Absence makes the heart grow fonder & Joy Division

I doubt it if the headline applies to blogs.

I've been far too down to write for a very long time.  I don't want to write any more when I'm down because I think it must make for tedious reading.

Watched a Joy Division documentary today.  I saw them live half a dozen times or so in London.  I remember I was at the Hope and Anchor hotel for a gig by the band 'Blurt' the night I heard Ian Curtis had topped himself.  Watching the doco, stirred up a lot of strange feelings.  Can't believe that was so long ago, thirty plus years since I first saw them at a pub called the Nashville in west London. I was there with Jim Thirwell, my old flat mate, who went on to become "Foetus", the white noise, avant guard rock artist now based in NYC.  (Not my type of music nowadays).

I had such a massive crush on Joy Division's bass player, Peter Hook, I remember his red Rickenbacker.  I always fall in love with bass players.  I love bass, I played for about 15 years, a fairly long time, but I stopped in about 1995.  Hard work, hated practicing, and it hurts your fingers. To be a good musician you have to enjoy practising.  I never could for more than an hour or so.  I did write a lot of songs tho', always using bass to work out the chord progression.

Peter Hook and I would never have worked out.  He is not my type at all. I'm sure I wasn't his either  He wrote some catchy bass lines though!. I still like the music although I don't have any of it on CD or mpeg.

If you go to New Orleans..

I recently visited the Crescent city. It is a mighty fine place.

The people are so charming, the place is amazing, the music is fabulous.  I want to go back. I miss Nawlins.  I want to go back and stay for ever.

why bother

The idea of this blog was initially as a cathartic tool.  Yes it was.  But now I think it is a place for me to understand myself.  Which I don't.  Sometimes I want to give up trying.

I'm depressed at the moment: so what's new.  I feel physically heavy, it's hard to move a lot when one is down.  My moods are see-sawing at the moment.  I'm supposed to apply for a new job and I'm so depressed I don't know how I'll manage to write the application.  "Give me this job because I am so depressed and bored in my present line of work that I day dream of going 'postal' as they say in the USA."

I talked with a pal today about just going 'postal' with a paint gun.  That would be so much fun.  I wonder if I would get charged with assault?  It would be worth it.  Sounds like a scene from Boston Legal. Hah, at least that brought a smile to my face.  See this blogging thing works after all.

Suffering Fools

Sleeping drugs? Hah! This manic mind can survive on less than 5 hours sleep darlings.  Never mind the horse tranqilisers  taken at 1 a.m.  - I wake up and bing: he mind is going 201 mph.  Full of the problems caused by the  fools that made up my working day. How I want to squash their egos, like nasty bugs.  Stomp! Voila, problem solved.

I've been told again and again that I don't suffer fools. But I do!  I really do.  I suffer, believe me I suffer.  I suffer from working with fools for a great majority of my working day!  Hello, I work in Government.  Government is populated by too many people in positions whose lack of ability to perform the job they are paid for is conspicuous by its absence. Part of me would like to tell them all what I really think.  Sometimes I lose it and do tell them what I really think. That is a career limiting action.  I'd like to quit my job and tell the world that I am going permanently insane.  I would love that.  I would truly love that.  Please God, let me be permanently crazy so I don't have to work with thicker-than-two-short-planks ego maniacal  morons. Retirement is a trillion years away.  Mon Dieu, why hast thou forsaken me?

surprised by an insect

I'd been marvelling at a BBC doco on plant life with marvellous close ups of insects showing the hairs on the legs of flys, for example.  Anyway I tired of that, and thought ready for bed.  Heading to my cosy white bed, I picked up a copy of my guide book to NYC that I have read a thousand times, but reading about again it is almost like being there, and I shall be in a few weeks.

As I snuggled in I noticed a cockroach crawling along the top of my book.  My reaction was to exclaim some kind of "er... yuk! sound, and hurl the book from my bed.  Alas if there was a roach there I had no chance to get it.  And I am proud of my roach stomping abilities.  Did I imagine this?  This is the thing with mental health problems sometimes you are not sure if the things you see really are there.

House roaches are new to Melbourne, they've been here now for about 15  years I think or longer  - we have some indigenous ones, but the roaches in Aussie houses are what they call American or German cockroaches, considered dirty, and I'm still not used to them.   I have baits everywhere.  Of course all the poison is probably far worse for you than insects.  Alas, they creep me out,  I'll happily pick up a snake or spider, but roaches: no, no, no!  I squash them and remove them with a tissue then scrub my hands like someone with OCD.

How silly.

Rage in the heart, mind, blood

I lay in bed tonight unable to sleep.  Thoughts of the day and the people I would like to wipe from my world for eternity fill my head.  This makes me angry as I have already spent a long day working on a job that is largely a huge waste of my creativity.  I left the office 6 hours ago, but, in my head I'm still there.

Diplomacy???


Having a full-time job where one has to deal diplomatically with people one considers infuriatingly frustrating is hard for someone who is infamous for her lack of tolerance and tact.  I was born without the tact gene.

My current workplace within Australian Government means that I often spend valuable time (when I could be on Facebook, Youtube, or simply staring into space)  listening to morons who are acting on ego, and insecurity rather on what is best for the community.

Government is littered with teensy departmental silos, (fiefdoms), staffed with those thinking with their egos, playing politics (duh), and running their own agendas rather than thinking big picture. No strategic planning here folks.   It's all about power, and resentment, with no overarching plan.

Tolerating the inexperienced, yet overconfident-in-their-own-abilities morons is a hard task for a woman with not tact.  Ghandi would be fine here. I'm not Ghandi.

I found myself today chairing a meeting at which I wanted to scream at many  in the room to just shut up and go far away, never to return.  One of the more unpleasant members of this regular meeting routinely spouts utter nonsense in order to impress. He clearly has a very small penis. Or brain. Take your pick.  I don't know who this idiot thinks he is impressing because in he past 18 months he has yet to make a valid point, but he presists in taking up a good percentage of airtime.  We sit there and nod, tolerating his ego-driven gibberish in an effort to appear consultative. (Hah!)

Then there are the members of the group who negatively critique all output (not their own), yet contribute little more than barriers.  There are those precious moments too, when rather than deal with confrontation within the meeting, they babble about "moving forward".   Yet to me they appear to me to be moving backwards, dragging us all into the bottomless cesspit that is Government bureaucracy.

Also, I particularly loathe Aussie telco Telstra at the moment, for reasons too banal to go into, dear reader. However since I am in the midst of rage I thought I'd mention that they are the creme-de-la-creme of providers of poor customer service.

Off with all their heads.

Faster pussy cat, kill kill

I think I'm well and then I'm not.  I have mini epidisodes - like this afternoon, today.  I remember trying to explain the feeling to a pianist I once worked with.  I told him: "It's like riding something, going faster and faster and you're holding on so tight - but there's no fun in that feeling, it's just an intense feeling of mania - my brain is racing, I find myself so easily distracted, I'm panicking it's extreme anxiety and restlessness all at the same time." That's just one aspect of mania.  Then there's the fun bit.

"Faster pussy cat, kill kill."  I loved this movie - it is so ridiculous.  I once performed at the Scala cinema in London in the late 1980s - all the band members wore all white , they projected this movie on to us and the screen behind us.  It was fun.

I think I need to go into hospital (for probably three months).  I've spoken with my shrink about it but if I let go completely, which is what I really feel I need to do, then I risk my job, my home, and the stress on the family of my being sick. They know I am ill, but they have no idea how ill.  I'm hearing voices, having conversations, with others who are inside me.  Apparently that's quite common these days in people who have suffered trauma.  Well, tell me who hasn't suffered trauma?  My shrink says I'm really hard on myself.  When I tell her things that happened to me, sometimes she looks so sad.  I feel numb about most of the things that happened to me that apparently led to my illness being much worse than it could have been.  Something to do with the brain's development and children who suffered sexual or other abuse.

I'm working on a lot of very heavy stuff with my shrink at the moment.  I wondered if I should cancel my overseas trip - I'm travelling for a month.  I feel getting away from the ghastly stress of work will do me good, but I'm a bit scarred that I'm not well enough to travel.  I know the work stress is making me manic - causing a lot of it.  Very hard to deal with.  Very hard pretending I do not have a mental illness.  I wish there was no stigma about it any more.

I doubt if that stigma will end in my lifetime. No wonder people kill themselves.  Faster pussy cat, kill kill.  Maybe Russ Meyer was Bi Polar.

Down heading down down

Feeling so sad today, and very tired of the battle of Bi Polar life.

Tried listening to beautiful music and looking at images of beautiful clouds, meditation - perhaps if I hadn't done those things I would be unable to write.

I counted my blessings, and smiled a small smile just now.  That's a good sign I guess.

I watched five episodes of In Treatment on Saturday.  So well written, I cry sometimes when I watch that show.  Good to get the tears out, anyway.

Tomorrow again to the doctor, looks like more drugs on the way.

what goes up stays up

Oh shit.  Today my shrink pointed out that I'm still manic.  And she's correct.

I think this is my fault.  I didn't look after myself this weekend.  I took on more than I could handle and ended up with no quiet time.  This illness requires much solitude and quiet time, in order to survive in the normal  world. It's like being a dedicated musician, it takes hours of practice.

I got less than 4.5 hours sleep last night, after taking a Stillnox and Valium.  I'm off the mood-stabilisers - Doc is giving me one week to get non manic,  if I'm still manic next Tuesday we're going to try a low dose of some anti-psychotic drug instead.  Haven't been on those since the 90s in the UK. I lived there for quite a while. Then they gave me ten times the recommended dose just to shut me up and get me to sleep then (I guess excess dose cos I was comatose and walking,  just).

This woman is not me,  but I know where she may be coming from!

Had such a major psychotic episode then I was in hospital for months.  Feels like yesterday.  I'd be sad about it but I'm feeling pretty happy.  Up, up, up. :P

I work at staying out of loony bins.  But sometimes, the temptation to give in to the insanity is very tempting.  A son of a friend of the family is in hospital. He went in a few days ago. Same illness, major episode.  He's young, hopefully he'll learn how to manage eventually.  It takes practice.
 
That's for sure.

Abbey Lincoln died. :-(

What a great story teller she was with that voice.  I enjoyed her work, she leaves a great legacy.

Other great jazz singers who've gone now that I wish were still around (at their peaks) are Betty Carter, Sarah Vaughn, Mel Torme,  Peggy Lee, Nat King Cole, Ella Fitzgerald and Billie Holiday of course.

In Australia jazz singers were/are often dissed by the other musicians. I think that came from the time when some jazz artists played music but couldn't read it or write their own charts.  Fair enough, if you get up on stage as a jazz artist and don't know what key you're singing in and can't count in your own tune: you ought to be dissed.  In fact, you should be thrown out of the club and told never to return.  Aargh!  I've seen/heard enough of that to understand the negativity towards singers, but then there are singers who are real artists.

There's one here in Australia called Michelle Nicolle, I think she loves Abbey Lincoln's work too.

www.michellenicolle.com 

Michelle Nicolle is a great musician, such an amazing artist she probably won't ever make a lot of money. To her detriment she is a purist, rather than a showbiz type.  If you love jazz check her out.  She is probably one of the greatest vocal improvisers performing live today.  I'd put her on a level with Dianne Reeves.  Very different style though.  She did a gig in Fremantle once at the Jazz festival in West Australia where Kurt Elling called her up on stage, she had no idea that was going to happen. She was in jeans and t-shirt, no makeup, no shoes on just lying on the grass drinking wine and enjoying the show.  He asked for her to come up she did, they did a Blues and Elling declared she won.  And she had!  The thousand plus crowd went crazy.

Bye bye Abbey, thanks for the journey.

Survived a manic episode once again! :-)

Thanks to the right drugs, support from family and friends and a great Doctor/Shrink I'm off the mood stabilisers and back to a  healthy, happy, grounded me.

The desire to SHOUT OUT LOUD

My mum.

She always wanted to go to Argetina to learn to tango.  Too late now.



I feel like screaming loud about this and at the same time feel tremendous guilt.

My mother has friends who are demanding and needy and ALWAYS have been. 

My mother has always collected extremely needy friends who have tragic lives who need her to mother them. ALL her friends are like this. I can't think of any of her close friends (many are now dead) who have not rung or visited for long regular unofficial counselling sessions with my mother. This has been going on since I was a child. The house was always full of other people who needed my mother.

I can only recall three months in my life with my parents when other people weren't living in our house because they needed my mother's help. Other kids, other adults, all needy, needy, needy. The fuckers.

My mother is worn out and exhausted and, still they keep coming, and she keeps giving, and I fucking resent it so much because I have to look after my mother and I want her to have fun and look after herself BEFORE anyone else just for a change.  Also I'm t pathetic 'maiden' (hah) aunt, doomed to tend to the parents until she (me) is a dried up old hag.

My mother is beginning to lose her marbles - perhaps because she is so stressed out over all her needy friends who have dementia, sick grandchildren, are alcoholics, or chronic gamblers or a combo of any of the above. Mother of course has me to worry about, a daughter with a major mental health problem, plus my brother and my crazy sister and their kids. Then there's the rest of the world.  

What tipped the 'I want to shout' balance was yesterday, she put my cashmere coat into a shopping trolley to bring it into the house - I found it this morning, crumpled and in a ball in the trolley.  


The coat is one I treasure. I was helping her pack to go visit one of her needy friends with gifts of new duvet covers and cushions for their home, as they are finally coming out of hospital. I washed the quilt cover and put it on, packed everything up for Mum so it would be easier for her. I suggested she take the trolley so it would be easier for her to manage the light, but bulky load. She agreed.

I found my crumpled coat stuffed into the trolley.  I then wanted to shout very loudly at her. I resisted the urge.

I asked her if she put it in the trolley and she said "yes, when we came back from the market, yesterday, but I forgot about it, sorry." I told her I'd just had it dry cleaned. "Oh did you?"

I couldn't look at her, I was so mad.

Then I helped her into her car with all the things for her friend in hospital.

I am still furious about the coat but more about decades of my watching mother always putting the world before her self (and - selifshly - before me!) Grrrrrrrrrrrrr.

I am furious that I am dong 80 percent of the caring for my mother.  My family need to do more, but she lies to them about how ill/tired she is.  

I end up doing most of the nurturing and right now I feel like I'm the one who needs the nurturing, in this sick, goat fucked, dysfunctional family of ours. Yes, I am having a selfish tantrum, but I feel like it.

I see my shrink Tuesday. Thank God for that.

Stephen Fry - encore!

Today, still having thoughts of suicide, yet also thinking I  would give up my job and home to spend the rest my life as Stephen Fry's housekeeper.

I don't have a crush in the physical sense (we're not on the same team for starters).  I'm in  love with his rather massive vocabulary, his huge wit, his divine use of language, his ethics, and  his compassion.

He left us with some wisdom from another hero of mine, Oscar Wilde, which resonated deeply.  I now feel free of of the guilt I've had for ever.  Guilt about not ever having made up my mind about what I want to be, and what I want to do. I have carried that shame for eternity.  

Now I'm free.  Hooray!

I have lost that huge burdensome guilt, simply because someone, who is most certainly smarter than I am, has given me permission.  I love you Mr Fry.  Please keep sharing what's in that brain of yours.

Stephen Fry

Today I am supposed to attend an evening with Stephen Fry who also apparently is Bi Polar too.  I saw him talking about it in his documentary.  He doesn't take drugs for it, he said. which made me think he must have the less extreme type of Bi Polar, lucky bastard.  You could not survive my mind, without drugs.  You'd end up in an institution for the criminally insane, or you'd be dead.  Or just in regular prison..  I guess if you were very rich and didn't take your meds you could survive but you'd need 24/7 minders.

Today from mid morning until almost six pm I have been feeling very down, and suicidal.  I decided I didn't want to go see Mr Fry, even though I had been looking forward to it for weeks.  I even queued for tickets - on the phone that is.  But I rang as at 8.57, 8.5.8 and 8.59 a.m. the first day they were on sale just t ensure I got tix.  I have been ecstatic about seeing him live.  I have always been in love with his brain.

Mr Fry has a Blog too - he has millions of followers.  Here's his blog link:

http://www.stephenfry.com/blog/#more-19

But earlier I started feeling like I couldn't go.  I felt really down, suicidal.  Really deeply so.

Then I wondered about my meds?  Had I taken everything?  I checked my dispenser.  Nope - forgot the Lex.  No wonder I was down.

Those chemicals, they matter.

Anxiety Schmiety

Had so many anxiety attacks today it was silly.  Had to do yoga breathing on a long train journey both ways and take 3 Valiums today just to get through the day.

Went to a beach far down the coast which was exhilarating, blue winter sky and  no one was on it, 'cept me. My beach.  My sea. My aloneness.  Divine.

I am shouting words that come from who knows where.  Tonight: "stab your heart!" come forth, loudly, as I knitted on the couch and thought about the day. It came out a few times.  Is this a form of tourettes?

Old memories haunt me, they are like a re-occurring nasty infection that flares up suddenly, making me sick to my stomach.  Recalled some nastiness from childhood that made me feel shivers.

I want my shrink with me all the time at the moment.  I am tearful, then happy.  My confidence is on a roller coaster.

I spent nearly $200 changing my hair colour earlier tonight, so at least I look fabulous!  Perhaps I may fool everyone tomorrow at work!

Colin Hopkins pianist, composer, and potter

Colin Hopkins is an extremely interesting artist.  His original music is inspiring, lately he's recorded mostly solo piano. I find his music deeply moving, and funny, and danceable.

He trained as an architect, and studied music at the VCA when he was younger and now he's making exquisite pottery too.

He is renowned for occasional acts of extreme naughtiness among the art world,  for example, he was forced  to write letters apologising to VIPs to avoid losing his house.  His naughtiness is worth writing about, and I may do that one day.

I caught him playing at Bennetts Lane, a jazz club in Melbourne,  with Nadje Noordhuis, a NYC based artist who plays trumpet and flugelhorn.    The gig reminded me how marvellous a musician Hopkins is.  Here's a link to his website:

Colin Hopkins

Or check out this original piano piece on youtube Colin Hopkins

Hearing him play live on Sunday night made me feel more alive and happy than I have felt for a very long time.

Crazy Meds Blues in E flat

Oh, I woke up this morning, shoved some pills into my mouth,

Oh, I swallowed them with water, then put some more into my mouth,

Had a cup of tea and and another pill, just so I could leave the house.

Oh, I've turned into a zombie!

These meds have turned my brain to mush,

I've got the brain of a zombie!

Meds will turn your brain to slush!

I'm gonna see my shrink on Tuesday,


and I tell you that's not soon enough!.

(Coda)

No, no, no that's not soon enough! Oh yeah.

Confidence nose dive

Yes, apparently my self-esteem and confidence has taken a down turn.  Rather like the Greek economy.

It will improve but my shrink was surprised when I saw her. She asked me where I'd gone.

I feel a bit scared that perhaps I will have another massive psychotic episode where you spend a long time in a looney bin with other crazy people, who make no sense and make you crazier because they are all crazy too.  They put you on drugs that turn you into a zombie, and then half your buddies that you like decide never to speak to you again cos they can't deal with mental illness.

I am having anxiety attacks too. They suck.

Just writing this makes me cry. No wonder I'm down. I'll come back up.  Eventually.