Dr Confession
Posted on Wednesday, 18th June 2008 at 9:03pm- 13 Comments Ensuing
I never thought I would say this - it’s so ludicrous and I cannot even believe it myself. But I feel it needs to be said publicly…
I have become a Dr Phil viewer.
This past week I have been overcome by severe illness. It all started late one night with a tickle in my throat, while I slept the tickle swiftly turned into strep throat (Streptococcal Pharyngitis). I was subjected to 40°C fever and chills. I dehydrated to the point where my family begged me to let them take me to the hospital. Delirious and stubborn, I managed to fight off dehydration and my families plea. But I’m not sure how I did so, my brain seems to have locked away the memory in the ‘lets not go there’ section. I do remember my legs aching and telling my mother that I wanted “ice melted”… I meant water.
As I was recovering from asking for melted ice and a fever, my chest become jealous of the attention my throat was gathering and decided to become infected. Chest forced me to cough every few seconds, just to let everyone know that chest is hardcore and that throat better not fuck with chest.
Yes. I am medicated while writing this.
Then my sinuses finally decided to join the infection party. What ensued was days of, “is your nose still running?” jokes from my mother who has been caring for me. I felt totally lady like laying in bed with tissues stuck permanently in my nose. I’m slowly recovering, very slowly, which is aggravating. It’s not being sick that aggravates me. It’s the not being able to care for myself or do anything. My room is a mess, I haven’t done laundry or cooked myself a proper nutritious meal in over a week, a bracelet I was making is left uncompleted, I have a mountain of errands, friend to see, pancake craving to quench, plans and events to attend, zombies to kill, and I haven’t even been feeling well enough to game. I think the latter annoys me the most, as gaming is the what I look forward to most when I’m sick in bed. It alleviates my daily frustrations.
This is why I have been reduced to watching Dr Phil.
Maybe it’s the medication. Maybe I have residue delirium. Maybe it’s boredom. Maybe I suspect Dr Phil is operated by the Daleks and someone has to watch what those exterminating bastards are doing. Maybe I hope he’ll make a point instead of sound bite. Maybe I just used the word ‘maybe’ too many times in one blog post. I’m convinced - after a good weeks worth of forced research - that daytime TV is the root of all evil. But the root of all evil has been my only source of entertainment. The TV shows I normally enjoy are all on break, so I bow down to evil daily until I can get out of bed and return to the living.
I told friends about my Dr Phil - Philly, as I like to call him - addiction and I think they are now planning an intervention. Which is awesome. I hope they bring some DVD’s and pancakes.
Day At The Kit Fair
Posted on Monday, 26th May 2008 at 10:10pm- 12 Comments Ensuing
I attended the Craft & Quilt fair on Saturday and went to see Indiana Jones on Sunday. It was the first weekend in months that I’ve gone somewhere that was fun and not stressful.
As I walked around the Perth Convention Exhibition Centre I listened to the crowd, overhearing bits of conversation amongst strangers, people say the funniest things when they assume their conversations will be lost in the noise.
“I tried lampworking once and burnt off my eyebrows.”
“There are a lot of men here today. They’re either gay or selling something.”
“Someone should make a quilt to put in her mouth.”
“I loved my last enema.”
“If I buy this I won’t be able to pay for my weekly erotic massage and bottle of wine.”
“Before we go I want to check out the stall with the crap bags”
I noticed that most items for sale at the fair were in kit form; bead kits, quilt kits, teddy bear kits, knitting kits, kit kits, kitted kit kits, etc. In amongst the craft stalls was the token guy with the iron shoe that no one pays attention to. I was saddened at the lack of creativity. Sure, it’s creative in a sense. You are making that quilt or beaded necklace. But the pattern isn’t yours, and I personally wouldn’t feel a sense of accomplishment that comes with creating something unique that is a reflection of your creativity.
I started beading when I was ten. Back then there were no kits for sale, I learnt how to string a simple seed bead bangle from a friend and was hooked. Soon my friend and I had our own store at the school fete, our items - although simple and cheap - sold amazingly well and we made hundreds of dollars during those years. Which is large sum for a ten year old. The only problem was that all proceeds were meant to be donated to our school, a rule which I decided to bend, because I didn’t feel our hard work should go unrewarded. When the vice principal came over to collect our takings - much like a pimp - I handing her a jar containing $20 of coins and kept the notes that added up to $100 hidden away. She was surprised. “Oh no” I thought, “she knows and I’m going to have my kneecaps broken with plastic baseballs bats hired at lunch time!” Then she said, “you’ve done well, $20 is a lot of money!” I nodded and smiled. Later that day I went to the local store and bought as much junk food as my $50 cut could buy. It was delicious.
I tell you this devious story not because I want you to know I was once a kid who totally owned my pimpish vice principal, but because it was my grounding in beading. Where my love for beading blossomed and was allowed to take form without the need for a kit.
No photography was allowed at the fair, which struck me as odd rule for an event which is meant to inspire. Why is no photography allowed when kits and patterns are for sale? I was personally inspired quite a few times, not by an entire work, but by little things. The way a clasp was attached or a stringing method. But the inspiration was lost amongst the cluster of everything I saw that day.
A few items and products did stick in my mind…
- Microwave kilns - They entice me to finally purchase a lampworking kit and try making my own lampworked beads.
- Shop in a Qube concept store - If you want somewhere to sell your products, check it out. It’s quite an interesting concept.
- Beading supplies - I purchased some interesting glass beads and some half price gemstones.
- Clover wonder knitter - It looks like a toy, but once it was demonstrated to me I had to have one.
Before I left I decided to buy a late lunch, as I had been walking around for a good two hours while my stomach protested every few minutes. The best option for a cold winters day was hot chips. Alas, the chips tasted like six month old oil, looked like deep fried carrots, cost $6.90 and were possibly the worst food item I’ve ever consumed. At least they weren’t selling them in kit form.
Found
Posted on Tuesday, 13th May 2008 at 11:21pm- 13 Comments Ensuing
Amongst all the chaos of the last few months; the break-up, tears, arguments, unwarranted weight loss, depression, headaches, death, cancer, life changes and challenges…
I seem to have found my creativity again.
A week ago I stumbled upon a box full of findings and beads on sale. I dug around the box, found a few items, and decided to buy them without intention to use them. “They’re cheap and I might use them one day,” I assured myself. Then my creative energy flowed and during a five hour beadathon yesterday I created an array of bracelets.
My new found creative energy could be linked to the fact that a dear friend of mine suddenly found out some devastating news regarding the health of her baby, news that took me days to comprehend and acknowledge. Her beloved seven month old baby boy has numerous incurable cancerous tumours all over his body. Four in his brain, one wrapped around his heart, another wrapped around his windpipe and spine, no major organ is free from the cancerous tumours. I cried for days. The entire situation seems so unfair and surreal. His mother celebrated her first Mother’s Day by his side in hospital, hoping for a miracle and asking for resolve. Weeks earlier the young family had moved into their new home, they were looking forward to a holiday and planning a first birthday later this year. This week doctors and family prepare for the inevitable. When I first heard the news it felt like a bad dream, because I never knew such an aggressive cancer could attack a baby in such a manner. It’s everywhere. The doctors are performing chemotherapy not to cure the cancer, but to possibly shrink the tumours and make him more comfortable, he is in pain, pain that he cannot vocalise given how young he is. A miracle has been questioned, as everyone involved clings to hope, doctors are regrettably confident that even if all of the multiple tumours could be shrunk and/or surgically removed, the cancer would return within months given it’s aggressive nature.
Aggressive. I hate that word.
The recent events have made me realise how cruel and unfair life can be, forcing me to contemplate mortality in great detail, leading towards sleepless nights and rumination.
“To die is poignantly bitter, but the idea of having to die without having lived is unbearable.” - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
Easter Fireworks
Posted on Saturday, 29th March 2008 at 1:48am- 11 Comments Ensuing
There are a few things you do not expect to say while watching a supposedly controlled and family orientated Easter fireworks display.
One of these things is, “I’m not staying here, I’ll probably be killed” or “too dangerous” you also don’t expect to turn around to find a distressed mother trying to find the first-aid tent to treat her young son who copped a firework to the face, causing his cheeks to welt and his cries to recoil in pain.
Unless you attend a supposedly controlled and family orientated Easter fireworks display in Rockingham…
When you hear me say “ow” or “fuck” it’s because I was hit by bits of fireworks, and yes, I do believe I was entitled to the swearing, Mum. When you hear the kid in front say “ow fuck” it’s because a smouldering amber hit him in the leg. When you hear various crowd members scream, “ow fuck my eyes” as fireworks that make a ’sizzle’ sound are launched, it’s because the crowd was treated to a good old fashioned carnival eye burning. And when you hear me say “too dangerous” it’s because I finally realised how foolish it was to be that close, and promptly moved away, only to nearly be hit again by a large searing remains of a firework while standing under cover at a showbag stand.
Sorry for my Cloverfieldesque camera work, It’s hard to capture decent quality video when your eyes, skin and throat are burning. I was trying to hide under my hoodie for the duration, meanwhile, my friends decided to move away to a safe distance because they’re not big on having their flesh burnt.
After nearly being killed, we perused the rest of the carnival, I bought fairy floss and we were pleased to see the ‘hot sweet & juicy’ corn van and freaky clown games involving balls were present and accounted for…
The towns slogan should be changed to, “Rockingham, if our bogans don’t kill you our fireworks will.”
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