Daylight Savings fucks with my brain

Honest to god Daylight Savings causes mild (witnesses say extreme) hysteria as soon as I realize and the only person that can calm me down is my dad. This year I’m at my relatives and Dad wasn’t home when I called. So I yelled at my mum on the phone. It went something like this…

Her: Hello Bon!

Me: No thankyou! Need my dad!

Her: What?

Me: Daylight savings! Savings of daylight! Time travel! Do you want to have this conversation with me or can I have my dad please?

Her: Oh right. Shit. I forget you do this. Um, he’s gone down the street…

Me: on Easter fucking Sunday? I can’t even. Can he call me back directly please?

I hang up the phone and scream/yell/rant about the ridiculousness of Daylight Savings. Mention the Indian anecdote ‘only the government would think that they could make a blanket longer by cutting a foot off one end and sewing it to the other’ more raging, people start arguing with me, we all get a bit shouty, with me becoming increasingly enraged and ridiculous. I sit in three different chairs, wander around, frantically google time travel related daylight saving memes, lose internet coverage and blame time travel, which leads to another rant about me not being the Dr and therefor not built for the complexities of time travel, and then, blessedly for everyone… the phone rings.

It’s my dad. He’s armed and ready with the explanation about when it began during the war and calmly explains history and dates and I start to breathe. This is the way he always starts the call u til he’s sure I’m listening. And I am, but the way I need it explained to me changes every year. Once we’re past the basic history we enter the minefield that is the way my mind works. Dad is a natural and calm debater and oral historian. He does not argue with me. He simply states the facts of whichever information packet that will work this time. He has to be ready for a different perspective and rapid fire questions. He’s great at this. My brain swerves one way and he’s there with facts and figures. It swerves another and he’s equally unflappable and ready again with more information. He’s the only one interested in this topic enough to ignore my irrational fear and hit me with enough facts to calm me down a different way every year. But not too many, because then I get confused again and I might cry, which would horrific for both of us.

Last year realizing that moving the clocks a bit so everyone uses power a bit less and thus saves on greenhouse gasses made me calm. This year he needed to remind me that the Earth is on an axis of 23.5 degrees, hence the length of day’s changing.

It’s not actually the government.

It’s the planet.

Not a conspiracy or the stupidity of the human race, it’s science.

And breeeeaaaaatheeeeeee. I’m calm again and as tired as a puppy with a belly full of milk. A little bit goofy and ready for a nap.

I hope he’s got something up his sleeve for next time. I bet he just loves these phone calls…

Not 100%

So I was listening to one of my favorite podcasts while knitting tonight. I know, I know, picture your Nana doing the same thing in front of a fire with the wireless programs on and now fast forward a few decades. That’s me. Anyway! Hannah Hart was featured in The Hilarious World of Depression (look it up and thank me later) and she just explained depression to me in such a way that I understand it better. Yep, 15 years in and I’m still figuring this shit out.

She says: I might have 10 days of the month when I’m at 100%. Where I don’t have depression. And so if I feel like I’m at 20% capacity that day then I will give myself 20% tasks.

It made my brain go *ding* Like, I’m at low capacity today, what is the one thing I can do? A load of washing? Have a shower? Walk the dog? Cook dinner? Stay hydrated? Pick just one thing. Just ONE thing! Do it and be ok with that. Give myself a break. Not every day is going to be a productive day. It’s ok. The world won’t end. I might get more done tomorrow. I might not. I might get an entire to-do list done. I might sleep all day on the couch. BOTH things are ok. You are you and I am me and we are doing the goddamn best we can. Allow yourself to have the bad days. I have depression, I can give myself a free pass on the days my brain doesn’t work. At least I’m trying. I’m trying to be ok with not being ok. I’m trying to give myself a break. I’m trying to love me just the way I am. Broken and wonderful all at once.

As Hannah puts it: even if I only get to see myself 10 days a month, at least I know what Me looks like.


I want to write this feeling down. Record it so that I can remember it. It needs to be cherished.

I am lying in bed listening to a investigative murder podcast.

Rose is cuddled up in my arms. She reaches out, one paw usually touching me.

The light is on outside the door and I can hear Tevita sitting at the desk, tapping away, working late.

My house is full because my sister and her kids are staying over.

I feel safe and relaxed. Good feelings washing over me as I zone in and out.

Soon I will fall asleep. Surrounded by family in the big busy house I always dreamed of. Protected, loved and happy.

It’s a good night. It’s almost a shame to fall asleep. I am lucky and I’m well enough to know it.


I haven’t been in here much. I’ve been trying to write, but I’ve just felt totally unable. Nothing tragic had happened. Nothing at all has happened. I’d like to use the old phrase that the spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. Turns out though the flesh and spirit are both so tired that every little thing I used to love is now too much effort.

At the start of having fibromyalgia I felt so relieved. I had my answer. I wasn’t alone. I got proactive. I joined a support group. I talked to other sufferers. I felt hopeful.

But then I spent three days in so much pain I couldn’t think. There was no relief except sleep. It started happening more and more. Now having the reason was worse. It became a curse to know that there was nothing I could do to relieve the pain. That this would happen on and off for the rest of my life. I suffered a week long flare up. And then another one. All I could do was sleep, wake up for toilet breaks and water and then fall asleep again. My skin itched and burned. My bones aches. My muscles spasmed or cramped up. I was hit with migraine after migraine. And it won’t ever stop.

So all my energy has been siphoned from me. Mentally I’m struggling. I feel alone and isolated. I’m looking down the barrel of a lifetime of this and I just can’t even process that.

I can’t work. I can’t play with my kids. I can’t think straight. I can hardly remember who I am anymore.

So right now I don’t feel like writing. I feel like sleeping. Because when I’m dreaming I can do anything. And there is no pain.

I’m writing a book!


Yeah you read that write (haha).

I tried last year to write one and I liked it, I had fun yadda yadda.  But trying to write a piece of fiction with plot, characters and narrative traction is just not gonna happen with my current mental state. So move over Diary of  Wimpy Kid, cos here comes one for the grown ups.  What’s that you say? An excerpt? Why I really couldn’t, ok then, if you insist! I mean I know you probably didn’t, but I like it better my way.

Sometimes I wonder how I would appear in a court room (it’s only a matter of time).
Like not on what charge, that’s the beauty of being me, I don’t worry about the big stuff. But how people would see me. I have finally settled on charismatic and witty with the power to rip someone’s head off with my intellect.
We’re talking me, on my best day. It’s a good mix.
Step 1: Make the jury laugh and warm up the room (my life is one long comedy festival).
Step 2: Tear apart the slimy lawyer.
Step 3: Saunter out of the court room after slapping the witness box and announcing ‘case closed’.
Step 4: Probably go to jail.
Do you love it already? Cos I do and that’s all that really matters.  It’s my book and it’s keeping me from pulling out all my toe nails.  Besides, my motto is Do The Thing.  Do it now.  Life is short or bug arse long depending on your current mindset. You may as well spend it doing entertaining things.  Cross off the bucket list now. Cos tomorrow we might all blow up.  Or melt down.  I mean, it depends on what happens first.  Whether a world leader presses the big red button or the planet boils.  Either way, grab a glass of wine, decapitate a butterfly, paint that picture, do a cross stitch with all 6 strands of cotton. LIVE. It’s kinda what we’re here for.
X Bon.

Dear Grown-Ups

Last night I was suffering a fairly standard bout of painsomnia (just like insomnia, but caused by pain) which is a lovely new feature of Fibromyalgia for me. It’s also hot as hell here in Aus and didn’t cool down until 2am. I know, cos I was still awake when it happened. God dammit.

Aaaaaanyway, I was listening to one of my fave podcasts, Terrible, Thanks For Asking and Nora was doing an episode called Dear Grown-Ups which really touched a nerve. Basically a whole heaps of listeners sent in questions they wish adults had asked them as kids. Not just mums and dads, but other adults. In my case of course what hit me in the chest like a train was the wish of one listener for anyone to have reached out and just said simply, what’s going on at home is not normal. Your mum has a drinking problem and we’re here for you. I didn’t need a big intervention (they never work) or for everyone to march in with a brass band and make a big deal. But if someone had of looked at me instead of her and said it’s going to be ok, that would have meant the world. For them to say ‘hey talk to me if you need to’. Well, I did tear up then.

The other thing that came through repeatedly was adults wishing they had known that they were loved NO MATTER WHAT as children. Really known it. Because it was said out loud to them. So I sat down right then and wrote my son and daughter letters. Simple words, saying very clearly that they were loved unconditionally. No matter what they say or do, I will love them. When I’m yelling, I will love them. And they don’t have to do anything for that love. They don’t have to get awesome grades, or have the most friends, or be the best at sports. I’m already proud of them. I think they’re wonderful little humans. I will just love them. As they are. Forever. Because I’m their mum. Then we read them together this morning and talked about it a little bit. They can keep those letters and read them whenever they need to. Because we all need reminders.

I’m reminding myself not to take for granted that the people around me know these things. Especially children. I have to remember that they’re really sensitive. They see and hear more than we realize. They can pick up on emotions and energy we think we’re doing a great job of covering up. Newsflash? We’re not. That’s ok. But I might as well tell them why. Because I remember thinking as a child that every bad mood and every tear my mother shed was somehow my fault. It wasn’t and I know that now. Grown up lives are a huge juggling act and not many of us can juggle. So I tell my kids, I’m crying because the door fell off in the lounge room, or my pay didn’t come through on time or I burnt dinner and it was just one damn thing too much today. And yeah I yelled and did a bit of swearing, because it sucks. But I’ll be ok, none of this is on you.

Oh, and I love you.

Every single day.

No matter what.

💋 Bon

Learning to love myself.

Our new house has a full length mirror and tonight I looked at myself. Like took off my dress and just really looked. Of course at first I saw all my flaws. My fat belly, my dimpled legs, my bingo wings. But then I saw that I stand a cute way, I have strong legs and beautiful tattoo’s. I like my hair this short and it’s natural colour.

Yeah there’s stuff to work on. Of course there is. But I can still like me the way I am now. I can appreciate this body and everything it does to keep me up and moving. I can even look at it and say hey you, I’ve hated on you for long enough. You are amazing. I will look after you, I deserve to feel beautiful.

On the way to bed I walked out to my husband, without putting my dress back on, comfortable for once. Content. Hell, even happy. He yelled at me and hurt me. His disgust was louder than his words. I started to cry. I felt so deflated. Like I’d taken a big step forward and been shoved backwards harder than I deserved. I can understand and recognize his misplaced trauma and protectiveness. I can accept an apology and move on. We’re all a little bruised, and sometimes we need a minute to let the wound settle. Words have power after all.

As well as all that, I can still be happy. Even if tonight we sleep in separate rooms. I can still like me. I can love the skin I’m in. No one can take that away from me. Not if I’m resilient enough not to let them.

Be brave. Love yourself. The world looks better from here.

X Bon