The Mandatory 'Why I Blog' Post

I've been wondering lately if I have anything left to say here. There are so many things I would like to be able to express, but writing with purpose is much more difficult than just channeling the fully formed rambles of my sub-conscious mind.

But then there are times when the conversations and connections I have and make here on the Internet are the nearest thing I have to a social life. I don't have a voracious social need, so while it's not a substantive enough sense of connectedness to leave me feeling satiated, most of the time it gets me by.

A few days ago, I stayed up late to share my pain with the Internet, or at least the four people who regularly read this blog. Michael left a comment and wrote this on his blog and so, in response, I'm finally writing the mandatory 'Why I Blog' post.

I can relate to Michael's comment about a blog being "a desperate appeal for attention and approval", but it's primarily been more than that for me and if you'll excuse the presumption, having enjoyed his blog for some time now, I suspect it is for him too.

In spite of the fact that I'm not very good at it by most standard measures, blogging has been an extraordinary experience for me; it is not hyperbole to say that it has immeasurably changed my life for the better.

On it's most basic level, it's a grand conversation; thoughts and ideas bounced back and forth; expanded, expounded and compressed.

It's also been profoundly cathartic. I've been able to effectively let go of compounding pain and trauma from my past that had become a terrible burden to me, simply by recording the stories here and having them acknowledged by just a few generous and supportive souls.

Following from that, my blog persona is, ironically, often a truer reflection of me than my real life interactions will allow. I'm still more honest in the world outside the Internet than benefits me, but I have learned to hide aspects of myself and my life from most people in order to ensure an easier passage and less disturbed frowns. That process of live-editing can be exhausting and sometimes it's a relief to be able to just get on here and over-share, knowing that should my ramblings cause discomfort, closing a browser window, unfollowing or unsubscribing in a reader are fairly easy and non-confrontational acts.

For someone who tends to get a little lost in her own head at times, the opportunity to lay things out in a (somewhat) ordered manner and invite the views of others can be invaluable in maintaining a balanced perspective.

Given that my real life social interactions can be Spartan at times, writing it down and sometimes having it acknowledged or even validated allows me to file it away. In the absence of that opportunity, I can enter into a real life conversation with a list of things that I need to say; to have acknowledged. When this is the case, I am not truly present in that interaction, which means that I'm not giving proper attention to the person I'm speaking with, which, of course, makes me a poor friend.

And so to sum up, blogging is good for my mental health and makes me a better person. Having said all that, however, I do very much understand Michael's need to derail his approval seeking. Sometimes a habit, so ingrained that it has a life of it's own, needs to be approached sideways. If you can't play the game in a healthy way you might need to step out of the game altogether. But more on my efforts to sublimate my own approval seeking when I have more time. Moving is taking forever and I'm starting to fear I won't have everything done by my deadline.

I'm looking forward to seeing where this next step takes Michael's wonderful blog, Always Going, Going Going on Beyond.

The Shark Net

I just read Robert Drewe's memoir, The Shark Net. In it he paints a vibrant portrait of Perth in the 1950s and '60s as he tells the story of his childhood and coming of age. His tale is underscored by and intertwined with a series of disturbing murders taking place in the city at the time. It was a great read.

If you'd like to read, The Shark Net, leave a comment to that effect and I'll send you my (well read) copy for free. If more than one person claims the book, I'll choose a recipient randomly later in the week. If it's not claimed it'll go to the op shop on the weekend.

Nice Cape

I've been trying to catch up on some of my favourite blogs, but I find myself leaving lengthy, slightly needy comments, so I'm guessing I should probably be indulging my need to write over my need to read.

It's very late at night. I ate some chocolate while the children were in the bath earlier and such is my woosiness in the face of sugar and caffeine (gasp!) that now I can't sleep and I'm afraid that it seems the clock just struck maudlin-o'clock. I remember compulsively snorting line after line after line of speed and bouncing around in my own head like this. Is it ironic that all it takes now is a bar of chocolate (eaten equally compulsively)? Maybe it's karma. I'm pretty sure it's something. Let me know if you have an idea what.

I've been quite socially isolated for several months now. A few events coincided to instigate a period of exile. It's gone on long enough now though that I'm losing proper perspective and becoming poor company when I do find myself in close proximity to adult humans not of my household.

To be honest, life has never fitted well. It's like a velvet cape that I so want to wear, but once I put it on, I know I just look like a failed hobbit. And then I sit in my ill-fitting cape, the hood drawn up around my face, watching everybody else flit by in comfortable little groups looking like packs of badass vampires or enigmatic elves or even nuggety but pragmatic dwarves.

I recognise that much of that ever-present sense of alienation is in my head, but the habits of a painful childhood tend to be the hardest to shake off.

Those coinciding events? One of them involved finding out that a woman I had allowed myself to grow unusually fond of wasn't who I had convinced myself she was. All the evidence had been laid out before me, but I'd been persistently ignoring it despite its mounting nature. It was only in the face of the undeniable that I was finally forced to confront my poor judgement. That was a bummer. I think I should be better than that now. I don't think I should be making mistakes like that anymore. Who do you trust when you can't trust yourself?

I confronted the situation - which proved pointless and painful for all involved. There was no reason to cause her distress by then, she had already walked away. It was a lame attempt to connect more authentically and frankly it was and is a definite case of shitting in the nest. Writing this here probably makes it worse. Ouch.

I keep craving greater honesty though. I am me. This is who I am. I am not always good. I just want to stop seeking your approval and I don't want my life to turn to shit when you decide you don't like me.

Even Funnier...

So yesterday we served a notice of our intention to vacate (downloaded here) on the agent, giving 29 days notice - one more than required to account for potential bullshit. Today the landlord's notice to vacate, giving us 60 days notice, arrived via registered post. I think it had to have been posted yesterday morning - BEFORE we hand delivered ours in the afternoon - to have arrived so quickly.

I always have a big old anxiety attack when a letter arrives by registered post. No one sends good news that way. Let's face it, I have an anxiety attack every time the doorbell rings. The people I want to see on my doorstep all wait until they're invited.

A few months ago, we put a fair bit of time and effort into finding a house in an area I have an attachment to (on account of it being filled with trees and making me breath deep whenever I am there). I was set on raising my children there.

That first lot of house-hunting was pretty awful. There weren't many properties available; rents were expensive and the open for inspections were pretty demoralising for all but the estate agents. We looked at a few, which involved a lot of driving; many baby grumps and big girl whinges and a fair bit of grown up bickering. We applied for a couple. One application was approved by the agent and rejected by the owner, which led to raised and then crushed hopes. Then, since there were unrelated, but valid, reasons to wait a while, we let ourselves off the hook temporarily, since none of us felt we could continue with the process. But I hadn't let go of the dream of living in the tree place.

And then I posted a blog post and got determined and compromised a bit and got us a house.

And then we all served notice on one another. If we didn't have a new address today, I cannot describe what a state of panic and outrage I would be in to find that after eight years of both the agent and owner regarding requests for maintenance and repairs with contempt, I am now being evicted, because they chose to let the house deteriorate to the point where it can't be fixed with us living in it.

Not to mention that I would still be thinking that finding a new home was going to be a near impossible task.

As it stands, I opened the letter with a deep sense of foreboding; looked confused for a minute then shook my head incredulous.

That is some highly coincidental timing right there.

Funny that...

Funny thing about blogging... The act of describing things in words and reading the perspectives of people you respect but don't know all that well can sometimes create an extraordinary catharsis or a powerful catalyst.

In the case of our decaying home, letting go of some of my shame and telling you all that I live in a complete shithole owned by a seemingly very greedy man, also helped me get the fuck over my tenaciously clung to dreams of living amongst the trees (at least for now while the rents are high and our income is low) and choose an interim step in our journey. It also helped me get over my feelings of intimidation when dealing with real estate agents. My loathing is another matter, but if you behave like one besieged, the attacks will soon follow, so perhaps the less said on that, the better.

This time instead of trying to motivate my dear partner to action on MY agenda (because, eek!, I can't possibly do this alone), I just let him know that the children and I were off to look at houses and he happily joined our party of his own accord. Funny how that works too.

We liked the first, but I patently rejected the next two. No whispering behind hands so the agents wouldn't hear; just, "Oh no, this will never do." Funny how you can change; grow; develop like that - like waking up in the morning to find that your baby has seemingly grown inches overnight and learned fifteen new words in her sleep. Bam! I'm two inches taller and blithely navigate the Melbourne rental scene. Magic.

We applied for the first one; told ourselves and each other a little too loudly and casually that, "OBVIOUSLY we won't get it." and I planned out the inspections I would attend on the Friday. We've made that mistake before - falling in love with a house; planning where the furniture might go; imagining it our home. This one was just a house. Albeit a very nice house.

We didn't discuss the fact that it had the most beautiful new kitchen I've ever seen. With a dishwasher! Finally! And a bungalow so That Guy can enjoy his own space (while we enjoy our own space). And lots of light and built in robes and polished floor boards and a gorgeous lower maintenance garden. In a quiet court. At a very reasonable and affordable price. We didn't even mention it, because OBVIOUSLY we wouldn't get it. And then we did.

We signed the lease on Friday. They even approved the spoodle, god-love-them (little do they know).

And I am packing like a mad creature (whose children are breathing mold spores in their sleep). Even after all my decluttering, I have found that I have far, far more books and things in general than I want to drag behind me through the world. I've been looking at Minimalism in 21 Days on this blog and thinking that while I have everything packed in boxes, I want to take the opportunity to re-reassess as I unpack. I think I'll pick a staging area and then only bring into our home the things we love or need.