Happy New Year

And, without wanting to sound too Hallmarkish, I hope 2007 brings peace to us all, personally, and on the international stage. (Call me naive, but I can still hope for it.)

I'm looking forward to reading some inspirational words in the next year (and who knows, maybe even writing... well, something!), as well as finally getting some things in my life into order that have been chaotic for far too long. No, I won't bore you with New Year's resolutions. Let's just say that these changes are no longer optional.

So, I hope you all enjoy the change of the year in good fashion, just as you would wish it to be.

cheers,

Hooch.

Work has been very quiet, and I've been trying to enjoy the free time, catching up on some much needed housework and just relaxing.

My mind wanders, sometimes, to thoughts that make me feel anxious. Mainly thoughts of money, and the lack of it, or my inability to not spend it, and the people that would very much like me to hand it over to them, if I actually had it [waves to the taxman]. But I try not to get too panicky about it (although even now I can feel the knot of anxiety swelling in my stomach). I take to my tapping exercise that my hypnotherapist gave me... accupuncture points I tap as I repeat self-affirming statements. "Even though I'm in a financial shit-hole, I am a valid person and worthy of love." You get the idea.

Christmas is also the time when I receive a card from my father and his wife. Since marrying wife #3 (who is a very nice woman, and my whole family wonders how long until she will see through his charm to the manipulative person behind it) the cards now come with either a present or cash. I feel uncomfortable. The gifts are very obviously instigated by W3, who comes from a close family where things like celebrating Christmas are very important. And I would be a liar if I didn't confess that the money helps over a time when work is very scarce. But it doesn't change the fact that he and I have reached an impasse in our relationship, and these gifts feel shallow and dishonest.

I've mentioned before that my father was someone I spent most of my life trying to appease, to make things easy so that he might spend time with me and my sister, and that there was always the underlying sense that if I didn't do this, things would fall in a heap. And that, when he had a breakdown and his second marriage came to a nasty end, I was the one he leaned on, talked to, saying very hurtful things about how much he regretted the mistakes he'd made before his second marriage, how everything before W2 was a mistake (ah, that would be me and my mother and my sister??). And I in turn would cry on my then-husband's shoulder, a hurt child wanting the love of her father still, and instead getting even more rejection from him.

During this time, something in me shifted. Hardened. Healed. I'm not sure, exactly, but whatever it was, it made me really step back from my relationship from my father and examine it. I realised that I let him treat me in a way that I would not have accepted from any other man in my life, and I decided that I wasn't going to tolerate it any more. So, once he married W3 (coincidentally at the same time that then-husband and I were going through our marriage breakdown) and then decided to move 1500km away, I felt it was time for me to let him go, to resign myself to the fact that I would never be able to rely on him or show any form of vulnerability. At about this time I asked him not to ring me any more.

It sounds harsh, maybe even cruel, but I was trying very hard to pull myself back together after my life had fallen into a heap [marriage break up, broken leg, redundancy, all within 12 months] and I simply didn't have the emotional energy to cope with these hours-long phone conversations in which he didn't even stop to ask how I was doing... simply used me as a sounding board for the things in his life he was still unhappy about [W2 being a bitch, in his words, and his kids from his second family not reacting favourably to his moving so far away while they're still in school, for example].

So, I asked him not to call anymore. He could email, I said, because that gave me time to reply, much easier for me to work with considering my erratic work hours, etc. But phoning simply was difficult because I was never sure when I would be home and I couldn't talk while I was at work anymore.

I've never received a single email. I get a card for my birthday and a card for Christmas, and I always write, thanking him and W3, and leave it open ended so he could reply, but he never does. It seems we are alike. He won't talk to me unless it is under his terms. And I cannot afford to talk to him unless I can feel it is going to be something more than him using the nearest convenient emotional crutch. I just don't have the resources to do that. I think I'm worth more consideration.

So, I look at the card, the flowery sentiments printed, the short message hand written, the postal order, and wonder whether, this year, I should simply tell him not to bother anymore. But I can't do that. That would feel too cruel. Maybe deep down I still hope that he might just get it one day, and I don't want to cut that last tenuous thread of connection. Plus, if I did, then I know he'd cut off my sister as well, and I can't do that to her. She still has hope, where I just have weary resignation.

On days like today, I don't know how I can be a good person and still maintain my integrity. I really don't know the best thing to do.

I read an article recently [no, I can't remember actually when, or, for that matter, what publication it was in... trust me, it was sure to have been credible]... where was I? Oh, yeah, right. I read an article recently that said roughly 80% of people tilt their head to the right when they kiss, and about 20% to their left. [Did you all just do a sample tilt?]

I guess that would make me a goofy-lipped kisser?

So, the question – what have I been up to?

Well, for a while, I worked. A lot. Until a week ago, when it all suddenly stopped. Not even a slow down, just a hard, sharp blow. It’s the nature of the beast, I tell myself. Freelancers don’t work over summer. The work dries up. Companies slow down, shut down, people stop thinking about printing documents and more about holidays on the coast. I think about how long I’m going to be stretching my dwindling savings. But it won’t stop me from enjoying all the great things about summer, and I’m determined to make the most of the quiet time to catch up on my guitar practice, my singing practice, and all the little projects I’d dreamt of during the time when I was so busy I could barely imagine having the time to even take a day off to just relax.

Right, so, I’m still learning the guitar. I mean, I will always be learning, But I’m still torturing my (possibly chemically induced) ever-tolerant guitar teacher. The Rolling Stones are currently receiving my twanging attention.

Singing. This has been a revelation. Originally I thought it was going to be about facing my fear. And it was, and it will be. But what I hadn’t expected was the pure joy that I feel from singing. I feel proud every time I sing in front of my teacher, because I know how far I have already come by being able to sing comfortably in front of my teacher. But the process of singing, the sensation of standing and allowing my voice out, of learning to trust it, to begin to believe that maybe, just maybe, I could be heading somewhere where I’ll be able to not just sing for myself, but be able to share it with others, in a choir, or… well, who knows. At this stage, it is just exhilarating hearing the new strength my voice has achieved from month to month. It will never be a pretty, sweet voice. But it is strong, it is deep, it is distinctive, and it is mine.

One of the people who has been the most supportive of me while I’ve begun learning these new skills has been my ex-husband. It isn’t surprising, as music is one of his great loves, and it was something we have always had in common. We’ve done our best to remain friends, which has become easier over the years as the sting of the separation faded. And we finally formalised our separation last month. We each took a day off work and went into the Family Court building in the city, filled in the paperwork, dotted the i's, crossed the t’s, laughed a lot (in a place where I don’t think there is much laughter). There was a tinge of sadness, which we both acknowledged, because even though we are much happier living our own lives now, we did go into our marriage with the best of intentions, with hopes, with love. It just wasn’t enough. The divorce should be finalised on the 15th of January.

Which is, coincidentally, the time he will be moving down to Melbourne with his girlfriend. He rang and told me on Monday. I think it’s a great move for him, and I think it is a good move for them as a couple. But still, he is my second friend in a matter of months to move to Melbourne, and I will miss our lunches and CD splurges. We’ve seen the absolute best and worst in each other. We can now be honest with each other in a way that I think few friends can be. I really wish him happiness.

And I wish it for myself. Which is why I began seeing a therapist who specialises in a form of hypnotherapy. I’ve finished the course, which is a recommended four sessions, and I am feeling calmer, although I can’t claim any dramatic changes in my behaviour or outlook. That’s ok. Different people respond differently, on different timelines. If it slowly allows me to feel more confident, and reduces my tendency to self-sabotage, I will be elated. The therapist also gave me some other techniques to help reduce anxiety and to help reduce critical, limiting self-talk. It’s now up to me to help myself.

Wow, could I make this post any longer?

Why, yes, yes I can.

But I won’t. See, I am a nice person after all, despite the rumours.

When I was a kid, my sister and I would spend the school holidays with my grandparents. My mother worked, so it was the only alternative. And I now know how lucky I was. It was an opportunity to tramp through paddocks and play with ponies, which I thought of as the norm when I was young. I now know better.

After the long summer holidays, six weeks of horses, heat, flies, the distinct smell of burning eucalypt on the air, as many books as I could lay my hands on, and, admittedly, the slightly twisted logic of my grandmother, it always felt odd returning home. Usually it would only be a day or two before school started up again.

Returning to school, having not seen any of my friends for all that time, I’d be nervous. Would we still be friends? Would we be in the same classes? Would I still be a dag? Would any of the boys like me at all? Probably I should have been thinking about doing better in my classes, but, in honesty, I didn’t. I wish I could say I’ve changed. I haven’t.

So that’s what this feels a bit like. I’ve been away from this blog for such a long time, that every time I thought of finally returning, it felt different, strange, unfamiliar. Like I could only disappoint. I’d have an idea of writing something, but then it would slip, easier, it seemed, to remain unwritten.

Well, I’m back. School settled back into a routine after the first couple of weeks, and the holidays were quickly forgotten. I’m sure it will be the same here. (Of course, until it does, I’ll be wondering, "Are we still friends? Are we still reading the same blogs? Am I still a dag? [undoubtedly] Will any of the boys like me at all? [eh, not such a big concern anymore]"