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.

The Art of Ron Meerbeek

My most favourite living artist (the kind who paints, draws and does other stuff you look at) is a guy living in Brixton, London SW9, named Ron Meerbeek.  He grew up in Geelong which is a place about an hour away from Melbourne, where I now live.  I think he’s been based in the UK since around 1980.

Meerbeek’s work is very clever, often humorous, complex, and I love it!  

This work is entitled God Fucks Dog.  

Meerbeek has a dog he is besotted with.  

I’ve been collecting prints of his drawings for years.  They are, as I mentioned, often funny, always intricate, meticulous, naughty, and fascinating.  His drawings are a bit like an interesting orchestra, they often have lots of little clever things going on, that upon repeated viewings, you discover make up the whole. 

I feel if he'd been a composer Meerbeek would have been at the more bizarre (i.e. interesting) end, like the best work of Charles Ives.

Ron Meerbeek’s paintings are remarkable too.  He is mad for sure.  Like his drawings, they are often witty, sometimes grotesque, sometimes pretty, sometimes all three.  At times cartoonesque (is that a word?) too, but, I believe his work is more fun than that type of art.  I think, a million times more fascinating than Roy Lichtenstein for example.  Meerbeek’s work doesn’t cost as much as Mr. L’s does.  Yet.

I now own four original works by Meerbeek, three from his shoe painting series. They are small works but very clever with a healthy tiny dose of misogyny.  What genius male painter doesn’t have that, I ask you?

I never tire of looking at my shoe paintings; the one that looks like a hairy cunt is the funniest.

Blogging frustrations

I wrote heaps yesterday and lost it when something went wrong online.  I hate it when that happens.  Bloggers beware - perhaps better to write in another program and cut and paste. I do live in Australia where our broadband access is about up to 1999 standards compared with places like Finland or India.

Mad Woman Car Park Screech Fiasco

Coles (supermarket) car park in Balaclava is a place like no other.  Drivers in the main drag (Carlisle street) have no rules.  The same applies to Coles car park. 

Our little community of St Kilda East/Balaclava has, over the past five years, increased hugely in popularity.  The tourists who once frequented St Kilda now hang in Balaclava, this despite the deadly threat of the Carlisle Street driver.  

Many elderly immigrants living in the area, who are short (not that there is anything wrong with that) can't see much past the steering wheel.  Sometimes their manners are somewhat lacking when attempting to 'get that car park first!'. Combine that with rude, impatient, Y gen with massive SUVs;  do you, get my drift?  The overcrowded car park could possibly be renamed 'Aggression Central'.  Beeping at somebody for a nano second's hesitation is common.  It annoys the fuck out of me. I hate rude people.  Yet I am a hypocrite, as you are soon to discover, dear reader.

Today, as I was walked towards Coles, in my manic state, an elderly, short lady in her car made the unwise decision to beep at me, so she could drive past faster.  I was but five yards from the front door of the supermarket. 

I channelled Mike Tyson, spun round, walked up to her window and screeched in her face: "WHAT?  WHAT? WHAT!  THIS. PLACE. IS. FOR. PEDESTRIANS. TOO!"  


I have a very loud voice. I am a large woman, and, I screech from my diaphragm.  


I doubt that lady will ever beep again. I feel a bit mean, but she was rude first.

C'est la vie!

South Park vs SlumDog Millionaire

Middle aged lady (MAL) goes up to the counter of Video Vision, Carlisle Street and says: "I'd like to take these DVDs out please.  Oh, and I found this film 'Slumdog Millionaire' in Comedy, I was going to put it back in drama but it has a comedy sticker on it, you might want to change that. I also owe you for 30 Rock cos I brought it back late."

Spotty twenty-something film nerd (STSFN) says, without a hint of irony: "Yeah ,that's right, comedy!"

Taken aback, the MAL says in shock: "What? You think pouring boiling oil into the eyes of children is comedy?"


STSFN snaps: "Yep!" maintaining venomous eye contact with MAL all the while.

MAL: "But, this film shows people being tortured by having electrodes attached to their testicles!


"STSFN: "Yep, comedy".


Another young guy, with brains (YGWB) behind the counter jumps in with: "Oh, we have so many copies of this film, we put it in every section, it's even in the Australian section!" YGWB clearly embarrassed by STSFN's insensitivity and trying, honourably, to lighten the situation..


MAL: "I just thought, if someone took it out as a comedy  - they might get traumatized by it."


STSFN continuing to be annoyed, spits out sarcastically: "And yet, it has a BIG song and dance number at the end!"

"Whatever! I do what I want!"

STSFN charges MAL for her films. MAL has to remind him about 30 Rock. 

MAL: "30 Rock, I still have to pay you for that.  That's a comedy.   I don't need a bag."

"STSFN " That'll be $19.50. Thank you."

MAL: "Yeah... er, thanks."

MAL: (mutters as leaving the store) "Some people are so weird - was that just an episode of South Park?"

Naked Ethiopian and Argyle socks

I slept - boy did I sleep, I slept for 11 hours.  With the help of some drugs, but that's a very good thing.  Turning off one's brain when manic is a good thing. Thanks for modern drugs.

I feel truly privileged to be able to access medication.  Whenever I am manic I am reminded of an incident that occurred when I was working in northern Ethiopia.  I was walking around the town of Makele with some colleagues.  It was a war zone then but nothing was happening really in terms of fighting at that time.   We came across a woman walking in the middle of the road who was attracting a lot of attention.  She was naked except for her Argyle socks.  Makele in Tigray isn;t the kind of place where you see bare breasted African women.  That part of Ethiopia has a tradition of orthodox Christianity going back longer than many European countries.  She had heavy blue metallic eyeshadow on. She was young, I guessed no more than 20 years old.

Women in that part of Ethiopia didn't wear that kind of makeup then.  I remember wondering where she obtained metallic blue eyeshadow.  Strange what goes through your mind at the oddest of times.   She was shouting out something in Tigrayan, a language that I only know two phrases in.  She kept kissing the road while local people were laughing at her - she yelled at them..  Then a lorry load of soldiers came out of nowhere and she ran after them - they laughed at her too.  After they drove away she started to follow us.  I wanted to give her my jacket and help cover her up,  but my two companions insisted that we do what the locals did and just ignore her.  To this day I remember her and wonder how she'd be if she had access to the same medical facilities as I do. I feel bad that I did nothing to help her.   I wondered where she got her Argyle socks from too.

Legacy of wars make people crazy, so many wars in our planet's history. There are a lot of crazy people in the world maybe that's where it all stems from.

Greatest Living Jazz Pianist

The artist, Jessica Williams, is brilliant.  She is my favourite living pianist.  Incredible technique, amazing improivsational skills and stunning compositions.  Her website is www.jessicawillams.com  Her's a youtube link to one of her beautiful pieces that helps keep me out of the mental hospital.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=O0FgZtkPI4Y


When I listen to her I think of Rachmaninov, Bill Evans and other brilliant artists that went before her.  But she is unique.

Thanks Ms Williams.

Up again with Tina Fey & Mel Brooks

Annie Leibovitz took this pic, I think, of Tina Fey for Vanity Fair.  I admire both women. I suspect AL is BP too, from what I've read about her spending habit, sounds like it could be so.

I'm still a bit zonked, spoke to pharmacist this afternoon, and decided to cut back the Epilim a little. Watched Mel Brooks' Producers last night and laughed out loud heaps.  Went walking today and caught up for coffee with a lovely positive pal in the morning and another one in the afternoon.  

Got 30 Rock out from the DVD store.  Tina Fey is a genius.  Plan a lot more laughing tonight. Things aren't so bad now, feeling better :-)

Piano and a massage

The suicide fantasies continue.  I am such a bore with all of this.  I would love to talk to someone about it but really, who wants to hang with someone who is so depressed?    I rang up Lifeline the other night because I needed to talk to someone and the poor guy had to refer to his manual to try to help me.  He was literally leafing through pages to try to find someone who could help me.  He couldn't.  I felt sorry for him - so I lied and told him I felt much better now, thanks to him.    How do you explain that you want to kill yourself because you are just 'over' being bi polar anyway.  I made a donation to Lifeline the next day.

Amnesty rang me on Thursday, they wanted to tell me all about PNG and the violence against women. I told them I'd worked in PNG and was aware of the issues but the lady continued, "but did you know domestic violence isn't a crime there?"   etc. etc.  In the end I had to tell her I'd worked in humanitarian aid for twenty years and was across many of these issues, but I increased my meager monthly donation anyway.  So their telemarketing worked.  I did ask her to only send me things electronically.  I'm happy to give money to worthy causes but I'm depressed enough as it is without reading about more torture and starving people on my couch.  I usually just bin all the brochures anyway.  I've met many torture survivors and starving families with children over the years to know how bad it is for half the world.

Funerals

The funeral for the woman I knew who killed herself last week was held yesterday.  I really wanted to go but my family convinced me not to.  They don't get it.  It would have been a strong reminder of why I shouldn't do it too - the grief it leaves behind.  That's not a fair thing to do to anyone you love.

PIANO

I saw my remedial masseuse today.  I took a Jessica Williams CD with me to play instead of the massage music..  He loved it.  Of course, who wouldn't?  Being under 30 he asked me to burn him a copy.  So he gets paid but the musicians have to work for free?    I like him though, he has a gentle soul.

June 25 heading down to Zombieland and Kevin Rudd

My meds have turned me into an emotional zombie.  Need to cry but can't.

We have a new  Prime Minister, a socialist and our first female PM.  I'm glad about. that. I lived in the UK under Thatcher I was there from 1979 - 1996.  Mrs Thatcher is an extreme capitalist, and a gargoyle.

I'm annoyed wuth the ALP because our old PM even with all his faults, was a decent man.  The way he was ousted was disgusting.  It was a shameful day in Australia's political history.

My most proud day, in terms of Patriotism, was the day our ousted PM apologised to Indigenous Australians

Bye bye Mr Rudd and thanks.

So she killed herself

Yesterday I found out that an intelligent. warm, creative, charming, attractive woman I know, took her own life.  Same age as me.   I always knew we had much in common.  Now I see we had even more in common than I realised.

It was winter solstice yesterday.  Good day for suicide.

I have been spending a lot of time considering the implications of ceasing to exist.  It becomes more attractive as I age.  I have argued with my shrink about it.  If you had cancer and were in so much pain that couldn't be ended, then people would more likely understand your desire for euthanasia, but suicide for depression is a bigger taboo. That's not fair.

These daisies are for Jemma


I'm very sad about  Jemma who is now dead,  But, I'm also a little envious,  if I am honest.

I'm heading downwards at present.   Down, down, down, down.  May get too low to write.  We'll see if the blog helps.

Boys & Toys - garden destruction

We have trees where I live. Lucky me.  A small strip down the side of our apartments.  Some of the trees formed a lovely green canopy over the driveway and made the place feel quite green and private.  There was a sturdy old avocado tree that the lovely local possums had managed to kill, sadly, by eating every leaf and new green shoot on it. Still it was old with a very sturdy, safe trunk of about 1.5 metres diameter.  As it no longer grew leaves about 7 years ago I planted some jasmine at the bottom of it,  possums don't like jasmine.  It had grown over the years to almost replace the canopy of leaves, providing shade to the dwellers in the first floor flat, which is handy in a town with 43 C days, and it provided a place for small birds to nest.  And of course that divine smell and flush of white flowers.  Divine.

Further along the drive are other trees which I 've worked  hard to keep alive during the 7 year drought by bucketing grey water on to them.  Good exercise for me.  Happy green trees. There was, I admit, one dead gum tree that the birds liked a lot. Also killed by possum eating.  It was good for spotting the few native birds that still hang around this part of the city.

Our Body Corporate, who manage our units, ran an OH and S survey and it was found that some of the foliage was an obstruction -  a leaf could fall on someone's head, thus disfiguring them for life - we could then be sued, all of us, the owners.  I reluctantly agreed to let them trim the foliage.

I awoke early one day during the week to the sound of half a dozen young men playing Texas Chainsaw Massacre on the trees.  They didn't trim them, they ripped them apart. I protested enough to save a few spindly trunks.  Too late I fear. What is it about boys and toys?  Do you think they would be so destructive if we still were hunters and collectors?  I think not.

I will plant more things.  Meanwhile the garden strip looks about as appealing as Kabul in winter.

I want to be alone

Tired, corker of a headache but I put off bed.  I find lying in bed hard at these manic times, the drugs help me sleep  - eventually - but the thoughts in my head going a million miles per hour it seems, and so complicated, great ideas, artistic ventures, some of them really good I know.  They would work even f I wasn't manic - but the depression that will soon follow the mania will stop them happening.  Being alone with my crazy thoughts - not good.  Being awake, alone and doing stuff - much better.

Also lying awake - that's when my suicidal fantasy intensifies - too boring to go into.  But tempting.

I really want to be totally alone for a few weeks so I can do arty stuff.. I share a house.  This is good, and not good. I want TOTAL privacy.  I don't want  anyone to know when I'm awake or what I might be doing.  I may feel like painting, writing or playing piano at 3am.  I can't do it because I might worry the person I live with that I'm really sick again.  My piano playing when I'm manic is not what one would call accessible music.  Although I love playing it. Sharing a premises stifles my creativity, but also keeps me in check.  I'd probably be permanently disabled and claiming a pension if I lived on my own (by now) and I would hate that too.  Compromise.  Mental health.  Fuck.

My cat is chucking a tantrum, he wants me to come to bed.  At least I'm desirable.

Go Ghana - win the world cup please!

Six pairs of high heels and lots of makeup. I packed these things to take to an extremely impoverished west African country of Ghana in the 1980s. I had never been to a lesser developed nation before. There had been a coup not long before I arrived. I didn't need my heels. I was with my friend Sal. We walked everywhere, there was no public transport and the only other honkies we saw were in embassy cars. Sometimes the few white people we saw in cars would stop to offer us a lift. I remember asking a Lebanese guy who drove us back from the beach why he didn't stop to offer a local woman carrying a heavy package a lift. He said: "Don't be ridiculous".  I thought he was mean.

I remember meeting a white woman and her younger Ghanain companion on the beach. She was a Brit and wore far too much heavy gold jewelry. They made Sal and I an offer of a free trip to Bolivia if we would collect a suitcase for them. In fact they tried very hard to persuade us.

We said no, because we had never heard of Bolivia before and it didn't sound very exciting. I was so naive in those days. I am a little less naive now.

I fell in love with Ghana, to date it is my favourite African country. I plan to go back there, but I fear it would have developed a lot since my last trip. I was manic when I was there and did some extremely dangerous things, like refusing to bribe the guy in customs blowing him a kiss instead, when he asked me to give him something.

I was there because I was 'in love" with a very handsome Ghanain young man who turned out to be an importer of drugs. He sent me there, but he didn't join me. He ended up in jail. I could have too but that's another long long story. His name was Daniel, and I still remember his beautiful face and sexy voice. All my gay friends had the hots for Daniel. He was a total arsehole. But that is another story. Wherever Daniel is, I hope he is happy and being nice to whomever he is with. He was charming but misguided.


I hope Ghana wins the world cup. Africa needs that winning feeling most.

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My baby just cares for me

So, I'm a cat lady.

I'm obsessed with my boy, he is been a faithful companion - for nearly 14 years now. He survived cancer - which the vets say is a miracle. They call him the miracle cat, in fact.

Here is a picture of my man, tucked up under my quilt.

 It cost me more than my piano to fix him. That's a lot of dollars. The survival stats for cats with cancer are around 6 months to 2 years maximum wth treatment. My baby was sick about five years ago. I paid for the best treatment available. He's still here, healthy as ever before.

 I love my baby, when I'm sick he is always at my side.  My baby just cares for me.

To be or not to be: blah blah blah

Fighting bi polar sucks. At the moment I want the luxury of sinking into madness. I long for the hospital I stayed in once in the 1990s in the UK. I was free to be mad there. It was very expensive and I could do as many crazy/arty things as I wanted. Food was good too. It was in a beautiful old mansion near Reading. I was by no means the sickest person there, they said, but pretty close I think. When my money ran out I went to Maudsley in South London. OMG what a depressing place, crikey if you weren't mad when you went there you would be soon afterwards.

This week has been hard, hard, hard. Work is a nightmare. High stress levels which really help a person fighting off a full manic episode. I'm back on mood stabilisers again, they add kilos and turn you into an emotional zombie. Great life quality.

I have a compelling urge to cut my throat. I don't feel deeply depressed. I just feel sick of dealing with Bi Polar. I haven't felt such a strong urge to end me for as long as I can remember. But you can't. Too selfish for family and friends left behind. Loved ones of suicides are 9 times more likley to suicide apparently, and so the legacy would continue. I love my family and friends too much to do that to them. But I resent it.

I pretend at work sometimes that I suffer from migraines, so people think the reason I am so vague or aggressive is because of that. I once outed myself at another work place and it was a MASSIVE mistake. If you have a mental illness outing yourself is a complete and utter mistake. No matter what the OHS policy is, people use it against you and are constantly looking for evidence of your illness. So my advice, after 35 years of living with mental illness is don't tell your work colleagues. NONE of them.

I won't kill myself tonight. I wish I could sleep though. I have taken valium and stillnox and here I am, awake and zombied out.

Animal Kingdom movie

Went to see this today with my lovely clever friend, Sam.  This is movie making at its very best. Well crafted script and characters, casting director should get 10 gold stars, all this with an edge-of-your- seat suspenseful plot.

The film is chilling and plausible I do hope it does well outside of Australia, it deserves BAFTAS, Oscars, and Golden Globes, well at the very least a decent international audience.

I think my favourite scene is when the matriarch (Jacqui Weaver) is casually seated at the kitchen table, dunking her teabag as the cops drag out her boys.

I'm planning to see it again in a week. I haven't seen such a strong film for a very long time. Well done all.

Sam said it was like a Shakespearean tragedy.  I agree.

Sleepless in St Kilda

Being Bi Polar, it's hard to know whether one's sleeplessness is a warning of a manic period coming on - it usually is. Or if it is just stressful things on the brain. If I don't get enough sleep I will become manic. This I know. I find if I am 'good' and take all the drugs that my doctors prescribe for those times, and that do indeed turn me into a very boring person, then I won't have a manic episode.

Oh, but manic episodes can be lots of fun. I do miss them. They are also, unfortunately, extremely dangerous for a variety of reasons. Google: if you want to know more.

I have Bi Polar 1. In Mania I have taken some extremely big risks so it is remarkable that I am still alive and not homeless or incarcerated or locked up in a looney bin. I am certainly entitled to be in a pschiatric hospital but I am very good at managing my illness most of the time. I've had more than 30 years practice. Sometimes, however I would just like to give in to it and let everyone else do the worrying. But I won't do that. Too hard on friends and family.

I have a senior job in Government now, and although people do say I am a "creative type" they have no idea I'm Bi Polar. The world is not ready for outing real Bi Polar people in industries other than the arts, anyway. So I shall not be outing myself anytime soon. At work I hear offensive jokes about Bi Polar people: anyone difficult may be jokingly labelled that way. I think this is what it must have felt like to be gay before it became acceptable to be open about our sexuality at the work place. People making nasty jokes about gays and lesbians yet they still do that anyway, morons.

I find myself frustrated that Bi Polar is becoming the new black, if you get my drift. Many people have told me they suffer with Bi Polar, but sometimes I believe they have self diagnosed and are probably just depressed, which is bad enough, but Bi Polar is a life sentence and it annoys me that it's now almost cool so people are claiming they are, when they clearly aren't. It makes me want to punch somebody, but I'm not sure who.

An old friend is good to talk to about it, and he's cool he's an artist in London, We chat during our  Scrabble games on Facebook. We have both had very difficult times in our lives, he's seen me at my craziest and yet he still likes me! Thanks Ron! You make me smile. Ron is a very gifted artist. I love his work.  He should be raking in dough. He is quite brilliant.

I have three of his paintings above my bed. He did a series of differnet shoes based on mythological gods. Some of the shoes are a bit risque and many of them are very funny. I treasure them. I treasure my friend Ron.