Good day, 2013.

Hello peoples. Hello 2013.

It seems like yesterday I was watching Pet Shop Boys from the comfort of my living room and ringing in 2012 and now, as with every one before it, the year has slipped away.

It was a year like every other year before it. Day followed night, night followed day, weekends fitted neatly at the end of sometimes overly long weeks. 366 days. (I suppose we don't see that every year.)

It was a year where we musically looked towards South Korea. (Didn't see that one coming.) It won't happen again, of this I am certain.
It was a year when we were uncertain about our Earth's fate, although I don't think too many of us were completely petrified.

For me, it was the year I lost my beautiful boy, Ruslan. This was a lowlight and I still miss him. But, as is always the case, the sun shines again and we continue to carry on and look forward.

It was also a rough year for me at work. For the first half of the year, anyway. Things definately improved over the second half, for which I am thankful. I am positive about the coming year. But I am not ready to broach it just yet. A few more weeks off first.
Work is made more bearable by the people you surround yourselves with whilst you are there. I work with some fantastic people, in my classroom and within the wider school community. People who work in tandem with me professionally. More importantly, people who care about how I feel on any given day. I hope I provide the same daily and emotional support to them as I feel that I receive.
Of course, that is not everyone and you will never get on with everybody. Specific mention to the newest colleague with whom I interact on a regular basis. With cake pops.

PS Cake Pops and chocolate are on the banned list for a time, while I try to get to the bottom of my breathing issues. They crop up and irritate me off and on and hopefully I can control them more this year.

I have shared time with some very special and important friends over the year and shared in their highs and lows. I hope this continues for many years. Looking forward to September 2013 Baltic Cruise and hope we have some more takers/ partakers!

New Year's Eve was spent at a Nepalese restaurant in Newtown. Not something I can say I have ever done before. It was fantastic. Enjoyed some great food and wonderful company. Intelligent conversation and amusing anecdotes. I feel grateful that I have connections and friendships in a variety of areas and they fulfil my life.

Thanks everybody.
Happy New Year.

Jacintha, Pranks and Bullying....

The 2 Day FM Jacintha Saldanha incident has turned into an enormous mess. An enormous, horrible, needless mess. Thousands of kilometres away, and without any relationship to anyone involved, I have burst into tears about it several times. This may say more about my current mental state than anything else, but it is still a terrible incident that brings to light the practices of radio that continue to poke fun at innocent people.

It is seen as "innocent fun" on radio.
But it is often seen as "innocent fun" at school, in class or the playground as well. There are rarely consequences quite as serious as this weekend's incident, but they are scarring emotionally.

I work with students who are in the firing line for "innocent fun" all the time. Year 2 girls who encourage my students to pick their noses, then getting people to watch and laugh. Or who throw a basketball on the roof, knowing that one of my students will climb up there to retrieve it; to do "the right thing". These things are funny for juvenile minds. They are abhorrent to me, but they are part of being a child I suppose. I crack down on the behaviour, but I am only one person.

But where do children learn pranks? Their parents. And.... the media.
And the media needs to start being a little more responsible for the messages they are passing onto people.

Anyway, who exactly finds prank calls funny? I find them cringeworthy and often offensive.

Yes. They have been around for decades.
No. That doesn't make it ok.

Pranks do not take into account the psychological and emotional state of the victim. And there is no justifiable apology when something goes wrong. Because it should not happen in the first place.

In this case, there are several other questions worth asking...

1. How would these 2 Dj's (and everyone involved) have felt if they were put through and found out there had been a miscarriage? Would it have been funny then?
2. Has ANYONE thought about what Prince William has been through? Is it not enough that his mother was hounded by the media; her every move scrutinised and her death horrible, as well as horribly televised? Does he need for his wife's condition to be used as a joke as well?

Sure. He gets a lot of perks in his position of birth.
But he actually never asked for it.

Kim Kardashian asked for it.
Lindsay Lohan asked for it.

To an extent, Kate has asked for it, in that she went into her marriage knowing her privacy was over. But William. Does he need this? For his child to be born in the dark shadow of another needless death.

Some people are questioning the nurse's mental state before the incident. I am not. Maybe she was highly strung. It is a stressful job.
But I do not doubt for one second, that being placed in a position looking after a member of the Royal Family, comes with it some enormous stress. Stress that none of us will ever understand. To then be pranked and, let's face it, ridiculed WORLD WIDE... would you cope with it?
I wouldn't.
The shame that woman would have felt. What a low and horrible few days she must have experienced. Not to mention the treatment she would have received at work, no matter how much the hospital claims that "no action was taken." Rubbish! She would have been at least spoken to about being "foolish" if not worse.

This incident should make many people think. Hopefully it makes everybody think. There is a fine line between "harmless fun" and bullying. There is a fine line between humour and tragedy. And we do not know what the consequences of our actions are until they happen.

One last note: those dj's will be back soon enough. Nothing surer. We will know what they are made of the next time they are asked to make a prank call.
I watched the Current Affair interview tonight. I think they were well trained to answer the questions. But I do not think they answered honestly. They "wanted to be hung up on?" They were "not proud of their coup?" That's why the clip was played over and over all week.

I hope this stuff is over.

Holiday Vibe

You know when nothing major really happens, but you think to yourself, "maybe I should not have woken up today"? Well, Cancun is giving me that feeling consistently. Possibly through no fault of its own. Just silly little things that have been happening.

I don't know if I "vibed" myself into being a little negative on the flight across. The flight attendant, before we took off, warned us about the Taxi scams and the theft. And I spent 2 hours of flying time thinking about not being ripped off by taxi drivers.
In the end the shuttle price was ok. not great, but ok. $24 US return. What puzzled me was the shocked expression when I tried to pay in pesos.

The hotel is at km4 on the Kukulcan Blvd. Which basically means 5 km from where it starts. Oops. I figured one end of Cancun was just like the other end. Which is may be. But I am guessing the middle of the Blvd is probably better than either end.
However, better just means louder and more expensive so I think i am going to get past that. There are a few small restaurants near the hotel so they will be fine.

I went for a short night walk last night. I got to the 5 km mark and walked down to the private beach there. Couldn't see anything. It was night after all. Then it started to rain. So I briskly walked to one of those local restaurants, about 300 metres from my hotel. Had some steak tacos, which were yummy. But I will not be putting the sauce on them ever again. Aiyahh! I felt the burn.

It was right on the kerb outside the restaurant where a passing bus hit the puddle. It is the same thing as the beginning credits to "Sex and the City" where Carrie cops a drenching. but hers had nothing on mine! This wave went over my head and covered me. I really wish I could have watched it back. In hindsight it would have been some top class Funniest Home Videos work.

Somewhere along the way I also managed to lose 150 pesos. It was in my pocket with the camera. I have to assume that at some point I managed to pull the money out with the camera and.... hope you enjoy it Senor Mexicano. It's my gift to you.

I hung out the soaking clothes on the balcony of my room. Did some internet surfing then went back upstairs. There is only access in the lobby. But that's ok. Got ready to sleep and went to check on the clothes. No pants! Yes, they had been blown off the balcony. They were six floors down on the ground. But I was changed out of clothes and tired, so I decided to go down first thing in the morning.

First thing in the morning, the pants were gone. Hope you enjoy them, Senor Mexicano. They are my gift to you.

So, new pants then and off to explore the place. It was nice, flat walk along the Boulevarde. Though the views for most of it is just hotel facades. I got myself from Km 4 all the way to 11.5, past the party area and down to the Convenience store for back up refreshment, before returning. Halfway back, I realised that thongs were really the wrong idea for a 15 kilometre walk. My toes were really starting to hurt. They still are. Plus I have a really hard patch on the bottom of my right foot. It'll heal.

Upon getting back to the hotel, I also realised that no matter what, my feet are always going to end up looking like I have not applied sunscreen. They are so red. The rest of me is fine. I did apply. I did reapply. But I guess my feet are so used to shelter that they overreact.

So there it is. Nothing at all dramatic. But just the wrong vibe. Cancun is a little lost on me though, to be honest. I don't think I am at the age of "Phils gone wild" any more. Will go for a dip in the Caribbean later this arv though. That is essential!

Old Prejudices Die Slowly

There was an interesting conversation in the staff room yesterday. It wasn't the one about the cost of pizzas. But it came somewhere in that discussion somehow. Or perhaps it just interupted the enthralling Pizza Comparison.
A student (I believe ex student) was being discussed; his behaviour and his issues. The question was asked, "You know he's got two dads?"
Of course, when such a question is asked my ears prick up. Because the responses that follow can really say a lot about the mentality of the people that I am surrounded by.

The responses, on this occasion, were slightly odd. But not overly surprising.
Teacher One asked, "What does that mean?"
When explained, another commented, "Oh I just thought his mum must have remarried."
Tame.
And then...
"His father is actually quite good looking, which is a shame."

And then my favourite:
"No wonder he is confused and acting out then. He would have to be trying to work it out, it's wrong."
I have always sensed that this particular teacher's husband was unnecessarily hostile towards me in social situations. I guess I need not wonder any longer.

Another teacher, before commenting, apologised to me with that "No offense" thing that people always do. Honestly though, I don't actually give a shit about outdated opinions or religion delivered beliefs. It is shallow and unresearched.

However, it is still a large reality in our "first world". Movements are being made. Things are slowly changing. But minds do not turn so quickly. This whole conversation made me think about the issue that has been on my mind for perhaps a year. Maybe more. The adoption issue.

I think that I actually would have been a fairly good father. Sometimes I am a little unstable in my behaviour, but I think a child would actually have sorted me out a bit on that score. I think I would have been firm but fair. I would not have stood for some of the nonsense that I see from some parents out in the community. My child/ children would have known respect, manners and common decency. They would have known right and wrong and they would have known that actions have consequences. Unfortunately, as demonstrated in a Primary School Staffroom yesterday, they would have known prejudice and ridicule as a result of their parent. They would be seen as abnormal and lesser people, and any imperfections would be blamed on the sexual preference of their dad. For all of the wanting that I may have had for a child, either my own or through adoption, my overwhelming fear was that I would cause a child to suffer needlessly, because of who or what I am.

I know a lot of lesbian couples, gay couples and single gay men and women are choosing to have children. This is a right that has now been granted, grudgingly. And I am happy for those who are happy to add to their family. I am sure that their children are not going without love, affection, education and protection. From where I sit, however, there remains so much prejudice, so much hate and poison; I could not allow a child into this world to be subjected to it. All the love in the world can not hide a society's hate. So, it is something I am resigned to living without.

Most of the time I am satisfied with my decision.
Sometimes I wonder though.
I could have remained in a relationship some years ago and been a co-parent of several children. Was I wrong to walk away from that? Sometimes I wonder.

But not on days where I hear such ridiculous and nasty things from educated, apparently intelligent people. On those days I know that I am protecting myself and my unknown offspring from the world of pain that continues to exist and break down all the love, care and self esteem that you can try to create for them.

 

The Life of Ruslan

Ruslan was my first dog.
Not the first dog that was ever in my life.
Not even the first dog that I bought. When I was with Adrian we bought a Border Collie whom I named Rodriguez. He lasted with us two days. I had an allergic reaction on the first. That was an expensive mistake.

Technically, Ruslan was not even my dog. I never wanted a dog of my own. For my parents and during my childhood, great! But for myself in my adult life? No. No interest. They interrupt a social life and I had enough problems looking after myself properly. Work, eating, sleeping. No, I did not need another life to worry about.

So, when Peter turned up one afternoon after work with 3 Maltese dogs, I was seriously less than pleased. Bonnie was pregnant. The other two were noisy. Really noisy. I was worried how the neighbours were going to react to having the additional noise coming from my back yard.

I soon found out how one of the would react. I have never found out which one, but the message was clear from wherever it did come. Coming home after an afternoon playing Volleyball in the city, Bonnie was bounding about at the back door. The other two nowhere to be seen. Until, we opened the back door and saw the other two, motionless and lifeless near the clothesline. It was both distressing and infuriating. The police and RSPCA were of no assistance; I was meant to keep them in the freezer and wait for someone later in the week. I had to tell them who did it or their hands were tied. I now had not only received the gift of three dogs that I had explicitly forbidden; I now had to bury two of them 24 hours later. Over the following months, I discovered that the same thing had happened to many of the neighbours- brand new dog, that lasted up to a week. Nothing anybody could do. Hope karma has bitten that person firmly in the ass by now!

So, Bonnie had to go back to Peter's family house, from where she had come. I didn't want a pet inside. And no way did I want to ever come home to another body out the back.

So, back to just us.
Momentarily.

I can not actually remember if the Sydney 2000 Olympics were on or finished when Ruslan first came into my life. Based on what I believe his birthday to be, I would have to presume that they were over. But I was ever so slightly obsessed with the Russian gymnasts either way. When Peter rolled in with 4 little babies, unable to stay at his parents place, I watched their twists and turns and rolls, and as well as falling in love, I named them all with Russian names: Alexei, Viktor, Nemov and Ruslan.

Why did Ruslan convince me I needed a dog? Why didn't the other 3? Or did they? How did I know that I would not end up allergic to another one? So many questions... I don't know the answers now. It is twelve years ago. There was no blogging and my memories have all mixed together now.

Ruslan couldn't go outside during the day, whilst I was at work. I could not risk.
Ruslan had to be monitored when he was out the back, as there was a paling missing from the fence, just large enough for him to sneak through.
Ruslan, maddeningly, used to urinate in any plastic bags that happened to be on the floor. Generally, if plastic bags were on the floor, there were things inside them. Yuk.
Ruslan was an absolute sook, afraid of everything. If he wasn't running away just because it seemed fun, he was running away because some strange or different noise had terrified him.

I have some great memories of my little baby. We used to go jogging around the lake at Glenmore Park. He was usually less puffed out than I was. He loved the car, the walks, visits to my parents.
I often came home from work and found him sitting in the middle of the dining table. If he needed to go to toilet while I was at work, and there was no plastic bag, he would walk into the bathroom and aim beautifully into the plug hole on the floor. He was so strange.

Back in the days at Glenmore Park, I was very easily distracted. Rus spent a lot of time occupying himself while I stared intently at a computer screen or the television. We had time together, but I know I could have done better.

I did worse. My dream had been to live and work in London, and in early 2004 that was the dream I was set to realise. But what of Ruslan. I briefly flirted with the idea of taking him too. But thinking of all of the quarantine issues, it did not seem worthwhile. Mum and Dad, who of course now had their dear little Cody, did not want to take on a second responsibility. Eventually, Peter's family agreed to look after Ruslan in our absence.

Look after is a very loose interpretation of what happened. Yes, they fed him. Yes, he stayed alive. But when we returned after 8 months away, my ambition achieved, we did not see the same dog. In fact, we were not completely sure that we even took the right dog away with us. Mum didn't think it was Ruslan either. He was dirty and so skinny. He was unresponsive and sad.

But he came back to us.
I was staying back with my parents at this point. I was not sure what was going on with Peter. He moved to Albury for some time and I was honestly quite happy to be back at the family home. Ruslan and Cody got to hang together and they became very close. Which is normal. Through 2005, we were all there together. Ruslan recovered from his back yard time and became a happy indoor dog again. He was terrified of everything still. Mowers, whipper snipper and most amusingly, the ironing board. Mum suggested I had hit him with an ironing board in the past. Which I did not do. Most likely the ironing board had fallen over at some point in the past, while I was at work. And he did not trust it to never happen again.

Late in 2005, I moved back out. Peter moved into his house so I went back as well. Cody and Ruslan had been together too long by now, it would have been unfair to separate them again. So, once again I left him behind.

Not for too long though. By October 2006, I was back at my family home. Depressed and not sure how to move on. Rus and I reconnected properly at this point. Somewhere up there, he must have remembered I was there back at the beginning and here I was again. He forgot all the times I had not completely been the best owner in the world.

I would hope that the second half of Ruslan's life was full of happiness. He had Cody. He had my parents who adored him. And he had me back as well. Ruslan was not an overaffectionate dog. He got what he needed from people and then went back to being solitary. It was his way. However, he chose who he was going to love and he couldn't be bothered with you if he didn't think you were worth his time. I thought about it this morning: Cody has been loved by many people who have met him. He runs and gives kisses and spreads love. But it is a selfish thing. He sees a new person and gets what he needs from them. That is what dogs do. But Ruslan was different. Ruslan decided who was getting his love. I got upset that people didn't love Ruslan as much as Cody. But I understand why now. He had to choose you.

Ruslan had terrible breath. Not just dog breath. It was awful. He constantly had rotten teeth and was almost all gums in the last few years. On two occasions, he developed a situation inside his mouth where all the glands were blocked and his face swelled up. On the second occasion some of his glands were removed. But besides this, he remained fairly healthy, active and well.

After dinner, every night, there was a routine. I would finish eating and place my cutlery on the plate. On cue, Ruslan would appear from nowhere and leap from the floor onto my lap. He would stay there for as long as I would allow. He never asked for permission. Nan used to complain that he would just leap onto her when she was sitting on the lounge. That was his love for you. Love asks no questions. For most of the time that he was around, Ruslan would charge to be with Ty as soon as he walked in the door. Wednesday morning, once my decision had been made and I left them together for a few minutes while I showered, I saw Ty cry for the first time. He knew Ruslan's love too.

I can not remember which trip it was, perhaps January when I went to Romania; mum was speaking to me and mentioned that Ruslan had sat outside my bedroom door since I left. He would not leave. I had to speak to him through the phone to get him to go and eat. He kept a vigil outside my room every time I went on holidays. I wish I had one iota of the same faithfulness and love that that boy gave to me. He was so much more beautiful that I think I deserved. Especially after I deserted him more than once. I hope I made up for it in the second half of his life.

Two weeks ago, I lifted Ruslan to give him a hug. He yelped with pain and jumped off my bed. Upon hitting the ground, he screamed again. He had a slight limp, but that seemed to fade again for a few days. By Friday, however, he was having difficulty climbing the steps. If I look back and think more closely, I realise he had had trouble climbing the steps for some time but I took it as age. By Saturday, Ruslan was having such trouble walking. He could not put any weight on his back left leg. When it continued onto Sunday, I realised that this was not a little pain that was sorting itself out quickly.

I took Rus to the vet on Monday afternoon. I mentioned that I had found a strange lump on his leg when I had given him a haircut on Sunday. The vet touched it and I knew what her face meant, even though her words were positive. More tests were required and Ruslan had an injection of sedatives.

Tuesday I received the horrible news. The X Ray showed the true horror of what Ruslan had been through for who knows how long. All the random yelps and squeals, when we thought we had just picked him up wrong, we had been disrupting the cancer that by now had overtaken him. That had spread up his knee and leg, twisting around his organs, arteries and veins. Of course you will have to operate on him, I said, whatever has to happen.
"That is not the question you need to think about," replied the vet.
I figured I had time to think about it.
But by 8 pm that evening I knew that I had no time to think. In fact, there was nothing to think about. The constant whines and yelps brought me to tears. He spat out his first pain tablet and Cody ate it. Of course! So... bugger it... I knew what had to happen. I overmedicated him. Anything to make the pain less. He slept for half an hour, before the pain woke him up. He could not lie down, he could not stay still. The only thing that calmed him was me patting him on his cancer stricken, agonisingly painful leg. It probably didn't make any difference to the pain. It was just that I was there for him.

At 3 in the morning, I rang Ty and asked him to come over. I got up and took him back to the lounge. I rocked him for an hour. Then we tried to go back to bed for a bit. He slept again for half an hour, lying on my stomach. I cried. At one point, he slipped off my stomach and yelped once more. Cody, known for not being very sympathetic to Rus' pain, just moaned and wailed in sympathy. There seemed to be shared understanding that this was it.

The rest of the story is just upsetting. And I have said it before. I am continuing to find it very difficult to cope. Or even to start looking after myself.

Fresh from getting the all clear from cancer, my mother was enjoying a trip to America with my father. I have to presume I brought that trip completely down with the news. But I had to let them know before I said goodbye to him. They didn't want to speak down the phone to him. Ty didn't want to see him before the end either. But when I called, distraught, at 3 in the morning, he came through. He told me today that he did it for me and not for Ruslan. That is logical. But honestly, he did it in part for Ruslan. Because when he chose you, he stole your heart. Although it apparently mends, he took part of mine away with him.

I don't know what I feel about heaven. I don't know how to visualise it. I don't even know whether I can completely believe in it. I just know that I have a long, long time on Earth before I can see my Ruslan again. And I don't know how I am possibly able to start down the road without him.

Some people have said that the healing begins when you get another dog. But I have another dog here. I love Cody. He is gorgeous. But he is not Ruslan. No dog will ever be Ruslan. And I don't believe that  I could willingly put myself through the past week ever again.

Harder still, my parents are away during this time. It has been doubly painful; at some point, who knows when but inevitably it will occur; at some point, I will be sitting here along again because it IS my parents I am saying goodbye to. If this one hurts so much, how do I get through that one!

I have had supportive and lovely words from so many people. So many people that have been through the same thing. Through worse. Loss of parents. Loss of children. Loss of partners. People with more reason to be sad that I do. But grief is an individual thing. And I am not ashamed to say that I am not strong. I never have been. Will I ever be?

Ruslan never judged my faults. He did hold a grudge, but he forgave eventually. Ruslan never told me I was fat, ugly, hard to deal with. I was hard to deal with. I still am. But to him I was just "dad".

So Happy Father's Day to me.
You were perfect, my beautiful boy.
I love you. But there is no way that I could give you as much love as you gave me. So I thank you and I regret that our story can not continue.

The First Morning of Cody: The Individual

I am not ready to post about Ruslan yet. I don't feel that it is something I can quickly whip up before I head off to work in the morning. I cherish that dear boy and I think I want to word that story right. So instead, I am watching the direct aftermath of our loss; particularly the impact on "baby" Cody.

Cody has always been the sick one. The needy one. He followed Ruslan everywhere. If Ruslan barked, Cody barked. If Ruslan marked a tree, Cody marked the same tree. A lot of us felt that Cody could not possibly continue to go on without Rus. But, with his medical issues, we never saw that as much of a reality.

Now it is. I watch with panic, trying to pick up on any hints that he is going to fall apart and follow his beloved brother into whatever place it is that they go to once they tire of being with us. I hope it is a better place. I hope they are happy there. And I hope they get to hang out with the ones they loved in this life. I hope Ruslan has located Nan already up there and jumped on her lap. I hope she is cursing him as we speak, like she always did. Because she "didn't like dogs". (She was lying. Ruslan loved her so much too, it is impossible she could have felt anything negative towards him)

So, it is now 6:30 am; the morning after. Yesterday was a sorrowful day.It was one of the hardest of my life. I expected this one to be worse. I expected my world to be further shattered when I woke up today.I did wake up earlier than I usually do. I lay in bed and thought about Ruslan. Everything Ruslan. Trying to keep them all happy. But the problem with that is that eventually, you reach the end of the story and you realise that no more memories can ever be stored. So of course, I started crying, as I have done so many times in the past 4 days.

At this point I should mention that Cody has not forgiven me for my "behaviour". On Monday and Tuesday, he was dirty with Ruslan as well. How dare he put on his lead and leave him behind, off in the car to somewhere. On tuesday he was especially angry. Ruslan was gone all day. Cody ran at him several times and barged him, growling and barking. Over the past week, Cody has attacked Ruslan at every scream and yelp. It waa something I could never quite fathom; if Ruslan ever indicated he was in any pain, Cody would run at him and bite. Loving!

Somewhere along the way though, Cody must have worked things out. Tuesday night was possibly the worst night of my entire life and the painful, mournful wailing will echo in my head forever. I hated myself for allowing Ruslan to ever get to that point of agony. At about 4:30 am, when he screamed in absolute agony, I expected Cody to instantly run at him. But instead, Cody rolled over and howled. I have already posted on the facbook photo how Ruslan put out his paw and touched Cody on the face when I said it was time to go. I don't think I will ever be able to picture that moment without bawling my eyes out. It was the single saddest, yet touching, moment I will ever experience between pets. I will talk about Ruslan and his paws another time though.

So, back to Cody being angry at me. He is still angry. Both those dogs can hold a mighty grudge. Cody won't be comforted by me for long at the moment. He resists my hugs and he won't look at me. This is tough, but I understand. I went away with his brother and returned with only his collar.

So, with both tears and delight I report on this morning, as I lay there crying about my baby Rus; Cody, had finally acceped my hugs and was stretched out beside my right arm on the bed. As my cries got louder and more distressing, I suddenly felt his little front paws, gripping tighter around my arm. It wasn't just a little stretch; he kept that arm in his grip for several minutes, until my crying sudsided. The little baby has stepped up!

Then we went to get up and he has ignored me again ever since. I will take that. He will forgive me at some point.

So does he miss Ruslan? I am sure he does. He goes out the back to go to the toilet and he has noone to follow. It was such an adventure before. Now, he walks a few steps, finds a spot, comes back inside. He drinks from Ruslan's water bowl. He has dragged Ruslan's pillow across the room. And this morning, he walked to every room in the house, looked in and barked. Just checking. Seeing if he will come out of any of them. He won't.

I don't doubt that his heart is broken. I am sure it is broken worse than mine. But so far he is holding together better than me, by far. I actually thought, as I went to bed last night, that I was in a better place. But this morning I can see that I won't be there for some time. But that is what grief is.

I wish cody could tell me what he is feeling. But he can't. I just have to presume he is trying to tell me that he is heartbroken, angry and in despair. But being brave and trying to look ahead. Which is where I hope I can be in good time.

Shifting Groups

I had a phonecall from one of my oldest adult friends. As in, one of the friends I didn't have going through school or Uni. And oldest as in one I have known for the longest period of time. He isn't yet 40. So not the oldest.

We were chatting about a number of non descript and random things, people, events. Nothing life changing. Our ailments and injuries were as close to life changing as we got.

However, one of the random sentences stuck with me. One that should not bother me, historically. But it left me thinking nevertheless.

The sentence; "I caught up with the guys for Yum Cha this morning." That's all very nice. It's ok that I wasn't asked; 11 am dining in the city is not for me any more. It's over an hour away for me and I do enjoy a sleep in.

However, it is sometimes hard to accept that the people that you were closest to have drifted away, and that there is very little left to salvage. Too many things have changed.

I thought this the last time we went to dinner. I wasn't sure if it was my paranoia or not. But it seemed that things had completely changed. Six years have passed since my last significant relationship ended. Back then, these friends were our mutual group and so the break-up caused a few issues in relation to that. Events transpired. Events that I will cover at another time.

At this point none of it really matters. The past is past and the future is still to be written; I would like to think that these friends will still be in that future, in some form. I guess that will be up to me. My hope would be that they would have my new partner as the same part of our lives as the old one; that those stories would still be as funny as they once were. Who knows.

I will have to organise a dinner. At a time I can get to and still have my sleep in.

Six Feet Under Moments

The main problem with my post heading is that the majority of people out there in the world have no idea to what I am exactly referring. Which is a great shame. Six Feet Under moments never fail to make me giggle, or at least smile.

I haven't been up to actually doing anything for several weeks now, since I did strange damage to my lower back, ending up with a bulging disc and a strange gait. Several people at work currently call me hoppy. This does not bother me at all and it is nothing to do with the title of this post.
The point of the back injury part of this is that, I don't think I have actually done anything worth speaking of for that long but I felt that I should try to write something... for all my readers. So to all two of you, hello...
Actually my blog has 202 views so that's better than nothing. Keep reading lovely people.

But back to the Six Feet Under moments.

Six Feet Under was an amazing piece of television. It was five completely compelling seasons of dysfunction, misery, pessimism and death. Plus a lot of sex. It was the last thing that I can remember happily sharing with my ex. When the show ended, as the main characters' stories all tied themselves up, I wept and wept. Sia's "Breathe Me" was on high rotation. Sia was very underrated back then too.

Six Feet Under made me look at normality differently. I had never thought that I was a normal human being. I felt that my own misery, my negativity and tendancy to allow myself to become a victim was something warped and abnormal. The characters in this show spoke directly to me. They were more like me than anybody I had ever seen on television. In reality, as I have found by really speaking to people personally since those days, very few people are Hollywood normal. People are screwed up in many ways. In a way I have found solace in this reality and I have become a much more functional person, I believe, since.

The shows' highlights, however, were not found within the morbid storylines. They were more within the Comic Relief portion, provided by the downtroden and pitiful mother, Ruth Fisher. Ruth really was a soppy and fairly useless housewife. No self confidence, no presence, no respect or affection even from her own family.
You just wanted her to explode!

And whenever she did, I laughed. And laughed. And laughed. The first time she did it I was shocked. Could a lifetime of this family drive you to say THAT? No. No it couldn't. She never said what we heard her say. The rant would finish and we would see Ruth, dull as dishwater, smiling to herself at the thought of what she COULD have said.

Ahhh... Ruth's Six Feet Under Moments.
I wish I could have Six Feet Under Moments... but I wish people could see it too.

What would I say in my Six Feet Under Moments? Hmm... well... for starters...

* You could not be more mundane if you tried. You are so mundane that half of my students find you mundane. And most of them have never left Blacktown.

* Noone is going to find your babble quite so interesting when they see what you really look like and have to listen to it at the same time.

* The only thing bigger than your ass is your ego.

Ah... smiles. I wonder how many people would have loved to Six Feet Under Moment me over the years?

Misfiring Missile

Eventually I was going to write about the Olympics. Even if you hate it, you can't avoid it at the moment.

And I do love it. But I am not loving it so much this time around. Perhaps because I am never awake to see medals being won and lost. It takes away the excitement when you wake up after the event.

What I do see each morning, as a result of watching an Australian coverage, is the disappointment of Australian commentators with our swimming results. You may be mistaken for thinking the entire Olympics is a swim meet based on our coverage. But I guess it has always been our thing.

We hype our athletes as soon as they show promise. Especially swimmers. Some live up to the hype and expectation. Many do not. Many Australian athletes enter into competition with a ready made excuse for failing before trying. Injuries and illnesses are given as excuses before the first heat is run. It is really irritating to me. If you lose it is because you were not as good on the night. Get over it.

James Magnussen has especially annoyed me this week. He was hyped to buggery. He was on Commonwealth Bank ads that have suddenly trickled to a stop since he did not quite achieve the glory that the Australian media, and the man himself, blindly believed.

There is an easy explanation for his lack of gold. On two occasions, he has been defeated by swimmers that were better on the day. No excuse needed. Any person in any competition knows, there are no sure things.

But James, arrogance is not pretty. And you have showed yourself to be an extremely ungracious and unsporting individual in the past days. Little hissy fits and standing apart from the relay team after a 4th place finish. Not shaking the hand of the faster swimmer after 100 m race. (Yes he did eventually but not without begrudgement.)  Making faces like silver wasn't good enough on the podium. Mate, silver as good as you were on the day. Stop being a child.

The failure to win gold medals bothers me much less than the failure to be a fair sport. Why do we look up to sportspeople again?

Photos

Someone sent me a message on a "meeting" website the other day. This means very little to me. I don't particularly care. I don't need to pay attention. But I open each message and will generally reply if someone took the time to send a message to me.
But not to this one. The message in a nutshell said that my photos are not "good enough" and it would be a good idea to get off the site.

Now, anyone who has seen my self pictures on Facebook would probably have to agree that I do not take them overly seriously. In fact, I celebrate the strange and obscure. I am not ever going to be a model, and I am never going to try hard enough or eat little enough to make the attempt worthwhile.

So, to this message I responded in the actual sensible and worthy way. I deleted the message. And then worried for about half an hour that, yes, maybe I am a fool and I give of the impression of just being ridiculous. That I am not using the web to my advantage. Oh... and then I got over it again.

But it occurs to me that other people are far more serious about what they look like. Or more what they aspire and want others to believe they look like. Sexiness equates to popularity which equates to self worth.

There is a person on my Facebook who encapsulates this perfectly. He has been on my friend list for several years, I believe. I have met him. I don't believe many others have. This person has about seven or eight photos, and these pictures rotate as profile picture, making sure that they pop up on everyone's feed to make the comments keep on flowing.

Except, they are not photos of him.

As I said, I have met this guy. But I think, even so, that he does not think I realise the photos are not him. That I will just blindly swallow the concept that they were taken by a professional photographer some years ago.
It's a big concept to swallow. Especially as the seven pictures are not even of the same person. One is clearly a different person to all the other shots.

Anyhow, recently this person added some actual pictures of himself. They were every day, relaxed shots. The sort of photos I would and probably do take of myself. The kind of photos I happily post whenever.
However, this person lost several (as in double digit) friends off his page, following the posting. He was incensed. He felt betrayed and hurt by these people. With their rejection of him, because they didn't like him as much because he was not in the same shape as he used to be in.

I hold my tongue and that is difficult.
What I really want to say is:

"Noone knows what shape you used to be in, you dickhead, because noone has seen any photos of you. People have deleted you because they have realised that you played them for fools. That you made yourself out to be a model like man and that is all untrue."

I find it amazing that this guy does not see that his deceit, which is ongoing even after his actual pictures appeared, does anger other people. That when you lie to people and make them feel that they have been foolish, they generally want to cut ties with you. He honestly sees it as other people being shallow.

True fact. People are shallow. People appreciate beauty. People can be cruel about people that they do not find to be figures of beauty. That doesn't make invention of your own image and theft of other people's property acceptable. And you have noone to blame but yourself when these people turn away from you.

I feel thankful that I overcame my own issues with my own looks. Some days I feel ugly. Some days I feel awfully overweight and old. And some days I think I am doing pretty well. Some days I want to wear tight shirts and go hang out in a public place.
I will warn people the next time I feel the need to do that, don't worry.

But this person's story, as well as many others, regarding anorexia and other eating disorders, depression and obsessions, highlights how damaging self image and worth can be. To convince yourself that you are this totally other person; to avoid the reality looking at you in the mirror, to feel anger that people don't accept the truth once revealed; it's all very strange.
And sad.

So, dear people, this is why I embrace the ludicrosity (If it isn't a word it should be) of my own photos. Love yourself and enjoy what you do.

Boycott

I posted a throwaway comment on a friend's Facebook post last night.
He had added a link to Madonna's new music video.

Personally, I don't see the need for Madonna to continue to exist in modern music. But I know that many long time fans disagree with me. I know people who will continue to buy every known utterance from the woman, even when its nonsense dribble she churns out from that Nursing Home she visited in the "What it Feels Like for a Girl" video.
(That sentence in itself was a bit of nonsense dribble, I better check myself.)

So, fresh from the "lady" cancelling her Australian Tour Leg (one that fans have been waiting 20 years to see), I commented that we (Australians) don't listen to her any more seeing as she cancelled on us again.

In reply, I was told that I should be mature and that it was not the end of the world.

This of course is true. It would not effect me either way, as I had no desire to fork out any cash to see her. Even if a part of me has a curiosity to see if she can actually sing, dance or hobble these days. I am sure her videos show in only the best light.

But this is not the point. It is not the point for several reasons.

Firstly, for the genuine and dedicated fans, it might not be the end of the world as we know it, but it is a truly bitter slap in the face. Australia is not the largest music market in the world. But I am sure the multi million dollars worth of sales that her career has received from Aussie money should warrant some, even miniscule, amount of respect. There are people who have followed her career from the beginning. They have spent thousands of dollars buying her music, dvds, sharing in a part of her life. Yet, she does not feel that the Australian people, fans, contributors to her cause, deserve a chance to see her in "person".
I feel offended by proxy. It doesn't change my life, but it effects my opinion. And my general opinion is, that if someone does not have respect for you, then you don't bother to waste any more time or money benefitting that person.

It is my opinion with "everyday people" and it is my opinion with celebrity. Any celebrity would be nothing, without the plebs that support them to get there.
Except maybe Paris Hilton, she spent her way to where she is and will spend it all up before burning out.

This brings me to my bigger point.
Who is anyone else to tell me that my opinion is "immature" or insignificant? Tell me it is poorly researched if you will, tell me there are flaws in my argument and explain the contrary, but do not dismiss with a single word.

I have had a number of moral based opinions over the years. And many people don't seem to understand where these opinions come from.

In the late 90's, I read an article about a man who was told that his HIV medication could not be refrigerated on an Ansett flight. I have to presume that this medication needed to be kept at a cool temperature and so I have to presume the request was valid. Therefore, I felt it was offensive to dismiss this person's needs and welfare. I decided at that point, that I would not fly with Ansett. Some people asked me why I would be so "ridiculous". This situation did not effect me, so why should I care?

Why should I care about a person's welfare?

I have refused to buy, listen to or dance to Donna Summer music for many years. Which is unfortunate. I think some of her early material was excellent dance and reflected the era perfectly. However, her statements in the early 80's regarding HIV and God's plan to wipe out the Gay Community are shocking to me. Ill informed, homophobic and decidedly Unchristian. Many gay Djs and music lovers seem to have forgotten this, especially now that she is dead. Everything is forgiven once you die. But I prefer to stick to my beliefs. I don't care much for convenience over moral decency. And I don't respond well to the dismissive responses of people who feel that it was just misdirected or badly quoted by others. It was what she believed. And I don't spend money on people who would just as soon wish me dead.

Same as I won't spend any cent on 50 Cent, or the like. Not just because I despise their music. I also despise their attitude.

This all dovetails into another discussion point that I have had numerous times over the years; why gay clubs don't actually play gay artists. News flash just in: The Australia hating Madonna, fag hag Gaga and "Our Kylie", although camp, are actually straight women. Yes that's right. Not drag queens, women.
But that is not what I am carrying on about today.

I am carrying on about my choice, my opinions, and my resulting actions; immature as they may be.

So, Donna Summer, Madonna, 50 Cent, Ansett; none of them are directly affected by my lack of contributions to their cause. (Well perhaps Ansett was.) I don't care about that. What irks me, is that so many people can forgive forgive forgive every little detail about someone, even when they are blatantly spitting in your face (figuratively). And to say, "To hell with it, if you don't want me I won't be around any more" is seen as a ridiculous moral crusade.
Celebrities would actually get the message if people started to morally respond to their behaviour. They don't continue without cash or attention.

The Difference a Day Makes

After two days of Staff Development, which left me feeling fairly low and questioning my future, I woke up with dread this morning. This time with colleagues was hard, but what might be there awaiting my arrival at work today.
Over two weeks, what could go wrong with my students? How was I going to be "greeted"? I honestly felt sick to the stomach.

However, to make the long, long story much shorter, I need not have felt anything like this. In fact, my students today reminded me of why I do what I do.

It's an OLYMPIC term. The Sports Spectacle is about to burn itself into our minds for 16 days, and we are ready. In addition, being an Olympic year, I decided this would be a great opportunity to involve my students with the larger mainstream. I have put into action the School Olympics. The mechanics of this are not worth writing down.

The exciting part is that my students were so excited to compete, to play, to be social with other students. Not particularly in order to win, but to have fun and to play fair. In fact, some of the students were trying to think of ways to make games fairer for the younger students against which they would be competing. It was lovely to see.

In addition, upon taking the "invite" to our Olympics around to the other classes, the teachers seemed excited and glad to let some of their students participate. I am excited. I am hoping it all falls into place like I have it in my head. But either way, Social Skills are go and I feel better about my career!

A Few Observations at work

Today was the first day back at work.
As is the norm of late, we started with a Staff Development day. This is generally a talkfest/ group activity/ feedback series of exercises.
Today was no exception.

But my observations today were not of the subjects covered, their use to my life or teaching or the way co-ordinators look down upon the workers.
No... today I was looking at the shitkickers themselves. I am one of them. And yet, I do not feel as one.

We, as a group, are supposedly a group of caring, compassionate individuals, who are united in the shared ideals of education and of getting the best out of a group of students who may otherwise be left behind or given less opportunity to succeed. I would believe that what we do is noble.

How we respond or behave towards each other, however, leaves me quite unhappy. And I admit straight off that I am highly emotional and easily disheartened.

Today, many of the staff headed straight towards the people with whom they work most closely. This is normal. These are, more often than not, the people with whom we have the most connection. The ones who know us best.
Those who have worked in the same place for longer, potentially, have wider networks with whom to interact.
I have worked in my current job for over 15 years. And I am finding this process more and more difficult.
I am finding now that these groups not only exist, but have become so closed in some cases, that it is impossible to even speak to other people.

In two cases, I have two former teacher aides who I see constantly. One of whom I worked with extensively, in an unfamiliar environment, and grew quite close to. The other whom I worked with for some time, and did significant amounts of shopping for when I visited Mexico some years ago. These two women are now incapable of providing even eye contact with me.

Why is this?

Several years back, some other staff members defriended me on Facebook. This happens. But, we still see each other at staff things and briefly speak. We speak civilly. I am not sure what the defriending was about and it doesn't seem I am hated by these people. But maybe I am.

Why is this?

The problem with these mysteries is that people turn the cold shoulder attitude on. But so often, you never find out why. And that drives me insane.

What I found today though... or what I perceive, is a bunch of absolute bitches who just get through the day, with their closest colleagues; imagining they are the authority and the ultimate in teachers; carrying on and bitching about others and hating what their own lives are becoming.

I stay in this job because I love what I do.
But outside of the people I am working with, and the few that I have worked with, who have given me the chance to really know them; and who realise I am not whatever it is that some people clearly perceive me as; I really don't know what is wrong with the rest. Pack of bitches really need to grow up! You are adults!

The ones that shit me the most though; the ones who are "facebook friends", who ask for Union advice, who say what a great colleague I am, who say how much they would love to work with me... all online. But who can't be bothered to even speak to me in my presence. Why is this industry so fake and so pathetic?

I was genuinely hurt by an incident that happened the weekend past by one of these people. But at least it opened my eyes to the continuing and growing politics of teaching; secondary is bad, primary worse, but special Ed. Good god... talk about social skills deficits!

I'm Very Offensive

I arrived off the Airport train into Central at 10:18. The exact right time to watch the Mountains Line train departing from the station, as commonly happens when I travel.

So, with time to spare and a bit of a hunger forming, I wandered over to Hungry Jacks. Not because it is my preferred eating venue; rather that I am not going to search for something else at that time of night, especially as I am already in the station terminal.

I arrived at the same time as all of the Bulldogs/ Tigers supporters, fresh from Friday Night Football. Fresh is probably not the best adjective here. The food queues were long and the natives were restless. I am not sure that this excuses the young guy abusing the server because she would not sell him a burger for $1. But he felt it was his entitlement and he has "worked at Hungry Jacks so I know how much they really cost".

So, I got my food and headed to the nearest and only available table. There were two chairs at this table, and I chose the one facing the counters and customers. Call me prejudiced if you will, but I really do feel safer when drunken football fanatics are in my line of sight.

A table next to mine soon became available and a group of young people sat down; complete with team flags and the foul language of either youth or lager. Or both. After some minutes a fifth person, a young girl came over to the group; she had gotten the order for the other girl at the table and did not have a seat. She stood for a moment, and Girl 1 (let's just call her FatArse) told her to sit down. Clearly, her visual perception was not all there, or maybe the other girl couldn't see, or didn't choose to sit, in the invisible lounge. Either way, the girl started looking around for an extra seat. She saw the one next to me.

This was not an exciting tale, was it? I had a spare seat. I gave it away. That is besically the gist.
But FatArse, being a lazy, rude and disrespectful type, needed to complete the story. She pointed at the chair next to me, and told her friend to take it. Her friend, possibly raised outside of a barn, replied that she wasn't sure if I was with anybody.
FatArse then turned to look at me and, raising her tone and volume for maximum effect, hollers,
"Oh, Fuck Him!" Her friend, embarassed at the inappropriateness and unnecessary nature of it all, put her head down, took the seat and joined her animal companions.

So there we have it. I know realise that my pure existance is offensive. The act of eating, so necessary and regular, is sign for abuse and disdain to football supporters. And I have less right to do it than other, more deserving patrons. I will, of course, remember this the next time I miss my train home.

The Voice

My issue is not with The Voice. It's a show that is obviously developing great audience figures. I don't think it should take away from artists who work hard at their craft and struggle to make it big. But this is the Reality TV world we live in. People would rather be told what they like than be bothered to search for it.

But my issue is with Channel 9 and their promotion of US Season TWO of The Voice. Channel 9, fresh from the success of their version of the show, seems to advertise the show that is NOW becoming popular in USA.

Channel 9. Get a Life. The next time you are able to produce original programming may be your first. Get real and be honest. This is the show that you plagiarised to get Ratings this year.

I hope that Australians in general were not naive and stupid enough to think USA took this show from Delta Goodrem and Seal.
I am sort of scared though that some Australians are indeed that stupid.

Midnight Shift 7/7/12

The Midnight Shift.
Site of many an evening out in my 20's through to around mid 30's. Fridays. Saturdays. Sometimes more.
A place to dance. A place to hang out with friends.

A place which made me question my own worth in life. A place which made me feel that I was going to, perhaps deservedly, stay alone and without anyone to care about me in later life.
A place that I gave up some years ago. After which I became, comparatively, a hermit.

So, to some people's amusement, I decided that the evening of my 38th birthday, it was a great location to hang.
To see what I was missing out on.

And the short answer is: nothing.

Sat on the back lounges and watched people wander aimlessly passed, some staring, some people just looking beyond for something exciting. I wonder if they found it.

The music was fairly poor. There were a few moments of poppy goodness. Most specifically, the moment of excitement that was Loreen's ESC winning "Euphoria". To which I jumped on the stage and danced with too much hands. This is true Loreen style as I recall. A couple of Romanian dance tunes made me smile. Dj probably didn't know they were Romanian dance tunes. Doesn't matter.
Katy Perry was the artist of choice for the evening. And Cheryl (Cole) who got 2 plays (of the same song) within an hour. Good playing DJ Frankie Shin! (that's a sarcastic congrats for those who can't read it)

Anyhow, we left just after midnight and my curiosity was satisfied. There is nothing in this place that I need to return for. The young guys with their attitude. The mediocre music. The overpriced drinks. It's a life that made me hate myself. It's a life I need never to return to.

But my thanks of course to Ty, Andrew, Mitch, Rhys and Stewart for joining me in my social experiment.
Good times.

PS Yes my back is still sore. I expect I'll be on crutches within a week. Hahahaha.

My First Blog Post

So, today is my 38th birthday. For some reason, I seemed to think that I should mark the occasion by starting a blog.
That and it helps me to vent those issues seeing as the letters that I am "going to write" never seem to materialise. Maybe it will move me a little bit.

So what does turning 38 change?
In short, nothing. Except that my back has decided to let me know, in no uncertain terms, that I am no longer young. I do have to get up and get out (There's a nod to you, Lakshmi), as i have a High Tea organised for lunch.
Once upon a time I would have had a night at clubs lined up with a million semi friends invited. But now its High Tea. I am going to head to the Shift later this evening just for old times sake, but even the people I mentioned it to seem to be unwilling to join me, so those million semi friends have definately disappeared. C'est la Vie.

I have a rant about my train trip home last night to go on about, but i might save that for later, lest it spoils the little sandwiches that I will be eating in some hours.

Til then.
Ta Ta.