Time keeps on slipping

If there's one thing we know about life, it's that you cannot change time. You can't reverse it or speed it up or bend it any way you choose. Often we have too much of it, or not enough, or it's getting away from us and we're racing against it. They say it's death and taxes, but I would have thought it would be time as well. So why then must we have 1 extra week of daylight saving time on a whim? It's the Commonwealth Games that did it, we didn't want to change clocks in the middle of the proceedings and confuse everyone. It just makes time seem silly though, as though we can control it and show it who's boss. Nice try, but no cigar. Time still wins. I wish it was next week, and dark at 6 o'clock. Actually, I always wish for something it isn't.

I went to Ladies Day at the races this weekend - horrible, crippling self-confidence issues in tow. None of this helped by my mother who told me during my races-eve dress rehearsal how much weight I need to lose and how she hoped no one would ask me if I was pregnant. I didn't have alot of time to worry about how bad I looked though, because I wore my painful new teal shoes and I lost alot of feeling in my toenails as the day wore on. I was much relieved to see a very large girl there wearing a midriff bearing ensemble, with her stretch-marked white belly hanging out in full view. I felt positively stylish after that.
What I DID take away from this races experience was how much I miss men. At the next table there was a boyfriend and girlfriend there together, and as the 8 hours of champagne took effect they started making out at the table (which was a little gross because as you know, alcohol does affect your aim) but it made me think of how long it's been since I've even kissed someone - ie. ages - and that was a pretty sad thought. So, armed with my new determination to kiss once more, and my even greater determination to have sex again before I die, I will be attending my local Weight Watcherooni meeting this week, and all the weeks after. A pash before Christmas seems like a reasonable goal to me. (See that, Gwatahoosie? A goal!!)

Bloody bloody bloody. Hell hell hell!

I was just going to remain bemused by all of the hoopla surrounding the "Where the bloody hell are you?" ads that are being shown overseas, but now I'm starting to get a little up in arms about the reaction.

You can find the ad over at Knitty Kitty's if you haven't seen it - the basic outline is we're trying to advertise Australia as a tourist destination, giving the impression that we've prepared the country just for YOU, and we're ready for you to come and visit. So, where the bloody hell are you? It's meant to be friendly!

Here's what I read today on ninemsn:

"The controversial commercial has made its US debut in front of 20 million American TV viewers and one influential group was not amused. The American Family Association (AFA), which has more than two million members and leads campaigns against abortion and gay rights, was upset with the bikini-clad model Lara Bingle's use of "bloody" and "hell" in the ad's tagline."
Right... I can see why these reasonable people should be involved. They seem very stable.

"British TV authorities dropped a ban on the use of the word "bloody" after pressure from Australia, but now Canadian authorities are unhappy with the way the ad portrays beer drinking."
And how is that exactly? That if you're on holiday you might enjoy a cool, refreshing beverage?

"When you think 'bloody' in America you think the red liquid that flows from human bodies which is usually a sign of some kind of violence," [AFA Director of Special Projects] Sharp said. "Australians are spending all of these millions of dollars inviting us, and if we go over there are we going to be exposing our kids to foul language and images of bloody?"
YOU DICKHEAD.

It's just an ad. "Bloody hell", and similar variations, are a normal part of the speech here, and only the most uptight, sensitive types would flinch at hearing it. I personally don't really like the ad, it seems pretty dumb to me and I am once again a bit embarrassed at the type of Australia that gets promoted overseas, but I'll defend this stupid ad to the death against big crybabies who have nothing better to do with their time than whinge about it.

On a happier note, I am loving the Commonwealth Games. Australia has won 158 medals so far (more than double our closest competition - England) and John Steffensen is my new favourite person. The Games remind me of being a kid, and watching people like Duncan Armstrong and Hailey Lewis and I don't know... they just make me feel secure and happy. Now THAT'S sad.

How to be like me

Cough.
Cough.
Sneeze.
Cough.
Blow nose.
Cough.
Sniff.
Cough.
Sleep.

Repeat.

Even my hair looks better

Firstly, thank you to everyone who commented for me on the last post, I don't know what to say to explain how much it helped and how much it means to me. The blog world gives you just enough anonimity to open up about the worst parts of yourself, and to have so many generous and thoughtful people take the time to comment has helped me a great deal. I went to see my doctor about the things that are bothering me, and while he does agree that I am suffering from depression he basically said unless I'm about to kill myself he's not prescribing any medication. I really should decide now if I'm going to a different doctor, or if I'm going to just do what this doctor told me to do: read a book about depression and look up some useful depression-related websites. Now I'm not saying that doctors should prescribe medication everytime someone says they're unhappy, but I do feel like he's given me the brush-off.

Over the past week I've been reasonably happy; catching up on sleep (but not in a depressed, sleep all day way), getting some excercise, trying to eat something other than Burger Rings and Coke, listening to Stevie Wonder and enjoying my new shoes. I've decided to bite the bullet and make a - gasp! - public appearance at Ladies Day at the races. I went out on the weekend and bought the new ensemble, with the greatest teal shoes ever created. I even have a feathery fascinator. I know I may feel extremely, excruciatingly uncomfortable being out there in a public "oh my god look at what she's wearing!" sort of place, but part of my problem is that I've stopped doing anything that scares me. I am going to be 50 and living at home with my mum, and she'll be my only friend. So things have to change. I'll also be doing an 8-week course with a friend from work about managing emotions and assertiveness and all sorts of healthy, well-adjusted things like that. All that being said, not all the times are good times, and I have lots of work yet to do to get back to feeling consistently good.

And as Homer Simpson says: "I am NOT too fat! I'm alive, aren't I?"

The Literal Mime

I feel like I'm standing on the edge of a disaster - and it's a place I've been before. I can just let go and fall into the hole, it would mean less effort for me and quite frankly it's a comfortable option. It would also mean alot of nagging and secrets and "Well I just don't know what to do about her", but the option is there.

On the other hand, I could hang on to the edge for as long as I can. It's a harder choice that one, it means being responsible and having some faith in being able to pull myself back up eventually. I don't like this idea because it's so stagnant and I know that things will go on as usual, not changing. I will still be the same person I am right now, which is so unappealing I wonder if I would even prefer to be worse as long as it's different. Which means going with the "let go and fall in" option...

I keep thinking of what's required in hanging on, and I don't know if I can do it. If I thought it was for a week, or a year, maybe I could - but it's just so damn "forever". Too much needs to be done, too many changes to be made and really I just feel so hopeless again. Invisible and too visible and boring and wrong. And so incapable of being as good as everyone else.

The best option would be to step back from the edge, and to take long strides in the opposite direction. This is the option that I keep expecting to just happen, without me having to put in any effort into changing myself or my life. This way I would be perfect, all grown up and focused and well balanced and worthy. I don't know - has anyone ever done that?

I know what's brought this on. I'm working too hard and extremely stressed about money. I am by nature a control freak - I can't owe anyone as much as 5 cents without losing sleep over it, and I can't get my head above water at the moment. I know things will improve but it's a situation I can't handle right now. Adding to my unhappiness is my complete dissatisfaction with every aspect of my appearance, from my ugly hair to my suddenly bad skin, and from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. I feel like I'm inside a glass box, and because no one else can see it they don't know why I'm stuck.

Do-Dos & Whoa-ohs

So I've been asking myself "What is a fat girl with ugly hair to do with all her spare time?". There are limited options, so I've decided to go with 'start a running program'. It's so very, very boring because for the first 3 weeks you do nothing but walk for 20 minutes every second day. Now I realise that walking is an integral part of any fitness plan - whether you plan to lose weight or just maintain a healthy heart - but I loathe walking. I mean walking from here to the mailbox is fine, or a couple of laps around the shopping centre, but walking a circle around the neighbourhood and ending up back at home seems entirely pointless to me. My idea of exercise is a jog, or a serious run, or some cycling or maybe a decathlon, marathon or similar. Clearly I'm an all or nothing sort of person.

The problem with that is that I don't have a bike, or the ability to decathlacise myself. I also have this theory that if I tried to jog/run I would break several of my leg bones if not the pavement. So the boring 3 weeks of walking must be done first... actually the whole program takes 6 months to complete and at the end of it I should, in theory, be a runner. In the time it takes me to do this program I could, in theory, be the Queen of Sweden, but let's see how it goes.