Athletics Carnivals - a particularly cruel torture?

It has recently come to my attention that my old High School had its annual athletics carnival recently. And this got me thinking.

I have never been 'fit'. Ever. I don't run. It's just not a thing. I was always a cerebral child; reading, playing some instrument or the other, you get the picture. Sport was never something which interested me, and nor, when I participated in school sport classes, did I ever feel a love between sport and I grow.


Now, this idea of an athletics carnival I find particularly abhorrent. First of all, it ain't no carnival. A carnival has cool rides, and fairy floss, and bright flashing lights. An athletics carnival has only children being forced to compete against one another in a grossly unflattering school sports uniform, being bossed around by the teacher who is given the mic for the day. But perhaps it is named so deliberately, in order to trick children like me (except they'd be slightly less intelligent, and fall for it) into believing that this 'carnival' would be fun! and full of great things!
But what is the worst part of it, is the public humiliation. It was bad enough for me being forced to do the 1600m run in mere PE class, as I was inevitably the (or one of) last person to complete it in the so-called 'fitness training' (until I stopped running it, and walked the damn thing instead - my teacher actually stopped bothering to time me). But within my own class, the humiliation of being so utterly uncoordinated and unfit was restricted to only the 19 or so other girls who made up my class.
Athletics Carnivals do not consider the Alices of the school. Everybody is forced to participate in at least one event. And there are mostly events where students are forced to run. So it was many years of doing my pathetic run-trot in front of an entire school that was faced directly towards the athletics track, until I finally persuaded my mother to just let me stay home and be more productive through music practice, or schoolwork instead. What was particularly cruel twist of fate here, is that every time mother did cave in and said 'it's ok, you can stay home', the day was rainy and the 'carnival' was cancelled.

Power: alternatively titled 'LISTEN TO MAH PROBLEMS"

Yes, I'm going to be all self indulged. As we know, blogging is never self indulgent in any form, so this should be some really groundbreaking stuff. 


My parents are divorced, and my father's current long-term partner (woman, not man, just to clear that up) is, in layman's terms, bat-shit-fuck-nuts-fruity-loopy crazy. Not in the fun way either. 
She has never taken to my sister or me, and particularly considering that I am the younger by several years, she reserves a special place in her black twisted heart for hating me. 
We have come to a point where she tolerates me. Sort of. What I mean by tolerates is that she says hello to me. In recent years I sort of gave up trying to make conversation with her as she'd cut it off as soon as was possible, generally by turning to whomever she was next to and starting a conversation with them. Yet in more recent times her thing is to actually avert her gaze from my person. 


Last year, and I will remember this until I die, she actually addressed a room in the third person - I was the only occupant - rather than directly address me. A handy trick if ever you want to really disconcert someone. 


So I was thinking about this. Where is the power here? In the woman who, in the words of my (eloquent) sister 'must suck like a 'Puerto Rican hooker', or me?
I came to the conclusion that in fact, I am the one here who holds the most power, as I inspire such hatred, and such fear, that she literally can't bring herself to look at me. In her crazy messed up mind, I am someone of such menace, that she wants to pretend I'm not there to make herself feel better. 
Despite this, the fact that someone just ignored your 586314th attempt to be courteous to them is pretty soul-crushing, particularly when you're attempting to conform to a level of etiquette, and not actually call them on the fact that they're a massive douchebag (obviously also not descending to their level is additionally factored into this).


So let us leave this blog post with the question, where is power? How can you determine who has it and who doesn't, and what is it that gives one person power?
Ok so that was actually more like 'the many questions'.
And perhaps more importantly, does having such power over another person mean you shouldn't feel like crap when they're an asshole to you?

On boyfriend

Recently I have decided that altering my diet was quite a good idea, given that I have previously had a rather unhealthy relationship to food as a track record.

Pre diet change the levels of sugar that I consumed on a regular (ok, daily) basis were probably toxic to most humans. I have indicated to boyfriend that this is perhaps something I should worry about, and in true boyfriend style, he took wholly to my plan to improve myself.

Before I say anything further, boyfriend is a very healthy eater, strictly regulating his refined sugar intake.

Were I to tell him that yesterday when I was feeling a bit down, I consumed an entire 190 gram block of chocolate (to be fair, I didn't realise that I had eaten quite so much until I reached the end itself), he would recoil in a horror greater than were I to tell him about some truly weird and whacky fetish I held near and dear to my heart.

Yet on the whole, let's face it, where else would I find someone who adores me, despite my odd animal noises to express extremes of sentiment, despite my cuh-razy notions and ideas (and moods), and despite my extreme and ongoing abuse of him. He is also an excellent pillow.

And let's face it, good pillows are hard to find.

On massive disparities

Today boyfriend got accepted into postgrad law. I did badly on a French test. 


I feel there is a discrepancy here. My self esteem may or may not have plummeted.


I envy people like boyfriend, because what they want to do is so clear. Where they are going is so obvious. Conversely, I am, as I self-describe, a waste of resources in that I am an arts student with no clear desire as to where I want to go (albeit one with an above average command of the English language). 

I have always been told that I could do whatever I wanted. Thank god I never wanted to be a physicist, mathematician (any science specialist, really), or sportsperson. But growing up being told something like that, and beyond that (as arrogant as this sounds), accepting that the world really is yours for the picking is quite a daunting thing. Rather than being exceptional in one particular field, I have always been very good at a number of things. Rather than enjoying and being interested in only one area of academia, I have devoured knowledge like I devour chocolate.
I first heard the phrase 'jack of all trades, master of none' used when my mother was relaying a conversation she had with one of my teachers of the day about me. I had never thought too much about it, but I realised that being very good at a broad number of things, without truly excelling at one, can be a curse. 


I feel awfully arrogant contemplating this last paragraph, but I gave up modesty for lent and ever found it again. Kidding. I feel that false modesty is worse than a bible basher, and telling something straight up without any 'look at how fabulous I am' is refreshing. 


Anyway. I suppose the point I'm trying to make here is that finding your way isn't easy. That just because you have all the ability in the world, doesn't mean you'll achieve (although applying yourself would probably help here), that figuring out where to go and what to do can be the most daunting and unknown thing. 


What have I learned from today? 
Firstly, that I should have taken those stupid career advisory tests in school a) at all and b) more seriously. 
Second, that actually studying for a french oral results in a worse mark than the rather shocking ad lib that I did last semester.
Third, that not knowing what vocation I will ultimately embark on is terrifying the holy crap out of me. 
Fourth, that I am proud of boyfriend. 
Finally, pizza is the best thing ever and I ate too much of it. Relevance? None. But I had pizza tonight, and it was amazing.

Returning to Childhood

For a while now, I've had a certain hankering for bubble gum. But not any bubble gum, the gum that I used to adore chewing as a child - hubba bubba, despite my mother's gloom-laden prophecy that it would rot my teeth (actually I've only ever had one filling so take that, mother!). So imagine my excitement and surprise when I discovered sticks of the very same gum for 99 cents in my local supermarket. I bought a stick immediately. 


So I excitedly opened the packet and put some in my mouth. Oh the deliciousness, oh the wonder, oh the grape flavour! I chewed until my jaw muscles ached, and then blew bubbles. They were amazing bubbles, in case you were wondering. 


But then I as I chewed, I remembered that the gum didn't hold its flavour for long, that after about 15 minutes (less in fact), you were left simply chewing rubber, without taste. 
I must admit, I was somewhat disenchanted to remember this. 


I guess the moral of this story is that you can never return to your childhood, never re-create those things that in your memory, are perfect, sugar-filled moments of flavoury goodness.

ALL the precious snowflakes

This is now zombie blog - resurrected from the dead. Why? I'm not quite sure. 


I think I needed to be a precious little snowflake, and where better to be so than on the internet, where everybody can see it! (cue the slightly manic expression)


Anyway, I was examining the way in which certain people (and I'm sure everybody will be thinking of one or two specific somebodies) feel the need to broadcast that they are 'special'. That they have 'issues' and 'problems'. It took me some time to realise, but everybody has problems, which they struggle with. Whether it be an overprotective mother who sometimes seems to be more like a child than her daughter, or a father who is a workaholic, and therefore not always around. It happens, it defines us, move on. Deal with it.


I said to boyfriend (yeah, I found one) once, 'I'm a precious dark snowflake. Don't take my dark, dark issues away from me. I am nothing without them, nothing!'. At the time I was joking, but perhaps there is an element of truth within that. We all seek sometimes, I feel, to define ourselves within our insecurities. It is a part of human nature to seek out the worst. Perhaps this is what drives us to move forward (sorry!), to better ourselves, yet I think all too often, we can fall into the trap of simply dwelling on the negatives, rather than letting them inspire us. 


We are beautiful in our flaws, but I think we are more beautiful, and more...wonderful, when we let those flaws be what propel us above and beyond. 


I guess this is my own moment of zen, and because I am at heart, a precious dark, twisted snowflake (I'm nothing without my crippling insecurities...nothing!!!) I may not be able to take all of my (clearly massive) wisdom. But it's something to return to, even simply for that moment of reflection.

Ways in which to torment and amuse your children

First, the amusement. Although, perhaps I should be less amused by this story, and more worried about the streak of insanity which seems to permeate my family members, and almost undoubtedly is a part of my genes. 
Thanks to having particularly over-protective family members, apparently I am incapable of walking home 2 blocks late at night, alone. Being raped/murdered/mugged/knifed/yelled obscenities at is obviously something that is going to happen in my boring, boring neighborhood (that is apparently 'so safe it's unsafe'). However, putting my frustration at this aside, I was talking to my grandmother today. Apparently mother has put her on the hunt for capsicum spray, or a rape whistle (hehe an honest-to-god rape whistle). My grandmother's monologue went something like this: 
'I went into the police station and asked him where I could get capsicum spray, and he told me it was illegal in Australia (which I could have told any member of my family had they bothered to ask), so I asked him if he was allowed to tell me where he could get one on the sly, to which he responded, not really. So I asked my friend whose son is in the police academy if he could source one.' I really dread to imagine what this policeman thought of this tiny European lady, coming in and asking him to break the law. 


The torment arose from when I was talking to my friend, Nick, and he came out with this gem: "If a kid asks where rain comes from, I think a cute thing to tell him is, "God is crying." And if he asks why God is crying, another cute thing to tell him is, "Probably because of something you did."I am sure I have mentioned before my habit of finding things with which to best torment my future children. I think this make my favourite top five - the highest of course being the names of them; 'Gin', and 'Tonic'. 

Moral of the story; it really comes in a full circle.