About Me

Saturday, November 6, 2010

Silver Lining


I've been listening to a new album a lot lately. Happiness by Hurts. One song in particular seems to have me hooked and it is called Silver Lining.

Upon reflection, it made me think of a certain few things from my past that possibly tell me who I really am inside. See, I think I give off a vibe that I don't care. I know some people perceive this, maybe more than those that I know of.

There's a storm on the streets, but you still don't go
Watching and waiting for the rain to come.
And these words wouldn't keep you dry
Or wipe tears from an open sky,
But I know, but I know, but I know I'm right

Even when I know trouble is about to happen, I can't run away from it. I have to be there, in the thick of it all. It's not just about me standing there telling people "I told you so." It's being there because ultimately someone needs me...and I can help.

And I won't let you drown, when the water's pulling you in
I'll keep fighting, I'll keep fighting.
The rain's going to follow you wherever you go.
The clouds go black and the thunder rolls
And I see lightning, and I see lightning


I had to wait, I couldn't run because without me you would die. Or everything would go to shit and I'm never going to stop until things are fixed and in their rightful order again. Things are never going to be perfect though. Not even my sunny disposition can stop the rain or the errors that are being made. All I can do is keep standing by, someone who helps people, but wants to looks like he's not. I do it in the background, I keep to the shadows.

When the World surrounds you, I'll make it go away
Paint the sky with silver lining.
I will try to save you, cover up the grey
With silver lining


I'll be there to help when you've got no way out. But it's a band-aid fix because we're only adding a second coat to the sky, one that's a slightly prettier colour than just grey. They don't make grey jewellery, it is silver. It's got a bit of shine to it.
I guess I'm the guy who wants to fix things, knows he can't, but he can prevent things from getting worse.

That's probably the most self reflection I've ever gotten from a song.

Monday, October 4, 2010

Last night's dream

Last night was a strange night. I got to sleep quite late and had to be up early for work, but I had a really strange dream that seemed to define the whole night's sleep.

I was at a restaurant with a bunch of faceless people. That detail obviously wasn't important. We were all sitting around a large outdoor table and a friendly blonde waitress came to serve us. Everybody ordered and I was left until the end. I'm not sure why but I didn't really seem to mind.


Then, as soon as I ordered, the blonde waitress yelled, "Congratulations!!!"
I was quite confused.
She began to explain, "You are our 20,000 customer. You have won a free steak and a facial treatment on your next visit."
Now I'm not sure if there is currently a restaurant that offers this but I'm pretty sure it wouldn't comply with health regulations. Unless it was Costco. Or perhaps this is my calling in life. I shall be an entrepreneur. Anyway back to the story, so I was a winner.



But it didn't end there. No no no. The restaurant had clearly known their 20,000th customer would place an order on that exact day. The blonde waitress told me to look into the sky...


A plane was doing some skywriting to notify everyone of this apparently amazing achievement. I'm not sure who Stef is or if they even finished their text. But that's where the story ends. If you're confused, please join the club.

Stef, enjoy your fucking steak and facial.

Monday, September 27, 2010

Dear Donald


I have this uncle who is a complete twat - to be nice about it. He's been causing family problems for years, not to mention the constant verbal attacks on me. I wasn't present at the last family function, but more stuff came out of his mouth. Upon hearing the stories that came out of this occasion I set out to locate his email address to send him the email below.

You will notice it is very much inspired by David over at www.27bslash6.com. If you haven't seen his blog before then best you do.
______________________________________________________

From: Tim
To: Donald
Subject: Hello

Dear Donald,

Let me first express my sincere apologies for being unavailable at the recent family function on Father's Day. I did hear that you were quite upset at the small number of family members who could not be in attendance. I am quite sure my presence was missed as I usually always bring a smile to the room. Sometimes two. I like to share.

How are things going up in Sunbury? I do hope the weather is mildly better than here in Maribyrnong. How is your job going too? I have been working hard and a change of industries is imminent. I have been working on a super secret project but I suppose since we are family I can let you in on the secret. I have spent the last 4 months and $2200 developing a tartan paint. Think of the possibilities. We could team up and rule the world. All of the Cobra Car Club would look super swank in their tartan coloured Cobra's. Everyone would flock to see what the fuss was about. Top Gear would then probably wonder what all the fuss was about and they would perform time trials in various tartan-coloured cars to determine whether there is a nexus between the percentage of red paint on a car to its overall speed.

I do know it has been quite a while since we have caught up and conversed. I hope that this email goes some way to bridging the gap, rebuilding the bridge that started falling apart 10 years, 6 months and 20 days ago.

I have created a picture for you to hold on to. I never got to draw you a picture as a young child so hopefully this ticks something else off my bucket list. It is both cleverly put together and informative. It shows the evolution of man. I have included one other column as to how I think we will evolve next. It has not been proven yet by scientists but that is probably because they are too busy and do not quite have the vision that I have.






Thursday, August 26, 2010

Ready and willing to assist

On my recent departure from New Zealand, I was greeted at the check-in desk by a lovely lady with a pretty smile and a lovely surprise in store for me.

"I'm going to seat you in the emergency aisle because you're quite tall."
"Oh cool. I've never sat there before."
"Well you get more leg room, but you also need to be reading and willing to assist in the case of an emergency. Would you be ready and willing to assist?"
"Yes ma'am, to serve and protect!"
She thought I was a bit weird so she quickly weighed my bag and sent me on my merry way with my boarding pass.

...

A bit of time passes and I get to board and take my seat. My first thought: "Oh my gosh, the legroom!!!" It was heaven. As the last of the passengers were boarding, one of the flight attendants starts briefing us on how to open the emergency exit door, should an emergency arise. The call sign for us to jump into action is "Evacuate evacuate evacuate" although I'm quite sure it would sound more like "AAAAAAAH EVACUATE-EVACUATE-EVACUATE"

Then the flight started, we were taxied out onto the runway and then up we went.

Now, I'm not a nervous flyer, but sitting in the emergency aisle puts a different perspective on flying. Things that normally wouldn't bother me suddenly resulted in my imagination taking over.

  • We hit a bit of turbulence - "OH GOD, what if this is not just standard turbulence? Am I ready to open the door? But only if there's no fire out there! I'll have to be ready and willing to assist people to exit the vehicle."
  • "The lady next to me looks a bit weak. She'll have to be the first person I assist. I'll need to reach over her and open the door myself."
  • Upon starting to fall to sleep - "NO TIM, NO SLEEP! If we have to evacuate you need to be ready to open that door."

Anyway, as expected there was no emergency, we landed safely and disembarked the plane in the standard manner.


Timothy Rupert chooses to fly Jetstar. Australia's low fares airline.

Thursday, July 22, 2010

The Top 10 Superheroes with Cool Powers that will Never Exist.

Name: Frequency Man
Power: He can control radio frequencies.
Uses: When he is using an FM transmitter in his car, he won't get doof doof interference from the fully sick car next to him.

Name: Predictaboy
Power: He can successfully predict the winner of every AFL game.
Uses: Makes him impossible to beat in footy tipping, and would make a killing on betting websites.

Name: FryerGirl
Power: She can disarm even the most deadly of criminals with her wicked (and charming) laugh.
Uses: When she really concentrates, she can target her laugh to destroy the enemy's weapons. When focused at an individual, it interrupts the emotional cortex of their brain, making them believe they are in a happy place before the SWAT team pop one in their frontal lobe.

Name: Osmosis Man
Power: He can control the transfer of liquid from one permeable substance to the next.
Uses: He doesn't need to get out of bed to go to the toilet.

Name: Amazing Grace
Power:Upon thanking God or Lite n Easy for her evening meal, Grace's refrigerator magically fills up with more food.
Uses: I suppose she could help the poor if she wanted.

Name: Captain Impervio
Power: He is impervious to anything that life throws at him. Bullets, corruption, cancer and lactose intolerance. Anything.
Uses: Gosh whatever he fricken wants to do.

Name: Tornador
Power: He can create tornadoes and control their direction.
Uses: Let's just say you're driving through the country and a cow is blocking the road...

Name: BrainWave
Power: With a small amount of concentration, BrainWave generates a shiver up his spine into his head, where he is then able to radiate his current emotional state to those nearby.
Uses: On a happy day, BrainWave could cure the emo disease.

Name: Forsyt
She can see the future of a particular person or item simply by touching the object.
Uses: She would be able to tell who stole the cookies from the cookie jar before they were even stolen.

Name: Blueteeth
Power: Can mentally connect to any Bluetooth enabled device and control the transfer of information, both between devices and to and from himself.
Uses: Could store illegally downloaded porn music in his head without getting caught.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

My Night at the Chiropractor

I had an appointment with the chiropractor at 4pm today. Just another checkup and minor adjustment. My chiropractor works out of what looks like a small house in inner-Melbourne. There is two doors to access the place. One is the entrance door to the waiting room. This room is very small: about 3 metres long by 1.5 metres wide. There is another door at the end of this room leading out to the garden behind the building. I've never ventured out there. The second entrance door is actually the exit door. This ensures that you come in to the waiting room, then you walk through to the main room, and exit without ever seeing another patient. It's kind of nice.

Anyway, I got in at about 3:50pm and took a seat. It's a small room, so there's only two chairs and a small coffee table with magazines on it. I just played on my iPhone while I waited. I could hear my chiropractor talking to her current patient. I was bored so I tried to listen. Something about camping. It sounds boring. Then, out of nowhere, the exit door sounds like it has been kicked in and a deep, bellowing male voice yells "GET ON THE FLOOR!"

I practically have a heart attack but somehow remain quiet. This is everything I have ever daydreamed of, and suddenly I have been thrown into it. I don't know what's going on but it doesn't sound good. I wonder why on earth someone would attack a tiny chiropractors office. They don't even have anything worth stealing unless you're after a comfy massage table or a model of a spine. But I didn't have time to think of that. I had two options. I could exit the waiting room and go in through the exit door...good plan there, I'm sure that would have gone incredibly well: "excuse me, oh you have a gun...i best be off" OR I could go through the door that links the waiting room with the office...which is locked.

I think for a second, because a second is all I have. My heart is beating like a bitch and I wonder if you can die from adrenalin. I have no idea what is behind the door but I can tell from the cries behind the door that this gentleman was not invited.

I picked up one of the waiting room chairs, quietly, and I knock on the door three times. "WHO THE FUCK IS THAT?" he yells through the door. Now, I don't know how I managed this but I did and I am awfully proud of myself for it. I put on an old ladies voice "it's Beryl. My appointment was supposed to be at 3:45 and I'm in a terrible hurry." My heart continues to beat itself through my chest. Not even my hoodie can hide it. I hear the footsteps through the door...he is coming. The chair is in front of me, like a shield, its legs facing outwards. "STAY ON THE FLOOR" he yells, before unclicking the lock. WHAT THE FUCK AM I DOING I think to myself. I am Tim, standing not much taller than 6 foot and weighing mildly more than a female supermodel, I'm hardly someone to be feared. But adrenalin is a beautiful thing. The door handle turns and the door opens quickly. I charge straight through the door, plowing over the intruder. I might not weigh much but with the force I hit him he falls over backwards. The other patient screams while my chiropractor also looks like she is in shock.

It turns out the guy isn't built like a brick shithouse, so this is good for me. Maybe he weighed about 85kg? More than me, but not so much that would have rendered me useless. I had made him fall backwards. He had no gun, just a small knife. He takes a swipe from the ground and cuts my leg. It hurt, and a trickle of blood starts to stain my jeans. I bashed him again with the chair and then planted the leg down on his arm. That was for my jeans. I didn't know I could move that quick!!? The force on his arm makes him drop the knife, my foot kicks it away, and then swiftly kicks the guy in the head. He's a bit weaker now. I hit him again over the head with the chair and he looks as though he's about to pass out. "COPS NOW!" I yell at my chiropractor. She seems ok. She rushes to her desk and calls 000.

At this time, semi-unconscious-but-still-environmentally-aware intruder is lying on the ground. His eyes fixed on mine. I have the chair still, ready to strike if he tries to move. He tests me, by twitching his leg. I respond by kicking him in the ribs. Thankfully the guy stays down.

The cops arrived after that. The response time of Melbourne's finest is to be commended. I ended up down at the station, giving reports and the like. It turned into a long night and after all of that, I never got my neck crunched. I did get my leg bandaged though. The paramedic also said that she thinks my jeans could be quite easily fixed. I wasn't happy about the cut in them.

One thing I've learnt doing this? There's no drug like adrenalin. However, I do wonder how I'll get to sleep tonight.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

What's on my Desk

I decided that this would be a good topic to blog about since it is actually quite a bit muddled.

So, I have compiled a list of things that are on my desk that actually don't need to be here at all. This is my desk at work mind you. I'm too cheap for a desk at home and prefer to lie in bed with much loved Macbook Pro on my lap.

  • A V/Line train ticket from Warragul.
  • A poem about an annoying and psychotic dog named John, who was threatened with death.
  • Jenefer's reply to said poem, threatening violence if any dog named John should be harmed.
  • Song lyrics that, at one time, inspired me.
  • A photo of Andy Murray, topless and looking amazing.
  • A picture from the newspaper of the Barefoot bandit. He was recently captured after eluding police in the United States for two years. I thought he was cute.
  • A space on the wall where the barefoot bandit used to be. I have now decided he is not cute.
  • A picture of the Essendon Bombers Mosquito mascot.
  • A signed photo of my colleague.
  • An image of myself and two colleagues as Batman, Robin and Batgirl.
  • Dust. Why don't the cleaners clean my desk.

That is all.

Friday, July 9, 2010

Captain Impervio!

Exciting news. Captain Impervio has burst onto the Superhero scene. Catch all his updates, exclusively at Muddled with Lime. Add him on Facebook and and look out for him..

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Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Things That Make You Feel So Damn Good


There are something in this world that make you feel really good. It's like a chemical reaction brought upon by a physiological action or response or some external stimuli. Whatever it is, it gives you a moment of absolute bliss.

I'd like to share some examples.
I'd also like to express my disappointment in not being able to keep up this blogs and illustrations as much as I would have liked. Unfortunately a full time job does take its toll and I either have no time to illustrate or (as was the latest issue) I had a bit of writers block.

So, things that make you feel really good:

1. Unloading your bladder after you've been busting for ages.
All men will know what I’m talking about here. You desperately need to go, you get to the urinal, you unzip your pants and unleash. At the same time, your shoulders relax as you take a deep breath out. It’s like a mini-orgasm it feels so good. Time seems to stop and even though you're not in the most glamorous of places, your body seems to love it.

You don't want to become this relaxed though as you may catch E Coli.


2. A six year old massage.

Do you remember being six years old in Primary School? The class all sitting on the carpet in front of the teacher, listening to her tell you about Ducks, or telling some joke that was hilarious back then but in retrospect it was just dumb. Anyway, you're sitting on the carpet and suddenly the kid behind you starts drawing a picture on your back with their finger. Then they ask you what they drew, because it matters for some reason. It was always a car or a house, but you didn't care because it felt amazing.


The car always looked like this. I would intentionally guess wrong so they would keep drawing. Is it a bird? Is it the letter S?



3. Eating fine food.

Now, not everyone will appreciate this. Especially not overweight single mothers whose culinary prowess goes into meltdown when she has to cook anything more difficult than microwavable macaroni and cheese.

(It's got spirals!)


The visual sensation of a well plated meal or dessert, combined with the texture and the taste is enough to send any sophisticated person into a heavenly trance.


(umm YUM!!!)


No matter how good McDonalds Marketing is, their food will never make you feel this good. Nor will Philadelphia cream cheese spread, despite what they try to tell you.





4. Coming into work and realising your colleague has done everything possible to ensure no one touches your stuff while you’re gone.




Thursday, June 24, 2010

The Class of it all.


I got thinking today about the middle class of society. This thought came about because I started thinking about whether I was a good cook or not, and then whether I could make a chair.

There is absolutely no nexus between the two of them but maybe it's just the important end result?


So here I am thinking about the middle class. Does it exist? What does it look like? Could it be explained and explored through a show like Masterchef. Perhaps being middle class means having a reasonable amount of skill. Maybe to be middle class you just add up the amount of things you are "reasonably" good at and that determines your status in society. Perhaps it's not about money at all.


I'm thinking there are a number of categories you could be assessed on to determine your class. Your cooking skill, the ability to make a chair, play sport, your language skills and math skills.

After thinking about these, you place yourself in one of three categories depending on how well you can complete that task.


Below are examples to help you figure out your true place. Where do you truly belong?


COOKING

MAKING A CHAIR

SPORTS

LANGUAGE
MATH




Monday, June 21, 2010

Sausage Roll Dippers

I really like watching Masterchef. It's relaxing, it's inspiring and it makes me appreciate food a whole lot more. The only problem is that most of the recipes are completely out of my skill set. They look great, and delicious, but I don't have the energy or ability to create something like this:
Each layer, each addition to the dish just gets harder and harder. The above is just a visualisation and is not actually an imaginary dish of asparagus, blueberry, spinach, thyme and cherry. That would be interesting though yes?

The other day I decided to bring Masterchef to my own kitchen by re-creating the gorgeous sausage rolls that they made weeks ago. Lots of them. I took them to work for dinner with a small container of tomato sauce. They looked amazing. They tasted amazing. But as I was eating them at my desk (checking up on Facebook activities!) I realised that each subsequent sausage roll had more and more sauce than the last.

Upon sharing this with friends and colleagues, I realised this was a Universal occurrence. Say you start off with 8 sausage rolls and a container of sauce. The first sausage roll gets dipped in to the sauce, but only gently. By this stage you are thinking that you need to ensure there is enough sauce for all 8 rolls.

By the time you get to the fourth one you realise you can probably pick up the pace a bit. You dip them harder, scooping a little bit.

By the 6th roll you realise you have underestimated the amount of sauce you actually have. In addition to dipping you scooping, you start double dipping.

Suddenly you're on the 8th roll with a huge amount of sauce left. You smother the roll in sauce, scraping it into every corner, digging up every drop of sauce. You start to wonder if you have enough sausage roll with your sauce. I have even graphed this, showing the exponential rise in the amount of sauce on each sausage roll.



My mate also felt the same way about this, and noted that the exact same thing happens to him when he's drunk and goes to McDonalds. The same logic can be applied until the last nugget consists of 90% Sweet & Sour sauce.


Opening a window into my brain, I started thinking about the design flaw of Jam. How I moved on from sausage rolls and Jam is beyond me but it's important. Ever noticed how it never sits on the knife, making the act of spreading jam on toast as impossible as creating a Masterchef meal? The end result is the same though, you just finish with a sticky mess.




Saturday, June 12, 2010

The Complaint of the Century

The following is an entirely fictional account based on a true story that actually happened to me tonight.


I've never been so glad to get home and get into bed. It's freezing outside but too early to sleep. I'm in my trackies…in bed…the heater is slowly warming up and I have a beer. I've just had one of the worst nights at work you could ever imagine. So I shall tell you about it.



I work in a place that sells things. I was the manager for the day. That is all I am going to tell you. The day had been going pretty well so far and even though I didn't want to be at work, I was glad I had good people around me. We were almost smiling. One guy was smiling because Hawthorn were winning in the AFL. Any regular day.



A customer by the name of Eunice came in. This is the most awful fake name I could possibly give to a character in my fictional stories. She loaded up her cart and made her way to register one. Eunice purchased her items and was happy. So happy in fact that she thought she got good service. She left dancing on rainbows with little bluebirds singing all around her.



Ten minutes later Eunice is back, marching straight back up to register one. Now at this stage we are busy and there are people waiting. Eunice has forgotten something and needs to buy one more. So she tries to push in front of all the other people, who are not happy. The operator on register one tells her to go to the back of the line 6 times. Finally she listens. It becomes apparent that Eunice does not dance on rainbows and sing with bluebirds. She is overweight and deluded to the amount of class she actually has. You know, like Kevin Rudd trying to be cool. Just because you try to act classy does not make you classy.



Eunice decides to join the queue at register three where she is served and purchases her extra item. Eunice is not happy and she complains, rather loudly, that register one refused to serve her even though she came back two minutes later. Then she has a go at the person on register one, who in return explains that she was gone for 10 minutes and not two and therefore was not pushing in. Now our work was pretty noisy so this staff member had to raise her voice a bit. There were crying babies and old people yelling at each other about nothing because they are deaf.





Eunice gets mad because she feels she just got yelled at. To make herself feel better, Eunice wants to yell at someone in return. Namely me. Mr Manager? Just Manager. Even though I've seen and heard everything at this point, I walk over to her having taken a deep breath. Knowing you have top deal with an irate customer makes your body go into fight or flight mode. The problem with this is that your body produces an insane amount of adrenalin that you suddenly feel like you can ran as fast as Kenyans.



She starts telling me about how classy she is and she's travelled the world and she is so upset.



Basically I find a polite way of telling her I think she's full of shit but she's not interested in listening. She just wants to talk and demand and talk some more. I get bored, and start imagining things I wish I could say to her. They are different from what I did say to her.






Realising I cannot get rid of this woman I try to tell her to write to head office because clearly nothing is going to satisfy her. And she won't go away. Eunice has turned into Snorlax. You remember Pokemon? Snorlax was that massively fat Pokemon that was useless and wouldn't move. Eunice was Snorlax and I had no PIkachu to shock her death.




Finally, finally, we get her to go away. The whole ordeal took an hour. The adrenalin has been kicking my system for a whole hour. A whole hour of being prepared to fight or fly, and just having to stand there. Suddenly, my body goes into shock. My heart rate lowers but there is still too much adrenalin pumping around. I collapse, and I get the feeling of wanting to cry. Not because I'm sad, but because I think too much adrenalin does that to you. But I'm a man, and I can't cry. Not even weep. So I soldier on for the next 4 hours in my weakened state, finally get home, and crack open a beer.





Thursday, June 10, 2010

I would like to mute you.

I have worked in a few call centres in my time. Those of you who haven't can probably consider yourself very lucky.

Call centres have the worst reputation because from the get-go the customer is never happy. The wait time is always too long, the person on the phone has an accent, they don't get what they want. Plus, for many people it is the only way they can raise their voice and truly express their disenchantment. So I do have a soft spot for those who earn their living having to answer call after call after call.


Personally I will try to help the operator who is helping me. If they are helpful and nice I will do good by them and get off the phone as quick as I can. So many of these places are run so strictly on statistics that it is quite a stressful job. I've seen it before, people being gestured to tie up the call because they are averaging too slow. It's all about stats. This makes me sad.


But this blog is not about the sadness I feel for stats. It is a battle flag for all those call centres operators who undoubtedly have had that customer who seems to be failing at life for the simplest of reasons. So I address this to the public. The greater public, but not the great public. Dear public, this is a foolproof guide to help you when you are on the phone "with one of our friendly customer service representatives".



1. Please know what you want.

This is incredibly frustrating. Giggling with embarrassment about forgetting the singer's name whom you so desperately need tickets for is not going to make me feel better. And if you can't pronounce it, make sure you can spell it.




2. Chances are that the person you are on the phone to knows what they are talking about.

It is normal, and our right to question some things. Maybe you have a late fee for paying your phone bill two days late. You could try convince them to overturn it.

You will only get lied to if you're a bitch.



3. Learn what the words "SOLD OUT" mean. It means no more. GONE. There is no more seats left on the plane, there are no hidden boxes of chips out in the back storeroom, they are not producing any more of that wine until next season. I have no idea why someone would be calling up for a packet of chips but its the principle. right?

I've seen it before. The person on the other end of the phone starts to look like this:





4. You will most likely be given a receipt number following your query.

This could also be an order number, an account number, a transaction number, a confirmation number. You need this number. Asking "do I need that?" is kind of mute. If you didn't then they probably wouldn't waste their time getting you to write it down.



5. Have a pen with you. Make sure that it works. The amount of terms I have heard of the following is mind boggling.


"If you have a pen i'll just give you your receipt number."

"I have a pen but it doesn't work"


The logic that someone would hold onto a pen that doesn't work is startling. Who holds onto dud pens? Even more worrying is that it is a universal problem. Being on the phone seems to cancel out the writing power of pens, rendering them useless.



6. Following on from the above, make sure you have something to write on.

"I have a pen, I just don't have anything to write on"

"well it's just your receipt number. Write it on the wall. Or your quilt. Or maybe your shower is dirty and you can write it through the layer of mould starting to grow. OR write it on your child's forehead as a reminder as to how dumb you are.




7. Please keep drunk partners and babies away from the phone.

It is annoying and only makes us want to tell you to fuck off. Or our fingers may accidentally hit the mute button while we curse at you. Or the disconnect button. It will be an accident. Telling your partner to shut the fuck up while you're on the phone is also annoying. If he hits you I'm not likely to sympathise with you.


"WAH WAH. Sorry my three month old won't stop crying."

"I know. The piercing screams echoing in my ears are limiting my care factor"


Friday, June 4, 2010

Be Happy DAMMIT!

Sometimes you can be the happiest person in the world and without any warning, everything changes. Depression is a strange thing and I think it's something that no one really understands. They understand it as it relates to themselves but find it difficult to deal with when a friend or loved one suffers from it.

The problem with depression is that suddenly, the smallest thing can set it off, sending you on a sometimes destructive path of self loathing and unhappy thoughts.
You can go from feeling like this:


to this:


almost instantly.

From there on, it can turn into an avalanche of events that make you feel even worse.

People just don't seem to understand and may think you are merely being a bit of a sook.


Even though the thought is there, sometimes a friend trying to cheer you up is the worst thing.
One method they may take is the childish mocking tone. The one that they think will help you crack a smile. It's a bit like Dory in Finding Nemo.



Another method is the "if I tell them that they are worrying/thinking about nothing then they will be OK." This is equally ineffective.


Then there's the parental approach...



To make things worse, every song on the radio seems like it is talking directly to you and telling you the same thing in between groovy dance beats or moody guitar solos.


It feels like the whole world is against you. Even you are against you and you might find that you are contradicting yourself. Your thoughts change, immediate plans can change, and some things that you care about go out the window.


You know what is affecting you, and sometimes you know what it is going to take to pick you back up again. But it's not always that easy. You struggle on, because that's life, even though you feel like you're falling from the cliff of expectations.




You can never underestimate the effect that a special person can have on you. They seem to know exactly what to do or say...and more importantly what not to do or say. Things can start to feel better almost instantly.


Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Dude, where's my calories?

I seem to hover somewhere between the 64-68kg range, depending upon whether I'm wearing clothes or not and whether a pair of my ribs have decided to go out for the night. Anyway, it is in no way attributed to the amount of food I eat. The correlation between the amount of food I eat and how much I weigh is a mystery that continues to baffle doctors, scientists and my mum. Watching what I eat, counting calories etc, is just something I don't need to do. FTW!

I was at work last night and was confronted by a colleague counting the calories of his KFC meal that he had eaten. If you're that serious about counting your calories you don't eat KFC. That's about as clever as putting low fat milk into your double-choc-caramel-swirl-heart-attack-smoothie.


I also got asked by the Finance lady "what is your secret to being so thin? You're so lucky, you have a gift!" Sorry Benita (not her real name) it's more of a curse than a gift. See, I'm a man. I'm supposed to look like a have a small pig of ham inside each of my biceps and an 1890's washboard in my abs. I think this is an accurate representation of how I would look if that was the case.

Thinking about this later it became apparent that there was either one of two things wrong with me. The first, which I dismissed almost instantly, was that I had a tapeworm somewhere in my "food tubes".

The second, more likely explanation, was that I had little leprechauns living in my stomach, stealing my calories using a highly complex series of tubes and harvesting them to make gall stones for when I turn 40.