waiting for the whoosh - badgergirl's journal page 31

[badgergirl]

The family badger is struggling (or Badger family - though now I think of us as having a mood badger of our very own - a sort of collective canary in the mineshaft).

Small boy is inconsolable and husband and I are inconsistent in our responses (for once it is I who am being the better parent - husband threatened him with a 'normal' school). It will get better, but the guilt at causing him pain and suffering is making us angry (husband) and worried (me). Sometimes not even magic wands can make things better.

It is an odd feeling to go to bed one person and wake up another. The kaleidoscope of selfhood is in perpetual motion. Nothing is fixed; everything is mutable. Yesterday I was voluptuous, today I am, well, only time will tell. Today I am sad. Sad and anxious. Somewhere there is a sword strung up above me and I fear (hope?) it will fall. I can't see it, but I know it's there.

Last night (after licks of this and bites of that) I sent myself to bed without any dinner. The cycle of indulgences and penances continues. I binge on other mood-altering substances too, finishing Wolf Hall in less than three days.

In a mood-altered moment of weakness on Saturday I emailed bacon man. No reply (sensible lad). Christ, I miss having friends. Bookish, clever friends.

B: yoghurt, nuts, coffee
L: beef and bacon casserole with broc (last night's dinner)
D: spiced slow-cooked lamb with vegetables

[Crabbcakes]

Oh, no... Small Boy still upset at going to school? Yeah, you are the better parent in this one - telling such a young child the equivalent of "you should be grateful" accomplishes zero. Has hubby asked Small Boy outright what upsets him so? I mean, in a totally-calm-during-a-game-of-toy-cars kind of way, not in a WHAT THE HELL IS YOUR PROBLEM?! way. He might not be able to explain it, but the simple asking of it sometimes accomplishes much.

There was a time when mine did not want any instruction from me, and I told the Homeschool-Kids Crabbcakes that as a truly practical matter, if they refuse to learn stuff from me, then they would have little choice but to join the public school crowd as I abjectly refuse to set young people out into the world uneducated. But I tell you that as a Crabbcakes anecdote, nothing more. If my kids could try a full-time school at all, it would be Waldorf, but that is not available in my county and prohibitively expensive where it is located.

Bacon man? Oh, badger, do not go down that road again. Nothing but destruction down that path... Think upon the tale of Anakin Skywalker...

Are there well and truly no bookish, erudite, chatty, witty Australians anywhere there to meet at the coffeehouse?? Did all of your English friends desert you when you upped stakes??

And why is Australia referred to as Oz??

[ezk]

Hi badger girl. It is good to read you again.
I've been traveling and working for a while.
Crabbcakes, i sometimes think that the ability of making friends runs away with
the end of the childhood. And latter in life if we are born under bright star we get one friend back.
instead of lover.Talking emotional entropy.

[ezk]

PARROTS ATE OUR APPLES. WE HAVE LEMONS ROTTING ON THE GROUND.
Hilarious.

[badgergirl]

The first time cockatoos flew over the back garden I ran out and snapped hundreds of photos. My neighbour (a Dutch refugee from WW2) was sardonic and disparaging as apparently cockies (yes, really) can destroy gardens. The cockies seem to stay in the eucalypts, which we do not have in our garden. We get two kinds of Rosella in the apple tree, the big red ones and the smaller multi-coloured ones:

I find it hard to begrudge them their apple harvest. I only wish they'd eat the sodding lemons.

Oz seems to be a back formation from Aussie, but although Aussies refer to themselves as such (Aussie, Aussie, Aussie! Oi, oi, oi!), Oz isn't used much by the inhabitants themselves. This discussion of place name pronunciation was interesting.

I'm afraid there are no coffeeshops - as you might recognise them - in my neck of the Melburnian woods. I am in the cultural wastelands of the burbs where it's every man, woman, child and their barbecue for themselves. Books come in two flavours, Sci Fi and chick-lit, which flavour you get depends on the gender of the person you are talking to. This is something husband finds hard to grasp - I don't want to talk plot. Plot doesn't interest me. The quality of the writing, what images are repeated and why, what's the underlying theme of the text, how does it interrelate with other things I have read or what is going on with the world. How do the mechanics of how the thing is put together support it to achieve its aims? Plot is a paltry peg from which the artwork hangs. I begin a conversation with someone, but it's over for me when they mention Dan Brown or Wendy Holden (fun fact: we used to live in the flat above Wendy Holden in Kings Cross - she probably called it North Bloomsbury - and she was a complete nightmare).

I wrote 2500 words of full-on sex scene last night. Utter bilge, I'm afraid. My tenses got away from me; the dialogue is stilted; the scenario and the power dynamics it contains are difficult to handle without jumping the 50 shades of appalling prose shark. However, I will go back to it and attempt to purify it. Writers I admire (Jeanette Winterson, Elizabeth Smart, Ali Smith, Anne Michaels) both strip back and heighten their prose. I'm not there yet. Nowhere near. Currently, I've written a begging letter for the bad sex award (Wendy Holden is a previous nominee - imagine my delight). But I shall stick with it and see if it comes good (*badum tish*). When I'd finished writing I went and got a practical demo, with husband, just to keep the muse in hand.

My Blighty friends have drifted off, for the most part, as friends do when they realise that actually you're probably not coming back. I get the odd email, a friendly Facebook update, but not much else. Best friend is back in contact and we 'do' books in the same way, but it's not the same as having an in-person friendship...and Bacon Man gave such good sizzle. Sigh.

B: yoghurt, few nuts, coffee
L: pate and celery sticks
D: burger (tiny, home made), bacon, salad, half an avo; apple

[ezk]

Blue nights, Joan Didion.
Knockthemstiff , Donald Ray Pollock. Latest good read.

[badgergirl]

Joan Didion is an exquisite prose stylist - the discipline she displays is phenomenal.

I am currently reading a book called something like 'write a novel in 30 days'. It is both terrifying and illuminating. Meanwhile, on another thread (Gay Panda's), I learned a new expression: Picasso sex - for when you can't tell which limb or protuberance belongs to which person.

Total fire ban today in the Hogwarts region. This means that school is closed. Small boy was thrilled, husband less so. Unfortunately, tomorrow is also a total fire ban day...meaning that husband will be delighting in small boy's companionship again. I came home to find small boy crazed and husband cracking up.

B: yoghurt, nuts, coffee
L: chicken and salads (work leftovers)
D: cold meats, cheeses, lettuce and cherry tomatoes; apple

[badgergirl]

Another total fire ban day... Husband ready to commit arson. Hopefully, school will be open tomorrow. Hopefully. And, as you can guess from the fire risk, it's very hot and somewhat windy.

B: yoghurt, nuts, coffee
L: small amount of beef stew
D: a cold collation again - meats, salmon, cheeses, nuts, lettuce, tomatoes; an apple; small bowl of yoghurt

[Annieh]

I hope it cools down for you all soon.

[badgergirl]

Another 'warm' day (31C), but school was, thankfully, open. Also, today, we received notice of primary school camp: can you join me in a 'woo' followed by a 'hoo'? Three nights away from home in a coastal camp sleep over. WOO. Mofo dance of glee. HOO. No additional cost - all included in the (actually, all things considered [food, bus, books, supplies, activities] reasonable) fees. As it happens, the last day of camp is my 36th birthday. Have instructed husband that he *can* (read: will) take me out for dinner the night before.

Husband is already worried about how small boy will cope. Me? HAHAHAHA! That's THEIR problem. I know, I'm a heartless cow.

Oh. I was going to write here about writing, but now in the stifling heat of the evening I cannot remember what is was that had me so exercised earlier. C'est la vie.

Best friend is going through what is a full-on shitty time, complete with panic attacks and uncontrollable crying jags. And this is despite being medicated to the teeth. She wrote, exploring the full horror that is panic attacks and grief (honey, I know) and I respond with the following:

...also, although I don't want you to be sad or anxiety ridden, CLEARLY, I'd rather have a letter full of that than no letter at all - I want to know what's going on with you, even if it is a great big poo sandwich of doom.

After discussing back and forth one's side orders for said great big poo sandwich of doom (for the record, I want mine a la mode - so much easier to swallow that way), she responded with:

I am STILL giggling about the poo sandwich of doom. Seriously, that just made me laugh all day...much needed levity!
A longer, better response soon...for now, need to sleep off today's poo sandwich.

So. You know. Job done. What can I say? I bring it.

And that's it really. My own sandwich is still toasting...

B: yoghurt, coffee (today was a klutz day - yog dropped on the floor on the way to my mouth *splat*; coffee failed to reach intended destination and, instead, took an unscheduled detour on to keyboard and dress)
L: smoked salmon omelette
D: lamb (48-hour marinade in lemon juice - too long, husband, too long!), raw beet and carrot salad w/ honey and balsamic; lettuce, olive and tomato salad; 3/4 bottle merlot