Ahhh, the men in my life...

Ok, so that's a little of a misleading title. I want to write about the parallels between my partner and Guppy, my cat. Thats all. Seriously.

This morning I realised how similar the two are.

They're always the first on the bed - picking their spot and i need to maneuver around them. Although the difference here is I can roll my partner over or make eyes at him so he moves... but the cat shall not be moved. Nope. Not the cat. Cat sits where cat fits and apparently the whole goddamn bed is just right.

They both also cry to be fed. Now my partner will occasionally come and stay over. If he's gone drinking he knows its probably better to crash at my house. If my mothers away he'll visit more often to make sure I havent gone mad in the corner of my room somewhere. When he's over and hungry he'll ask me what we're having for the upcoming meal. This is his way of telling me he's hungry. Guppy is a little more forward. He just screams.

Then there's waking them up. Guppy will sleep until he feels like darting all over the house. My partner will sleep until the house is burning down. He'll wake up, sure, when he's ready - but ONLY when he's ready. Asshole.

Then there's the fact that whenever I see either of them I want to squeeze them until their eyes pop out... but I never do.

I mean, I hug them just not too tight.

Mostly just the cat though. I hug-squeeze my partner all the time. I try lift him up too but when I do he gets a little mad.

Dumb stuff that makes me happy.

So my mother finally returned after a several week work trip. While my brother and I are more spotty than a stressed girls' period when it comes to emailing her, we both miss her the way that our dogs do.

We get excited when shes back because she's our mum and all but then we immediately settle back into the routine where we have the TV on all the time and our house smelling like a nice lady again.

Sometimes I wonder why I got a cat and maybe it was part of missing my ma. Knowing my house wasn't going to be empty and that I had someone else to feed because I know I don't eat right if Im alone.

She came bearing swag, as she always does, and dished it out this morning. There were collars for the pets, new shoes for albie and a shiny B and H bag for me. I couldnt stop rubbing the bags for my new mic and stabiliser on my face for some reason. My mother of course tells the story the ways she tells all her stories about getting things for me.

She went to the superstore, all the way on 9th mind you, and just gave the links to the things I asked for to the guy. and he got the stuff. and the stuff was bought. What is wrong with my daughter why does she like nice thiiiiings....

And so on and so forth. And then she asked me to wear the nice pants she got me, handed me a shirt and today I am dressed like an adult. She also got me a ballin' new black vest and maroony jacket - apparently it was a steal at the garment district or whatever she called it. I am so looking forward to winter here.

I am going to be the coolest... but not the coldest. GET IT. DO YOU. ermgerrrrrd

Do you ever wonder why?

Why you have friends, perhaps? I wonder that all the time but then I realise we're all just a bunch of weirdos.

I just had the best and strangest exchanges via text I have ever had with maybe one of my closest friends.We're getting lunch today so I checked in and all of a sudden - !

Oh but we didn't just end with the heart attack inducing jokes. We, as coffee culture kids looking forward to a tete a tete over the roasted bean, drag things out because we can. And whats ever wrong with putting on a show?

It is indeed. Of course, I felt the need to elaborate to make sure James (a swan among ducks.. or like one duck. It depends where he is really) knew I had nothing against the majesty of the longer necked birds.

And then I had to calm his own fears among the banter. But also reiterate a stake already placed. That said, James is a fabulous breed of man lover so its a little more like staking a claim over the stake that wouldve claimed me? Maybe this is more complicated when I explain it...

And with that, I should probably get some work done too. I guess? 

Maturity, am I right?

I have had to deal with a lot of poopy stuff. Crappy lecturers, awful people, bad stuff happening like death and cancer. Sometimes I wonder how I managed to get to where I am – employed. In a relationship with almost 0 drama (aside from my own occasional outbursts). In a family I love to death even though they're all weird as balls (I mean, have you SEEN balls?).

I think it's about just doing the job. There are always going to be people who pick on you, who don't understand or your brain is just wired funny and you can't handle everything at once.

I've been meditating a lot lately. Just breathing, dealing with thoughts as things that don't affect me but exist. I've been having to deal with one of the most frustrating humans I've ever met at work. I broke down yesterday – hating everything about my life, job, the world, the universe. But when I went home, picked up by my partner bearing bubble tea, I had a moment.

My partner is a human being who has survived therapy, something I've never been comfortable considering – let alone doing. He has been a rock through some of the toughest times - unfortunately quite saturated in the last two and a half years. He didn't say anything other than “get out of your funk, Im coming with bubble tea.”

And that was it. Only the self can let crappy people, butt situations or random events affect you. You are in control of you and the situations presented to you or created by you. Why spend all your energy fighting something, being angry or frustrated or depressed. Just do. Just be. Just get the hell-damn on.

Yes, it's easy to say at the end of the emotionally tumultuous rainbow. But hell, I have a cat to take care of, meals to plan and bills to pay. I have family responsibilities and a responsibility to myself to do the best I can. What else can you do but your best, right?

Guppy the Anti-Cat-Pressant.

I got a cat recently. I call him Guppy and he is my stand in for antidepressants. When I got him, it was drama, drama, crap-in-the-car.

Firstly, I was sad and let my mind wander. It wandered to the future I want. Sure, a place I could call my own with my partner. We've had conversations now about how we'd get a cat because then you'd have perfect out when you're exhausted at 2am and trying to get away from social situations (you may notice a lot of this has got to do with me and avoiding all the large scale social situations).

So, I thought to myself “why I don't I just get a cat now? I don't like going out and I don't like feeling alone”. So, via enabler the Fashionable Faraz I got a cat. I picked up a scrawny noodle of a cat dubbed “Kutu” but the SPCA staff. I was too polite to come up with a name at the time so he is registered as Kutu... yes, like the lice.

On the way to the office (where I intended to keep the cat until the end of the business day), Kutu/Guppy lost his shit. Literally. First we was freaking out because cars. Then it was “I NEED TO BE NEAR YOUR FACE FOR SOME REASON”. And then he was looking for hiding places and my heart sank. So I lifted him up so he wouldnt crap in my handbag and OH MY GOD DID THE CAT JUST FART HOLY BALLS HES CRAPPING EVERYWHERE.

It happened and it was all together glorious and awful at the same time. Faraz lost his sense and was laughing hysterically, tears in his eyes (from laughter or the smell? We'll never know). So I took the rest of the day to work from home (thank god for relatively flexible hours) and change into something that didn't previously contain a neat pile of cat poops.

So I became a cat lady from then on. I spend the weekend alone and running around – buying a litter tray, cat food, a little rug to go under the tray. Buying hangers to get my clothes off the floor so the cat wouldnt poop or sleep on it. All round just lining my life up with this cat I decided to adopt. He joined the ranks of the “indoor animals” that only include my brother while the other cat and our 3 dogs live outside.

Do I regret it? Sometimes. Sometimes I wish I had self control and didn't go out of my way on a weekday to bring a surrendered animal into my house... especially when he sits on my face or paws at my cheeks, mewling in hunger because I've basically turned him into a massive fatty.

But the rest of the time, we cries for hugs, paws at my face when Im in a good mood and sits with me when Im playing something at the PC. He curls up next to me at night and ninja-jumps at me when I get home. He had helped me practice patience. He has helped me manage my moods. He has helped me get up in the morning.

I love you Guppy, you stinky butt fatty.  

Holy Anxiety, Batman!

I am a relatively young human being that is unable to remember a time I wasn't constantly nervous or worried. In the past few years, the typical “worrying” has mutated (I'm a real X-person ma!) into occasional full blown anxiety – panic attacks and all.

Yesterday I was overhearing a particularly loud office “discussion” and it triggered an attack. So far, a lot of my attacks have stemmed from consistent worrying culminating in shaking in a dark room somewhere trying to calm myself down. However, yesterday I just went to the corner of the thankfully empty room and meditated.

Nothing spiritual or special, I just focused on my breathing and forced myself to calming acknowledge what was happening around me. Basic stuff, you know? And it helped.

Usually, my attacks see me end up with a snotty nose, tear-stained collar and messy hair from frantic pulling. While I did rock back and forth a bit, I forced myself to sit up and still – told my brain I was in charge and I wasn't going to let synapses fire all up the way they are used to.

I guess it all stemmed from the fact I am sick of the attacks. Sure, I'm not “used” to them or am a long term sufferer but I definitely don't want them to pop up every time the smallest thing starts to bother me. I've had enough years with circular dark moods a la my depression to want to develop something new.

At the same time, I'm also trying to deal with my depression... and work is not helping. I am not a “collapser-under-stress” – I handle it fairly well. I know how to deal with deadlines and commit to a cutoff point because, because, because – that's how life works. But work is starting to wear on me.

I don't know if it's “same-old-same-old” fatigue... I highly doubt it is. I mean, I worked at the same thing for 8 years, I know this burnout is not the work. I guess it goes back to the yelling.

I like a healthy environment. I like being able to work somewhere where I don't have to worry about my anxiety or depression triggering. I like being able to focus, not forcing myself to in a place where its scene after scene, drama upon drama.

I just want to work... is that so bad?

I've never dreamt of what I do

Am I lucky? I find myself in a fulfilling job - yet today as I lounge around my house, trying to dose myself through the pain of the mystery boil, I wonder how I got here.

How did I become a writer?

I often find myself correcting myself or my mother when I am introduced. I do not feel like a journalist - after 3 years in a journalism school I knew that wasn't what I wanted to do (that said, after the same three years studying politics, I knew that wasn't for me either).

Telling stories has apparently been a pastime of mine since I could talk. As a kid, spending my weekends steeped in Suva coffee culture, I would rattle off to my mother's friends (about god knows what) endlessly.

As I grew, I found myself unable to speak. I grew nervous and worried but watered my imagination everyday and now it sits, unkempt as my body hair, overgrown and wild.

This imagination garden, my haven, my home, has become my double edged sword. I have so many stories, but it's grown a life of it's own and often manifests in anxiety, a curious depression and doubt.

I worry that while I love my job, I love where I am, the people who surround me and everything else... that I am beneath it all.

I worry that my job is not "a real job" - not the classic 9 to 5 we expect. I always have a story idea lurking at the back of my head, a concept for a piece, a video, a proposal. I worry that I have a voice that shouldn't be seen or heard because... well... I worry I am not "Fijian" enough.

But isn't all of that just the fine print? Why not continue to colour the walls with sweeping gestures, painting a wide, wide picture that no one will really see detail in - hiding the details from scrutiny?

Ah well, maybe this is all part and parcel of my unkempt, life-of-its-own garden. Who knows?