Winge for the Day

I'd like to have a winge today about Delta. You know "the new look Delta". Maybe it's just me but am I the only one not actually seeing the 'new sexy look'.
Long hair she swishes a lot........check
perky smile.......chec
sensible clothing.........check

Apart from a new fetish for wearing black nail polish, I just don't see this 'sexed up Delta' everyone is talking about. In sufference, I made myself watch the video recently to be sure I wasn't missing out. I believe I saw a flash of bare shoulder, and a little shimmy of said shoulder at one stage, but this was as raunchy as she got.

Pretty, very,. Won't argue you that one. Even go so far to say I wouldn't complain if I woke up one day magically looking like her..........but she is about as sexy as the CWA ladies in their aprons. (For the record, I think the CWA is a fanstastic insitution, and I visit the stand for the scones every year at the Easter Show ........I'm just not sure if in your sensible baking gear anyone conveys raunch and sexiness and the CWA ladies were the first thing to pop into my mind as I typed. Unless of course your other half is lucky enough to come home to find you with nothing but the oven on..........naked baking, even with an apron, is an entirely different situation and falls well within a sexy look. Men love naked and men love food. Its a sure fire winning combination)

From what I can gather, the only change in Deltas new sexed up look is................................again I'm coming up with nothing here but the black nailpolish. As she now in her twenties I personally find her a bit old for that too by the way. Maybe someone that pretty just cant get sexy. Maybe she is destined to look, act, speak and sing prettily but blandly for the rest of her career.

They can call it the new sexy raunchy Delta all they want, I'm just not buying it.

(Or maybe I'm just a jealous cow)

The Girl in The Mirror

I’m bored. Or maybe bored is the wrong way to describe it, because I know there are things I could to alleviate it. Maybe I’m just tired, tired of myself. Of my inability to join the world at times.

Tired of being the flake. Tired of being the clown in public, and the crying girl in private. Tired of evenings alone because I know I can’t go out on nights like this and be the funny one right now. Sometimes I think of my personality of almost being like a pool of water around me. Some days it’s like the ocean, fun for some who brave the waves, enjoy the tides and openness, the sheer aliveness of it around them. Other times it’s like a lake, cool and calm. Inviting people in to bask in its slow lapping water, to splash along its edges, enjoy what it has to offer.

But most of the time I feel like its just still, still water. And the slightest thing can make it ripple around me.

Tonight I’m rippling, like someone has thrown stones into my stillness and disturbed me. Like watching your reflection in the water be blown away by the intrusion, and loosing sight of what you are viewing. Others probably see all the different variations of water around me, but in my head for me it’s always the still one. It’s the one that’s the true reflection of how I perceive myself, and how I feel I am. Still and dark. Murky and intriguing to only myself.

I hate the ripples. Hate when I feel the stones land and know its upset that calm deep and disturbs the monster lurking underneath. Sometimes I don’t even know who threw the stones. Maybe it was me?

Who can I blame when I can’t see where they are coming from, how long they’ll continue, how deep they will pierce through. Sometimes I know I’m doing it myself, and maybe I was trying to skip a stone along my water in fun, but I got the angle wrong and shattered its stillness instead.

So tonight I sit here with my water disturbed all around me. Like my aura is quivering around me, making that pool of thought and emotion ripple over and over again, causing shockwaves right to the very bottom.

I try to calm it, to breathe deeply in a pattern to lessen the ripple effect, but it’s hard. Amazingly hard work to do nothing but breathe. It takes all my concentration to stop myself throwing more stones in, I can feel my mind dredging up thoughts, and throwing them back at me and causing yet more disturbance. Like a rain of pebbles coming down on me, ripping through the shelter I’m trying to build at the same time. One hand frantically putting up a roof to stop it, the other hand throwing stones.

Amazing how I can even argue with myself like that isn’t it.

Boredom is my enemy tonight. Knowing I can’t go out because of my mood, yet nothing to do at home but write these random thoughts into a computer. I have a bottle of port to keep me company, and a grey poodle curled up beside me.

I thank God for the poodle. Actually I thank God for all animals. He knew what he was doing when he made them. Animals always help me, some more than others, but any animal is bound to calm the ripples more than any person could.

Not sure what it is about them, just their persona around me. Their lack of questions maybe? I feel like they can come into my water anytime. If they are a dog they jump amongst the waves, joyously chasing them back to the shore. If they are a cat they bat the sea foam with their paws, or dip them in trying to swat at imaginary fish only they can see underneath, enjoy feeling the sun on their back as they watch their own reflection. If they are a horse they gallop along in the shallows, making me feel alive and giving me a feeling of power and strength, like its all their inside me ready to surge forward the moment I need it.

I welcome the disturbance of my water from animals. Animal ripples in my water caress, tickle and sooth me. Lapping along my thoughts, and sweeping the debris away and leaving me clear.

So tonight I welcome the poodle into my head. Welcome her quite presence here beside me as I type. I’m not sure if she knows my water is disturbed. I know some animals that can pick up on it. Sense the quiver of it around me maybe.

As I sit here I can see my own reflection in the mirror staring back at me. Thinking as it watches me type. I sometimes want to ask that girl if I can trade places with her. She looks so much more capable than I feel. I can’t always tell what she is thinking about me, but I know I disappoint her. I feel like I’ve let her down. Not lived up to her expectations of me. I don’t care so much about not being what other people think I should be, as much as I care about what she thinks.

I remember reading something once, or maybe I just had a thought somewhere over the years…. who knows, but I recall something in me saying that your outside is just what the inside gets around in.

So I’m looking at myself…. at that capable appearing girl looking back at me. I see my outsides, and I see that to the rest of the world they appear just fine. Despite my quest for a thinner frame I’m not really overweight, I have hair people are envious of and dimples when I smile. There are no glaring faults to be found, no deformities to be ashamed of. No wonder that girl is disappointed in me. Surely with her outsides, she shouldn’t feel the slight ripples that she does.

Sometimes though I think even she sees that maybe it’s the outsides that are cause for concern because of this very thing. She is tall, slim, attractive even. The girl in the mirror is the one who is the life of the party, the one people crowd around to listen to her tales. She is considered the funny one, the wild one, the glamorous one. Why then is she alone again tonight?

She sees me looking at her as I stare back at myself. We question each other her and I. We can agree on this one thing. That somewhere maybe we went wrong. We were blessed with so much yet let it go unappreciated, have no one to reinforce what we have.

I have disappointed her. I have disappointed myself.

For any of those wondering..

The title of this blog comes from the following song. Not sure if Im keen on the film clip, but there are a few lyrics in this song that always seem to stay with me and pop into my head at the oddest of moments.

Gary Allan - Life Ain't Always Beautiful

The Truth

I don’t even know how to start to explain what I feel like. How do you explain that everything you appear to be is a lie? That you hate yourself so much, and feel so out of control of your life that you think at times how much easier it would be to go to asleep and not wake up. If you look at the earth, there are layers and layers before you get down to the core. I think Im buried underneath all the layers, so far down no one will every find me. So far down that I cant dig myself out anymore, so far down no one can hear you, and so far down even if you want to yell out you can’t, cause the earth closing in around you has muffled your voice..

I’ve tried a lot to tell people, but how do you start, where to begin? And whats the point? Everyone says something along the lines of “what do I have to be sad about?”. I’ve been told that my problems are small, because elsewhere people have it so much worse. I know that, but it doesn’t make my problem any easier to bear. It’s like telling someone that’s got a child born with a disability that its not so bad, because elsewhere children are being blown apart by war.

Like telling someone who’s going through a marriage break up, that it isn’t so bad because elsewhere someones husband is dying. You can’t weigh up one tragedy against another, what someone is going through is their own personal pain, you cant tell them they cant be sad because they were lucky enough to not be going through a war, or a terminal illness or whatever dilemna they are lining you up against to show you they think you should be holding up better.

Sometimes I think of humpty dumpty. He probably didn’t fall off the wall at all, I think so many people probably told him he was okay as an egg he just got the shits and jumped. That’s how I feel. And all those kings horses and all the kings men, no wonder they couldn’t put him back together, once you shatter this bad, no matter what glue they use trying to piece you, we all know that you are never going to be as strong. You are only ever going to be as solid as the fragile bits.

So this egg keeps waking up every day, and going through the motions. No friends would guess at how low I am, I doubt any family would guess the extent. That even when I appear happy, underneath I’m frantically clawing at all the dirt around me, and as it keeps sliding back in I loose the energy to fight against it harder. How do you just walk up and say “by the way, I’m so sad that no matter what you give me, what you say, what you do….I don’t think its gunna work this time”. No one wants to hear that, and no one would believe it. And I can’t do that to anyone, the guilt at thinking about it makes me even lower. I want to be thankful, and part of me is, but the other part, which is the bigger part, keeps waking up in the middle of the night thinking ‘how did I get here and how do I get out?” How did I get buried under this rubble. How come when dirt used to land on me, I was once able to fling it back? I don’t even know what changed that I cant anymore. Something took away my shovel, and without it I’m hopeless.

I sometimes wish I was brave enough to tell everyone that I haven’t been able to pinpoint a day for months on end when I’ve been happy. When I haven’t hated myself, when I haven’t been sad, or woken up crying, or gone to bed crying, or just driven along thinking how I just want to keep going and not come back anymore. I wonder if anyone even knows that I store the lifeline number in my phone, and twice now I’ve been crying and holding the phone in my hand, thinking…if I ring now, will someone understand?


Its tiring living like this. Tiring keeping up a front of faking another smile, and facing another day appearing to be one of the normal people of the world. For the first time ever I understand what people mean when they say depression is like a black cloud over you.

You want to see the sun, but your eyes have forgotten what it looks like. You pretend to everyone you can see it though, because its easier than them thinking you should be leading the freak parade through town.

You tell yourself you are fabulous, you are unstoppable, you are loved and worthy and all the things people are meant to believe in themselves. You tell yourself you are feeling much better, and you tell others the same, but only because its easier than seeming like an ungrateful spoilt child. You wish someone could reach you in your underground world, but you cant even remember how to raise your arm or voice for help. You’re frightened if they do help and its still doesn’t work…….. then what? What if this is it for you?

I don’t know what made me this way, was it anything in particular? Who knows, maybe, maybe not. I couldn’t pinpoint a single event to blame. Maybe it was everything, maybe it was nothing and I’m just another spoilt drama queen. I cant figure it out anymore, and I’m tired of trying. I tried pulling myself up by myself, I tried talking a couple of times, I’m at the point where I don’t know what to do, where to turn, how to get up, or if I even want to get up.

Once again I have a headache. Lack of sleep, too many painkillers, too much sad and not enough happy. To much pretending and not enough living. I don’t know anything anymore. I don’t even know why I’m writing this, but if I don’t write tonight it will only keep going around and around in my head anyway. Maybe tonight I’ll get some sleep.

Like humpty dumpty though, I think I’m in danger of falling off the wall. Funny how that nursery rhyme used to never make sense, I used to wonder why an egg would even be sitting on a wall in the first place, used to think the writer was another mind lost to drugs. I don’t think he was now, I think he was probably just another sad person, and he and I are both sitting on the same wall wondering what to do.