I just yelled at my cat. In my defence he was yelling at me first but…
I’m sitting in bed eating horrible non breakfast foods for breakfast. My bed bows in the middle but I’ll get to that in a minute.
I’m supposed to be in class today. In a third floor classroom overlooking one of Melbourne’s grander laneway streets. I’m supposed to be sitting amongst the twenty odd students currently gathered there. As I’m writing this, it’s about the exact time the teacher/lecturer would be kicking off the main body of today’s subject. If memory serves today’s class is about settings and character…? I’m not sure. I’m supposed to be facing the front of the room, watching and listening intently as she peppers the class with questions and the whiteboard with information.
Instead I’m where I’ve been for the eleven classes. Right here in bed.
The thing they never tell you about depression is that you spend so much time in bed your mattress bows in the middle. You can flip your mattress but after about a week or so there it is again: a giant divet in the middle of your bed. I’ve figured out if I shuffle over to the edge of the bed you can sit in bed without making the divet any deeper.
The only problem with that is after a while you have to switch to the other side of the bed to try and balance it out.
I’m supposed to be in class right now. My teacher is very understanding. If I submit work she’ll give me feedback or grade it. The work isn’t the problem: it’s easy to an extent. It’s not fair on her though. Technically she prepares lectures and information sheets for the entire class but I haven’t read any of the in the last eleven weeks. In about four hours I’ll get two group e-mails. One will summarise everything covered in class today. The other will be something to read and discuss next class.
I’ll ignore the e-mails for a couple of hours. Then I’ll skim them. I’ll only get about halfway down the page before I close them and try not to think about them.
I think about going back to class.
Most people wouldn’t, they’d just go.
I think after this amount of time I’d have to arrive late. Perhaps fifteen to twenty minutes. I used to arrive early. Now I figure I would have to arrive late. I remember an order beginning to establish the last time I was there. Certain people sat in certain places. Week after week some would sit along the wall. Some in the back row. Some in the centre of the room. Some up front.
In my head I would need to arrive late. If I sat in Dave’s chair, Dave would then have to sit somewhere else wondering who the hell that was in his seat. Maybe he sits in Jennifer’s chair. Now Jennifer looks around the room for another chair, she sits in Cecilia’s spot underneath the window. Cecilia enters the room, she has to sit in Anthony’s usual spot. Anthony has to search the room dumbfounded and slack jawed looking for a new seat all the while certain lines from Simon and Garfunkel’s song have miraculously started floating through his head “Cecilia you’re shaking my confidence daily”.
“An order has been established,” my brain tells me. “You can’t upend that.”
This doesn’t even factor in that to the vast majority, if I did go back to class, it would be like a vaguely recognisable, nervous stranger had bumbled into the classroom and sat down. I haven’t workshopped anything with them. I haven’t had to share my work. I haven’t had to stand in front of the class and give an oral presentation like some of them have and will soon.
Most people wouldn’t think about any of this. They’d just wake up and go to class. Maybe I’m just sick of my heart pounding and my hands shaking.
Endings are tricky.
I really hate it when people post online looking for sympathy without providing context.
E.g. ‘I don’t know what to do. Feeling lost.’
Or ‘UGH. SO FRUSTRATED!’
Or ‘Can’t believe this.’
I’m not going to just lather you with sympathy if you’re not going to tell me what happened. For all I know ‘worst day ever FML’ might be a result of you running down a family of ducklings because you were texting while driving and now you’re going to be late for your lunch appointment because you had to bury the family of mallards in a shallow grave by the side of the road and you don’t like getting dirt under your finger nails.
I don’t write blank cheques for sympathy. I’ll happily Scrooge McDuck my way through my mammoth vault of gold sympathy coins.
Bonus for me: Gold sympathy doubloons offer tremendous amounts of resistance so it’s also a full body workout.
So, from now on, whenever I see non specific bellyaching online, I’m just going to assume the poster is either having some kind of irredeemable or irreversible sexual malfunction OR they’re sad Hitler died.
At least this way, I’ll get a chuckle out of your lack of specificity, you impotent or heartless monster.
The problem with rom-coms. If those movies were told from the love interest’s perspective, they’d be sad dramas about guys that just use women as stepping stones rather than people with their own hopes and dreams, looking for life partners.
You know the one.
It lies there in your contact list waiting. You scroll through and it jumps out at you making your heart skip a beat. You haven’t used the number in a while because they haven’t used your number. Is it because they truly hate you or because they’re punishing you for a slight committed? Who knows? More than likely you’ve already been deleted from theirs. They chose to move on.
It’s a weird modern notion. I feel like back in the day (not so far back ‘shop’ was still spelt ‘shoppe’) people just naturally forgot. Their brain dictated when it was time to lose that particular piece of information. It just moved on when it was time.
Nowadays, we don’t have to remember their numbers.
So it’s a choice. A weird, scary choice. Tinged by “what ifs” and the associated bullshit. Or it’s an impulsive one made hastily in the throes of aforementioned anger and punishment-
My cat has started yelling at me. The prophetic or superstitious might be convinced he’s trying to purposely stop me writing. Sometimes word filters back, you never know.
I think it’s supposed to be tough. Letting go of people you care about runs counter intuitive. Well, for most. Even if it’s long over. There’s a line from ‘..Like Clockwork’ by Queens of the Stone Age: holding on too long is just a fear of letting go because not everything that goes around come back around you know.
Ok, ‘line’ might be a stretch.
It’s true though. If letting go was easy those car shows where everyone dresses like it’s the 50’s would be ghost towns. I guess it’s a comfort thing? But hey, if they want to run around as a Dapper Dan Man, who am I to stop them.
Both hands on the wheel, Tim.
Why am I talking about this? I deleted it. The number. The right time was probably long ago, if I’m honest. I guess it just hadn’t occurred to me. I don’t know. It felt like the right thing to do today.
This (points upwards)? That’s not second thoughts or justification, it’s just being neurotic and overthinking.
Hey, nobody quits smoking and drinking coffee on the same day.
One of the pieces of advice I wish I’d understood when I was younger is that it’s ok to rely on other people. From time to time, it’s ok to lean on people. You can ask for and receive help and the world as you know it will not crumble around you. The ground will not shake and split violently beneath your feet, chasms opening to swallow you whole. Your life will not instantly burst into flames or be torn to pieces by a whirling vortex of weakness.
Don’t get me wrong I think independence and self reliance (..the same thing?) are excellent traits and necessary survival skills but back to the people: it’s also ok to seek help.
In fact it’s good. There’s not 8,000,000,000 plus people assembled on this blue orb hurtling through space because we’re naturally isolationists. We’re supposed to be sociable and interact, supposed to form into groups, supposed to do things together. We’re supposed to be a society, we’re supposed to strive together and build great, big things. And while I can’t say for certain, I’m kinda sure it’s in our DNA.
Maybe it’s a facet of youth or bravado, I’m not sure, but I feel like my life would have been a lot easier if I’d just accepted these facts the many times they were relayed to me. I feel perhaps life wouldn’t have been such a struggle. At times it’s still something I struggle with and notice other people struggling with. Those moments when you or someone you know clearly needs help but instead of reaching out they plow forwards, head down until things completely fall apart.
And they pick themselves up and they do it all over again.
Maybe that’s the lesson: you do it over and over until you realise it’s ok to ask for help. Or until you have to ask for help. Until you realise the burden of life doesn’t have to be shouldered alone. That while you can go through things by yourself and you might come through the other side some kind of infallible hero, it’s also ok to go through them with someone and come out the other side both stronger.
Also, if you go through all by yourself, who are you going to joke around with? People laughing alone look kind of insane. No, it’s much better to have somebody to riff with, sharing the laughter.
I started this post with a sentence I’d like to finish…
So, there are these things called “people”… And they can be kind of awesome.
Nope, still haven’t got the hang of those endings.
(If you don’t know what I’m talking about in this post, seek help)
There’s a distinct chink in the armour of every human being which I love. At least I hope it’s instilled in every human being. With some people I think it’s readily apparent, I know for a fact that’s the case with me. Some others I think it’s a rare occurrence like spotting a shooting star, you have to be in the right place at the right time. Either way, to me it’s a sign that you’re truly a self aware human being.
That you’re fallible.
I’ll drop the suspense and use a long, marginally dumb term to describe it: I’m talking about the self loathing realisation groan.
OR the random sound you make when you instantly and fully comprehend the magnitude of a past mistake you’ve made. I say random sound because not everyone groans. Some cringe. With some people it’s a sharp intake of air. Some people shake their heads. Some people quickly, quietly curse themselves.
Some people do all of the above. Whatever it is, it’s the physical manifestation of the full, unerring comprehension of a human being realising at one point, usually many points in their life, they were an utter shit head.
And it’s fucking great.
I fully understand the logic of living a life with no regrets. I understand both meanings, the actual one and the one assholes use to justify horrendous mistakes and behaviour. But there’s something endearing about seeing a person experience that moment, seeing them realise their mistake and regretting it. Something so comforting in the knowledge other people fuck up and they regret it. And it means so much to them, carries such weight, that their body reacts to the feeling.
So fucking wonderful.
(It’s also poignant and sad but let’s focus on the mildly positive thing that unites and binds us as a species.)
We all screw up. We’re all fallible. We all have regrets. It’s the people who don’t have these regrets, who’ve never experienced self loathing that truly scare me.
…And the Princess and the merry Accountants lived happily, and financially secure, ever after.
Nope, still haven’t quite gotten the hang of endings.
The “Candelier” I make for Jellio has just over 3000 hand cast acrylic GummiBears. At 18” diameter, it creates quite a focal point in any room it is installed in.
These are sold at Jellio.com
There are 2 sizes:
18” diameter: $2400.00 open edition
31” diameter: $6500.00 open edition
I built the one for i-Carly and installed it on the set
I am the production manager for Jellio.
These are all hand made by me.
I am also the creator and producer of the “Gummilight” for Jellio, also seen on the i-Carly set.