JustAnne.

Indulgences (that aren't food).

I have recently found myself addicted to the sheer trashiness and readability of glossy women's mags, not of the gossip variety. We're talking InStyle, Shop till you drop, Cosmo and Cleo. Shameful, I know. I do not know what it is about them that attracts me. All the branded products are certainly not affordable and therefore a little bit torturous to look at. And the advertising is certainly annoying. I think perhaps the attraction lies in the journalistic (if we can call it that) style that makes the magazine as easy to read as a blog, but allows me to enjoy the physicality of a glossy mag. 

The upside of this shameful new addiction? Well, I am certainly exposed to a much higher level of advertising and pop culture than I have been for awhile. I recently realised that I have pretty much stopped watching television after having lost my remote (it's very complicated without it!), so maybe this (and excessive twittering) is the substitute? 

And just think, if I hadn't been reading these magazines so excessively over breakfast and in the bath tub, I wouldn't be drawing the comparison between the new Neutrogena Wave and a Vibrator. It throws me every time I see them in Woolworth's . . . 

Typical.

So, I've started feeling a bit better about things. I have realised that I am out of balance and a key to 'righting myself' is taking back some of my time and getting active again (I have been working some big hours leaving me broken and exhausted). So this morning I finally get out for my first walk/run of the week. Things were going well, I was feeling mentally cleansed and enjoying the endorphin kick when at my halfway point my back seizes and spasms. Bastard that it is.

I would just like to take a moment to say, F*** you Body. Way to go make me feel alone again, because I had no one to call and had to shuffle 1.5km home in pain. Ok, look. I get it. It was a rather harsh and elaborate way to tell me to stop, just about everything. But come on!! I was just getting myself back into the land of emotional stability and you take away my prime focusing object?? Grah!!

Fortunately, I have been getting better throughout the day. Even managing a rather slow paced and dazed jaunt to the shops. It seems that if I keep moving around (within certain limits) it's not too bad. But if I stop moving and then start again, woe is me. The hot bath and pain killers have been useful. And by some kind of crazy miracle my mood has been quite positive. I think the anticipation of tomorrow evening's 'P' themed costume party, which I shall be attending as Princess Peach, has helped immensely. Not too mention the intended ANZAC Day two-up and evening out dancing w my ladies (provided my body lets me dance, bastard that it is).

Tomorrow will be a hard day, but I am hoping my weekend activities with fabulous friends will bolster my spirit and that my body will let me indulge in the physical activity that I have come to rely on. 

(Bah! Can you believe that?? 12 months ago I would have vomited a little in my mouth at the prospect of physical activity - and now it helps keep me sane? Gosh life can do funny things to us)

Danger: Introspection Ahoy.

Now, I know it's a little bit naff, but earlier in the year I read an outline of the 'impression I give others' in relation to my starsign, and while I feel that this astrology stuff is a bit hit and miss, this felt disturbingly spot on. Intensively paraphrased, the outline stated:

"There is a great disparity between how you feel about certain situations, and the impression you offer to an unsuspecting world.  ... The vast majority of those with whom you live and work see you as being ultra-confident, very cool and quite capable. ... [there is a] barrier placed between your inner mind and your outward persona. ... Think what a great gift it is rarely to show that you're quaking inside." (I should probably note at this point that I am a Capricorn)

Why is this relevant to me right now? Well, truth be told some of the ikky work stuff alluded to previously has been getting the better of me this week. Indeed, I seem to be slowly perfecting the art of the drive-home-teary. I am emotionally exhausted, bloated from comfort eating and hormonal as hell. This combined with intense work stresses makes for one messy little Anne. I can generally keep my shit together when I am at work or around others, but when I am alone (ie. driving somewhere after work), things start to get a little bit loose. The problem with this? It taps into some rather intense feelings of loneliness. 

You see, as the random astrological description indicates, there is a difference between what is happening inside of me and what others see. That is not to say that I am fake and spend all day lying to people. I pride myself in being honest and open in the things I choose to share with the world, but just like everyone else I choose what I share. And while poo, farts, vomit, menstrual cycles, snogging, embarrassing-chair-breakage-moments et al are open slather, tales of that highlight my insecurities certainly aren't. And while emotional outbursts like anger, frustration, excitement and joy are all out there for all to see, my fears and sadness generally are not. So for the most part the world gets to see happy-go-lucky, mildly mad but kind hearted Anne (which is me roughly 95% of the time). However, when sad and broken Anne comes out to play she finds herself all alone.

Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of people I can reach out to, friends, family, co-workers. But for the first time this does not seem like enough. For the first time I find myself wishing there was someone in my life that I could hold and just 'be' with when I am all broken and sad. Someone who would respect and accept all of me, and that I would feel comfortable sharing everything with. Someone who is not my mother. 

You know, I think there would be a lot of things I would be willing to overlook for the man that can deal with my brokenness as well as my extreme fabulousness. Maybe even a partiality to the guitar. As long as it wasn't played at me. 

(You see!!? You see how I even end a 'heartspill' post with a joke to make me look okay? Blah!!)

If you want to model, you need to kill what you are inside.

I think may be one of my more favourite CWC episodes. Poor Donut. She just doesn't have what it takes. 

Operation: FAIL.

There were two things I wanted to avoid this weekend - drinking and shopping. Let's just say that I failed in a truly spectacular fashion. After spending four hours at the airport DFO I have made a large dent in my yet-to-be-received tax bonus with my most exorbitant purchase being my first pair of skinny-leg jeans. Black and o-so-sexy. In order to celebrate these exciting new pants (and the level of self-confidence newly acquired that allowed me to even try them on!) it was deemed necessary to glam up and go to a pub for a couple of drinks and catch-up with some old friends.

This simple task was quickly extrapolated into an evening of cocktails and cool tunes, followed by trashy drinks and even trashier music. Venga Bus anyone?

Fortunately, the waves of emotion that I feared would encroach on my weekend if it involved drinking did not descend upon me, and I had a thoroughly enjoyable evening of good company and good dance times. And I must've been looking pretty foxy as I was felt up significantly more than usual. Skinny jeans, be ye the bringer of my '09 mojo? Although I will say that (for some bizarre reason) the men on the RG dance floor at 4am were a rotten lot. One such man had the audacity to tell me to stop twirling, while another man performed some incredibly horrific break dancing. On the dance floor that was so filthy that when I dropped money on it, I declined to pick it up.

It should be noted that there was one thing I did not fail miserably at this weekend. All I wanted to do was lie on a blanket and stare at some trees. Big tick! Had a beautiful Brisbane picnic by the river in Hawthorne with two of my fabulous lady friends, drank lots of sparkling mineral water and had some damn fine goats cheese. It was utterly delightful and exactly what I needed to face the week ahead. I also had a very nice moment driving along the Riverside Expressway rocking out to Magic Dirt's Dirty Jeans. An old favourite that I find myself reconnecting with in a big way. 

So I think as far was weekends go, this one was a highly successful failure.

On Social Work.

Usually, when I tell people that I am a social worker I get one of two reactions. "Oh, that must be so hard" or "Oh, that must be so rewarding". And I hate to say it, there is often something slightly condescending about the tone in which these statements are made. 

The reality of my work is that it is both hard and rewarding, but it is also so much more. One of my recent resolutions has been to talk about the positive things I get to do in my work. Like having the privilege of seeing the amazing strengths and potential in people who are all too often overlooked by the rest of the world. The buzz I get when someone is ready for change and I can help them get there. The joy of spending happy times with young people and their families, and sharing in the laughter as well as the tears. Working in a supportive team in a dynamic community organisation. Getting to contribute to wonderful and exciting projects that are working towards broader cultural change. Getting to run dancing groups and perform in an up and coming madcap musical. It is these things that make the hard stuff easier to bear.

This week has been a really, really hard week. There has been a lot of big stuff happening in the lives of our young folk and there is grief and pain we will all be carrying as people who are involved in their lives. But I think at times like these it is important to remember why I am here, and why I love it. Because I really, really do.

Wordles.

I do really love these. It is like they somehow capture snippets of my consciousness. I may try and do one every few months.

I Like to Buy Things. . .

I have to confess that the vast majority of my Easter Monday was spent in abject misery. Aside from my body feeling like it is going to explode from itchiness and trying to diffuse a great big bucket of girly angst (Fiona Apple has assisted immensely) it has been bleak and rainy all day.

In between the sleeping, the moping, the 'clearing-out-of-my-physical-space-to-create-more-positive-energy', the meeting of lady-friends for coffee, grocery shopping and cooking I somehow managed to squeeze in a rather impressive moment of retail therapy. Twenty minutes at Jindalee DFO found me a nice tight and o-so-sexy black sequin mini dress for the bargin basement price of $39.95. And I sighted two pairs of practical, yet social-work-funky shoes that will be purchased once I have received my $900 tax bonus. 

I am currently happily placing all of my outlandish retail-therapy/shopping-addiction purchases under the banner of Patriotism. After all, I am only doing my civic duty supporting our economy and what not. I am so glad that Kevin Rudd has given me such a crafty way of excusing my consumerist excess. Makes all of those pesky ethical and practical questions in the back of my head surrounding my slightly mad impulse spends so much easier to muffle. 

I personally blame Weight Watchers. They helped me lose lots of weight, necessitating a new wardrobe, which consequently gave me an insatiable need to look fabulous. A need that can only be met by the wearing of foxy little dresses, short skirts, scarves and loads of appropriately co-ordinated bling. And considering that my work clothes consist of jeans and t-shirts, my only outlet for outfit-fabulousness is on weekends. Hence, I am compelled to frock-up, often inappropriately, at the drop of a hat. Although, I should point out that I have some pretty nice looking t-shirt and jean combos for work.

I felt a little bit embarrassed on Saturday, when in a fit of shopping madness (yes, okay, it was retail therapy) I walked away with a purple clutch, a super-hot-grab-me-dance-with-me-then-passionately-kiss-me purple dress and a purple mobile phone. This would have been perfectly okay except that at the time I was wearing a dark denim mini, a black shirt, bright purple tights and purple scarf. But can I just say, that I was into purple well before this season. Indeed, I have been buying purple from as early as 2006 (I am rather irritated at the minute because the purple leather gloves I wore last season are now too big for me). It is just that there is a whole lot more purple out there at the moment . . . 

Dammit. I made myself bleed from itching. I am in hell!!

Itchy.

You know, I only really wanted to achieve two things tonight. Have a nice hot bath, and go to bed on fresh bed linen. Unfortunately, thanks to the half a tube of steroid cream I have just slaked across half of my body, I have not changed the sheets for fear of stinkin' them up. You see, last night I was eaten alive by Hervey Bay Midges. I have never had this many insect bites on my body. And they just seem to keep popping up. 

It is awful. And I am in a foul mood. And I am beginning to feel overwhelmed by what is likely to be one of my worst work weeks on record. I know, I am not thinking positively and this will effect the outcome blah, blah, blah. But realistically, I do not think I will be getting out of this week unscathed. 

Everything is just yukky in my head right now, and the itching is. Not. Helping. 

Currently Adoring.

The following quote is possibly my new mantra . . . 

A girl should be two things - classy and fabulous. - Coco Chanel.