30pictureschallenge: Day 7

www.explodingdog.com

this is exactly how i'm feeling today, and probably a little bit tomorrow. reasons for these feelings have been expanded upon below:

firstly, i've embarked on the part of my study where i panic and become certain i shall not pass my exam. there is a very real possibility of this, and it will be my own fault if i don't (see above: i feel stupid). it's that awkward situation where i'm not actually stupid, but trying to read number problems that are said in words makes me panic, then try to calm down, then read it again, then panic. it's internal panic. it's a silent scream. the silent scream of someone who is very scared of numbers and things she doesn't understand.

secondly, i've re-embarked on my gym routine in the quiet hope of righting all the wrongs within my poor body. the bits that are wonky, the bits that are out of whack, the bits that vaguely remember what it was like to function properly. those bits are going to get sorted right out, and i am loving the moving about again. but boy, it makes me tired in my body, and hungry for more than the sensible healthy food i am eating. but i'm already feeling better after a week or two. so i will be good to my little self. (see above: i feel tired, i feel hungry).

it's no secret that i am quite, quite fond of caffeinated beverages. and that they help with coping with the other things that are maybe not as light and fluffy as you might like. tomorrow morning, i am going to have breakfast at the goldfish bowl and have probably 2 coffees to go with those eggs on toast. and boy oh boy, i am already looking forward to it (see above: this coffee will change all of that).

i think the important thing is, even on the tired hungry stupid days, and we all have them, to have a coffee in the horizon, or at least the prospect of metaphorical coffee.

mmm, metaphorical coffee.

30pictureschallenge: Day 3

this is winter time in whistler. it looks like it's christmas, but the magic of whistler is that it looks like this all through winter.

things freeze, things stop, things slow. at the same time, there is frenetic energy. the village is filled with visitors; it's a visitor's town.

when fresh snow falls, right down to the village, there's a nice time during the night before it's cleared away and salt laid to make safe paths for those unaccustomed to the white winter underfoot. before it's cleared away, it gives beneath your feet. it makes a sort of muffled crunch, a murmur released as you leave a footprint behind.

it's ankle deep. sometimes it's knee deep. these are the nights you quietly head for home; these nights promise nextmornings filled with pow turns and faces full of snow. your heart fills with the anticipation of it. you smile at strangers as you trudge by them, wading through the fresh snow to the bus stop, and home. you pull your hood up; you wrangle your toque into place under your hood. you check your pockets and pull on the mittens you have stowed there.

the more the snow falls, the wider and fuller your heart becomes. the flakes are big, floaty things; they drift slowly to the ground or they fall thick and fast. you're covered in them as you walk, you brush them out of your face and off your eyelashes. they're wet and cold, but you don't mind; on still snowy nights such things can easily be forgiven.

off the bus, you're making your careful way up a hill that is foiling any cars without winter tyres. you pick a path and patiently put one foot in front of the other, avoiding the slipperiness that comes with packed down snow.

once home, you shake yourself off and shed a wet outer layer; hang up a coat, stash your boots. you rub your hands together and blow into them as you stomp your way up the stairs, buoyant with the magic of the winter world you just traveled through to make it back. upstairs there are housemates, equally happy in their anticipation of what tomorrow will bring on the mountain.

a cup of tea, a brief chat, a plan made for the morning, then bed.

30pictureschallenge: Day 1

www.explodingdog.com

life is a funny thing. my life is a funny thing. i'm never quite sure how to approach it; some days it is friend and some days it is foe. it's a complicated relationship, but i love it nonetheless.

i'm doing all this growing at the moment in the weirdest ways, bits of my heart expanding and shrinking and all this wondering going on in my little brain. i think the miracle of being a human is that we're just, y'know, cells and stuff all stuck together with human glue, and yet there's these feelings that happen to those cells that are outside of physical stimuli. like feeling happy, or nervous, or proud. it's pretty strange and wonderful, really.

as time passes, i get increasingly comfortable, or at least resigned to, this very thing of being human. weird feelings and stretchy parts in my heart and tingly feet. i love it all. and even when the things hurt, the adjusty bits, the change, all that ... even all that is a thing to love.

imagine if a new start was as easy as pushing a button, though. i wonder what i would choose, and how i would set up my life furniture, and what the list of things i'd say instead of things i've said might look like.

i think, overall, i wouldn't push that new start button. i think the peace i occasionally get to feel flashes and glimpses of is hard won, and i want to enjoy it, with its history of bad decisions and unhappy parts and scratchy bits. because there is also the happy, and the nervous, and the proud. and those parts, all of them together, are the funny thing that is my life. and it's mine. and i love it nonetheless.

4 things on life's to do list (part 1)

#30daychallenge day 8: a moment you felt the most satisfied with your life

it's mostly in retrospect that you pick the happiest or most satisfying moments in life. for me, happiness is satisfaction, and so that's how i've been thinking about all of my moments up to this one right now, trying to decide on a particular one about which to write.

probably some of the happiest i've already covered; these were particularly special ones that might be scenes in movies made into montages with something like M83 or Florence + The Machine as background music. honestly, they're mainly snowboarding/whistler moments. they've been written, and i'll leave them be, for now.

being satisfied, of late, has been a pretty simple thing for me, and more likely to be scored by The National or even local hero, Dustin Tebbutt. there's been a lot of deep thinking, a glass of champagne, a wood fire, some furry puppies snuggled into my side and a book or a notepad. i'm finding great reward and satisfaction in writing at the moment; i'm reading a lot to be sure i keep up with what everyone else is writing, and i'm loving using my brain again.

it's satisfying also to be driving home on dusk, surrounded by oranges and pinks of sunset, perhaps pumping some tunes from Horrorshow or the new one from Baby Bee, contemplating what's for dinner, or which part comes next on my new bunting creation project, or which movie to watch when i get home.

it's satisfying to meet new people, drinking New Englander Brown Ale at the pub on a friday night, or to plonk myself down on a couch at Kate and Phill's for dinner, banter and explodey movies.

it's satisfying to get back into my gym habits with the knowledge that i have a new super-physio who is going to fix me good; satisfying that i have super-purple runners that are shiny and new and all kinds of supportive (it's good to appreciate whatever support you can get).

you may have picked the theme here: it's that every day is satisfying in its way, and i'm so enlightened these days that i'm appreciating the heck out of all of it. also, some of the best moments of life are underscored by an appropriate soundtrack.

#30daychallenge day 5: a time you thought about ending your own life

and BAM! with the heavy.

i've never thought of actually ending my own life, to be fair. i've been through the parts where i didn't give myself much value, i've been depressed & a bit lost, but to put an end to things is something which my brain refuses to process. i'm not sure why, perhaps because i've always had a little bit of curiosity about what tomorrow might bring, even if today, yesterday and the last 6 months has been a grey monotonous blur of 'ugh'. not suicidal by nature, me.

just because i would never do it myself doesn't mean i don't understand why someone would. i can only feel grateful that i don't suffer from depression to the extent where i honestly cannot see any other way out.

the worst of all of it for me was post-uni, pre-Canada. at the time, it wasn't so dramatic as all that; i just couldn't quite see the point of what i was doing with my life, but also frustrated because i'd made the decisions that had put me there. i lacked the motivation to change my situation up until the point where i took 2 weeks leave from work and had a bolt of lightning hit in the form of a 'i gotta get the hell out of here' realisation.

i'm not sure why i was so unhappy, and honestly it may not have been the situation so much as the repercussions of the past few years involving moving out of home, parents separating, ex-boyfriend with mental illness (very manipulative, very clever about it), going from being in the top percentiles of my highschool classes to just another essay in a pile at university of melbourne, being in a relationship with somebody who seemed to feel that artistic disillusionment equated with one's value as a person... i don't think all these feelings were necessary unique to the age i was, but i've found that not many people will come out with it and admit they're depressed. i certainly didn't- i couldn't call it that til i knew otherwise.

i'm so, so glad that i dragged myself out of melbourne and that awful mental state to the green green grasses of Canada - whistler, specifically. little by little, i began to enjoy my new life, once i moved past the sense of it being an extended holiday. people will call it that, but i was there for just shy of 3 years and it was not a holiday, it was my life. and it was good!

i realised that something huge had changed (very quietly) when i learned to snowboard and actually felt the adrenaline rush that goes with fearing for your life: at the top of my first blue run (for those playing at home, i refer to the Saddle on whistler) i thought i might die, and i didn't want to.

that's how i knew the worst of it was over.

the other thing i actually learned as i processed this realisation was the fact that being depressed is not equal to failure, or even failing. for someone like me, so capable of the insane happiness that a sunny day, a jug of beer and your bestest friends can bring, there must also be darker days as a balance. and that's what makes the sunny days so wonderful.

so no, there has not been a time when i thought about ending my own life. but there's definitely been a touch of darkness in some of my many days, and what i want to say to anyone pushing themselves through that same muddy puddle is it's ok to sit in a mud a while, but not forever. if i can push for anything in this post, it's to acknowledge that we all deal with depression at some point, and it's got to be easier to talk about this sort of thing than it currently is.

Visit Beyond Blue if you're depressed or think that a loved one might be- it's a place to start. I've also found this nice page by elephant journal to be helpful.

treasure: my granny, Patricia Taylor

One of my favourite bloggers, Pip from Meet me at Mike's, has suggested a blog-along about grandmothers today. You can read hers and be inspired maybe to write something of your own, as I am today.

I think often about my Granny, who it turns out has been a huge influence on many of us Taylor folk, one way or the other. The only thing I ever occasionally let myself feel sad about in relation to Granny is that I'd just love to sit down with her now, at 27, and have a good old chat about things. Now I understand a little more. Now I'm an adult. Now I've met more of the whole wide world, and consequently realised just how wonderful she was, not just as my Granny (for she was given instant 'wonderful' status ever since I can remember) but as a woman.

Of course, I never knew Granny as a mum, but from what I gather she managed 5 kids and a husband on a NSW sheep farm quite adequately, not to mention the governesses, the jackaroos, and the rest of the surrounding family. As a Granny, she was kind and strong, and somehow managed to make each of her 14 grandkids feel special to her. Until I was 10 or so, she lived just down the hill from us, so close that Mum was able to stand at the top of the hill and watch me toddle down to see me arrive safely in Granny's waiting arms. From there, she took me inside and I was fed shortbreads and hardbiscuits (a family recipe, an oat & golden syrup combination that are infamous), as well as allowed to help out with baking and making butter. I got sat on the edge of the kitchen bench while she went about this business, and was occasionally granted my very own little ball of new butter to put on toast, or eat then and there, delicious and creamy, popped straight into my little mouth.

It sounds a bit odd as a treat for a child, but I must say it was my absolute favourite thing. What I wonder about now is what her and I talked about, for I'm certain I would have chatted away happily with her for hours (genetic trait, the chatting- Granny was the best chatter I know) about all my secrets and thoughts. I imagine I may even have bored her with my chat, having since discovered that once kids figure out how to make themselves understood, they Do. Not. Shut. Up.

Growing past this rosy-cheeked child stage, I know I missed having Granny and Grandfather so close by when they moved into town. Our family moved into the homestead, and all the mystical places that had hidden secrets inside when Granny and Grandfather lived there were opened up and brought to light. Furniture was moved out and empty space left for our family to move on in. The 'good' lounge room stopped being a closed space in the dark, and Grandfather's dressing room stopped smelling of mystery and was instead painted blue, becoming a bedroom for my little brother Stuart.

Their new house in town became the place for Christmases and family get togethers, and while those were always special, it was the one-on-one times with Granny that I remember that house for. I cannot remember ever watching television there, instead we'd drink countless cups of tea and I'd read my book, or tell Granny about highschool, or whatever else I felt like chatting about. I can't remember ever trying out teenage rebellion on her; while I was a well-behaved girl, I had a truly awful temper with which I would constantly tear strips off my parents, but I'm pretty sure I never tried that out on Granny. One wouldn't.

As always with the passing of time and the gaining of maturity, on reflection I feel truly amazed by the legacy and impact Granny had upon me, and I don't doubt, all of the other Taylors I know. I think of her now as my conscience; when I act well, true to myself, when I help others or resist making an easy choice in favour of a better choice, I feel quietly proud of myself in the same way that I imagine Granny might. When I make a mistake, or a knowingly act in a way that I regret later, I shake my head, try not to beat myself up too much and instead think "Next time, I'll do better". That's what Granny has given me. I expect a lot of myself, which I know is a 'Taylor' trait with which we all have been blessed/cursed.

In the end, I only have a few tangible objects which have come from Granny. One is a green glass bead necklace, another is her copy of "Alice in Wonderland" from back when she was a Fraser instead of a Taylor, and the last, a happy discovery of just this month, is that the curtains that hang in my beloved van Queen Maude are made from scraps of sailboat fabric that Mum was given by Granny. So I have a little piece of something of hers to travel about with every single day. That is truly lovely.

Another treasure is a rhyme that has stayed with me for many many years, and I'm sure all the Taylors are reciting it in their heads while reading this. This Mabel Lucie Attwell poem hung on a towel rail in Granny's bathroom from since way before I can remember, and it will always remind me of having baths at her place, having my little body rubbed dry with a towel by Granny in her more limber days on her knees by the bathtub; it will remind me of the countless times I read it when visiting the toilet, moving the hip-friendly toilet seat out of the way. In a way I guess it is Granny, through and through. Tidying up after yourself and thinking of others, meeting your responsibilities head on.

Sending all my love, not only to Granny, but to all of us who love and miss her - Patricia Taylor, you're one heck of a lady to live up to, but all of us, we're doing our best (which I'm sure is all you'd really expect of us anyway).

secret: the start of the list

some things on my list- are they so much to ask?

someone who gets it

Someone who laughs at/with me

Someone who can read

Just what it says on the box

Someone who makes me laugh

Someone who makes creations for me, including paper flowers

Someone who's ok with their sensitive side/can knit scarves

Someone who makes my heart go all giddy and ridiculous

Someone who can Adventure

Someone who can make a bit of conversation

secret: a rainy sunday afternoon and much contemplation

oh god, what am i going to do with my life??

yes folks, it's one of those posts. i just turned 25. i got a tattoo that i love. in a month, i will be able to go snowboarding, which is so exciting! i just can't seem to see past it. which is probably not a bad thing. but for some reason, tonight i just want to make some kind of life-altering decision.

i am certain i'll be over it by the morning.

options: stay here.
go home.
study. here or home.

firstly, sort out where home is.

i have a life here. it's a life that i like. here is home.
melbourne is home. there are people in it that i love and miss.
brisbane might be fun.

pfffft I am going to bed.

day 25. what i would find in your bag

GET OUT OF MY BAG MAN

1. ipod + skullcandy earbuds
2. iphone
3. iwallet ... jk. regular wallet
4. book. currently reading a gossip girl novel. trashy and delicious
5. pawpaw ointment
6. a banana
7. my phone bill which i still havent paid
8. a cheque for $130 i still havent deposited
9. keys on a dorky moose bottle-opener keyring
10. gum. peppermint because spearmint sucks balls.

so now i guess you know everything about me.

day 24. a letter to your parents.

mum and dad,

you're pretty awesome.

sure you've left me with a whole bunch of issues to work through, but everyone's got those.

living in whistler makes me miss you and realise how lucky i am that i genuinely want to talk to you, tell you things i've been doing, share exciting things with you.

not everyone has that.

please give me money for my birthday. lots of money.

love helen

secret: general lack thereof

kids, i think i actually have no secrets. slight anxiety.

since i came here, since i let go of the boring, blandness of it all (not that i didn't choose it for myself), of the working and the gym-going and the careful calculations, the planning and the writing of lists, the desire to start screaming randomly mid-conversation, yes, since i left all that, i am somewhat an open book.

my blog is really only answers to questions i wish people would ask me, but i'm not all cut up about it, it's just really to practice writing so when i get started on Real Writing, i have some material.

i don't care if you know i love pop music, i don't care if my jokes are stupid, i don't care what you think of what i wear or where i work, i don't care if you have a problem with my drinking habits.

i don't care if you know i am in love with you, not really. although i guess i'm not going to publish names, but if you really need to know, i will have no hesitation in telling you.

i don't care that i haven't immersed myself in one night stands since i've been single. i don't care who knows that i haven't had any action since may last year.

i'm daggy, i make lame jokes, i'm awkward about doing nice things for people even though i do nice things for people all the time, about physical affection unless i really really love you like my brother/sister, i should exercise more and shave my legs more often, and probably wax my eyebrows. but

i. do. not. care.

there you are, there you have it. i'm enlightened.

and right now i really fucking love beyonce.