Things you don’t know about me

…and now probably will…Just thought I’d shove in a random post here, to lighten things up around here. Also, I needed to find a use for these images, because each of them rock for their own random reasons). Lastly, it’s Friday. Thank the stars.

1. I have Misophonia. It bugs me to the point of rage. This is why I often used to eat at my desk, and will, usually, eat away from other people. I actually took it up with my doctor the other day, and she recommended I carry on avoiding situations where I’ll get aggravated, as best as possible. She also told me to try focus on other things when it happens. That’s not so easy. Fact – if I eat with you, you must know, you’re special to me. Very special. VERY SPECIAL.


2. About that doctor – I love her. To pieces. She is one of the most understanding, empathetic people I know. She looks at the WHOLE problem you face, not just symptoms. She is a brave, wonderful woman and I fear the day she moves away/retires/decides to give it all up and go make jam on a farm. She also deals very well with my…

3. Paranoia. Yes, paranoia. I am supremely paranoid about: people and death. People, you ask? Haha. Have you MET people? Every person you meet has a 50/50 chance of being a complete chop, or a complete dear. You usually find this out within the first five minutes of meeting them. Sometimes, chops hide behind a facade of being a dear. It’s a tricky situation. And death? Well, yes, death. Because I have that whole “oh-heck-I-have-dealt-with-death” thing in my life, I fear the crap out of it because I do not want anyone I care about to ever, ever go through that loss. So, the moment my chest aches, or I have a migraine, I instantly think “I’m dying. That’s crap” and panic. I don’t do being sick well, mostly because I feel guilty and worried (haha worried sick!) that I’m going to die. Most of the time, you’ll find me sick and working – this is because I refuse to acknowledge that I’m sick, and can therefore calm myself into believing that I’m not going to die. I am HORRIBLE to be around, grumpy and generally unpleasant.

Woman Sneezing at Her Desk
This is me. Except there’s usually 85 piles of paper, tissues and post it notes all over my desk. And my hair NEVER looks that good.

4. I don’t deal with whining well, especially if you’re an adult. I don’t even tolerate it from children (which makes me a less-than-understanding mom, some days).

I think I need to make this a new life motto.

5. I can’t sleep if I have socks on. Someone gave me sleep socks as a gift once. It didn’t work out well. They became sockpuppets (the sleepsocks, not the gift-giver). But, I cannot sleep if my feet are uncovered. So I’m a duvet on feet girl. Everything from my ear to my toes must be covered, otherwise I cannot sleep.

No bear, No!

6. Memes. Give me memes. Let me sing you the song of my people? The song of my people is…memes.

Memes. Memes. Memes. Give me memes, and make them funny.

(ended it on an even number…do I win something, Angel and Glugs? :P)

Random thought…

…something i thought whilst flying back from JHB on Sunday and wrote in my little book of random thoughts and stuff that some people would love to get their hands on one day…(yeah, that is about you :P).

I was thinking about myself. About Cam. About friends.

“me, so small, so short, so loud and so quiet… you, so small, so growing, so loud and so quiet.. you and me… so evidently small, yet so evidently capable”

Cam reminds me so much of myself nowadays. Other little girl members of my family do too. heh.

It makes me proud and simultaneously, makes me worry.

cathpic129I wasn’t always the tough cookie my shirt tells me I am (thanks, Angel). I wasn’t always this outspoken. It’s taken a long long time of being stomped on to get to a point where I do know how to put my foot down, and stick my foot out to kick. Truth be told though, I hurt just the same now as I did when I was five years old and an ugly little boy called me fat. Back then, though, I didn’t know how to retaliate,  ignore or wait for karma to play along (said little ugly boy was recently treated in hospital for obesity and had his stomach stapled. That’s karma). Now I do. Now I know how to kick or walk away.It takes alot to be brave. But it’s easy when you know you have love. When you know you have support. When you know that, no matter what you do, you are loved.

I hope my daughter feels that way now, and every day of her life. Cameron is a brave one, stubborn, demanding and a whirlwind of emotions… NO idea where she gets THAT from 😛

But, what she is, what I notice about my notsobabygirl, is that she is always determined, always excited by her independence. Sure, some days, she just wants mama to “do things for her”. And I’ll do that until she tells me not to.

I’m awed by her growing independence. Scared, too. A little heartsore, sometimes, truth be told.

The other night, we cooked dinner together, and she went to get the cheese from the fridge, grabbed the grater and started grating (yeah, i know, call the parenting police on me, she knows it’s sharp and is very careful and yes, I have loads of elastoplast…). Just like that, I realised…

I realised that she can do that. She knows how to. She knows when to. She proudly and happily helps out.

She is so proud of her every achievement. From the night she buttoned her own pyjamas, and told me to go away so that she could do it “on her own”.

Then I have to remind myself…that she’s my notsobabygirl anymore. She’s my growing little girl, ready to face the world whilst holding my hand.

Cam, mama’s awed by you. Thank you for choosing me to be your mama.

Pleasantville vs Paradise.

This blogpost is a ramble.

The truth is, it should be an email to someone, but, as I wrote it, I realised there’s something I needed to say. Considering that this is where I say stuff, I’m saying it, and I know they’re reading it. It stems from a conversation I had with them and whilst I think it was a good one, a necessary one, I thought I needed to clarify something. It probably stemmed within from before that, to a conversation I had with someone else a few weeks before, where they asked “do you really need me in your life?”…and I answered “no, but I do want you in my life”. Will this make any sense? Who knows. If anyone will understand it, I hope the person it’s intended for, will.

It comes down to this – needs versus wants.

I’m not shy about the things I need to survive. I’m not shy about them and nor am I shy about the fact that, on brute strength and insomnia alone, I can pretty much fulfill my own needs. Yes, there are times where I need help. Yes, there are times where the people I love (and you know who you are) need help. And I will, always, try my ultimate best to be RIGHT there.

But, there’s a subtle difference here I want to illuminate. My 2am call list is not made up of people I need to survive. I cover my own needs. It’s made up of people I want there, and they want to be there just as much.

If you look at old Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, I don’t agree with it. At all. That got me into a lot of trouble at school, once upon a time. Which is probably unsurprising. You see, old Maslow placed love way above physiological needs.

And in my fourteen-year old brain, I thought, but, how would a child ever have their physiological needs covered without having love first. I mean, if you have a kid in your care, you love it. That’s the way it goes. Even children in the worst state of poverty, are fed and cared for by the people who love them – be it their guardians, parents, carers, whoever – it’s someone who loves them, even if just for a moment. People don’t just do something without a motivation. And yeah, sometimes, that motivation springs from a need. I get that much.

So, when in my questioning of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs, I was told to be “a good girl and stop questioning my teaching or you’ll have to go to the office…again”, I shut my book and stared back. You see, my problem is, my need for self-actualization totally outran my need for acceptance or social conformity there. I didn’t feel any need to be accepted. I felt a need to be heard.

So, when I look at my life and yeah, I think I have the physiological needs covered, and I reckon I have a good proportion of all the other levels of needs covered, when I say I don’t need someone, it does not mean I don’t want them.

To me, a need requires a dependency. Something I am inherently afraid of and yet, my life thus far, seems to show an alarming rate of them. That in relationships and friendships I have become dependent in the past. I count very few people in that list of dependencies now. That’s come from experience – years and years of experience. What’s more, it’s unashamed mutual dependency. It may not always look like it, but we both know it. So when it comes to standing in queues for each other, fighting with each other over life choices and holding each other’s hands at our parent’s funerals – we’re there. We are just there. There is never any questioning in times of crisis, there is never any wavering of this. We are just there. You are one of these people. Even though you and I both know we hate to admit it.

Perhaps it’s part of this growing up I seem to be doing. Albeit slowly and stubbornly. Heh. You see, the people I need to have in my life are in fact the people I want in my life.

Want them? What is this want thing, Cath? Let me explain…

If you knew you had a loaf of bread at home to make a sandwich, would you still have that mint chocolate you’ve had your eye on all day? The answer? Yes. Oh, and yes, you should be eating chocolate if you’re reading this. If you’re not, then I am ashamed of you 😛

So it’s a weird space for me, at this time. The people I feel the need to have in my life, are in fact the people I want in my life. Okay, not such a weird space. In hindsight, actually a really good space. And it’s not about how often they pay me attention. It’s not about how often I see them. It’s not about whether or not they know every minutiae of my life, or I of theirs. It’s about the fact that they exist. And that I exist. And that we know, without doubt, that we’re  a part of each other’s lives. Entirely. It goes beyond the social invitation and passing of sometimes lame greeting cards. It goes right into knowing how they take their tea and deep down into understanding 2am text messages that say things like “8 points” or “salad walked in” or “PWP”. It’s the random phone call to just blurt our exciting or awful news, just to be heard. It’s an inherent understanding, garnered over years of being real with each other, that goes beyond any need to be accepted. It’s the people who can come over to mine at any time and make their own tea and not have it feel weird, and I at their homes.

It’s strange. I spent many hours in my room, after being berated at school for not listening, wondering about why I had so few friends. And now, years on, I wonder how I got so lucky to have the ones I do have. The real ones. The people who get me, and who I get.

It’s the wants in our lives, our desires, that keep us surging forward. It’s like having the black and white version of life rendered by yourself, and then having the colour put in that brings it truly to life. It’s Pleasantville versus Paradise. And I choose to live in this colourful life.

Just like I needed to get some work done this evening but, I wanted to write this for you.

It means our lives would not stutter to a halt if we left this, but, it would lose all of it’s colour. And I never, ever want to live in a black and white world. Just like I chose to mix up Maslow’s perfectly layered Hierarchy of Needs, I choose to live this life of colour. And I am thankful for it. Every day. Even when it’s being downright crap to me.

I choose it, I love it and I’m grateful you’re in it.

random bits of writing

everyone has them. they get a clever idea and that impulse of “MUST.WRITE.IT.DOWN.NOW”

Now, I look back and find a whole stack of them spread around the innards of my laptop, the back of a serviette (yes, literally, is not a cliche…) and my phone (yes, i write little notes to myself on my phone all the time).

anyway, I have  no context for them now, really. But, here’s one:

i realise the cath package is intimidating
the gorgeous kid, the career, the can-do,will-do attitude, and the just-you-try-and-stop-me-kinda -way
the no-i-don’t-need-your-help-oh-fuck-please-help-me oscillation,
the awesome friends and inspiring, real life, in your living room and on speed dial, heroes
if you weren’t worthy of being here,
do you really think i’d ask you to be?


look at us waging war…when we’re actually on the same side.

Everybody has their faults.
Every human has their fuckups, their lies –  both told and told to them.
Their dirty little secrets.
Their shit.
The stuff they keep hidden in hope of being loved.
Stuff they want to forget.
Things they’d rather not mention over dinner.
Sixteen reasons why they are scared of leaving the house every day  but will never tell anyone because they’re scared they’d look ridiculous.
Why they hate the word “beluga” and whether or not they think they did well enough at school and has that actually had a true effect on who they are now that they’re living an adult life.
Everyone has things in their life they’d rather delete, move on from or wishes they had never done.

The fact that they actually don’t like how their husband snores.
But they love him, so they forget about it.
That the person next to them in the office is annoying with her  gum-chewing but, give her a break, she just lost a parent.

Things they can’t forgive themselves for, and things for which they cannot forgive.
Maniacal ideas and brimming hats filled with fancifulness that they are too embarassed to tell anyone.
Things that guide them that they may never acknowledge.
Some people even pick their nose and eat it.
If you’re reading this, you’re probably one of them.

So, no, don’t say GROSS out loud and think I’m a nose-picker-eater now.
I’m not, by the way. My daughter, well, I’ve caught her doing that a few times. Heh.

The thing is. The thing I try to believe every day is that, yes, we all have our own shit.
Sometimes we have to share it. Sometimes we need to before we drown.
And, if we’re lucky, we’re helped to float.
Some things we never want to share.
Some stupid shit we did once when we were younger.
So yes, we all have our own shit.

But, the truth is, the one that I want to believe in and teach my daughter, is that even though we have all done dumb shit in our lives, that if we are living right today, living to the truth that we, for ourselves and noone else, believe in and thrive on, then we are doing okay.

Nobody’s perfect.

Every single person in the world has an assymetrical face.
Think about that. And even if they do, by some chance, then it’s not real. It’s there as a result of surgery.

For example, I hate how one of my eyes slant more than the other. It’s been that way all my life. But does that make my face ugly? Does it mean my eyes see better or worse? Does it mean that someone in the world does not find it beautiful?

No, it doesn’t.

My nose is skew. There’s an interesting dumb shit story in there about why. Does it mean I smell any better or worse?

No, it doesn’t.

I think my daughter watches too much television. I think I grew up watching too much television. I’d also like to ask anyone willing to fight me on that one and dare to say that she and I are (a) lazy) and (b) don’t read enough and (c) don’t like to read.

What are you gonna do? Call the parenting police on me? I don’t freaking think so, especially considering that, if you want to draw comparisons, you might find you actually think your kid plays a little too much console and is too obsessed with dinosaurs.

There’s some of my secrets. My shit. Not big ones, true, but I’m not here to tell you everything. Just as I don’t expect you ever to.

So when it comes to my heart. When it comes to who I am and how I love.
Just because I love in the way I do does not mean I do it wrong.
And if you think I do, then you’re probably just trying to enforce your way of thinking on mine.

So when it comes to the people I love. I don’t want to question their shit.
I don’t believe it’s fair. And I don’t believe it’s right.
If there’s an issue, cool, let’s deal with it and move on.
Berating someone for years about their dumb shit they did once, does nothing but hurt them and distance you.

I’m not sitting here going all hippy on your asses people. I’m not spouting “forgive and forget and let’s all have a happy joy joy dance around the bonfire” bullshit.

I’m saying. You have your shit too. Think about it before you hurt someone about theirs.

(Please note – I don’t include kiddy fiddlers, rapists, animal abusers, torturers, murderers and anyone who sees fit to take something from another being in a forceful or hurtful manner that does not involve giving something back in my definition of a human being).

the satellites bleep

and so she orbits
satellites bleeping.

dave matthews songs sound appropriate yet

galaxies twirling and concealing themselves through defiance and

stars imploding without noise.

dead bodies effortlessly drift on by
trussed up like slaughtered chickens

cling wrapped.

‘it all comes from the dark place,’
he says.

‘no, that’s where it returns to, to fester and brew,’
she says.

that’s all, then.

until next time.

until i write again.