made in calmness. I settle for raging loud mindfulness. I do it while I boogie to whatever comes next on my headphones. Then I sit. One must have 15 minutes to sit with a cuppa. Which is drunk black in case the sitting takes a bit longer and I need to nuke it hot again. Or drink it cold. Whichever.

And now I plan my day. My neck is saying NO MORE GIANT HEADPHONES! My heart wants to run and run. My aching body and says Calm Down. So we’ll get dressed, this oddball team of broken brain, bad ass chic and failing body. I’ll get us under the heated blanket. Bark up the laptop and do… something.

Or read.

Or watch Netflix.

Or wander around in the internet for a while, hug the cats, wait for the pain to fade.

Cos it’ll fade. If I’m careful, patient and work on not going crazy while I wait, it will bugger off long enough for me to walk the dogs. Or go to a market. Or whatever. Just be a big, pink haired weirdo outside in the world for a bit.

Not today. Maybe tomorrow. You all know how I feel about tomorrow… 🎶 🌞

Do you have Annie singing in your head yet? Has she done that bit where she says… The sun’ll come out… tomorrow? It’s so good. Oh, ready for my favourite part… You’re always a daaaaayyy awaaaayyyyy!!!!!!!

Hope you have that stuck in your head now. You’re very welcome.

Hoo – roo peeps,

Stay Weird,

X Bon

Rise Up

I’ve been listening to Andra Day’s song Rise Up on repeat lately…

(Click link to hear it in YouTube)

Because as Winter gets closer my fibro flares up, and so does my anxiety. Winter blues is a real damn thing. Especially if you have mental illness and chronic pain battling it out for attention!

So. I wake up. I stretch. I feel which part of my body is giving me the shits the most. I rise up. I make a cup of tea. I get dressed. I listen to music in my head phones, chuck the heater on aaaaand stretch. Move through some basic yoga moves. Test my memory from my PT stretches and go through as many as I can.

Move to a faster track and dance. Shake out these cold bones and aching muscles.

I might read. Visit a friend. Write. Hell, I might call my mum or just veg out on the couch.

Whatever it is, I find the happy thing and do it. Because I’m motoring along ok right now. But that never lasts.

So I focus on the joy. Which you can find anywhere, if you’re willing to look for it.

You can find it strolling down the street at a bus stop.

Or taking the SUV for a squirt down a muddy track with the dogs.

You can find it when you hit jack pot and take home a crochet blanket from the local Sunday market.

Or while watching Picnic at Hanging Rock on Foxtel and being swept away in nostalgia. Seriously, that show is like walking through poetry. Stunning visually and fans of the book will adore it.

You can find it sitting in front of the heater, thinking about reading a book, but really just lounging with the cats.

Or trying to do some work, but getting distracted by how cute the pup is when she snuggles with the grumpy old Nikki dog…

Or in photo’s of a rainbow neon city tunnel texted to you from a cousin…

Joy is in the small stuff. You gotta store it up.

Like a layer of blubber protects a whale through winter, so too will a layer of happiness be a cushion against bad days. And really bad days. Store up the good so you’re strong AF when the bad comes ‘atcha. It’s just good practice.

Trust me, I’m a Doctor.

Well, ok, I’m not. Just a mouthy chic who’s been on this tightrope now for nearly two decades. Yep. I’m old as hell. Ok, I’m still this side of my mid 30’s. But I got some mental health miles under my belt so just trust your local crazy lady ok? Layer yourself up in joy. It lasts longer that way.

Stay weird peeps,

X Bon