Well, you know, I’m pretty busy with all the stuff I’ve got on. You know, just, like, such a go-getter. Honestly, between Tiny Tower and Tiny Village and my new Hatchi, I don’t know where I find the time to do anything else!

Seriously though, not having a job or any commitments or really anything that requires me to think leaves me with a lot of time to, well, think. I guess I’m becoming a bit of an at-home philosopher, thinking deep thoughts without any education or research to back them up. “But that’s okay,” I say to myself, “all the original philosophers we still draw from today didn’t know any of the junk we know now. I’m literally as qualified as they are to think things.”

And that’s the story of how being unemployed put me on par with Plato.

In my ample free time, though, I do tend to take on what I’ve just dubbed “mind-projects”, that usually just involve holding something in my mind for a long period of time and coming back to think about it frequently and/or applying new knowledge to it, or old knowledge that I’d never considered related before.

That was pretty rambly, but it’s a good way to think of things in new and different ways. Anyway, I hope you followed, I’m not very good at explaining ideas that have thus far only existed in my mind.

Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about freedom. Freedom of choice, freedom from slavery, freedom to do whatever comes naturally. And I realised that, despite what people might think, there is very little freedom in today’s world. I only have my own world-view to draw on, here. I’m not going to pretend I know what it’s like being a man, woman or child in a third world country, for example. It seems to me though, that there are a lot of restrictions on a society that claims to believe in freedom.

Of course, it goes without saying that some, even a lot of these restrictions are in place for a good reason. Things like, I dunno, laws. Laws are primarily in place to protect you or someone like you, so you learn to respect those.

Now, call me a hippie-communist if you will, but I think the daily grind, the 9-5 attitude is one of the biggest restrictions. It’s hugely necessary in a capitalist world, so don’t think I’m putting any of you down. I guess I’ve just been given a new perspective on the whole thing since Tim and I went through a, thankfully temporary, bout of being cripplingly poor.

It comes down to money, like it always does. In a capitalist society you need money to live. Live in the sense of surviving and in the sense of thriving. So you work to get money. Someone, somewhere decided that it was normal to work during the day. I guess that makes sense. So to function in the world, you get a 9-5. Now, theoretically that 9-5 is less than a third of your week. In a 24-hour cycle, 8 hours working, 8 hours sleeping, you still have 8 hours to play with, right?

Well, no. Not really. Once to take into account the commute to and from work, preparing meals for you and/or your family, hygiene and maintenence, not to mention the half-hour to an hour of exercise they want you to get everyday, you’re looking at more like 4 hours. That’s your recreational time cut in HALF. But they’re all things you need to do.

So finally you sit down in front of the telly with your other half, dog or cat happily snoozing on your feet thinking, “Man, life can’t get much better than this!” Until you fall asleep, because you’re fucking exhausted from all the other shit you need to do.

But it goes even further than that! It’s not even just about the money. Sure, it’s a large part of it. But as someone who is living in a house with my husband who is working full-time while I am not, let me tell you, there is a huge societal pressure to get back to work.

As we’ve become poorer and I’ve become more and more aware of the fact that I’m not working, it’s become clearer to me just how much the world judges you by what you do. Particularly around Christmas time, when there are a lot of parties and a lot of people you don’t know, I would have literally nothing to break the ice with, because I don’t have a job. Or worse, I would become some sort of freak-show, because I wasn’t working. “Oh, you don’t work? Oh. Weird. Why’s that?” Then I have to explain the whole long story about why I’m not working, a lot of which is pretty personal, and I don’t want to have to explain to strangers.

It occurred to me the other day how weird it is that, not that long ago, not only would it have been acceptable for a woman not to be working, but expected. Now, feminism has flipped on it’s head, and I’m still not accorded a choice, it’s expected that a woman will work as long and hard as her husband. That’s okay! That’s totally valid. Don’t get me wrong, woo feminism.

I just feel like, without a job, I don’t have an identity. So there’s the instinctive pressure to join a society of people where we’re all working toward the same or similar goals, we all think the boss is a tool or the clients are jerks.

So we’ve lost the freedom to make THAT choice.

I guess all these thoughts of freedom have to do with a new D&D campaign I’ve been running. It’s sort of an open world type thing, so I’ve been trying to let my players do literally whatever they want. I’ve also been doing a lot of reading about the world they’re playing in, and the book will talk about a particular race’s “fierce and individualistic nature and their desire to forge their own path in the world.”

I read that and I think absently to myself, “Man, I wish I could do that.”

“… … …Wait a second. Why can’t I?” And then I stare into space for a minute thinking of all the restrictions.

Since we got back from the UK, I feel I’ve been bitten by the travel bug. I see the world around me and think, “I know these roads. I’ve been here before. I want to be somewhere new.”

But there are so many obstacles. Financial. Emotional. Psychological, not least.

I don’t know what I want to do with my life. But I know I want it to be with Tim, and I know that I want it to be everywhere. But at the moment, I can’t even get out of the house. I don’t have the freedom to go to the Galleria and see a movie if the whim strikes me, because I don’t have a car to drive there, and I don’t have the money to pay for it even if I did. Sure, Tim could drive me, and he could pay for everything. But what if he’s busy? Sick? Doesn’t want to go? I don’t have the ability to make that choice if I want to.

So I stay at home and play videogames all day. Don’t get me wrong, it’s a good life. But it’s not what I want.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is probably why I’m depressed and anxious. And you know, it just spirals from there. Why don’t I do something about these things? Well, there are more obstacles aren’t there, more financial and psychological ones. Why don’t you do something about those? Well, I’m trying, but you try climbing a mountain without any gear.

Yep, I didn’t mean this to turn into a rant about me. Just kind of ended up that way. And now I’m going to stop, before I depress myself out of doing anything today! At least I’m self-aware enough to know when enough is enough.

So, you can probably tell, I gave up on that 30 days with Jess thing. It was fun to force myself to write everyday, but it was really boring writing about myself all the time. I mean, I guess that’s essentially what a blog is for, and something I do generally anyway, but it was all superficial and pretty shallow stuff. So I stopped after Sarah! Who is amazing.

Tim and I just got back from our honeymoon, for those who don’t know. We went to the UK and then briefly to Germany, and were gone for just over a fortnight. It was a great experience, and I had a really great time. Even the flying, which I thought would be the worst part, was not that bad. I had so much stuff to do all ready, book, writing book, DS loaded with brand new games, iPad loaded with new books and games. I was set! Then I didn’t end up using any of that, cause the stuff they had on the in flight entertainment was so good.

On the flight home, I even managed to sleep! Me, who has never slept on a plane in all her years of flying back and forth across Australia, slept! And not just a nap either, I slept a solid 8 or 9 hours! It felt like I had just dropped off for a nap, but three quarters of the 12 hour flight were gone. Actually, on both flights home, I was fast asleep before the plane had even taken off. I guess it probably helped that I was pretty sick by that point, but man, it was great.

I watched some really interesting movies as well. I like to watch movies I wouldn’t normally watch, when I’m in that sort of situation, because I’m sort of stuck there and have nothing better to do, so why not branch out a little. So, I watched a weird rape-y thriller with Hilary Swank in it, called The Resident. That wasn’t great, but I guess it wasn’t bad either. Just a bit disappointing, I suppose, because from the blurb they gave me, I thought it was going to be a supernatural thriller about ghosts or demons or horrible things like that. And then it wasn’t, it was just some dude with a creepy crush on Hilary. So there you go.

Also watched an interesting film called 13. Premise was basically, a young man takes a dead guy’s place in a mysterious opportunity to get lots of money. This opportunity turns out to be a cruel game where rich men gamble on who will survive, when all the players stand in a circle with guns to each others heads. Sort of like Russian Roulette but you shoot the guy in front of you, instead of yourself. It’s a horrible, tortuous concept, but the kid has to go through with it now. Very interesting film. Also, had my favourite Mickey Rourke in it, briefly shirtless, so I couldn’t possibly say no.

Then on the way home I watched some romantic period drama called The Princess of Montpensier. That was also interesting, but not generally my thing, so it just got frustrating by the end. Still enjoyable though. Set in 16th century France, don’cha know.

Whooops, side-tracked into following Mickey Rourke related links on IMDB. Sigh!

Anyway, so yeah! The UK was pretty sweet! We started in London, drove on up to Manchester, then up to Glasgow, caught the ferry across to Ireland, raced down the length of Ireland, caught another ferry back to Wales did a brief tour of Wales, then down to stay with Tim’s family in Worcester. After that we flew on over to Germany and caught a train from Frankfurt to Leipzig, to see Chris and Hannah.

Jeez! It sounds like a lot when you say it like that! The time sure flew though. We spent three days in London, which I thoroughly regret. Tim and I both thought that we’d really dig London, but in retrospect, I regret spending so much time there and not, like, other places. Anywhere else, really. It was big and cramped and dirty and smelly and everyone is in a hurry to get nowhere. Seriously, in a place where trains come literally every minute or so, WHY are you in such a hurry to catch THIS one? You guys should spend some time out in Perth where they come every TEN MINUTES, or worse, Sydney, where they come every HALF AN HOUR. Then you can rush to catch a train.

And while I said it was big, it’s also at the same time very, very small. They pack a lot of shit into a very small place, and as such you can go ANYWHERE without going up at least maybe two or three flights of stairs? Maybe even four. No exaggeration. So great exercise! But we just came from Perth, where everything is FLAT. My legs were positively ACHING by the end of the first day.

In retrospect, we might have enjoyed London more if we had done it last, when we weren’t as jetlagged, instead of first when we WERE and we wanted to die. But we saw some great things, if not as many as I would have liked. I didn’t get to see Westminster Abbey or Buckingham Palace, but we saw Madame Tussaud’s and Platform 9 and 3/4. And really, I’m not that fussed about not seeing touristy things, it was the experience that was most enjoyable. Just leaving Australia for the first time.

Even when we landed in Dubai for the stopover, I was freaking out. “I’M IN ANOTHER COUNTRY!” I would shriek to Tim. It was such a weird feeling, looking out the window and seeing a place that was so utterly different from Perth. And there were all these people that lived there, and did everyday things there, and it was such a novelty to me, but so everyday to them. It made the world seem like a much smaller place, to think that even after a 12 hour flight, there were still people there doing the same things that we might do back home.

Scotland was really the highlight of the trip, for both Tim and me. It was just so beautiful. I mean, England is beautiful as well, and so is Ireland. Especially Ireland, so green! But goodness, Scotland is just breath-taking. We spent a long part of one day, on the way to somewhere else, side-tracked on this tiny country road, not even paved, just winding through the fields through the mountains. Mountains! There were jagged rocks and stones sticking up everywhere, and sheep in the most awkward places. Not even mountain goats, just regular sheep. And beautiful waterfalls everywhere. It was raining lightly at that stage, but it had been pouring the night before, so there were all these little, uh, ad hoc waterfalls everywhere. Anywhere there was an incline of any sort, water would be pouring off it. And it was BEAUTIFUL.

We stopped at one point on this drive to get out and explore a little section of forest on the side of the road. I’d never been in a forest, you see. It was so beautiful. It was like being in a storybook. Nothing like the scrubby bushland of home. There were trees that just grew up into the sky and went on forever, and fallen logs with moss growing on them, and years worth of undergrowth settled on top. Everything just felt so pristine and untouched.

Anyway, now I’m all nostalgic and going to go and do something else. This post is long enough as it is. Next time! The rest of Scotland, the rest of the UK and then Germany! Also, probably some random shit that pops into my head while I’m writing it. Till then, mon cher.

Sorry it’s been a little while. Between feeling shitty, getting really drunk and feeling pretty bummed out about the whole blogging thing, I thought I’d take a little holiday and come back fresher than ever with the start of the new week. That, and I’ve been playing Neverwinter Nights like a fiend. Not as much as Steam would lead you to believe, though. That’s just me leaving it open all day. It really means a lot to me that you know that I’m not actually playing for 12 hours straight.

But yeah, big weekend. Debari is going to Sweden, you see. So we had to send him off with style, and a massive fanfare of drunkenness. It was a great party, I had a really really good time. Hopefully everyone else, especially Debari, did as well.

And now Rosie has conjunctivitis. Unrelated, I assure you. But yeah, it makes me sad. Because she’s feeling icky obviously, and wants cuddles and attention from her Mama to make her feel better (this is an actual thing). But I am really scared of getting it for some reason. I don’t know why, I’m just terrified of the idea of getting it. Poor puppy.

True story though, when we woke up and confirmed that she had it, we were freaking out a little, because I had a psychologist appointment today, which you can’t cancel within 24 hours without paying for it. But we need to take her to the vet. But we don’t have enough money to pay for both. So we were freaking out, as I said. Then, literally seconds or a minute later, I get a phonecall, saying that my psych has to cancel because she is sick. I felt really bad, but I could barely keep the relief out of my voice. Obviously I hope she is okay, and not too sick, but she answered our prayers beautifully and with amazing timing.

So now we can take Rosie to the vet! Yay!

She hates the vet. … Yay!

Anyway, let’s talk about travelling. I haven’t been to a lot of places. I’ve never even left Australia! The furthest I travel is between Perth and Sydney. But man, I hate that flight. I hate it so much. Because I’m always leaving someone behind, and feel like shit. It’s usually worse on the Sydney-Perth flights, but yeah. Infinitely depressing.

Coming to Perth the first time was pretty magical. I’d never gone anywhere by myself before, and suddenly I was in a strange city with no-one to rely on but myself. Tim was there, of course, but I didn’t know him then like I know him now, so I couldn’t rely on him completely. Also, he had to work a lot. So there were a lot of times when I was just wandering about the city on my own. That was pretty fun. I lost a lot of weight on that trip, because I wasn’t eating much during the day, and I was walking fucking everywhere.

And there were so many sweet dates. Funnily enough, the one I remember most – apart from when Tim told me he loved me for the first time, which is one of my favourite memories – is the one that he is most ashamed of. We went out for pizza and were taking home the leftovers. But while we were paying, Tim dropped my pizza on the floor, and it went everywhere. Haha, he still feels bad about that. I told him at the time that it was fine, and I’ve been telling him ever since, but he still feels bad. We’ve had so many pizzas since then, but he still feels bad! I love him.

So yeah, that was awesome. The other place I’ve been that I really loved was the Blue Mountains. Man, it is so beautiful up there. Tim and I went up there for a night or two for my 20th birthday, so that’s the middle of summer. But the whole time we were up there, apart from the first afternoon, it was just SO FOGGY. It was crazy. You could barely see a few metres in front of you. It was actually pretty dangerous to drive, you had to drive really slowly. But man, it was like a magical wonderland, endless seas of trees and fog in every direction. Ah, what a beautiful trip. I love the Blue Mountains so much. I look forward to going up there again when we go back to Sydney.

So where else would I like to travel? Well, lemme tell you, Debari’s plans of exciting things to do in Sweden is making me pretty jealous. So while maybe not Sweden in particular, I’d sure love to hit Scandanavia somewhere. I have Scandanavian roots, so maybe it’s just my inner viking wanting to return home at last.

Welp, Tim’s Mum was just here for like 2 hours! So I guess there was a break there.

Anyway, the one place I want to travel more than anywhere in the world is Antartica. Not one of those fly-by rip-offs either, I wanna go on a fucking Icebreaker. I want to SEE Antartica. I think that would be amazing. ‘Cause like, anywhere you go with people, even though people are culturally diverse and exciting, it’s still basically the same everywhere you go. The world is becoming smaller and more homogenous. But Antartica. Man, people still die in Antartica. It is untamed. It is wild. It is really, really cold. I just think it would be amazing. Also, somewhere like Siberia, where there are just no people around for miles in any direction.

I dunno. I’m pretty scared of things when it comes down to it. A lot of things. So while I say I would like to travel to these places, given the opportunity, I probably wouldn’t. I almost chickened out of going to the UK for our Honeymoon, ’cause that shit was too scary. OoooOoOoOoo, english peeeoppllee! No.

But I do want to go to Antartica. I’d like to say it’s my dream, but I don’t know if I have any dreams. But it’s something that I’m going to do at some point. Hopefully. I guess.

Haha, that reminded me of when Sarah (Perth) and I were talking drunkenly into Debari’s camera the other night. Do you remember, Sarah? We were making fun of everyone elses messages. Lawwwll. Good times.

Good times.

I’ve been having the biggest craving to play Neverwinter Nights 2 lately, but I’ve been putting it off and putting it off. Finally, the urge to play became too great, and I sat down to install it while I wrote this blog entry. I open the box, and the CD isn’t in there. It isn’t in there! Where the HELL is it?! I’ve lost it. I don’t know where it is. That shits me enough. What shits me even more is that I have to buy it again, digitally. Which is okay, apart from the massive 11GB download. But no, what shits me is that the whole game, plus the two expansions is only $19.95 on Steam. And it’s not even on sale. I still have the sticker on one of the boxes from the FIRST time I bought it, and it was $49.95 on it’s own. ARGH. I know, I know, I’m essentially complaining about how cheap shit on the internet is. But it shits me that they make us pay so much money at launch and then still it for next to nothing later.

Anyway, annoying. But I’m not meant to be talking about annoying things today! That was yesterday! Today I’m meant to be talking about what makes me happy.

I realised today how vague all these questions are. Tim suggests that’s part of the exercise. But I’ve also noticed how self-centred they are. Basically, sit down and talk about yourself for a month. It’s not really what I had in mind, but I didn’t look too closely at each day’s question because I wanted it to be spontaneous. Oh well, if you’re still reading, I guess you must like me!

In related news, I’ve discovered something that makes me happy just lately. And that is having projects. I’ve always wanted to have a hobby or something I can work towards, but I guess I always got too meta and started thinking I needed a hobby for the sake of a hobby, and not just because I enjoyed doing something. I also lacked the imagination to come up with anything, but that’s neither here nor there.

In the space of a few days I’ve been working on a few projects at once, and it has been SUPER satisfying! There is, of course, this blog. It’s been around for a while, of course, but actively posting in it everyday is a new experience. I’ve also been working on sort of an art project with Tim. It’s basically just our names on a big piece of wood, but we’re decorating them and making them look awesome. I think I just officially finished my name today, and I’m really happy with how it turned out. I ripped up old sheet music and sort of pasted it on randomly to cover the letters, and then painted over the top of that. I wanna say it’s like papier mache, but it’s not really, cause it’s just a single layer of paper, and it looks classier. The slightly yellowed sheet music is a really nice touch, and I painted with Tim’s Warhammer paints, specifically the foundation paints, which gave the paint a really nice thick cartoony sort of colouring, without the paint itself being too thick.

Unforunately, I think I really got the hang of painting on them on the last letters, so that’s a little disappointing. But as I said, I’m still thoroughly chuffed with how it turned out. I’ll post pictures when Tim has finished his part and it’s all stuck together. Hopefully it looks awesome.

My other project will only last a day or two, unfortunately, and that is Skittle-vodka! Which I have lovingly dubbed Skittlebrau. I am infusing vodka with Skittles for Debari’s going away party, and hopefully it will taste awesome. I’ve always wanted to do it, ever since I discovered the recipe, but have only now finally been able to do it. I’m about half-way through the process at the moment, the skittles are steeping in the vodka at the moment. I’m pretty much going to leave them until tomorrow, then I just have to strain them and chill them and they’re ready to go.

Good times.

Anyway, apart from doing things like that, creating things with my hands, I guess you’d call it, I think a lot of things make me happy. I’m a fairly happy person! I mean, I do suffer from depression, but I think that that gives me an even greater perspective from which to view the things that do make me happy, and to appreciate them more.

Let’s see. I like to learn! I like learning for the sake of learning though, not so much the structure and cramming of formal education. I mean, I’ll get back there eventually, probably when I’m back in Sydney, but I like just learning things for the sake of the knowledge itself. When I was an insomniac I would lie in bed and hit ‘random article’ in wikipedia on my iphone. That is a great way to learn about a lot of different things. I mean, you might have to press it a couple times to find something actually interesting, and not just like, a backwater town in Indianapolis. But when you do, it’s great! I learned about poets and great battles and historic events and all kinds of things.

So there you go. Learning makes me happy. I like playing video games! Nothing quite beats that feeling of knowing you have a great videogame to play when you get home, with a meaty storyline you can’t wait to uncover. I suppose in that same vein, reading also makes me happy. But probably not as much as videogames. I reaaaaally like videogames.

So there’s that. Videogames.

I guess all this sort of makes me happy on a fairly superficial level, though. If we’re going to talk about what really makes me happy, you can’t really get higher than Tim. Just being near him makes me happy. To even a deep psychological level. The time I’ve been with him has seen a dramatic change in my personality, my depression, my self-esteem. He literally makes me happy. Not just, you know, is funny and cheers me up. But he makes me happy. And that’s something that I’ve never felt from anyone else. Not my parents, not anyone. That’s not to say the rest of you don’t make me happy! Dont’ get me wrong. But I’ve never been with a person that makes me happy just from his very existence.

I guess that’s why I married him!

And Rosie. Man, if only she knew how much pleasure I derive simply from her being alive. Silly puppy, she is scarfing down her food as I write, and she ate it too fast again. I wish I could show you guys how affectionate Rosie is when no-one else is around. She gets distracted so easily that sometimes I can’t even call Tim in to check it out without ruining it. But sometimes she just wants cuddles and comes and puts her head in my lap and falls asleep, or tries to sit on my lap even though she is way too big. She is so affectionate, but other people don’t really get to see it, because she just spazzes out when there are people nearby. She really is a beautiful creature, and she makes me very happy.

Ya wanna know one more thing that makes me happy? It’s pretty weird. Maybe not so much ‘happy’ as a very deep-seated contentedness. It’s a bit weird, and very specific. Okay, well, it all date back to when I was in high school. I was horribly depressed in high school and I didn’t even know it. I wasn’t diagnosed until I’d left, but looking back, I think I’ve been depressed since I was about 12. I remember a doctor trying to tell me once when I was like, in year 8 or 9 and I just didn’t believe her. “Pshaw! Depressed! Not me!” Anyway, so I didn’t have a great time in highschool. I mean, I wasn’t really bullied or anything, a lot of my demons were of my own creation. But I didn’t have a great time. It wasn’t made any better by the fact that my home life was pretty stressful too. Dad was usually pissed at me for something, and if he wasn’t, I had to tiptoe around to make sure he didn’t start. So I found a lot of solace in sleep. I slept a lot.

So basically, what I’m getting around to is this. I would get home from school, make myself a coffee and a sandwich, eat it in bed and then go to sleep. So, 100% to this day, I get this really comforted feeling when I eat the combination of peanut butter and, specifically, Moccona’s Mocha Kenya instant coffee. Bonus comfort points if I eat it while wrapped in a blanket.

And that’s why I keep Mocha Kenya and peanut butter around to this day.

Also, hell Happy Birthday wishes to Felix, who turns a great big 28 today! Such a big boy! :P

So! Pet peeves!

Earlier today, I checked what I was meant to be writing about today, as I am wont to do. “Pet peeves!” I lamented to Tim, “I don’t hate anything ever, I don’t have any pet peeves.” Har har har, yeah. But before I despaired TOO much of being so amazingly positive that I love everything, Tim brought my attention to an article. And so, as I, again, am wont to do, I’m going to change the parameters of the entry a little and just get up on my soapbox and rant about this particular thing. Which also happens to relate to a pet peeve of mine. See! Relevant.

Anyway, the articles of which I speak is here. Make sure you check out the youTube video as well as reading what she has to say on the matter.

Now, of course, for those of you with slow-ternet or who are otherwise too lazy or uninterested to click the link, I’ll give you a quick run down. Apparently there was some sort of bicycling race recently, I don’t know. Tour de something? Italy Luxembourg? Oh, France. Tour de France. Apparently some sort of Australian won it or something. Good job, guy. That’s all well and good. I don’t really go in for the whole sporting thing, so forgive me if I’m a little low on the details. But take great note of this, because it explains one reason why I’m so pissed about this issue.

Anyway, this Australian wins, and everyone loses their shit. Loses their ape shit. People are talking about public holidays and shit, calling him a HERO. So this lady, whom we shall refer to as Mia, because that is her name, gets up on TV and says, “Guys, I don’t get it. That’s pretty impressive and all, but let’s reserve hero status for the people who really deserve it, like doctors, firefighters and social workers, who do really hard jobs everyday with little to no thanks. Let’s not call a dude who rode a bike real fast with the help of a support team and sponsors and millions of dollars a fucking hero, yeah?”

That’s basically what she said. I might’ve paraphrased it, but that is genuinely what she said. And you know, that is a sentiment I can get behind. I was talking about my Mum the other day, yeah? She ruined her only human body looking after people who literally cannot look after themselves, and I can’t count the number of times she came home ridiculously upset because these people she was helping had just totally fucking abused her. That she went back there day after day, that is fucking heroic.

Anyway, minutes after this happened, and it is, to my understanding still going even now, Mia received completely disproportionate amounts of shit and abuse from people who disagreed with this, her opinion. Quoting from her article she has been called “dog, a bitch, unAustralian, a stupid, ignorant fool, told I should lose my job, fuck off and shut the hell up, go back to writing about lipstick……and that is not even the worst of it.”

All this, merely from her suggestion that perhaps we’re putting too much emphasis on sportspeople. Which is quantifiably true. So this leads me to the pet peeve I was eventually getting around to and that is, Australia’s emphasis on sport. The amount of abuse this woman received because she didn’t agree that because this man won a race, that we should devoted entire pages to him in newspapers and have public holidays and things. Mia went to a lot of trouble not to disparage his achievement, and I want to do the same. I’m not saying that what he did isn’t amazing, there’s no way I could do it. Hell, I don’t even own a bike, I probably couldn’t make it down the street without needing a break. So good on him, we are all very proud, and I mean that with sincerity.

The repulsive thing is the dichotomy between sport and every other hobby, interest and lifestyle in Australia. Growing up, I can’t count the number of times I felt like a pariah because I didn’t have a sport. A sport. A sport that I identified with and was identified by. “Oh, she plays basketball. She plays tennis. Jess? Oh, she plays… ah, Jess?” I was made to feel like a second-class citizen because I read books, listened to music, wrote stories, played instruments and was otherwise athletically challenged. Now, don’t get me wrong, some of my best friends are amazing athletes, and it’s great that they found a sport that they enjoyed and practiced and competed in. Sarah and Liz are incredible hockey players and ice-skaters, competing on state and national levels. I just hate that I couldn’t be equally accepted in my pursuits because there wasn’t a timer running or a score count.

I became ashamed of things I liked to do. I started to question who I was and tried to fit myself into a cookie-cutter image. “Pfft, books! Naw, I don’t read those. I, uh, kick ‘em. That’s right. Into goals. That’s what I do.”

But this isn’t about me. This is about the people who do damn hard things, they do damn hard things on their own, they do them to benefit other people, and they do them for little reward. Doctors get paid well, right? It’s still absolute pittance compared to professional athletes. And what about the people that don’t get paid well? Coming back to my Mum again, she did all this back-breaking labour and she wasn’t paid that well. She wasn’t paid minimum wage, but she sure wasn’t paid in six-figures.

What about teachers? The people responsible for the education of the next generation. It seems like Australia doesn’t understand how important that is. We are talking about the next doctors and firefighters and yes, professional athletes. But there has to be some support for the people who spend more time nuturing and encouraging, or discouraging as the case may be, your children than their parents do. If teachers lose interest in their pupils, who is going to take an interest? I agree that children should have role models to look up to, like Mr. Evans who won the Tour de France. But is it right that more accolades should be given to them than to the ones who are trying to better mankind? The answer is absolutely, unquestioningly, no. What kind of role model is that? “Hey kids! Do you wanna help other people for pittance, or be loved, respected and rich as a professional athlete?” Bit of a no brainer, really.

Finally, what baffles me is the complete lack of understanding in this case. The uproar in response to Mia’s opinion. The absolute outrage, the fury. “What? No! You are WRONG.” We weren’t even going for the, I dunno, “ultimate definition of hero in the world’s final dictionary” placement. It was just one lady and her opinion, regardless of right or wrong (spoiler warning: it was right). You don’t hear anyone saying, “Huh, I’d never thought about it like that. I don’t agree, but it’s an interesting position.” All you hear is the screams of a thousand footy hooligans calling her a bitch and telling her she’s wrong. The way that none of these abuse-hurlers have taken the time to consider that opinion, critically analyse it, and decide one’s own opinion based on new facts. Nope, they are too busy defending the honour of a guy who gets paid millions to ride a bike, doesn’t give a shit either way, and actually lives in Switzerland. Oh, and whose honour was never under attack, by the way.

Anyway, I’m going to leave it there. As usual, I didn’t get all the points out that were banging around in my head, but it was definitely cathartic to get some of this bile out.

Well, sorry about that little hiatus yesterday, but I felt like a butt, and then I went and did things anyway, so what resulted is that the time I had free at home I spent in bed asleep! True story. But I did get to hang out with my bro Deebs, who is leaving us in less than three weeks! :(:(:(

Anyway, today I’m meant to talk to you about what song ‘inspires’ me. Fuck that!

I’ve never been a person that really understands inspiration. Maybe I’m just not that creative. Well, yeah, that could be it. But when I’m inspired to do something it’s usually because of a random selection of thoughts that came together at a particular moment that made me think of something else.

The fact that this is such a random process is probably part of the reason I don’t create original things very often, and I need something like this set of rules to help me along. It’s a problem, I know. Especially if I want to be a writer some day. And you know, there are a vast selection of psychological reasons we could get into for why this is a thing.

But we’re not going to. You know why? ‘Cause we’re meant to be talking songs.

Now, while I don’t get inspired by any particular songs per se, I do really really love music. I love a lot of different types of music, and I love them a LOT. I sometimes have a hard time relating to other people’s music choices, because I’m so passionate about my own (see Tim: “You have shit taste in music”). But the point of this exercise is to get me writing, right? Not just so you can all learn my innermost secrets. So I thought what I’d do instead is pick a small selection of my favourite songs and pieces and tell you why I think they rule!

I’ll try to make them many and varied so they aren’t just the same old thing, ja? Anyway, let’s do this.

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Turns out I didn’t do this or, indeed, anything at all! I honestly sat there for the longest time until I realised I felt so shit that this just wasn’t going to get done, and then I gave up. True story! But now I feel better, so let’s actually do this, and other things. I’ve been painting all day, actually, so my creative juices are fucking BURSTING THEIR BANKS, LADIES.

Okay, songs. Go!

Let’s start with the most generic category and work from there. Rock! My favourite rock song is Welcome to the Jungle, by Guns and Roses. Man, what a great song. The powerful lead guitar drives it from beginning to end, the vocals are catchy and singalongable and the pounding of the drums is fast enough to make it awesome, but slow enough to make it epic. The lyrics are a little nonsensical, but it just doesn’t care because did you hear that solo? That’s right, shut up. Between this and Fuel by Metallica, I can get pumped up for anything.

Okay! Metal. I was going to pick a Rhapsody song, but I couldn’t. Not only because they are a series of concept albums, so you have to sort of take whole albums as a single song, but because, well, let’s be honest, they all sound pretty similar anyway. But man. Rhapsody. Or rather Rhapsody of Fire, I think they’re called now. They’ll always be Rhapsody to me. Anyway, Rhapsody. I believe their specific genre is “symphonic epic power metal”. Doesn’t that just say it all? So it’s power metal, obviously. The epicness comes from the scale, I suppose of not just one concept album, but a series of concept albums that all follow a continuing saga. The symphonic comes from their use not only of guitars and drums etc, but that they incorporate flutes, violins, brass even harpsichords into just about every song. Not even just like, a one off. They’re practically members of the band.

Also, did I mention that this little metal band from Italy, who have trouble speaking basic english (see: “emerald sword” pronounced “eeeeme-rald *shudder*) got Christopher Lee on not one, but like three of their albums? He even actually sang on one. It was amazing and epic.

Great band.

Okay, up next is… Pop! That’s right, even popular audio-listening tracks will get a mention here. I’m not fussy, really, I’m not going to limit myself away from a genre just because it’s not hip to listen to pop music, ironically. Well, it is hip to listen to it ironically. But you know what I mean.

Anyway, my selection for this category is an older pop tune, but a pop tune none the less, mostly ’cause I could not think of a single other category it would possibly fit into. And that is the song “I Could Never Be Your Woman” by Whitetown. You’ve possibly heard it, even if you don’t recognise the name. Anyway, the first thing about this song that I love is that it is in fact sung by a man. So I guess he’s right! It also talks about marxism for some reason. Musically, it’s funky as hell. It’s all electronic as far as I can tell, but the bassline in solid and the drum machine is very catchy. I also love the sound of horns as though filtered through a old timey turntable. Everything rules about this song. If you haven’t heard it, look it up on youTube. It’s got a neat filmclip also.

Classical is my next category. I don’t suppose too many of you can relate to this category, but it is in fact a tie for this one. First up is the Jupiter movement from the Planets suite by Gustav Holst. It’s pretty famous, you may have heard it in one of it’s other forms. But it is a beautiful piece of music, both grandiose and regal and jolly and fun. The toher contender is Tocatta and Fugue by Bach. Eeeeeeveryone will have heard this one, even if, again, you don’t know it’s name. It’s that really sinister piece of music that always get’s played when, I dunno, vampires come into the room. DEE-NUR-NEEEEEEEEEEEE…. duh-duh-duh-duh-duhhhhhh-duhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.

Anyway, it is an incredible, incredible piece of music. There is a reason Bach is still one of the most famous composers of all time. He was a genius. But yeah, listen to it in it’s entirety, it’s about 12 minutes long, and just wonder at the convoluted, intricate nature. And remember the guy is not only playing on two keyboards, but a third with his feet.

Incredible.

I had some others I was going to mention, a lot of others in fact. You can’t get a small list of my favourite songs, unfortunately. But this had already taken over an hour, and is goddamn long enough! I’ll just list ‘em and give you a summary.

Ayreon – Into the Electric Castle: Actually an entire album, again a concept album, but taken as a whole, one of the best pieces of music ever.

The Animals – House of the Rising Sun: Just a solid fucking song. Amazing.

Soko – I’ll Kill Her: The story of a vaguely french chick who has her whole life planned out before the guy even asks her out. Also, he’s seeing someone else. Beautifully awkward and bitter.

Nightwish: Goddamn, anything by Nightwish. One of the few bands who’s stuff I’ve collected almost in it’s entirety. Such an amazing band.

Nick Cave & Kylie Minogue – Where the Wild Roses Grow: Such a beautiful and sad song. Almost makes me cry, but I’m enjoying it too much.

So that’s it for today! Well, for the last three days, I guess. Regular updates start again tomorrow! Or today, I guess. But there’s be another one tomorrow, making them regular again from that time forward!

Whhheeeeeeeeee!

Sorry I’m updating a little late today, I’ve been fighting bronchitis for over a week now, and today I was losing. It keeps seeming like it’s going away, and then one day I’ll wake up and feel like I have a dog sitting on my chest. Then I move Rosie, and I still feel like I have a lump of lead sitting in my lungs. So today was one of those days. Actually went back to the doctor, and he put me on a whole new kind of antibiotic. And wants me to give him a sputum sample. Goddamn. I felt so sorry for the poor pathology collection chick. I was like, “Uhhhh, I’ll do it at home.”

But anyway! My parents! I’ve blogged a lot about them before, I think. Specifically in the entry where I explained why we’re moving back to Sydney. So with a bit of luck, I’ll be able to keep this one short and then get back to feeling like a big ol’ butt again.

My parents aren’t married. That’s the first thing you need to know. I didn’t even know this until I was about 15 or something. Apparently my brother guessed, but I had to be told. Looking back, there were some things that gave it away, but I had just sort of assimilated these little quirks into what I thought was the concept of marriage. Like that my Dad didn’t wear a wedding ring. And, well, that neither of them could, when pressed, remember their wedding date. I guess that one was my bad, but I honestly just thought they were being jerks about the whole thing.

Dumb, right!

Anyway, so they aren’t married. And it shows! I don’t know why they’re still together. And because it’s an FAQ, yes, they are still together. But like I say, I don’t know why.

My Mum is a nurse. Actually, that’s not even true anymore. She is a registered nurse, but she no longer works in a hospital. About a year and a half ago, Tim and I had to help my Mum fill in online job applications and a CV for the FIRST TIME IN HER LIFE. She held down the same job for something akin to 40 years. And boy, did she get damn good at it. It is not an exaggeration to say that she was the best nurse in her ward. Or that it was the best ward in the hospital. Or that she worked in one of the top public hospitals in Sydney. So, she was literally the best of the best of the best, sir.

But it was killing her. She would come home from work in tears. When she was on a shift, she was forceful and decisive and literally in charge. She ordered around doctors and proved they were wrong. But when she came home, she was a mess. For a very long time, she would need a glass of scotch every night to calm her nerves before she could sleep.

And it wasn’t just emotional. Even physically. She worked in the spinal ward, so all her patients were quad- or paraplegic. Which meant she had to move them, turn them, do everything for them. My Mum is not in the greatest health herself. She has a lot of medical problems of her own, which leave her pretty frail. But she would just have to buck up and do it, because there was no other choice.

‘There was another choice’, I would plead to her for years on end. ‘You need to get a new job!’ But she’d been there for 40 years, had never known anything else.

Until finally, the inevitable happened, and she was injured while working. She got a lot of workers comp and stuff, and they had to help her find a new job, and now she works in an office, putting her years and years of experience to work for her, by consulting others. She’s a lot happier now, and that makes me happy too!

What else is there? She’s a bit of a hyperchondriac. Well, not about herself. Sort of a hyperchondriac by-proxy. If I come to her for medical advice which, I would be stupid not to, she inevitably starts to freak out and think the worst. This does benefit you when there is something actually wrong, to be fair. Like the time I was diagnosed with diabetes. She caught it so fast, my pancreas hadn’t even completely stopped working yet. No shit. Or the time I nearly died from pneumonia as a kid. Doctor’s just kept telling her it was the flu, like three different doctors or something. Till she eventually just took me to the children’s hospital, where they were like, “Oh God, she’s going to die, why didn’t you bring her in like a week ago?!?!”

She stayed with me in hospital. In a chair. I’ll never forget that. Mostly ’cause I was so terrified.

So let’s talk about my Dad. Well, I talk about him a lot. Scathingly, unfortunately. But he’s not a bad guy, when you look at the big picture. Let’s seeeeeeee…

He was born in Queensland. True story! He was actually born in Rockhampton, which some of you might remember as one of the places that got hit pretty bad by floods earlier in the year.

He has 3 or 4 brothers. I’m honestly not sure which it is, 3 or 4. Like his kids, I wouldn’t know them from a bar of soap. Must be something about him, huh? I know that one of them, who lived in WA in fact, died a few years ago. And I know that one of them is crazy, and all the others, my Dad included, had to go to court against him after their mother died. So yep, weird family.

He’s had a variety of jobs, most of which involve being… a… electronics? person? of some description? I know he taught TAFE, and worked at the ABC in radio. I think he was a cameraman of some type or something, or filmed things, I don’t know. Yep. And before that, he did his apprenticeship in an abbatoir. Don’t know how that prepared him for life in the world of electronics, exactly. But that’s what he did.

Once he got the end of his finger lopped off, probably by like, a bone saw or something. Then he had it reattached. True story. I thought he was shitting me until he showed me the fucking seam. I should ask him about that again, now that I’m a real human being and have real concious thought.

Huh, that’s a realisation I’ve just had about my Dad, thanks to this very blog. When we were kids, he talked to us like we were adults, and we didn’t really understand everything that he meant. And I guess he got that vibe. So now that we’re adults, he sort of talks to us like we’re children and don’t understand what he’s talking about. But, like, we do. Soooo.

So that’s my parents. They’re good people. They’re just a little more… clinically insane than most parents. But not in that, like, “Oh, my parents are so quirky and weird!” kind of way and more like… they actually have psychological issues. I love them both, but having just had them around for the wedding, I’ve discovered I love them a lot more when they’re not, you know.

Here.

But if there’s one thing you should learn about me, if nothing else, is that I am passionate. Not about anything in particular, just in general. And that doesn’t mean I just LOVE everything either, it means I hate and love with equal ferocity. Obviously I try not to hate too many things, but if I get started on something, you’re not going to hear the end of it for a while. This is also why I’m absolutely useless in arguements. When something starts getting heated, I get wild off the emotion and I can’t talk, I can’t reason, I can’t stand up for myself. I just scream or cry as appropriate. Sometimes both.

Anyway, enough of this philosophical claptrap. This is all beside the point. I just wanted you to know that this one is difficult for me, because I feel like I’ve loved people and things and places my entire life, and I don’t know what the first one possibly could have been.

So, on Tim’s suggestion, I decided I’d sidestep the issue a little bit. Oh, I could talk about all my unrequited love stories, or the emotionally unfulfilling boyfriends, or I could even go into ridiculously icky detail about what I share with Tim. But nobody wants to read that, and quite frankly, that’s the sort of thing that’s between us.

I thought I’d tell you about the first time I really loved something that wasn’t an immediate family member. Well, I guess she was eventually. But she wasn’t when I fell in love. This is the story of Sascha.

Anyone who read my previous entry on Rosie will not be surprised to learn that Sascha was a dog. I just broke my own little heart for a second there, when I wrote ‘is’ instead of ‘was’. Sascha had to be put down recently. She was old, so so old, and she had arthritis and she got sick. And it was all too much in the end. I wish I could have been there. But she was so very old that, at least, I had the foresight to realise that the last time I was in Canberra was probably the last time I would see her, so I made sure to say my goodbyes to what had been my first unconditional friend.

But I’m starting at the end.

Let’s see, some quick maths here. Sascha was 16 when she was put down earlier this year, and I’m 24 now, so that would mean I was about 8 when we met. My grandparents had decided they wanted another dog. They had had another dog earlier, but I was too young to remember her. But they decided they wanted another one, at last. We went to the local RSPCA to find a dog that was suitable. I don’t remember their criteria for a suitable dog. I don’t even remember where it was, or taking more than a cursory look at the other dogs.

I had seen Sascha, and I knew she would be coming home with us. As my grandparents and parents and brother all wandered around looking at the other dogs, I sat next to Sascha’s pen and talked to her and played with her, and told her that we would be her new family.

In retrospect, this seems quite bratty of me, insisting that we couldn’t have any other dog, ’cause I wanted this one. But love was love, and soon, everyone was piled back into Dad’s 4WD, Sascha and me insecurely, but happily bundled up in the back part of the Pajero. Normally, such an unsafe ride would have been so exciting! But I only had eyes for Sascha, my new friend.

Sascha was such a peculiar dog. Even when she came to visit us in Sydney, she had different areas of the backyard to poop and pee in. I know, so mature, right? But seriously, anyone who has ever owned a dog will know what I mean, about NOT having to do the daily or weekly poop patrol before mowing the lawn. She pooped in the very back, furthest corner of the backyard, and peed in the opposite corner. It was bizarre.

And I remember when we brought her home the first time, the very first thing she did was run circles and circles and circles around the backyard, tongue lolling out happily. She was just so happy. She was such a friendly dog. I never heard her bark at anyone, or any other dog, despite not being even slightly trained. Except at birds. They teased her, and she barked back at them. I’m sure, deep down, it was a playful friendship.

That was the thing about Sascha. Everything was playing. She never got in trouble, so being naughty became the best game. She would sneak into the house and plonk her little bottom down in the kitchen with a big ol’ doggy grin on her face, and would not MOVE until she was given a treat. She was the perfect dog for my grandparents, because she needed so little training, but wasn’t more naughty than, say a toddler. She didn’t maul people or, I dunno, pee on your wedding dress. She just wanted a doggy biscuit, and maybe a little fetch, and then she’d be good again.

I loved her so much. Sometimes I would look forward more to seeing her than I did my grandparents, though I’d never admit that to any of my family! She was just such a good dog. And, with her, never having had a pet of my own, I knew the unconditional love of silent doggy companion for the first time. I loved her so much. I wish I could have been there at the end.

One of the things I remember most about Sascha is how she would, Grandma told us again and again, recognise the last leg of the journey from Canberra to Sydney. She would, I’m told, get excited and tail-waggy when she realised where she was headed, to see the other extended members of her pack.

I wish Rosie could have met her. I think they would have been fast friends. After the initial barking and butt-sniffing, of course.

I loved her so much. I miss you, Sascha.

Soooo, this’ll probably be a pretty short entry, cause I haven’t had a lot of nicknames in my time. But it’s got me here, and it’s got me writing, and that’s the main thing, even if it’s a short entry.

So, nicknames. Like I said, I haven’t had many. I guess ’cause I’ve got one of those names that nicknames itself quite easily? Like, why come up with something like, uh, “Meatfist” when you can just call me, “Jess”, right? So most of my life, it’s just been Jess. I guess there was a bit of Jessie in there as well, when I was a bit younger, cause that’s cute, right?

True story about my name, though. My 3 year old brother actually named me Jessica. It’s one of those family legends. I’m surprised he didn’t bring it up at the wedding, actually. But yeah, story goes, everyone was sitting around trying to think of what to name me. I don’t know if Jessica was on like, a short list of names or if he just pulled it out of the air, but no shit, the three-year-old rapscallion folds his arms, puts his nose in the air and says, “I don’t care what you call her, I’m calling her Jessica.” And that’s how I got my name.

I guess I have a sort of reverse nickname, in that my Dad, who has always been very proud of my name, used to go around calling me Jessica Louise. Another true story about my name, when I was about four or five, we ran into a friend of my parents they hadn’t seen in a long time, who was now, by coincidence, also pregnant. Upon hearing the name “Jessica Louise” she decided she liked it so much that she would name her own daughter that. And she did! For reals! So there’s a girl wandering around out there also named Jessica Louise, who is actually named after me.

Now that you all know my middle name, the next nickname will make slightly more sense, perhaps. About the time my brother finished high school and started going to uni, he decided, for some reason, that Jessica Louise, nicknamed down quite nicely to J-Lo. You know, like the singer. This became somewhat of a running gag between us (mostly him) where he would ask what was happening in the R&B world, and how was the new record deal, etc etc. This, actually, leads to another true story. He was sitting on a train once, coming home from uni or some such. It was fairly busy, but not peak hour. Anyway, he decides now would be a good time to call, probably cause I haven’t seen him in weeks. I pick up the phone, and I hear “Hey J-Lo! How’s that new hit single coming?!” said at the top of his lungs. This apparently led to an awkward moment for him, as many people turned around and looked at him in awe and astonishment as he, a lowly student, sat on a Sydney train and spoke casually to Jennifer Lopez.

Haha, true story.

My Dad also used to call me Brontosaurus Jessicalis, but I can’t think of any funny stories to do with that one, and to this day, I don’t know whether he was just being cute, referencing the fact that I liked dinosaurs, or just making a crack about my weight. So let’s move on.

The final nickname I’m going to talk about is one that I use probably the most often, but hear the least. A riddle! But no, it’s my internet handle! Notsocryptic. There is a story about how it came about, in fact, and I relish the opportunity to tell it, because I really dislike the cryptic nature of internet handles. In fact, that sentiment is exactly where it came from.

I was talking to Tom on MSN one day, trying to think of a new internet handle. I can’t remember why. Maybe my usual one was taken or something, I don’t know. The point is, I was trying to think of a new one. And I hated everything we came up with. They all just sounded like they were begging to tell a story or represent a weird and kooky aspect about myself that everyone on the internet should be aware of. Oh, the irony, huh? Anyway, the point is I hated them all. And I said such to Tom. I believe my exact words were, “I just want something that’s not so… cryptic? You know?” See what happened? And I went with it. I thought it described how I felt about the situation exactly.

And that’s how that happened.

Okay, well, I guess this entry wasn’t as short as I expected it to be! Turns out I have more nicknames and stories than I thought! Tune in tomorrow when I’ll be talking about… my first love?! Oh boy. I’m gonna have to do some thinking about that one. Tune in for the awkwardness!

While I was stumbling around the internet today, I came across a person’s blog who was doing an interesting thing. An interesting thing that he apparently stole from someone else, which in turn, I am now stealing from him! It’s called “The 30 day blog challenge”! Credit where credit is due, I am totally stealing this from misstaylorcast.com, a site I came across on my daily StumbleUpon wanderings. I am stealing it, it is not my idea or my property – I just thought it was awesome, and am doing it for all the reasons she mentioned as well, such as getting over writer’s block.

Here’s what I’ll be writing about for the next 30 days. A lot of this stuff you might know about me already, dear readers, but even if you do, it might be an interesting new take on an old story or give you a new perspective on something you never thought to ask about in greater detail. Anyway, here’s the list:

Day 1: Introduce, recent picture of yourself, 15 interesting facts.
Day 2: Nicknames.
Day 3: Your first love.
Day 4: Your parents.
Day 5: What song inspires you.
Day 6: Pet peeves.
Day 7: What makes you happy.
Day 8: A place you’ve traveled to and where else you want to travel.
Day 9: A favorite picture of your best friend.
Day 10: Something you’re afraid of.
Day 11: A quote you love.
Day 12: Something you don’t leave the house without.
Day 13: Goals.
Day 14: A picture of you last year – how have you changed?
Day 15: Death row meal.
Day 16: Your opinion about your body and how comfortable you are with it.
Day 17: Put your iPod on shuffle, first 10 songs.
Day 18: Something you miss.
Day 19: Things you want to say to an ex.
Day 20: Something you wonder “What if…?” about.
Day 21: Something you’re proud of.
Day 22: What do you want your future to be like?
Day 23: Favorite Movies and TV Show.
Day 24: Something you’ve learned.
Day 25: Something you are looking forward to.
Day 26: Your Dream Wedding.
Day 27: Photo of your city .
Day 28: What stresses you out?
Day 29: Who is you hero?
Day 30: A picture of yourself this day and 5 good things that happened since you started the challenge.

So! Today’s challenge! Putting a photo of myself on the internet!

That’s me! During a short stint with pink hair! Good times.

My name is Jess! I think you probably know that by now.

Also, coming up with interesting facts about myself. I have a lot of trouble deciding what is interesting or, well, good about myself, so I’m enlisting the help of my brand new husband to help me think them out. I know this is sort of like cheating, but otherwise I’d have to cheat even more by skipping out on the first day. So here we go. In fact:

1. I have crippling low self-esteem. So low, I don’t even realise it’s a problem half the time. It’s not all false modesty where I’m all fishing for compliments or whatever. Sometimes – not all the time, mind – it’s so completely ingrained it blows my mind to try and twist my mind into thinking another way. Awesome.

2. I love all animals. Well, all mammals, anyway. I hate spiders. Ugh! But in a general sense, all animals. I love everything, I think they are all beautiful, and I would have one of everything if I could. And I find the weirdest animals adorable. Like sharks! I think they’re so cute! I want to hug ‘em all the time! A related fact:

3. It is one of my most often, silently, never-dream-would-be-fulfilled wishes to be able to talk to animals, or at least to impart to them that I’m not actually out to murder them like they think I am. We used to have a bunny the frequented our place. We called him Puff! So many times all I wanted was to bring him some lettuce and maybe some water and tell him he was beautiful, but whenever I even stepped in him direction, he just pissbolted. I’m not gonna skin and eat you, little guy! Sigh.

4. My favourite foods are Mexican and Indian, despite the fact that I have absolutely zero tolerance for spicy food. Admittedly, they’re both the bastardised western forms of both cuisines, but that doesn’t change the spice thing!

5. I am the number one female Guitar Hero player in WA. I actually ranked like, number 10 in WA or something. Which still isn’t bad, I guess. But there were only like two other lady-types there, and I beat the hell outta them. So there you have it, number one female!

6. I named our three gaming consoles after the three magi; the 360 is named Balthazar, the PS3 is named Melchior, and our Wii is named Caspar (’cause he’s white, like the ghost, geddit!)

7. My favourite everyday food combination is cheese and pineapple – a trait shared by the three living generations of Berensen women; me, my mother, and my grandmother, completely unbeknownst to any of us, until recently.

8. I collect empty notebooks like a fiend, always with the best intentions of writing in them. And sometimes I start! Then a new notebook comes along.

9. I have played 5 or 6 different instruments in my life. I still play several of them. I’m hoping to learn more. Despite this, I am still not the most musically talented in my family.

10. Tim tells me stories to help me sleep, just about every night. Together, we’ve created a really beautiful world, that I really hope he will write down and make into children’s books one day.

11. I have a framed dungeons and dragons map on my wall, and it is one of my favourite possessions.

12. I have more stuffed animals than an adult should legally own. I like the weirder ones the most. Like my woolly mammoth, my two sharks, and my turtle. My favourite by far, though, is Iorek, my polar bear, who sleeps in my bed every night. Tim and I made him together, and I consider him part of my family, together with Tim and Rosie.

13. I love babies so much. I think they are the most beautiful, untainted form of human being. But the idea of working in childcare again literally makes me depressed, and the idea of having children of my own scares the shit out of me. Despite this, I already prepare for having them. For example, I’ve started buying children’s books that I want my children to have one day. Also, I know exactly how many children I’ll be having. First I’ll have two: if at least one of those is a girl, I’ll stop. Otherwise, I’ll be adopting a girl. I want daughters!

14. I love terrible movies. I love them as much as I love great movies. The only bad movie, in my book, is a mediocre movie. My favourite terrible movies include Megashark vs Giant Octopus, Stonehenge: Apocalypse and Dracula: 3000.

15. My whole life everyone has called me a fussy eater. It became like a warning whenever my parents took me to dinner at relative’s places. “Oh, she’s such a fussy eater, don’t worry about her.” But in truth, I discovered later in life, I am not “fussy” per se, so much as “really easily pleased”. Bread, delicious. Potatoes, yum. Apples, gimme em. Cheese, put it in my mouth. I actually have really really simple tastes, but my parents (read: Dad) always tried to ‘educate’ me on finer dining (read: onions).

Anyway, there you have it! Challenge one complete! That was surprisingly hard, I haven’t thought about things about me for a long time, it seems! Anyway, tune in tomorrow for the next installment of, “30 days of Jess!”