This morning I felt myself give up. I made one last phone call that I always knew would be a dead end, and now I am letting go. I couldn’t make it work here, and time has run out. Trying not to think of it as a failure, but it feels like one right now. All my fake optimism feels especially hollow now. I will be back stateside in 6 weeks. My Australian year is over, now time to enjoy and try not to feel too much regret. I wish it would’ve ended differently.
I have had a great day, but this just… Lights me up inside, and best wishes to anyone who IS on Struggle Street today. xx
Me, waiting for news on my last line out in the Sydney job ocean… Pray for me…
My loves, I’ve been derelict in my blogging duties, and I apologise. Mostly I’ve been a mad Deb, so I’ve been resisting the urge to emoti-dump in this space. Slowly but surely, I’m regaining the pep in my step, the shake to my bake, the wiggle to my jiggle… Ew, that’s enough.
This week I “trained” every. damn. day Monday through Friday as follows:
MONDAY: 7 km run at 6 am, felt like a champ but that could’ve been the caffeinated Gu and the aspirin I popped pre-run. Breakfast of champions!
TUESDAY: Spin class. Requisite using up of two-class pass… I don’t hate it and that’s about the nicest thing I can say. All the fluoro and flashing lights and motivational quotes about “climbing the mountain” and “pushing through the hills” is too much at 6 am. Will she return to Vicious Cycle?! Stay tuned! (Spoiler alert: Not for more than $10/class)
WEDNESDAY: All that volunteer karma is paying off. Took advantage of my first free yoga class and was a happy downward facing dog afterwards. Sweat, baby, sweat! Also, body was happily sore the next day, so that felt good.
THURSDAY: Ran home from work, 7 km. uninspiring, uneventful, but done. This represents pushing through the “Fuck this, I’d rather be fat” phase of my workout week.
FRIDAY: 3 km soft sand running intervals with my girl. Thank god for a partner in misery, because getting up at 6:15 for this one sucked a big one. Guilt is a huge motivator apparently.
Through the weekend I did not drink. I repeat: did not drink. Not for a lack of trying, I might add. Friday night I neglected to,plan and Saturday I was very very busy attending a last-minute pity party thrown by and on behalf of yours truly. Turnout was 100% of invited guests though, so that was nice. I suppose there’s still time for a cheeky wine tonight but really the big nights are behind me.
This morning got up, did a shop whereby my coming week’s goal may be more attainable: healthy eating. The worst! Still aiming for a 5er on training sessions, and now adding in salads for lunch. Bought all the fixings for five days of salad for lunch. Oh the excitement!
But let’s get to the good part: the reward phase. As my reward for a successful week of training, I got a douche badge (read: felt fedora, same difference). And if I can do a) 5 training sessions and b) 5 lunch salads…. Your girl will be the proud new owner of one half of a pair of stunning winter booties. One half because my prize winnings per week cannot top $125 and the booties are, um, just a bit more… But I’ve got the mason jar ready for dolla dolla bills to be stowed away in preparation… And next weeks challenge should put me over the hump, and booties will be mine!
Thanks for sticking with me in this one, I am trying to get my (writing) groove back, and I’m hoping that just slogging out some semi-lame posts will get the juices flowing again! (In fact, that may be my “winter booties” round 2 challenge: 5 blog posts in a week… Unfollow now for your life!)
It’s Friday night and I’ve self-exiled, for reasons both personal and monetary, and as the minutes pass and it gets closer to Saturday, my brain tonight is unwilling to let me rest.
It’s still chewing over some recent comments made to me by people whom I trust and respect, though in varying degrees. Last night’s off-hand comment came from my new roommate, who arguably doesn’t know me at all, but hit a nerve so soundly because, to him, my “problem” was so blatantly obvious he could see it after three weeks.
He was asking if the guy I had, ahem, swapped spit with last Saturday had contacted me. I told the story of four text messages that had been running through my head all day, desperately searching for an explanation, and then added my signature line: “But I’m not upset about it.”
Actually, yeah, I kind of am. Not the burn-his-house down mad, but… disappointed? confused? Why, dear sir, would you reach out to me, ask me what I’ve got planned for the weekend, and then go radio silent when I ask you the exact same question back? Just… Don’t contact me at all if you’re not interested. So we made out. Sweet. I expect nothing of, or from, you. Until you reach out. Then, a teeny tiny spark of potential is lit… A kind of questioning “well, maybe…”
But I digress. I must have concluded my shortest love story ever with something along the lines of “I guess he just didn’t like me that much.”
And my roommate says: “Perhaps they do not like you because you are so confident-acting.” (Thanks for the “they” buddy!) he continues, in his straight-from-a-movie French accent: “We say in French: ‘We like people for their qualities, but we love them for their flaws.’”
He says, essentially, that I could/should/must/need/absolutely cannot neglect to… be vulnerable. Just a little bit. Stop the pony show of these first dates where I might as well have performed a tap dance around the table/bar/dance floor and, panting, tipped my hat and given a cheeky wink at the end of it all. But the dance routine is just that, a routine. And at the end there is polite applause, maybe even enthusiastic standing ovations (ha!) but it remains a routine. A show. An act.
It’s not an entirely false act. I am a high energy person much of the time. I like to talk. I’m comfortable talking. But what, according to my roommate, I’ve got to do is perhaps open up the conversation to less shiny topics. No, I don’t need to tell a first date that I’m estranged from my parents, but I’m putting out and off-putting amount of razzle-dazzle, and as much as I think these guys are morons, well, evidence suggests they’re in to me. Who’s the idiot now?!?
This same point was brought up to me at dinner a few weeks ago, and so I can no longer pretend its a fluke or a one-off. I know it’s real, but I just don’t know how to “fix” it.
Well. According to the self-help (face palm) book I bought this morning at 6:30 am, I first and foremost need to stop looking at it as a thing to “fix” and instead view it as a thing to “change.” It’s all about the framing, people!
I’m 150 pages in. I can’t stop. I want to know all the answers NOW. It’s dropping truth bombs on me left and right. I won’t bore you with the details, and I haven’t even finished it yet, but I hope I can carry at least some of it with me.
So while the internet is probably the least safe place to take baby steps toward openness and vulnerability, I trust this space for whatever reason, and even though writing and posting this is giving me the mad heebie jeebies, I need to feel those.
And I’m going to end this abruptly because my book says I cannot chase perfection, (reason número uno there’s about 50 drafts that’ll never see the light of tumblr) and need to get my head around “good enough.”
So this is good enough. Night y’all.
My “new” job blocks tumblr (rude!) so I’ve been lackadaisical on the posting, I know you’re devo. So rather than timely posts I offer yet another manic recap.
Job does not appear likely to end in sponsorship, which is a bummer. Back to the drawing board there, but knowing I could have to leave is making me feel more certain I want to stay. Silver lining?! Some lines out, stay tuned.
My friends across the globe are all simultaneously going thru various personal crises and I am completely, 100% emotionally exhausted of dealing with it all. My bestie here had a break up, friends in the states are having boy issues, friend issues, job issues… And I feel like an overdrawn bank account, if I’m honest. Apparently the new year is stirring up a bunch of shit across the board, for me as well, and I’m feeling overwhelmed by it all. My own boy, job, and friend issues feel as though they’re coming to a head, and I don’t feel like I’ve got what it takes to figure out mine AND other peoples’, but that’s why I love ya tumblr, because I can say it here, have a whinge, and then proceed to tackle them all simultaneously just fine. I want to be there for my friends; I’ll find a way to keep us all happy.
In addition to being swamped with the emotions of my friend here going thru an unexpected breakup, I also am having some relationship turmoil of sorts. About a week ago I went out on a first date with a man I met out in early December. He lives in Melbourne but right around Christmas we started texting almost daily, very platonic I might add, and just nice little things throughout the day. Fast forward to our date and it’s a lovely time. We make out a little bit, and (long story short) I peek in his wallet to suss out his first name (there was some doubt as to whether it was Dave or Steve, sue me I was drunkish when we met. Fine, hammered.) In doing so I’m relieved to find out it was Steve, as I had thought, and I just can’t help but notice his surname…
One google search later… He isn’t just slightly google-able (read: LinkedIn profile, maybe a Facebook…). He’s imminently google-able (read: former professional Australian footballer who isn’t just some player, but rather THE full-back of the CENTURY, according to polls). The professional athlete part doesn’t do a thing for me, good or bad but what does catch my attention among the google images of his glory days….
IS HIS FUCKING WIFE.
Is there no decency in this world?!? Before the rage monster overtakes me on this particular story again, I’ll be brief. Don’t involve me in that. He wears no ring. He doesn’t mention a wife, and he texts me for three weeks at all times of the day, meaning morning, noon, and never after 11 pm, and I’m supposed to be suspicious? Nah, this one’s on you my dude.
Lest there are any questions as to how I reacted, after the initial shell shock wore off, and I will admit to having responded to a few messages as though nothing was wrong while I figured out what to say, I ultimately told him there was no way I was having any part in that. I braced myself for the excuses, for the lies… None. I said: “Are you married?” and he simply replied “Yes.” I said, no thanks, he said ok. He apologized quite a few times, although I’m not the person he should apologize to, maybe, oh, his WIFE, but that’s beside the point. Worst, I have heard from him since! Just “Hope you’re well” and “Have a great day,” but COME ON! What part of “I want no part of that” is not processing? I’m losing my faith in the entire gender, I kid you not. Ugh, can’t anyone just stay together and be loyal these days?!?
Between my friends break up which really took us all by surprise and this act of deceit I was made a part of unwittingly, I’m emotionally shut down. Like, can’t trust a guy as far as I can throw one. All bad apples. This will obviously pass, but UGH! It’s hit me harder than I expected, hence the emotional exhaustion.
So there it is: my latest and greatest dating “adventure,” although arguably this is my least favorite to date (no pun intended). I’m ready for a steady eddy version, kthanksbye.
You guys! I got THE Gucci sunglasses I have been longing for for over a year for… Drumroll… 80% off. So while they still cost me $90, it sure wasn’t $495.00. And that is what they call a deal. Self high five!