Reality Doesn't Exist

It's two nights before I leave for Thailand. Seems like I have grown up a little because I have an itinery (ha! just spell checked and it's itinerary...even more sophisticated). I came back early from a disasterous holiday a week or so ago. It had nothing to do with itineraries or lack of them. But it made me think. I'm too old to be sleeping in airports and train stations. And alleyways. Especially ones inhabited by potentially rabid dogs. So out of 28 days away I can account for having a roof over my head for 26 of them. I can't resist a bonus 2 day surprise "let's jump on a train and get off at a random stop" type adventure. One has to allow for a bit of blowholing in the wind.

But it's my dog I want to write about. I finished work on the 20th of February. You never seen a girl skip outta work so full of glee and smugness. I shoulda known that smugness would bite me in the ass. But I enjoyed that feeling for what what it was worth. I left for my first holiday on the 22nd February. It was...exhausting. I came home two weeks ago. Ziggy isn't one for going buck crazy. He was pleased to see me but he was self contained. So not much licking my face and being hyper. I just jumped into the van and Ziggy plonked himself firmly on my knee and that was his way of saying "welcome home mummy, all is well with the world".

And...well, since that moment I came back he's pretty much stuck like glue to me. I feel a difference as well. I'm not under pressure, I'm not tired from work. I've been here constantly except for the odd coffee date Ziggy couldn't attend. We've done a lot of lazing around. We've had walks here and there. We've visited Ziggy's best friends. It's what I'd been promising him (but secretly promising myself) all those months ago to get me through the busy times. And here it is...and it has been lovely. But now the heart-wrenching bit where I leave him for even longer. It's only 4 weeks Zigatron. And then we get to live in our bubble for 12 more days before reality starts to exist again. I'm really enjoying reality not existing at the minute :)

The Hairy Kneed Boy

I have booked my two month 'lifestyle break' from work. I will be off all of March and April. This was the light at the end of the tunnel getting me through the past year. Now, because it's official...in the realms of reality rather than possibility...now I'm anxious. I'm not anxious about bad stuff happening to me when I'm away. I don't worry about stuff like that. My anxiety is very much wrapped up in a wee dog faced boy child with hairy knees.

I am giving myself a good talking to with regards to this. I have projected a lot of stuff onto Ziggy over the years, worrying more about his welfare than my own because it's easier. The problem doesn't lie so much with leaving him, but the way my travel plans are going so far, I will be away for three weeks, back for a week and then gone for another four weeks. Can you imagine the hairy-kneed dog child?

Mummy is away and it is sad but...I will survive because I have my granny and the other dogs and I am in the countryside and it is Spring time now and everything smells alive. Oh look!!!! Mummy's home and she smells of sunshine and cocktails and she is so happy and I've missed her so much and...wait? What? Where are you going mummy? To Thailand, where the dogs have rabies!! But what did I do wrong? Why won't you stay with me? Mummmmmmyyyy.

And so on, and so forth, such like and what have you. Yes, I know. He is a dog, a hairy kneed dog and he will just accept whatever the day offers him and so, perhaps, should I.

Anarchy, Autonomy and Aliens

2017 was the year that I discovered I was an anarchist. Not a mohawk-wearing, pin through the nose, moshing type anarchist, just an honest to goodness "I have faith in human nature" type anarchist.

It was the book Shantaram that made me realise I've been an anarchist this whole time. A book that I started to read about 3 years ago and only finished when I moved back home. That doesn't mean it was a bad book, or difficult to read. I just find it harder settling myself down with a good book. Having said that, I read The Host by Stephenie Meyer and was unable to put it down. I am aware that the author became famous for her Twilight books, which I'm lead to believe is complete tripe, or at least the TV series based on the books are, but The Host was centred around a theme that was very interesting to me. It's set in a post-apocalyptic world where aliens (who are in fact parasites but referred to as 'souls') come down to Earth to take over human bodies as hosts for them to live a Utopian existence. The thing that fascinated me about the book was the altruistic nature of the 'souls'. They were unable to be dishonest, trust was implicit and Earth became a more ordered and peaceful world. Nobody hurt one another, laws were abided by and harmony was prevalent. But it didn't stop the fact that these 'souls' were parasites who used the bodies of humans to make this world possible. So the question is, who were the truly savage race? The humans who would use violence at any cost to protect themselves, or the aliens who felt themselves superior enough to take over the minds and bodies of an inferior race?

So throughout the book, I felt a lot of empathy for the alien, who in the end, found her loyalties with the humans who, despite not being 'perfect' at least understood the concept of autonomy. And, well, autonomy is very important, especially for an anarchist like me. What I've come to realise in the past few months, however, is that to be so rigidly attached to my autonomy can lead to a very isolating existence. Like the humans in The Host

Here We Go Again

So it's the start of a brand new year and I wonder why these things are so significant to us humans. Beginnings...endings. On paper, 2017 was a great year for me. But it was succestressful, meaning that, for every box ticked a little piece of my sanity was chipped away. I didn't blog for a long time. Generally that means that my words are directed somewhere else. For some other purpose.

And...wow! The complexities of life never fail to amaze me. The abundance of unresolved stuff that we forever wade through. This time of year has a particular quality to the air...that of lonliness and disappointment. My eldest niece M has already pondered the concept that the idea of Christmas is better than actual Christmas. It's the excitement of possibilities and, when all the presents are open, the possibilities are no longer endless. With this realisation comes a certain ennui.

Sometimes I find it hard to express the hope in my writing. My words are often melancholic but...let me just share where my joy has been found this Christmas...

Boxing day with my two best friends...my nieces brimming over with festive excitement...my mum and sister sitting in the kitchen. My nieces painting Dirt Bird's face like a clown and us 'adults' taking it in turns to be scary monsters and chasing the girls. Apparently my efforts were weak. At one point I was in "training" for scary monster duties but when I asked M how I did she said "Yeah, you did better. You're back in". E told Mel Monster, "When you catch me don't tickle me, just cuddle me." And it was all very lovely.

The focus for 2018 is to take time off work and see a little of the world. Let the world see me. I worked hard over the last few years and I will continue to work hard but I need adventures. I need my soul shook up and my eyes widened. I need to create some more memories and meet some more fantastic people whilst not forgetting to nurture my existing relationships. Basically, 2018 is the year in which I put into practice everything I have learned so far.