How do you know when somebody means what they say?
How do you know when its okay to trust someone?
I mean - how do you know?
I never get it right. Initially I don't really believe anyone. I mean, I want to, but I just can't seem to make it happen. I usually get a first vibe - and if it's a bad one they never get a shot - but if things seem okay on the surface, I'll hang in there and see how it goes.
See, for me it's all about action. It's so easy to say the right thing, but it's seems so hard for people to do the right thing. So those fast talkers? They're hard to believe. They've spent so much of their energy appearing to be a good thing, they've forgotten how to be a good thing. (Yes, I'm channeling an ex-boyfriend with that comment...)
So I can rule out one group: the fast talking, way too smooth type. But what of others? How do you know? How long does it take to prove yourself trustworthy? And is there room for error? Can someone promise something and not follow through yet still be trustworthy? Do they stay trustworthy or do they return to the 'unproven' category? And how long til they can move to trustworthy again? Do they have to follow through on a number of items? or just one?
It's all very confusing. I'm trying not to be too tough on some people (as my friend's have been suggesting) but it goes against the grain. Does that mean I'm just chicken? or just wise?
Man, the thoughts that go through my head somedays....
Hugs are good. Everybody needs hugs. Even me - oh non-tactile one.....
Take this week for instance - it hasn't been a spectacular week by any stretch of the imagination. Stuff at work, stuff with the family, stuff with boys and a kitten that doesn't let me sleep (or type either.... apologies in advance for any errors I don't catch from the wandering of little paws on keyboards.... Sounds cute - but after a few minutes - really, it's not)
Anyway, I got to thinking (aka moping) and had myself a mini pity party about all that's missing from my life and/or what's wrong (lack of sleep is probably the biggest issue....) and I came to the conclusion that all I needed was a hug.
Had an email exchange with a friend and and even told him that. He promised to hug me the next time he saw me.
Still haven't seen him yet - but you know what? (There must be some unseen force at work....) Why? Well because, today - out of nowhere - a friend of mine (different from the one in the email exchange) just gave me a hug. A wonderful, long, friendly, warm, unasked for hug.
Know what? I was right. It was exactly what I needed.
She arrived Saturday accompanied by antibiotics and anti-fungal cream and landed in the midst of the mess that is my ex-flatmate visiting. (Any wonder I haven't been posting???)
And 3 days in, she seems to be settling in quite well, despite my old flatmate's comments that she looks 'skanky' and her derisive comments on how much I paid for her (she inherits kittens free from the farm....)
Actually as I'm typing this she is playing with my toes - with her very sharp kitten claws.... Ouch!! I think she only does stuff like that to hear me scream!
So what can I tell you? In three days I have managed to train her to sleep curled up in my arms and no longer try to sleep ON my face. Mind you, I've been working on the computer and she's been sitting on the back of my neck, ON my ponytail, purring.....
My greatest dilemma is a name. I've always wanted to call a cat 'Monster' but she's so little and sweet that I think that's mean...Originally when I saw her at the breeders, she looked like a 'Molly', but that's not really sitting anymore. For the last three days I've been calling her 'Baby' by default, but even I think that's kind of dorky. This morning I started to call her 'Mouse'. I'm thinking I like it, but I've been getting mixed feedback.
I'll have to run it by my Little Sister to see what she thinks...
So Day 3, we're starting to settle in and my panic attack about the commitment I've made has been eased by a conversation with my mother (you know it's bad if I phone my mother about it...) And I'm starting to relax at the prospect that if discovered by my landlord, I could get kicked out.
Other than that - not much else is new here. Just the red strips on my ass where I obviously either missed the application of sunscreen and/or let my bathing suit ride up a little too high.
I have a touch of the lurgy. And know what I did? I called my mother.
I'm such a baby. No matter how old I get, if I get sick, the first thing I do is call my mother. I don't know why - she's a retired nurse - and she's a typical nurse. Meaning she has no sympathy for the sick.... Why do I call? Beyond me, but it's an impulse I can't control.....
People at work have been complaining of stomach bug. I've been good at avoiding most of the diseases floating around the office of late, but yesterday my belly hurt a little, but I ignored it because it was the first hot, sunny weekend in a while and I had a new bikini that absolutely neededto go to the beach.
Felt good enough even to go for a bike ride. (The first one since 'the incident'.) Was worried that perhaps my arm wasn't strong enough to cope with the constant leaning from riding, but that was the least of my worries.... About halfway through the ride (yes, the furthest point from home) I had to dismount because the hill was just TOO hard. Stood with one foot still in clips, but then thought twice about that. Once unclipped, decided I really needed to sit on the curb - which then led to me needing to lie down on the grass of some stranger's house.
Nope. No one asked me if I was okay. Eventually I sat up again and slowly biked home.
Now, I am lazy, but I usually manage to finish bike rides and/or exercise without needing a little lie down...
Been lying down ever since. With the exception of going out to rent some DVDs (Sunday afternoon television really sucks....)
I really am a baby. Good news is I'm finally starting to feel better. Well, until I started watching the special 'Abba Mania' here.
It's a train wreck I can't turn away from! Will post on that later....
My understanding is that drunkend dialing happens when you've had too much to drink (obviously) but it also must be a thing of convenience - like accessing the phone book on your mobile.
So is it still drunken dialing if you have to put effort in to look up the number?
Recently, a friend from back home has taken to sending me postcards. Postcards of cute little Canadian critters: moose, bears, the cutest little chipmunk (its so cute I showed it to the little old lady in the elevator on the way up to my flat). I think it's partly a design to make me homesick, but is also partly because she's twisted. Twisted in a good way. (Is there any other kind of twisted?)
See, on the back of the postcards she writes me a little note - a little snippet of what may be going on in her life - but see she's twisted, so often what she writes has me laughing at the postbox. (You should have seen the snippet that was on the back of the beaver postcard....)
Today was a classic though - and I just have to share (if the author of this snippet is upset with me for posting this, please let me know and I will pull the post down....):
I called "T" on the weekend. She was dressed as a cat and waiting for eight 4 1/2 year olds to come over. I told her I was in my housecoat drinking tea and reading a novel. She told me to screw off. I felt good about my life.
Despite the fact that it was only about 15 degrees today, rainy and cold, I convinced a friend of mine to meet me for ice cream. (She's pregnant, so it really didn't take much effort.....)
She's a new friend really. Someone I met ages ago but we only knew each other to say hi (the smiling nod hello in pilates - an occasional joke to ease the pressure of our tough teachers....) I ran into her one night when I went to see a movie - I was on my own so she took mercy on me and included me in her group.
Since then, we've met up for coffee....Actually we've never met up for anything other than ice cream. Originally we had planned to take kick boxing lessons, but I broke my elbow, then she realised she was pregnant....so ice cream it is.
Anyway (this is the longest intro to a story I think I've ever written) it was too cold to hang out on the beach so we headed back to my place and ate our ice cream, drank tea and chatted for hours (how nice is it to have a girlfriend to hang out with again????) She reminds me so much of my best friend from back home - same sense of humour and laissez-faire attitude - an anomaly to many of the Australian female friends I've made....
But I digress.... (I know I use that term a lot - but it's been a while - and it really works sometimes!!)
We got to talking and trading stupid stories and at one point she was laughing so hard she could barely spit out "You say you're not crazy, but I'm beginning to wonder."
It made me stop. She's so easy to talk to and reminds me so much of the type of friends I have at home, that perhaps I went too far? Was I too relaxed? Should I not have told her the story? The story where I completely lost my cool and picked a fight with a completely unsuspecting stupid male? (I should add defenseless to that descriptive list...) I know I made her laugh - but maybe you need to be better friends before you really reveal your inner self.
So - you guys have seen my inner self - do you think I'm crazy?
So, maybe it was just the way I was brought up, but I've always believed that if you ask someone to do something, you don't change your mind at the last minute because you got a better offer.
Tell me, it's poor form to suggest doing something then follow up with a phone call asking for a rain cheque? Isn't it?
(I know I'm not really giving a complete picture here, but I've discovered I have readers that I now have to filter my comments for. So much for using my blog as a means of maintaining my sanity!!)
So recently I was contacted by a magazine looking to do an article on expats in Sydney and they were/are interested in including me in their article.
Well, despite my being suspicious and distrustful at first (my usual response to anything......) I decided I would let myself be interviewed.
Problem is - along with the questions, they wanted a picture. Uggh. I found an old one that I didn't feel the need to tear up, but they're looking for Sydney shots, perhaps a beach in the background.
My mother was right - 7 am is really not a decent time to come home. Especially if it's straight from the bar.
I'm too old to stay out til 7am. It takes a minimum of 5 days to recover from 15 hours of drinking. So much for my new healthy regime.....
I thought he'd come back. He did before, I thought he would again. Truth? I was hoping he would. I'm finally beginning to accept that he's not. It makes me a little sad. But just a little.
I think my Little Sister needs more help than I can give her and I'm worried that the little bit I can do will be rebuffed. She's thirteen and angry. I don't know what to do.
I'm actually excited at the prospect of my mother's visit. 8 weeks to go. My bet? 8 hours to our first fight....
The best way to stave off a hangover? Pizza
I don't get Australian men. Correction: I don't get men.
I wish that I could restrict who could read my blog, because I have a great story to tell.....
A blog about the trials, tribulations and jubilations of living as a Canadian expat in Australia. A lifestyle so similar in some ways, but a world away in others...
