#extremely early morning very weird day with lots of (work related) stress and then finishing the stress so massive relief

[songofwizardry]

ok look I've had a really really really busy/exhausting few weeks, work related and otherwise, and I have had to mark a lotta papers (they are all done now!) but like. I do really, really, really love my job. it is wild and so weird to me sometimes that I just. get to do this, and i am grateful as hell for it.

[dcublogger]

Sarah | Psychology

Hi, my name is Sarah and I am a mature student studying Psychology. I hope you enjoy my blog about my experience in DCU.

Semester 1 - 2019

December 20th, Semester 1: Finishing Semester

At just like that it is over. Semester 1 of year 3 is complete! It is honestly so hard to explain how quickly each semester goes. One of my friends said it best when she told us that we have 6 semesters done and only 3 more left until we graduate. 

I wish my semesters we more balanced for me personally. I have not found a balance between college time and mom time. Each week that passes I think next week will be better, next week I will be more organised. But then life happens and my little one gets sick. (Trying to leave for college when your three-year-old is pleading with you to stay, is an actual test I have only seldom passed!) 

But look, I have made it. There are still assignments to do and exams to prepare for but I have survived and made it through! Take that anxiety! We had an amazing end to this semester. We had to present our preliminary finds from our research project on the last day of the term. It was an amazing way to finish up. Getting to see everyone's hard work presented in a mock conference-style was incredible. 

Here we are, if you look super close you can see that there is a buggy in the background and a small person’s feet hanging out! Yes, listening to me present made my daughter fall asleep!... Now I know how to get her to bed early on Christmas Eve! 

Now, only four more sleeps everybody!

December 2nd, Semester 1: Managing Anxiety

Okay, the final stretch of the semester. So far this semester is going much better than this time last year! Last year, I developed extreme anxiety. I have probably always had anxiety on some level without knowing it really. Despite reading about anxiety and talking to many different people who experienced anxiety and all the bits that go with. I never recognised it in myself. I always just thought I was a bit weird! Last year though it passed my normal threshold of just negative thoughts and feeling worried about not being able to complete a task. Usually, I would take some time to myself and focus on some soul searching and in a week or two the moment would pass and I would return to normal functioning. Last year though this was not the case. I guess this time I was almost finished semester one of second year which was an achievement for me personally. The fear of not belonging or not being good enough, that someone would soon figure out that I was not a good enough student and would kick me out of college became so overwhelming. (Of course, this is a completely irrational thought, but that is the mechanism of anxiety!). 

I felt that I wasn’t doing well enough (I was really doing fine) in college and I wasn’t being a good enough mum to my daughter either. So two of the things I love more than anything imaginable, I was failing at, or at least that is what I thought. My anxiety manifested in panic attacks, which I believed to be some kind of issue with my heart (yes, really). I would shake for hours uncontrollably and was unable to sleep. I remember hearing someone talk about their anxiety and not being able to move out of bed in the morning time, in the morning they felt like a zero. After spending hours just trying to talk themselves to leave the house, they finally managed it and everything was okay. So at night time, late at night, finally they felt like a bit of a hero and could not sleep, and so the cycle would continue. 

This is anxiety. This is the dark passenger (Dexter quote), that has been around me for a very long time, the only thing with college is that I could just stay inside for two weeks until it passed. I had to keep trying to get there, trying to do my assignments, and the vicious thought pattern of ‘I’m not good enough’ is not a friend when you are doing course work!. My anxiety was crippling, the fear was so real. I have to point out here that DCU has an on-campus doctor and health centre which is staffed by some truly incredible people. They helped me work through all of my anxiety and to understand how to manage it better.  I was able to communicate my experiences to my lecturers, without their understanding and encouragement to just keep going little by little, I would not be about to finish this semester now. 

The reason I wanted to talk about this is that I know so many people who have experienced similar experiences to the one I have described. Many people might worry about not being good enough or able to complete something they really want to do. You absolutely can. If you are reading this and are really thinking that this is something you can relate to, know that anxiety or any mental health difficulty does not have to define you, it does not control you. I have learned over the last year that my anxiety is a guide, a little Jiminy Cricket (less friendly at times). My anxiety was telling me I needed to take a breather, regroup and remember what is important. My path has brought me here, and there is a bigger picture that is being built around me. I honestly believe this. I feel that Psychology in DCU has been so much more than just a college course, a thing I put down on my CAO form. It was a conscious decision that has brought me on an incredible journey of understanding my world, myself and my life. Little by little, it has rippled down through my family and huge. This course has already been so much more than just an academic education. 

Just remember...

 November 3, Week 7: Reading Week

So the weeks are flying by, we are already in week 7! This week we have a reading week. This is fantastic, it really gives everyone a great chance to get some reading in and some space to organise for the second half of the semester, as well as preparations for assignments and continuous assessments.

This year we have a big group project for our Research Methods module. It is an amazing opportunity to really see what it is like to get stuck into different types of research. I have to say this practical side of the Psychology programme is amazing! A lot of our modules have a lecture and workshop or practical based session throughout the weeks. If you are like me and you learn better by doing then this is an amazing part of Psychology at DCU! We have been building up our research methods and statistic experience over the first two years, each week theory comes in the lecture and then we have gotten a chance to run some statistical analysis in our practicals based on the theory we have covered in class. I was not a mathematical person what so ever, to say I feared numbers is putting it mildly! This module has become one of my favourites! I am not saying I am amazing at it by any ‘means’ (another statistical joke), but I love the module, something my family could never have imagined me saying... ever!

Aside from catching up on some course work, I had an amazing start to the week. On Monday, I was helping out at the World Online Learning Conference, which was an incredible experience, to say the least! It was a huge amount of fun and I got to meet some amazing people from over the world who were working or teaching in some way through an online platform.

...As you can see there was a lot of fun as well as a huge amount of organisation, work and dedication from all those involved from the National Institute for Digital Learning (NIDL) at DCU. Below is Mark one of the organisers and one of my fellow student ambassadors (I am safely behind the camera!)

Before I head off this evening, I really just want to remind you guys about the Open Days which are coming up very soon, (November 15th &16th). These days are so much fun, you get to come and visit the campus and meet some of the students and lecturers. There will be talks about the Psychology programme and a whole lot of lovely people to chat with, if this doesn't tempt you enough, I will also be there to answer (as best I can) any questions you have at all! Check out the website for more details.

The link is right here:  https://www.dcu.ie/studentrecruitment/openday

I have so much more news to tell you all but right now is bedtime, so I am off to read Christmas stories and tuck a whole lot of teddy bears into a bed while somehow fit a 3-year-old in there too.

Until next time (hopefully the weekend), wish me luck for bedtime!

October 22, Semester 1: Thinking Back

I can not believe that I am beginning week five of my third year of psychology. I have just finished preparing my CV for Intra (work placement) applications. I can not help but think back to my first week in first year…

In that beginning week, we all sat in HG50, a room that would soon become like a new home to us. I had met some of the mature students from my class already. During the Summer there was a mature student evening and then before the semester started we had the option to be involved with a mature student writing week. We all sat in that room, excitedly waiting and anxiously whispering to each other. Probably all of us still in disbelief that we had somehow managed to find ourselves here sitting in a room with some of the brightest leaving cert students in the country.

Somehow I had managed to finally get here. I had been a self-proclaimed life wanderer, weaving in and out of jobs that were underpaid and where I was overworked with huge amounts of stress and little space to grow. A person who had longed to be an excellent student in school but had fallen, unnoticed through the cracks of teenage school life like an Alice tumbling down to Wonderland. School had been a frightening experience for me in my life and probably an experience that up until that first week in 2017 sitting in a DCU lecture room, was an experience I did not wish to repeat.

As our soon to be lecturers filed into to room, making their way to the very front, all smiling and talking quieting amongst themselves I couldn’t have felt more excited. One by one, they introduced themselves to us and briefly highlighted the modules they teach on and their own area of expertise.  Almost all of them spoke in some way about how not so long ago they themselves were sitting in a room much like us and in the blink of an eye that moment had passed. It couldn’t possibly happen that way for me I thought, no way. This is going to be a long journey, four years is a ‘significant’ [psychology joke, after 1st year research methods you will get it more] amount of time and it will feel that way I thought.

The first two years of university was personally tough for me. My dad had become quite ill in the Spring of 2017. Very quickly, the mixture of caring for a sick parent while negotiating being a parent to a one-year-old, attending lectures, tutorials and practicals, volunteering and somehow squeezing in a homelife became real. It was like just one morning I woke up and all of a sudden I was an adult! 

I was alive with life, soaking up every drop of university I could, the no sleep didn’t matter because I was learning. I was learning so much about so much that I wanted to learn about, and that is honestly a life-changing thing…

But that is enough about my thinking back for now. For now, I just want anyone to know, that for me the last two years have been a test. I am not sure what the universe was testing me for but all I know is that everything that is possibly imaginable as stress has happened to me within two years. All squeezed together for maximum effect but here I am about to begin applications for a work placement and hopefully neuroscience-related (my dream).

If you are in any way thinking that you want to study psychology as a mature student or other, and if you are worried that it will be hard to manage, all I can say is, yes it is hard but you absolutely can manage it. You will absolutely not regret that choice. You will grow and develop in so many ways you never expected. I like to think in ways I am stronger after those two years, I am better for it. And all those lecturers, who might have seemed like just faces I saw on my first week, the ones who introduced themselves and their area of study to my class. Each and every one of them supported me and encouraged me to follow my dream and to keep going when things got the hardest. That is why DCU is different, I am certain that in any other place in time, I would not have survived, I would not have managed, and quite frankly I could very well be curled up in a ball somewhere crying.

And so here I am writing about it, almost halfway through my first semester of my third year as a psychology student. This can absolutely be you too (minus the personal stress of course!).  If you like Alice in Wonderland, then follow that white rabbit and let yourself fall into the madness that is the land of psychology. You will not regret it.

Lastly the DCU Open Days are on the 15th and 16th of November. These Open Days give you a great opportunity to talk to loads of people about courses that you might be interested in and you will also get to see the DCU Campus and go on a tour of the campus too. To register and find out all the info click here: https://www.dcu.ie/studentrecruitment/openday 

[iamagarbagepotato-blog]

A Potato Appears [Part 1 of 3].

Just to put this out there immediately: this is **NOT** a ProAna/ProMia blog, and I do not condone or encourage any of the actions or behaviors I express in this blog.

Now that that’s out of the way; Hi. I’ll call myself Sophia, I’m 29 years old, study full time in college, work as a server/bartender, and I have been struggling with bulimia since 2014. I had stopped in 2015, but severely relapsed in 2017. The only people that know are myself and the counselors I saw in 2014, my dentist, and the therapist I see currently.

I wanted to start this blog because I do not feel brave enough in my external life to talk to any friends, family, my boyfriend, or even my general practitioner doctor about this problem. Mostly because while I am not severely underweight like I was in 2014 (in fact, I do have a normal BMI), my laxative abuse is real and I feel as if it is consuming my life to the point where it interferes with my work, my social life, and especially my current academic life.

 I’ll fill in some background information and clue y’all in; just be aware that it’s a novel... 

Humble Beginnings (2013-2015)

I was 23.

It was early summer where I was living in southwest Florida, and the weather was unrealistically hot and humid. I had just come home from a very expensive grocery shopping trip for my boss at work (I was a bartender for a popular Mexican restaurant in the area) for one of my other boss’ going away party. I was tasked with making boozy treats for the adults. I remember them vividly; champagne cupcakes, chocolate Modelo Negro cupcakes, strawberry margarita cupcakes, Corona cupcakes with lime and beer buttercream, and Blue Moon cupcakes (because why not?) with orange and beer buttercream. I had posted a selfie of myself about halfway through covered completely in flour and other baking messes when a guy I had known from my days of marching drum corps messaged me. Let’s call him Mike. I had always thought he was attractive and very musically talented, so I entertained his flattering messages, and eventually we hopped on Skype as I continued baking while he sat on his couch drinking Bud Light. 

He had made some forward comments; I didn’t mind because Florida had done my body good, even after my retirement from drum corps. He mentioned possibly coming up to visit him in Ohio, to which I said wouldn’t be a problem. He asked if I was serious, and I asked him if he was.. we set a date and I was off to visit Ohio two or three weeks later. 

Once I landed, things with Mike were awkward, at first... but they progressed fast and hard. After a couple of months of visiting, I decided to move there permanently. I was also offered a chance to finish my music degree (which was something I had put off since 2011 and desperately wanted to complete) and was offered a position with a small, local, volunteer orchestra. 

In early January of 2014, I had set out on the long 1200+ mile journey to move everything I could fit in my car from Florida to Ohio. I decided to not move in with him right away and instead lived with a roommate that was also a mutual friend of Mike’s, and she was dating the employer I had when I moved to Ohio. I was all set; I was working as a bartender, performing music on the side, meeting new people, and was set to start school in the fall later that year. I was dating one of the best musicians I knew that not only shared my love of orchestral music, but that of competitive marching music too. I was being shown off, and was enjoying life in a new city with new people. 

Well, in March my roommate decided to take a few months-long trip to someplace off the grid. I could not afford the apartment on my own and was still a bit too new to the area to scour for a new roommate on such short notice, so I hesitantly moved in with Mike, and that’s when things started to get a bit weird. He had noted that even at his age at the time (32), he had never had a girlfriend live with him, nor had he ever had a girlfriend longer than a year. We worked opposite schedules, him teaching mornings and afternoons, and myself teaching students in the late afternoon before working nights in to late night. He had begun to make a few comments about how I had put on weight for my first winter in three years and it started to get on my nerves.

His behavior became weird at this time; He needed attention on him at all times. One incident I remember in particular was after an orchestra rehearsal, we had gone to a bar with friends and a lot of people at the bar started talking to me (mostly about my instrument and about the concert program for when/where they could see it) and Mike just busted out his instrument and started playing so people would acknowledge him. Thinking about that now still makes me incredibly uneasy. It was around this time, I started thinking that he might have had a drinking problem. Each night I’d come home to a 30 pack of Bud Light gone in a day and a half, and I know that I don’t drink that stuff, even in my worst of states. Whenever we’d go to parties, bar performances, or comedy shows, he’d always be the one drinking. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but looking back now, I missed a lot of red flags. 

Around June, his comments about my weight had gotten on my nerves a bit more, and I was a bit on edge because I had started a second serving/bartending job a few weeks prior in a new upscale place. I became increasingly suspicious when he began concealing his phone. I’m not an overly paranoid girlfriend that wants to know your business, but his behavior became odd. I grew suspicious that he may have been talking to, or even seeing someone else while I was working two jobs and teaching my music students.

It made me think that it was my fault... that somehow with me becoming more and more unattractive was the reason he was being led astray. So I started running, and I started running a LOT. It was hard because, yeah, I was out of shape, but I also have asthma. I became frustrated when I couldn’t complete a time or distance that I wanted, and I’d punish myself for that by forcing myself to purge by vomiting. The first time was so hard, but seeing all the stir fry I had made and consumed hours before expel from my body and being flushed away gave me a sense of cleanliness. I was so glad to be rid of that. In my mind, I did deserve it. I would deprive myself of foods, and what little I did eat would be expelled when I could get away with it without suspicion. 

Eventually I did something terrible; I did look at his phone and did confirm that he was not faithful to me. I was a bit scared about whether or not I should confront him about this. Most nights when he’d be drinking, he’d become emotionally abusive and would become unnecessarily argumentative with me to the point I’d breathe a sigh of relief when he’d pass out on the couch instead of crawling in to bed with me. When confronted, he immediately pinned me as the bad guy by going through his phone. In retrospect, it definitely wasn’t the smartest idea, nor the most honest, but it gave me the answer I was looking for and confirmed my suspicions. He became angry and so irate and I don’t remember much of what happened next other than a series os smacks across the face and jaw and being pushed down on to the bed we once shared and had “relations” in just hours before. After he had yelled at me so much that his spittle grossly mixed with he blood on my face, he strangely apologized, got up, and passed out on the couch for the remainder of the evening. 

I layed there on the bed motionless for hours, thinking that this could have been avoided if I had just stayed thin. I didn’t know what to do; I had no friends that weren’t also his, I had no family (the closest was 6 hours away), and I had no money to run or go someplace else. I only got up that morning to shower and notice that one of my farther back anterior teeth was missing (and still is, but it’s hardly noticeable, but it is a constant reminder). To this day, I am unsure of my tooth dislodged because of the force he was using, or because the damage I had done to my teeth from throwing up so much. It remains a mystery. After he came to, we had agreed that until I found someplace else, I would have complete access to the bedroom and it would be my space and my space only. I chose this room because it was the only one in the apartment with a functioning lock.

I had felt pretty terrible medically about a week later; I had more severe cramps than normal and my menstrual blood was extremely heavy and different in appearance. I promptly went to the doctor to see what the problem was. Turned out that I not only miscarried at 8 weeks without even knowing I was pregnant because I was taking a birth control pill and we used condoms, but I also had a stomach ulcer. The physician noted the dramatic decrease in weight (140lbs in the winter to about 110lbs in mid-June) but noted it to be from the ulcer and the stress of the miscarriage. I had every opportunity to say that I was bringing and purging and refusing food; I could have said something about needing help in my dangerous situation... but I did nothing as he gave me a prescription for Effexor.

I became very quiet in the house, and was scolded often for not acknowledging his presence when I’d enter or leave a room he was in. He became so controlling and wanted to strip me of my privacy so much that he actually removed the door from the hinges so that the only privacy I had was in the bathroom. A few weeks of this and we’re finally in to July of 2014. He bought us tickets to see the baseball team play on the Fourth of July; which was a nice gesture and I went because I wasn’t working. I was very quiet because the Fourth of July is a somber holiday for me because my favorite uncle committed suicide on that day in 2006 and the memory still plays vividly in my mind every year. Around the third inning, Mike looked at me quietly watching the game, tapped me on the shoulder and said, “A few of my friends are here; I’m going to go sit with them.” Not long after, I gathered my things, hopped on the train, and walked back to the apartment only to discover that we only took one set of keys; his keys. So I sat at a bar for the next eight hours, watching the game, and glancing out the window to see if I would see him walk by so I could be let in. We were both very quiet after that. I had duct-taped a shower curtain on to the door frame just to have a small bit of privacy afterwards. 

About a week later, Mike had reconnected with a guy friend he only saw occasionally since high school. They’d drink together and from hearing their conversations and hearing the beer cans being thrown in the recycling box that they both had problems with controlling their alcohol. I am unsure of why I was so judgmental of this when I couldn’t control myself when it came to binging and purging on a daily basis. His friend would often make comments to him about trying to get us back together, calling me Mike’s “cute suburbanite girlfriend” in the process. I was probably a jerk for eavesdropping (but he took away my fucking DOOR so he kinda asked for it) but this was the only time I ever heard Mike admit to someone that he had a problem with alcohol; both of them admitted it to each other, actually. At this point, their conversation moved outside and I have no idea what happened next until the next morning because I had fallen asleep watching a film with headphones in.

I had woken up the next morning to the sounds of knocking on the door; it was one of Mike’s friends asking for his spare glasses. I was confused because I didn’t see Mike anywhere or any sign that he had returned from when he had been out with his friend the night before. Turns out, he and his friend had gone on a walk and had gotten in to a physical altercation. To this day, Mike claims that I somehow conspired to set it up, but after what had just happened to me, I would never risk any physical harm on another human being, especially maliciously and violently. In light of this, I immediately called my mother who lived six hours away for her to wire me some money so I could come home immediately. I stayed for a week while Mike stayed with his parents nearby in order to give my job some minimal notice and to cover all my grounds with our mutual landlord. 

When I came home to my mom, I was 102lbs and couldn’t bring myself to purge in her tiny home when she and her dog would hear me and investigate. I caught treatment silently through a local program, but ceased shortly after when my hectic life of working three jobs became a bit too much for me to worry about anything else. I thought I was free from bulimia.. until 2017 hit me like a ton of bricks.

Part 2 will continue soon... 

[readfelice-blog]

moominland chronicles elf . its not you, its me.

Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and caldron bubble. Fillet of a fenny snake, In the caldron boil and bake; Eye of newt and toe of frog, Wool of bat and tongue of dog, Adder's fork and blind-worm's sting, Lizard's leg and howlet's wing, For a charm of powerful trouble, Like a hell-broth boil and bubble. Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn and caldron bubble. Cool it with a baboon's blood, Then the charm is firm and good.

It's late today, well i mean there is no set time, but im slow, on this gorgeous early autumnal sunday, i dozed till 15h, getting up intermittently to empty my washing machine, tug at my hair (vinegar makes it sticky? I'm trying to find the perfect all natural solution to shampoo because I’m no poo now : https://www.nopoomethod.com , in fact i’m practising a very loose version of alchemy in my house, trying to find drinks that energise but don't make me anxious, cleaning solutions for my body and for my house that bewitch the nostrils and incinerate grease / kalk. Essentially I’m just concocting weird stuff, hunched over materials collected around the city, boiling my hell broths in ikea pans, surrounded by recycled jars).....

Lets press on…...

Yes, my morning, my intro to the day, I was up so late because I was up last night so late, till 4am, painting and listening to sweet feminine soundwaves in my kitchen, getting it done in my way, step by step. Because now I’m working a 5 day week again, my days are 3 hours long, 5 at a push, 6 in the most extreme cases, so now I’m back to burrowing out time where i can find it, because now i have my teeth dug in to a big project, a big project that will be realized, for the first time since may May last year.

May last year:

I killed myself, artistically, me artistically is the majority of me.

My whole life has been sewn into my practise, my method, my way of understanding and redistributing everything that comes into my life, and May last year I moved out of the house I shared with my ex husband , moon, and into a shared flat, to embark on a restorative journey. Me and moon were not doing well in our little cramped caravan, we were at each other's throats incessantly, already broken up, him with a new partner, me in full swing of frantic madness, fuelled by bottomless bottles of booze.

Day in day out in my studio, I slowly turned my 450sq ft basement into a mermaids cave, drunk on 8% cider, night after night, sticking black bin liners to the walls with double sided tape, hanging spirals of bubblewave to the ceiling, spray painting floor tiles, screaming at the camera on my iphone half naked, making terrifying life size dolls and cry singing to myself, emphatically paranoid and fractured, writing letters to a man I’d never met who I thought could save me. It was my last great project, I created a film I can never show my parents and documented myself throwing my life away, in my wedding dress, shadowed by the virgin: a wreckage, a car crash, a lot of footage I haven’t been able to edit because I haven’t got the equipment to do so.

It's all stored on a clunky hard drive bundled up with the moon, he saved it for me, without him I would of lost it because my laptop, his laptop, broke in the middle of me editing it and since then its been untouched. I’m afraid the hours of video that follow me dancing around everything i’d ever owned up until that point, rigorously chucking it all in more black bin liners. When I can find a place to edit everything and the capacity in my mind, then I can piece it back together and show it to the world.

Since May last year, I have totally uprooted my life, moved out of London, had a very strange, sometimes beautiful, sometimes harrowing time with my family in Devon, rolled through Turin, Cork, Helsinki, chasing the man I’ve never met, blocking the man I’ve never met at the behest of my friend in Cork, defending and understanding my art more deeply in Helsinki, and finding Tove Jansson. Her bronze bust on the door of the studio she used to hold, her gorgeous expanding black and white prints in the mumin cafe that towered in the sky under artificial light, her room in the museum of Modern Art, her soul in the botanical gardens amongst the families having lunch together.

It's been a glorious invigorating illuminating intrepid journey (I’ve been writing a hip hop song recently, can you tell?) but its not been anything monumental in terms of creation and since May last year is the longest time I have gone without a major project in my life, for possibly my entire adult life, bar being at uni, where conversely I was more orientated towards squat parties than art making.

So here I sit now, with a great big juicy exciting idea inflated in a giant balloon, ready to be released into the atmosphere, the only snag is that it needs to be manifested into real material, which means a lot of work, and so, I find myself back in a place I’d forgotten about.

That's the very good thing about having such a long break, is now I can totally observe what happens to me when I’m in this phase: it’s quite extreme from a fledgling perspective.

Not fueled by booze this time, but instead concocting things to give me a buzz that I can buy in the supermarket (don’t drink to much valerian, it gives you a bad tummy, im not drowsy or euphoric I just feel sick from the after affects and rancid smell) and developing my cleaning routine to be the most streamlined and creative that it can be, to give my art sustenance.

But if I could I would lock myself away from the world in a cabin far up on a mountain and painfully draw out everything in a more concentrated form, the cleaning is fine for now but it's hard to concentrate when I have to go to peoples houses and deal with their kalk as well, it might be one of the factors in why the whole thing is so stressful, but I have the suspicion that it will always be stressful, even if I ever get the luxury to entirely dedicate my day to working on my art.

The big thing I’m noticing is incessant, almost intolerable paranoia, that someone will steal my idea and present it to the world before I’m done. I notice it now and then I turn and look at my past and see its infected traces throughout my history, it's a big driving force in getting the work finished and I’m starting to see that I cannot share or talk about what I’m doing when I’m in the midst of it, but all i want to do is share and talk about it, hence why that cabin would be a better place than a city I’m not fully established in.

I know it’s unreasonable, untrusting, maybe even unkind of me, to believe that someone would steal something like this from me. I know that sharing ideas is healthy and loving and makes the world go round, but this paranoia is totally immovable and so I just accept it and try to satiate it, hoping by feeding it homemade remedies that it won’t make my life worse.

But these big idea’s, they come upon me, I don’t choose them, all the strands of my life and experimentation ferment slowly and then one day I wake up and I know what I have to do, then as I start to do it it grows and morphs, develops, things come and go from my wall, until I have reduced and finelined the parameters of a project, that's where I am now, all the mental groundwork is laid, its just the creation that's left, I’m now half way through the musical aspect of it but not halfway through the visual and I need to amp up, because it must be done by November the second, so I can take it to Turin with me, so I can deposit it at the gates of hell, so I can complete a cycle, so I can be free to make blue music and who knows what, maybe try something formless, kind and organic - that's not for me to know yet though.

Once it rears its great dense head, I am in its power, I am in the throng of obeying my art and that's a lonely place to be. It's lonely being an artist, some of us are collaborative and collective and have communities, but I’m not among those right now, this project, lets just call it by its name for here in : восем acht ocho : is not something I can share and make with others, it is a process of me picking up the pieces of my life, of giving praise to the moon, who has saved me and supported me so many times. I must give praise to him finally so I can move on and give praise to myself.

So I sit in my house and dutifully work back and forth between paint and ableton, singing and faux performing in my hallway in between, performing to my very tolerant invisible neighbours that must think I’m some kind of banshee from a deep buried part of the world. I sit in my house alone, I reject all the invitations extended to me, I retract from the life I am building to some extent and just hope the friends I have been finding will be understanding, though it's hard to explain to someone that I can’t come because of something I am choosing to do myself. It's not work related in terms of my bread and butter, Its not health related, I’m not resting, I guess a lot of people won’t understand which is perhaps why I feel compelled to try and somehow explain myself in this blog today.

I must make this work, it is not a choice, I am in my house alone because this idea has bound me up and demands my care and attention, because for the first time in over a year I can make work again and make it with diligence, create something on a large scale. It means that Berlin is working, this is the change I was looking for, because I feel like I have a future again, whilst the 100’s of drawings, paintings, books, trinkets from my life decay in some junk yard close to London, I have the space to bring new art into the world. It’s really a glorious turning point in my life so far.

I am still terrified that it will all collapse in on me at any time, but there are ways of fighting this paranoia, careful planning, creative problem solving, and probably just not talking about the details of what I am doing anymore until it is finished.

Phew, nothing enlightening this week, more of an attempt to bridge the gap between myself and the life that flows around me. I’m now off to edit my most current track on ableton then do some line work and probably make up some mixes of citric acid / bicarbonate of soda cleaner for the week ahead.

We just have to do what we must, and be grateful when we know what it is we must do.

[mcrmadness]

Insane how tired one can suddenly be right before/around midnight. I can barely keep my eyes open. I really hope this ends soon because I literally have been feeling extremely tired for the whole week every day right after waking up. It’s just not fun when my body feels like it’s in the middle of some melatonin storm all day every day and I can’t even make myself to go into shower because I feel like napping 24/7.

I’m not sure if I just have so much energy from the spring time that it feels overwhelming and makes me overtired. Or if this is because for a few weeks I was in this... weird hyperfocus mood with my art.

For 2-3 weeks straight I did almost nothing else but kept drawing comics and other stuff, came up with even more ideas and I wrote SO MANY ideas into my sketchbook, and when I was finally finished with that pencil/marker project I had been thinking about for months AND those 3 die ärzte comics, that that all just wore me so out and now I’m totally out of energy and sleeping enough at nights but apparently still not enough. I wonder if I should still sleep for 12 hours, normally 7-8h is an okay amount but now I feel like I am so sleep deprived even after that amount. My head just won’t let me stay asleep for longer than that, now. The pro is that I can actually fall asleep at night, but the con is I’m so tired I can’t get any chores done because I just wait for the day to end so that I can get back to sleep. I‘m at home 24/7 doing nothing.

I’m looking at my sketchbook now and over this short time I have got this many new ideas:

3 x self-comics

2 x die ärzte related comics

2 x something to do with my old old OC comic and I got super excited over that one

And now as I look at this list where I write down all my comic ideas to keep track of them and what I have already done - I just added those previous ones to the list and it looks something like this:

11 x self-comics

2 x dä, + 2 x potential comics that I don’t know yet if they would work as comics or better just as short fanfiction drabbles

2 comics for the OC

Like, it’s so weird. I like this BUT it’s also weird and apparently whenever my brain becomes this hyperactive with creativity, it just overheats and ends up making my whole body way too tired. And like, my brain is not tired at all. It’s doing something 24/7. Today I have written 7 pages of a fanfiction. Another thing that I came up with over the past week, the beginning, or actually just the idea of that story, was an old one but I hadn’t even written that down, just some weird intro for that that I ended up abandoning and writing 7 more pages instead.

ALSO another thing I have been thinking about here: my inner clock does not follow what society thinks is the correct one. Mine has always been delayed and also affected by the nature a lot. I’m naturally a night owl so having this super weird 1-9am schedule is very unnatural for me. 3-12 would me more natural. So now as my head has again been waking me up way too early AND every time this has happened before, I have had the exact same thing - I’m just so tired throughout the whole day.

And it made me wonder that when I was still working and studying, I used to be extremely tired every day and pretty much every day when I had come home and was sitting in front of my computer, I almost fell asleep. Like, couldn’t control it, I was staring at the screen and then felt like my head’s gonna hit my table soon, and pretty often I actually leaned back in my chair and had a snap while sitting here. Very very often I passed out on the sofa, sometimes I fell asleep in the evening and slept all night without waking up to anything. My work days always started at 7:45am and school days usually at 8am, I did sleep too little every night too but just now I startd wondering... I was like chronigally exhausted during my work time. Always tired and I think it was actually a lot like what I’m not feeling, I just got so used to it that I no longer knew how it felt like to be well rested and just had to survive and cook and shower and do the dishes no matter how tired I would have been. And I did skip all of those things very many times, I usually cooked just once a week but made just so much food that I could eat it the whole week. On weekends I was also always tired and sleeping a lot and it just felt that I never fully recovered from the week and then it already was yet another monday (plus I often did saturday or sunday so sometimes I worked 6 days a week).

It’s possible that it never was ONLY the amount of sleep I got at night but the fact I had to force myself to wake up before 7 in the morning every day, and on my free days I never ever woke up that early. Usually 9-10am was the earliest and if I had 2 free days in a row, then on the second day I easily slept all the way to 10-12 even. Which then made it hard to get to bed early enough in order to not be tired on Monday. And then also, if I slept e.g. 9h in one night, then I was not tired at all the next EVENING and that made me get even less sleep for the night. So I had to sleep so few hours enough that I surely was gonna be tired in the evening if I wanted to sleep more than 3 hours the next night.

Anyway. It’s now half past midnight and I’m so exhausted again my whole body is shaking and I feel like I’m floating here. Very lightheaded. I need to get some sleep asap so I’m gonna brush my teeth and then go to bed. I hope this time it’s gonna be easier, I don’t remember anything from last night, I just remember it was so hard to fall asleep because I was so overtired and overstimulated that I saw some extremyl distressing dreams. I can’t remember anything from those dreams but I think I once even woke up from them because they were some stress dreams and almost nightmares. I normally never have nightmares.

[pizzamanteachings]

In My Time of Dying: The Camping Trip Flashback (Part 1)

In My Time of Dying, The Camping Trip Flashback:

Warnings: Swearing, gore, and a the description of a monster (I don’t think it’s triggering but be warned?) 

     Life had just gotten good, college was going well and you were finally on spring break, relishing in the springtime warmth that you missed oh so much. Your major was psychology and planned to work in a children’s psych ward, but you didn’t want to think of that right now, because you were in the middle of packing for a camping trip.

                                                      Present day

    It was only a week ago at some shitty dive bar when you overheard these guys talking about some trail up North in Callmyre woods, which were acres of pure forest your friend Avery and his family owned. You were originally going to go up to Moose Mountain but it was known that there were bears and coyotes up there so you and your friends didn’t want to chance it, plus your friend had a shit ton of land that no one ever went in. 

     You met Avery in middle school and he was a nice kid, now though he was a little douchey 5’11 white kid with moderate strength and a walking representation of anxiety. He was a little rough around the edges but in your heart you knew he meant well. He had always been the rich kid in school which made it hard to relate to him since your families income could be unpredictable and spread apart. One thing that always bothered you about Avery was that he hated nature and the forest. He had been lucky enough to get four thousand acres of land, but he refused to go in. You knew a little history as you eavesdropped on the pair of men, them saying it was “Native American land” and how “weird shit goes bump in the night”. You had always been skeptical about the supernatural, you know, wendigos and vampires and stuff alike, but if it was real, wouldn’t more people know about it?

------Present day------

     Now that you had all of your stuff packed and you picked up Avery, you started driving down the highway to meet your other friends Morgan and Dale who would meet you there (since legally you could only fit two people in your car). You drove a shiny black 1967 Chevy El Chamino the “mullet of cars” as you claimed. You loved this car more than most people as it was all you had left of your late Grandfather who had restored it for you and taught you a thing or two about cars.

     The trip was mostly silent, aside from the low grumble from Clint (your beloved car) and the light clinks of your talismans around your neck. Avery didn’t want to camp on his family's land, but no matter how you asked or how many times he refused to give you a straight answer. All you got was “Because I don’t want to” and “You don’t know what’s out there”. He was just trying to scare you, and you didn’t appreciate that. “What and you do?” You retorted. He didn’t answer which made the silence between you make your skin crawl and the tension gnaw at your knees and fingers, begging you to do something. Within your stomach you felt a sizzle of anger that was turned up to a low boil as he was looking out the window huffing and puffing being the spoiled brat he is. At one point you almost stopped the car to tear him a new one as he began to chew his fingernails and throw them on the floor of Clint, who he knew was your pride and joy, but you refrained from curb stomping him as you hated confrontation and new in the logical part of you brain that he was anxious, so you let it slide…barely.

     “You want to tell me why you don’t want to go camping in your woods yet?” You managed to say in a calm tone that came out breathy enough not to sound like you wanted to smack him silly until he told you.

     “You wouldn’t even believe me. No one ever does.” He said, just above a whisper, looking at you for a moment and then back at the road ahead.

     “What do you mean ‘no one ever does?’ You were the one who suggested it and then got all weird yesterday when we started packing!” The whole ‘staying calm’ thing went out of the window as you became more and more upset, because there was something you hated more than Monopoly, it was liars. He had made it out to be that it wasn’t him who suggested his family's land, which pissed you off more than anything. He was all smiles and full of giddiness a week ago, he made it seem as if he was excited but now he acts as if he would rather die than go near his land. The weird part about his family is that they don’t live on the acres upon acres of land, actually not even near it. They live fifty miles away and didn’t plan on building anything on the land. It was nice at first because like ‘yeah save nature!’ but they never let anyone on their land. No one.

     You were finally at the meeting spot and saw Morgan and Dale making out in the car which caused you to beep the horn of your car, making them jump and in turn lifted your spirits a little.

     It was early morning when you had left for the trip, leaving you and your comrades plenty of time to set up camp. You drove Clint down the worn dirt path, which made you question whether or not people came out here a lot considering the amount of “Stay out” signs littering the entrance area, which was also gated and locked with seven giant padlocks. In your head, somewhere in the back of it brought a pestering pinch that undoubtedly warned you to leave. You weren’t by any means psychic but you had some crazy intuition (which you mostly used in Clue, making you get a hustler title). You should’ve used it on Avery but you knew you couldn’t force it as it would be a biased read.  

    The nagging in your head wasn’t going away, but you kept ignoring it as you ventured on with Morgan and Dale (aka the “Love Birds”) in the truck bed area clutching all of the supplies.   

   About sixty miles into the woods (much to Avery's dismay) you stopped and turned Clint off of the path a little and began to unpack in a clearing you had pulled into. Everyone got out and off the car to stretch silently, breathing in the woodsy scent which had your nostrils flaring. The tree’s were ridiculously tall, looming high above all of you, with their barked extremities going every which way, causing some light to enter the area.

     Everyone began unpacking tents and everything, but after a while you noticed Avery sitting off to the side, staring off into the surreal scenery. It was as if he was looking for something. As his eyes roamed every inch of the Earth pills were being popped into his mouth. His anxiety must’ve been through the roof as he took the full dose (which is very unlike him as he feared of overdose). Although the rest of the crew was annoyed that he wasn’t helping no one wanted to ruin the first day here, and it is his land so you are guests (and he is a shit host). It was about nine O’clock in the morning by the time you finished setting up. After your tent was set up in the flatbed of Clint your eyes roamed around seeing where everyone was. The lovebirds were next to a few stumps, leaving Avery near the entrance of the path.   

   The campfire was set up but you all agreed on waiting till nightfall to ignite it as to save fuel, but everyone mostly hung around the area for an hour getting accustomed to the sounds and scents of the wild. With your camera ready within the hour getting ready for some badass nature pics. The only part that was stopping you was getting someone to go with you. Morgan wasn’t up for a hike (as you tended to drift off and have ADD moments) and Dale wanted to plan the hike that would take place tomorrow. All who was left was Avery and he wouldn’t leave his tent. You padded up to his make-do home and opened the flap announcing yourself with a “Ding Dong” Avery was reading, only looking up at you when you entered and refocused on his book soon after. “Can you come with me while I take some pictures?” You asked, your voice laced with excitement.  

    “(Y/N) why can’t we just stay here? It’s safer here and I don’t want to get lost.” he stated. He didn’t leave any room for argument, but you didn’t need to go with anyone. You left with a huff and began to scan which direction you should venture off in. You just walked straight ahead and looked at the greenery in awe. A part of you understood why the Callmyres didn’t want people here, as everything humans touch inevitably gets corrupted, and this was true beauty. You weren’t one for God as you have always had so many questions on why he would let stuff happen which really stressed you out, but real or not you couldn’t just imagine that all of this came out of random, so you will give God the benefit of the doubt that he exists and created true beauty. Your walk was peaceful and a good time for you to let your thoughts wander as you took some poppin’ pictures of anything and everything.   

   Your serenity was cut short though as you saw suspicious looking marks on some trees a little way up your make-do path. As you neared the tree the nagging feeling to leave the forest came back and with more strength than ever, causing you to hold your head due to the immense pain. Something just wasn’t right but you couldn’t make up what it was. You reached out to touch the marks, the depth was astounding with the clean scarring of the bark. It wasn’t fresh so you felt a little bit better, it would suck if you got killed by a bear or something, but then again you wouldn’t have to pay off student loans. There was always that.    

    Upon closer inspection of your surroundings you noticed foot marks in the ground. They were deep, meaning the thing that owned the feet was heavy. It was nothing like you’ve ever seen in your days of hunting. You hunted some pretty easy things, nothing extreme. You did your research before going in guns blazing as not to scare of the prey, but this was much bigger than any bear you’ve ever gone up against.  

    After taking many pictures of the footprints and the claw marks you were interrupted by rustling of branches high above you. Adrenaline began pumping throughout your body, your fight or flight instincts blaring like a horn in an empty city. Whatever was above you was dashing between the trees above at a remarkable speed, not slowing down in the maze of branches. You crossed off running away as the animal would surely catch up, so you instead stayed incredibly still. You took the opportunity to raise your camera and try and find the thing. The woods fell silent and no sign of the creature anywhere. Suddenly you heard Avery calling out for you in the distance, but it was behind you. You tilted your head in confusion as you remembered that camp was the way ahead, so it wouldn’t be possible for him to have flanked you without knowing.  

    “(Y/N)...(Y/N) where are you? Come on back!” He called out. Your blood ran cold as in the distance you saw something in the underbrush in the direction of the voice. You moved your camera to follow the movements of the creature, trying to pretend that you were listening out to the calls of your friend. You knew it wasn’t Avery, as he doesn’t talk like that, and he would be scolding you for going out alone, but right now you weren’t focusing on whether Avery was calling out to you or not as all you could focus on was the pale humanoid slowly approaching you. It’s head was just above the bushes in a low crouch. It’s skin was pale but ashy, you could see the creatures bones under the thin layer of skin. The pointed ears and mouth was red with teeth coming out of every direction. The wrinkles in its face resembled the wrinkles on a bulldog, upturned in the form of a bats. The eyes were soulless with a distinct hunger to them. 

     Everything about the beast screamed hunger, and the way it approached you, you guessed it didn’t want a Big Mac. You had been out for what felt like was a few hours but it wasn’t so, as the sun began to set. You could have sworn that time was being altered because when you found the tree it was nearly eleven thirty, but now it was approaching dusk. Your anxiety made you shudder viciously at your fear of the dark. There was one thing about you that if you could change you would; you hate feeling helpless. It was one thing that always got to you, and this whole situation screamed helplessness.

     You took a picture of the thing, which heard the click and retreated into the tree tops. Here and gone, like it disappeared into thin air, but it wasn’t so as for a moment you saw it’s thin stature among the contrasting green foliage. You turned around at a snails place, eyes dashing everywhere to find the creature again. You stood for many minutes, but after no sign of it you made your way back to camp, watching your footing as to not make to much noise.  

    After some time you had finally arrived at camp, paranoid of the creature lurking in the depths of the underbrush. Your friends seemed worried and came over to you and hugged your figure tightly, whispering incoherent sentences that turned into rambling about how they heard you screaming in the woods. You tilted your head in confusion, how could you have been screaming? You were silent on your walk back as to not draw attention to whatever you saw.  

    “(Y/N)! Hello? Why were you screaming, are you okay?” Dale said, looking you over for any wounds.   

   “I-I’m fine, what do you mean I was screaming?” Layers of confusion and worry danced around in your words.                                      What the fuck was happening.

[the-warmest-hands]

week

wed: school, also dhara arrived thursday: work, which sucked at first but then unsucked because idiot left friday: land’s end walk, followed by work, which sucked at first but then unsucked because i was not working with idiot. also j and i are allies now because we both hate idiot. ALLIES but also today i learned about being a dishwasher and holy hell is it hard (knew that it was hard but didn’t know exactly how hard)

sat: yo my hands are like pruny and gross and dry af from washing dishes yesterday how the fuck do dishwashers even have hands also plumber is here so i am home instead of in class which secretly i am so happy about LOL --- work was whatever. moron was there. we ran out of inventory so we closed a little early

sun: literally don’t know / escapism monday: more escapism / edit: shitton of unity/blender/rigging sup bones, slept mad late tues: woke up late as a result. uhh, should be working on homework but i wanna refactor my hands code work was dope; moron wasn’t there; customer said my ramen looked awesome; emily and dhara dropped by and emily said the ramen was cooked perfectly

VALIDATION

QUALITY

wed: morning spin (slow af what is happening to my stupid legs?!?!!), school (even slower?!?!?!??!!?!!!#RJafdjkhkjahsdg), came home / did laundry (kill me) / baked snickerdoodles, biked to trivia where i contributed 1 answer now i’m listening to blink-182 because it was featured in trivia

thursday: omFGGNGNMGG the moron quittttttt life is awesome no mo stress at work fuk yea fuck yea i literally didnt even ask what happened cuz IDGAF!!!!! ALL I CARE ABOUT IS THAT HE’S GONE thank the lord anyway volunteering was good, kinda cut short by bad air quality but yknow we worked in the greenhouse then and it was nice. chatted about movies. it’s nice to chat and work work was dope cuz as i mentioned, the moron wuz not thereeeee also i shared snickerdoodles with sfbg fam and work peeps and everyone loved them

because quality

friday: renewed my food handler’s license! then dim sum at hkl1 (never been there!!! it’s the same as hkl2. wouldn’t go back cuz why would i pay literally 2x as clement st bbq. they don’t even have carts. they did have a chandelier tho. #chinesePeopleChandelierz. also i noted that in the back they have dat dinner area with the fortune thing in red and a red curtain and whatnot hehehehe) then work which was fun j was there and we are friends now i noted that j is a competent dishwasher (unlike me, a very incompetent dishwasher) cuz he was idle most of the time (which means he cleared everything). meanwhile, i was struggling with my orders like an idiot because idk struggles are my life and i really enjoy struggling actually anyway i made it work and i mostly did it solo? had some help, but less!

saturday: oh saturday hasn’t happened yet but i just got home from work and the roomies were watching bridget jones’s baby and i got sucked into it and im just like, why would anyone live like bridget jones. who would want to live like that. i am embarrassed by the character of bridget jones. i do not relate. i do not want to relate. now im baking snickerdoodles to share with coworkers cuz i like my coworkers FOR ONCE holy SHIT for once in my goddamn life

saturday continued: biked to sfbg cuz field trip went there. the most boring 3 hours of my life in my favorite place. jesus christ. i wasn’t kidding in 5th grade when i filled out my “about me” and said “i get bored easily” well put, tiny self. well put. biked back to ccsf for the rest of class. i guess malcolm saw me cuz he told me i was “an animal” on bike. literally falling asleep in the last bit of class, but then woke up to plant seeds with malcolm (got my own flat!!! suck it, classmates), and left school at 2:35 thinking i’d be late for work, so i gunned it back to ggp and GUESSWHAT I WAS NOT EVEN A LITTLE BIT LATE haaaaaaa because i am moderately fast on bike (also i took the easy bike today) work was good; everyone loved these snickerdoodles. mostly zoned out cuz tired. also j and i are friends now and it’s weird because i don’t know how to make new friends? do i ask them questions. all of my questions sound extremely abrupt and interrogative

anyway now i’m home and im so tired and it’s 1am somehow

uh

i needa brush my teeth and pass the fk out

sunday: homework, ggp cuz it was such a nice day (people watching + reading textbook), music reexploration (i worked a lot harder for my music when i was younger), dinner, gotttttta finish homework

[roodiaries]

Can’t All Be Peaches & Cream: Citrus Farming, My Car & the Working Hostel (Renmark, SA)

Apologies, because it's very late and very long, but finally here is my blog about what I did from late July to early December 2016. This article may be the most negative one so far, but I committed to writing an honest account of my time in Australia so I'll keep to my word. It can't all be peaches and cream. In fact, it's oranges, with no cream, no bowl and no spoon.

It seems a while ago, but I was happy to end my Tasmanian adventure and head back to the Aussie mainland in late July. I was ill on my first nightbus journey on the continent, a 10-hour cross-state one from Melbourne to Adelaide, capital of South Australia and the country's fifth-largest city. It might have been because I was feeling flat on arrival, but I immediately disliked the City of Churches, which was disappointing because I was just conforming to all the stereotyped opinions of Adelaide as the 'Boring' Capital. I ended up back there five more times and my opinion still hasn't budged: its spacious streets and quiet centre might sound pleasant in a city of 1.3 million, but there's a serious lack of atmosphere throughout most of the CBD, while its empty, insipid and uninspiring streets are a ghostly shell at night and not much better in the day-time.

Saying that, I had a good time there with my mate Mark from university. We found some very good bars with live music and cheap 'pints' (for some reason, South Australia has smaller pints than actual pints, so when you order a 'pint', it's really a schooner (425ml) in the rest of Oz; I guess SA just does whatever it wants). We also rented a little Honda and cruised down the Fleurieu Peninsula to seaside towns like Victor Harbor, Goolwa and the mouth of the mighty River Murray, Australia's longest at 2500km. As it turned out, I would be living on this very river, far upstream in the Riverland heart of darkness, for the foreseeable future. Mark and I also visited the famed Barossa Valley north of Adelaide for some wine-tasting. Not knowing anything about wines, we turned up at the Rockford Winery in Tanunda and just asked the woman to tell us everything. “You've never been to a winery before?” she asked, puzzled, as if we'd just told her we'd never heard of Steve Irwin. We knew wine was from grapes and that was about it, but learned a lot that day and found the knowledge intoxicating... or was that the alcohol?

I moved to the fruit-picking hotspot of Renmark (300km north-east of Adelaide, near the tri-state border with Victoria & New South Wales) on 26 July, to finish collecting my 40-odd days left that I needed for the second year visa. I planned perhaps 3-4 weeks here, but didn't end up leaving until 7 December! Renmark became the first irrigation settlement in Australia in 1887, designed so fruit could be cultivated, and is now surrounded by various fruit farms (from stonefruit to nectarines) so it felt appropriate that I was here to work in that very industry 129 years later. However, the appropriateness of the job did not overcome its drawbacks. I spent July & August picking oranges for $25-29 per bin, making around $250 per week (enough for rent, crap beer and little else). It was probably the worst job I've ever done, at least in the hard work-to-wages ratio. You were mostly put in pairs: I had a few different partners (Jakiah, Suki, Kira, Pete), but the one I worked with the most was Ellie from Taiwan, and we worked at the same speed and enjoyed longer lunch breaks. The main trials involved high ladders (teetering, tottering, collapsing), heavy bags weighing down on your neck/back, branches belligerently poking you in the face and scratching your arms to shit (so you wore a sock over them and got sweaty instead), the occasional large spider, and eagle-eyed supervisors constantly telling you to pick the oranges you definitely couldn't reach and then doing something with the ladder that you were unable to do to make it look embarrassingly easy. I spent most of the time frustrated, bored, stung, sunburnt, sweaty, unmotivated and panting heavily beneath a hot sun wondering why my life had taken this turn for the worse. Things even became animalistic at stages: when thirsty I would resort to biting the orange open with no patience to peel the entire skin, and then simply squeeze the juicy goodness into my general face area to try and imbibe some vitamin C. It was my revenge against this malevolent fruit.

Thankfully, Kevin (the hostel owner) found me a new job with his old school mate, Humphrey, in September. It was on a private organic farm called Fat Goose Fruits, exporting oranges, lemons, avocados, mandarins and grapefruit across Australia and some to Malaysia. It was run by Humphrey and his wife Michelle, and they followed organic practices, using sheep and geese to keep the weeds down (and feeding the geese oranges unfit for sale), keeping away from harmful pesticides and using compost instead. My job was hourly paid ($22.16) in the little packing shed next to the house, running the fruit through the machines and sorting it into five different grades: bin (rotten or split fruit); 'seagulls' box (for the general public – slightly damaged but not that bad); juice (for ugly ones or with big marks on the skin); second-grade for netting; first-grade for loose in the large cardboard bins or in the 17kg boxes. It took me a while to get the hang of netting in particular, and Humphrey got annoyed one morning when my hands were cold and I kept dropping oranges (“stop fumbling, you need to be quicker than this!”) But he was a top bloke, and we had many in-depth chats about politics, history and travel, all while listening to the full ABC Radio programme which I grew to love, especially the Phillip Adams section at 4pm. As time went by, Humphrey left me alone more (he's a busy guy, with a prominent position in the Renmark Irrigation Trust while running a business), and I was given more and more responsibility, which I enjoyed. I still fumbled and dropped stuff from time to time of course, and will never be the fastest packer. I was often distracted/fascinated by the huge quantity of spiders that lived in the shed: wispy ones, red-backs and hunstman in particular. A few times, I had a giant fang-bearing huntsman crawl over the orange I was holding and scare the crap out of me!

I did other odd jobs when in Renmark, including working as a dishwasher in Chill-N-Grill restaurant at weekends, tutoring my friends' Chinese supervisor in English twice a week, and other farm jobs, including at Gillainey's, a larger scale packing shed where I injured my arm, attaching spiral clips to irrigation tubes in a vineyard, constructing solar panel frames in a garden, putting up a fence at Kevin's farm for his giant pigs while they shat shamelessly and tried to eat literally anything (including a chainsaw), and picking small green plums at a farm owned by an eccentric Lebanese Christian called Moses, who told us about kangaroos biting the trees which made them scared and the fruit smaller. The funny thing was, I didn't necessarily think he was crazy for having this view... That's Renmark! The tutoring was definitely my favourite of the jobs as I was actually able to use my mind to excel, something I hadn't done much when working in Australia.

I also did a sleep study in Adelaide for 5 days in late August, getting paid a bit of money for that. I had my own room, which was nice, but was observed and studied by a bunch of PhD students the whole time, and we weren't allowed to know the time or leave the lab. There were six of us on the study (four Brazilians and one Indian), and we had three hour-long mealtimes per day, and saw the students a lot when they tested us, so it felt fairly sociable. It was mostly reaction-time and stress-related tests and questionnaires throughout the day, more tedious and repetitive than anything else. During much of the day you had free time to read or watch films (you spent more time deciding from the long list than watching, like with Netflix). At night, we had about 15 different wires gelled all over our head and a few on our chest, so that they could monitor heart and brain activity and would know when we fell asleep or were dreaming! On the last morning, all of us (in our separate rooms) had to make a 5-minute speech to the wall about our life, immediately after having woken up, which was extremely weird and awkward. “Ummm, I was born... I went to school... this one time in IT, Atkin poured out the hole-puncher on my head...” Haha.

The negative aspects of working long – usually 8-10-hour – days alone at Humphrey’s sometimes took its toll (depending on how much coffee I'd had and what radio segment was on). I would often return to the hostel feeling flat, tired and antisocial, and be overwhelmed when entering the back gate to a swathe of chatty, beer-drinking hostel friends, unable to escape and feeling like I was making a statement of non-sociality if I retired to my room too early, which I hate. I really value my privacy and I received none in the hostel, which sometimes got me down. Cooking is also something I have never enjoyed and something that others seem to spend time dedicating themselves to, hence I was often judged for cooking basic, strange or generally terrible things (because I'm easily pleased and have unsophisticated tastebuds apparently), and that's another part of hostel life I dislike. To be honest, I’ve left my comfort zone many times - and I never regret that - but it doesn’t mean you’re going to enjoy everything. I’d say I’m well and truly over the hostel life and hope to never spend more than a few days in one again. Anyway, I talk more about my ‘home’ away from home below...

Hostel life was a major factor in memories of my time in Renmark. I was at another working hostel, the legendary Renmark & Paringa Backpackers, a long low building with a large backyard and intimidatingly metallic chef's kitchen always choc-a-block full of backpackers from all over. Well, when I was there the predominant nationalities were always either Italian, German or French as people came and went. But why am I grouping people only based on nationality? It is something that everyone – myself included – tend to do, as it's more convenient. Why not on something more personality-based? Because nationality matters a lot to most people, I guess. Common stereotypes prevail, as a joke and for real, like the French speaking English with a strong accent, or Italians being over-dramatic, or Germans being clinical and organised. But everyone has their own individual quirks, independent of and also heavily influenced by their own geographies. Generally everyone got along and there really weren't any proper cliques, though people are naturally inclined to speak to others in their native tongue. It was extremely social and everybody knew each other's names. My stay of four and a half months, though ridiculously long, was about average; some stayed for much longer. Kevin the owner was a joker, but very helpful in finding jobs for people (as mentioned above). He wasn't best pleased when I reversed my car into the gas tank, or when I split the girls' bathroom door with a shoulder-barge when drunk... I was trying to help someone trapped inside in case you were wondering!

Lots of localised events went on: impromptu music sessions (there were some talented musicians, especially Stefano & Rocco); intense weekend games of poker to win $50; movie nights where people came in, asked the name of the movie, had to have it repeated because they didn't understand, and then realised they'd never heard of it and walked off; giant group meals & the sharing of vegan/non-vegan philosophies; getting eaten by hungry non-vegan mosquitoes; the odd cross-state trip to Mildura, VIC for shops and cinema; a nice cold shower beer; 'the pub' versus guzzling goon/Hollandia and smoking out the back; free haircuts with Jonny; Pop burning the rice & playing chess; with Leon, Sam & Rose making movie titles with 'Baris' in the name; Wednesday evening library sessions using the only Wifi in town; lots of leaving nights and goodbye cards; everyone asking how many days you had left; kids robbing shoes, speakers and beers in the night; huge storms and a state-wide black-out; some disastrous off-roading; the election of Donald Trump; sitting by the river or pool, kayaking and much much more.

For my part, I couldn't shake my past as an English teacher, and as one of only three native speakers for most of the period, I ended up imparting knowledge of my language and being asked to correct/explain grammar on a daily basis. Not the coolest role, but I relished being an authority on something. I even had to explain to a certain Yorkshire lass the concept of uncountable and countable nouns ('much money' versus 'many bags full of money'). It's difficult to single out people to mention from the hostel, but particularly close friends that I spent the most time with and deserve a mention include my room-mates Sam (the Barnsley-Italian full of knowledge) & Tatjana (confident optical Germanic picking machine); Rose (talented artist & cider-lover), Baris (the Saver of My Car, also a movie legend in his own right), Eisen (the coolest Asian guy in town), Luca (Gianloser, Roadhouse) Yusuke (the Yusuking), Mady & Robin (meine schätz) and Julien (French gay icon). But if you're reading and your name's not there, I am still thinking of you ;) Pop, Elise, Julia, Leon, Carina, Jonny, Thomas, Roxane, Thibaut, Simone F., Rocco, Stefano, Carolina, Simone D.C., Lulu, Cyp, Soo, Kim, Yumena, Sori, Pille (see I mentioned you too!), Triin, Sim, Katri, Adrien, Judy, Michele, Jules, Eddie, Sophia, Mollie, Stu, Rupert, Em, Simon, Carine, Valerie, Jeremie, Manu & Ninja.

In SA I also did one of the things you need to do in life: I bought my first car! A 1997 white EL Ford Falcon sedan. I have a decent knowledge on some subjects, but I know nothing about cars. I didn't even know what 'sedan' meant – huh, is that a make of car? People often ask what 'model' the car is... is Ford a model? Or Falcon? Or the EL part? I really don't know, or care. I took a pretty random French guy, Nick, with me to look at one of the cars advertised on Gumtree during a frantic two-day car-searching bonanza in Adelaide back in August. We had to drive in his car all the way up to Middle Beach 45 mins north of the city, where vast light-brown windy fields swept across the landscape out west towards the sea. The guy selling the car was a tall Aussie bloke named Paul who lived in a tin shed constructed mostly from corrugated iron, with wind turbines for power. There was a hilariously awkward exchange where Paul offered us both a scotch and Coke (Coca-Cola, obviously) when we went into his house to do the paperwork – which we declined – and a few minutes later, Nick said “I noticed before that you offered us some cocaine... I was wondering, do you have any MDMA?” I laughed pretty hard about this misunderstanding, since the guy was over the age of 23 and not a student on a night out, and therefore definitely did not have any MDMA, or cocaine. For $650 in cold hard cash, I was happy with my purchase and felt incredibly free that I could just go wherever I wanted, after years of relying on public transport and other people. Mum had been scared I'd drive to the Outback and maybe die, but I reassured her that the car was far too crap for me to attempt any seriously remote journeys.

The car, which was never properly named (the number plate read 'WDM' so I sometimes called it 'Weapon of Destructive Mass'), was a problem child to say the least. I was locked out of it standing in Maccas car park for about 2 hours one evening after work with Ellie, waiting for the RAA guy to break in. This happened again a week later when I forgot to tell Simon at the hostel not to lock it when he borrowed it! Then on our weekend hostel trip down to Adelaide & the Barossa in September, the air filter exploded as the car backfired, shell-shocking me and Baris with our heads under the bonnet. It ran only on LPG, which isn't good for the car, and backfiring is not uncommon. But there was a hole in the petrol tank for some reason so I couldn't run it on petrol. Backfiring incidents occurred regularly over the next few weeks, especially at Maccas, and one time I had to be towed back from Woolies car park by Kevin because it wouldn't start! That was very embarrassing, and I copped a lot of grief from friends about how terrible my car was. Then as a final leaving present, a giant hole inexplicably appeared in the muffler, so whenever I accelerated, people living in the next town were deafened by the noise. All of these problems ran along to the legendary soundtracks of the only three tapes I had and played on repeat for the entire 3 months I owned the car: Sting & The Police, Frank Sinatra and INXS. I felt fast and free as I belted out “There's a little black spot on the sun today!” when cruising down the vast empty freeway. I sold the car for a pathetic $100 in the end, but it was a relief to get rid of it and not have to drive to the Outback and burn it. It was certainly a learning experience if nothing else.

My time in Renmark will not be forgotten any time soon for better or worse and saw some of my darkest days in a long time, and many times I could only dream of moving on. But eventually I did, because all things come to an end. At times that can be depressing, but at other times it's very uplifting. And bonds formed in such surroundings are all the stronger for it. In fact, writing this post has made me see that I did actually have some very good times in Renmark too, in amongst all the dullness, hard work and feeling trapped. This blog post has now (thankfully?) come to an end but see below for photos, inside jokes & more. Blog about my trip to Asia soon to come...

Thanks for reading,

Oliver

[intellectualth0t]

January 14, 2017

Well this has been an excruciatingly busy week to say the least

In the span of 7 days, I got my driver’s license, got accepted into my top-choice college, and got my wisdom teeth removed. In between those 3 major events, I had to take part in a lot of school/dance team related functions, such as weekly practice and our school principal’s retirement ceremony. Oh, did I mention that it’s mid-terms week too? (for some incredibly strange reason, our school district makes us take mid terms 2 weeks after coming back from winter break)

Tuesday I arrived home to the dinner table already set (I’m not sure why my dad likes having dinner as early as 4:30). Next to my plate of spaghetti was my dad’s open laptop, which I didn’t think much of since he usually brings his laptop everywhere, including the dinner table. I took a glance at the screen where I noticed an opened email adorned with the Texas Tech logo.

Congratulations! You’re going to be a Red Raider! It read in bold white font above the body of the letter, opening with “Dear Mariah,”

I was shocked beyond words. I was too shocked to even believe it for a second. Knowing my dad with his incredibly clever, quirky, and sometimes cruel sense of practical-humor, I thought this was a joke. So I laughed.

“This isn’t real!” I slyly looked at my dad

“Yes it is”

“No, you just screenshot a general acceptance letter and photoshopped my name into it. This isn’t real.”

“That’s extremely cruel and I would never joke around like that.” His words of assurance still didn’t bring me out of my shock and denial. He proceeded to embrace me happily while I still stood emotionless.

There was no way this was possible. I’m not super smart. I’m just an A-B student. I’m not prestigiously involved in academics. Its senior year and I still cry over how difficult and stressful math is. Hell, I barely scored a 17 in the math section of my ACT.

Besides, Texas Tech was my top choice school. For as long as I remember, I’ve rarely gotten my first choice when it came to anything. I’ve always been forced to settle with the back-up options. So the fact that for once I actually get my way is just…. wow.

That was four days ago. I think I’m slowly getting over the shock. I think I’m learning to accept that maybe for once, I truly did deserve something I wanted and worked so hard for.

As I said, the rest of my week was jam-packed busy. Somewhere within the endless hours of dance team practice I’ve had this week alone (might I share an accomplishment- we finished our competition pom routine! Wooo!!!), I came to a realization of something.

Yes, practice is exhausting and long and time consuming. Often times, I’d rather be at home sleeping or lurking around social media instead of at practice. But I take part in practice for a reason- it only helps me, and the rest of my team. There is absolutely no no NO way improvement & progress will occur if I stay at home as opposed to the studio. Dance practice is exhausting and long and time consuming but before I complain, I just remind myself that it’s nothing more than time out of my day dedicated to doing something I love so much.

If you take part in something requiring performance, and you can’t see the good in the occasional bad that it sometimes comes with then unfortunately- I hate to put this so bluntly- but whatever “it” is, it probably just isn’t for you.

 College aside, dance aside

 I finally got my wisdom teeth removed yesterday after months of them bothering & irritating me. I feel as if everyone who needs this procedure done dreads it but strangely, I looked forward to it a lot. From a very young age, I’d always been scared of hospitals, blood, guts, intricate surgery, etc. (I pay a lot of thanks to Grey’s Anatomy for helping me overcome this fear). Much to my surprise, I had absolutely zero anxiety about this whole situation. Walking into the doctor’s office yesterday didn’t faze me, neither did taking a seat in the chair with a tray or metal instruments strewn out in front of me.

They placed that nose-cup thing over me and I began breathing the heavy air that rushed through the tubes. It was surreal. I felt like I was in a sci-fi movie having some strange experiment done on me. Moments after the doctor announced he was turning on the nitrous oxide, I began to feel it.

Boy did I feel it.

The air I breathed through the tube felt… different. I honestly can’t find a word to describe how much it differed from normal oxygen. But I knew I was inhaling something else. My fingers went cold, then my toes, and before I knew it, I had a desire to remain completely still. Everything in the room slowed down. The lights above me started moving in a zig-zag pattern. The noise from the machine behind me got louder and louder. The sound of the doctor and nurse talking got further and further away. I felt as if my body was slowly disappearing. But the weird thing- I was still completely conscious. I knew what was going on. I knew sleepy-drugs I inhaled were taking over me and shutting me down. I knew I was aware enough to remember and recall this moment later, as I’m doing exactly right now. I knew I was slowly losing focus and drifting off, which I eventually did.

What felt like only five minutes later, the blackness surrounding me progressively got brighter until I realized I was looking at the same wall I had been looking at when I first sat in the chair. I was awake. I couldn’t feel anything in my mouth, it felt as if nothing had even been done to me.

I definitely recall the loopiness I experienced as my dad drove me home. I was extremely talkative, although I don’t even recall what I was talking about (fortunately, there is video evidence. Also fortunately, I DID NOT unconsciously blabber something embarrassing or inappropriate in front of my dad, as this was my biggest fear waking up from anesthesia).

Ever since arriving home yesterday, I’ve left my bed maybe twice at the most. I’ve eaten countless jellos and pudding cups. In all honesty, I’m not as miserable as I expected to be. I woke up this morning with all the numbness gone, and now I can actually feel the sight of my stitches (4/10 on a pain scale). I still have no urge to get up and take part in any physical activity, as I’m not advised to do anyways. Plus, this is a three-day weekend, so I have an ample amount of time to recover before dragging myself back to school. In the meantime, I find this to be a perfect time to catch up on this blog I’ve temporarily abandoned in place of my countless activities this week.

-mariah