Archive for July, 2012

Sell yourself. Starting from…now

July 31, 2012

Today I was faced with the challenge of having to promote myself for one minute to a deliberately disinterested twenty-something production assistant during an audition for a attempt-to-win-lots-of-money game show, and was it hard?

You bloody bet it was.

Having previously been disciplined by the executive producer to avoid any mention of the kids-husband-mortgage boredom trilogy, I felt struck by an apparent absence of anything else in my life worth mentioning. Think harder?

Nothing.

Apparently, I haven’t done anything in my life – ever – apart from get married, have children and struggle in my attempts to tame the great hulking beast of a mortgage that lives on my shoulder. YAWN.

Surely this can’t be it? I mean, really, is that all there is?

Eventually, I had a brainwave. An angle. A spiel. I managed to get it out without a stutter or a choke. I was convincing. Sure, the highlight of my sales pitch was probably my usage of the terms “men’s urinal” and “stonewash denim” but I think I’ve left them with an irresistible morsel of life in my shoes.

Now, to win that million dollars. I reckon I’ll be a shoe in.

Go with the flow (or how to beat S.A.D.)

July 23, 2012

Now that we have had maybe three days of sunshine I can see clearly again.

Through a cloudy two month funk, past a rejected job application (phew!), and around the school holiday bend and here I am with a jolt of vitamin D and a reshuffled deck. I like my hand. I am a pretty lucky player. The trick is to keep the cards clear of the inevitable ebbs and flows of this hormonal, human life. To hold them up high as the sea swells and calms.

Our ancient nomadic ancestors would have gone with this flow with ease. They lived the seasons, the moon phases, the body’s commands. Now we analyse, control, subvert. It is as though we have created an android shell housing an organic thing and each time it slips out the robotic joints seize and paralyze until control is regained and the living beast is shoved back to its core.

The trick is to live in harmony with the beast. To allow it the earthly tantrums and torments for the sake of its hearty passions. I am learning to do this. To go with the flow. It’s an organic flow which needs the seasons, the surroundings, the sun. A warm face on a winter’s afternoon can work wonders.

No news is… good news?

July 20, 2012

So they say. Actually in my case it’s more like no news is… no news.

Well, not exactly. Our computer completely died after years of kids downloading dodgy games and probably infesting it with innumerable viruses and so we had to completely re-boot which meant losing pretty much everything – yes lots of baby photos and irreplaceable video footage of me in labour and countless documents and passwords and kids’ artwork etc etc…

Actually it was quite an eye-opener for me because of my reaction. I have often thought of the “what would you rescue in a fire” conundrum and wondered why I found it so hard to think of anything much and in a way this was kind of similar. All that stuff wiped and I was strangely nonplussed. I never really looked at it, and when I look at what I have around me RIGHT NOW I am more absorbed in that. Clearly I’m not very nostalgic. I’ve never been one for the past. In fact for a while I was somewhat of an evangelical Nowist and still subscribe to the notion that there is no past or future but only constant moments of now. But I know that photos are captured moments of now and in that sense are invaluable. So I am thankful that there are still some baby photos in existence on grandparent’s computer and enough hardcopies to plot some time. As for the labour videos? Well, I did watch those once and seeing myself like that was so raw and so graphic it almost felt voyeuristic so I’m not too bothered about those being gone. Besides, we could always try for another baby and take some more footage…

Ahem.

So with no computer to distract me I’ve been able to do even more thinking than I normally do. About things like the art of conversation (all it takes is reciprocating questions. Finally, after 36 years on this planet, I get it). About how much time I actually get to myself without at least one person demanding my attention (when I’m running at the gym = about 2 hours a week, playing netball = about 1 hour a week, attending a school governing council meeting = about 2 hours a month, asleep = about 5 hours a night, plus about 3 hours a month for social outings, which when added up means I have, on average, approximately 39 hours per week to myself, which includes sleeping, so if I take that out I am actually left with 4.2 hours a week. There must be a study somewhere which says that, to maintain sanity, a person needs at least 5 hours a week of time to themselves. Uninterrupted. Undemanded). About how great it is to run and run and reach that endorphin rush (which I learnt has a name – Jogger’s High – and I can see why it’s addictive). And about how scary and yet intriguing YouTube is when you realise you’ve spent an hour looking at videos ranging from crazy speed stacking to some old dude trying to beat up some skate boarding teenagers.

Welcome back computer.