where the HELL have you been!?

A few years ago, when i was living in Calgary with the B-rad, i found myself on the bus after work one wintry day resting my head on the window and watching the world pass by me. It was a mind numbing commute, and when the bus stopped at a traffic light, i happened to see a little old woman; bundled in scarves and carrying packages of various sizes walking down the sidewalk.

i thought to myself:
"i wonder if she needs any help with those bags."

this seemingly innocent wonder was the first thought in an intricate and elaborate thought pattern that spiraled out of control within seconds...before the bus had even pulled away.

before i knew it, i was picturing all sorts of scenarios in which this little old woman met her demise - either by some tragic accident, or dying alone of despair.

Needless to say, i became increasingly saddened and worried as my thought patterns continued to prattle on and by the end of the commute was thoroughly depressed and teary.

Flash forward to October 2009 - which will thusly be dubbed "THE MONTH THAT CAN SUCK IT!" or TMTCSI.

Everyone who knows me, or B-rad, or us as a couple KNOWS we're solid. Solid as a rock. That is the truth. I have never known a man like him, someone who totally and completely gets me and all my zany quirks and gets my humour (twisted as it is), loves the same music, likes the same movies, reads the same books, in short - we are two peas in a pod.

Add to the mix our little bundle of effing joy, Chewie, we are the perfect happy little family unit.

So, why then, in October - did i spend the majority of the month in full on Fight or Flight mode?

I can trace it back to an incident - the tattoos.
I thought to myself:
"Hm, now that we've made it five years - passed the 50% divorce rate statistic - and got these celebratory tattoos...NOW we'll get divorced! ha!"

this seemingly innocent sarcastic thought was the first thought in an intricate and elaborate thought pattern that spiraled out of control within seconds...

**Let me be perfectly clear that there is no possibility of divorce in our marriage - we actually are really happy and solid, but i'll get to this in a minute**

Before i knew it, i was awake every day at 4 in the morning - creating deeply involved plots wherein HE would leave ME, or I would leave HIM, when in reality i wanted nothing more than to stay happily married to the man of my dreams.

My heart would pound, i'd get tight chested, my stomach would knot up and i'd have to fight the nausea that would inevitably ensue.

Once i was in this *mode* i was Full-ON in it, and i could NOT stop my brain from spinning these wild and crazy stories out of nothing. I was incapable of driving myself home from work without concocting some horrible story about me getting in a car accident, and the babysitter calling my cell to find out why i was late picking up Chewie, and me not answering my phone because i was unconscious or dead, and then the baby sitter calling B-rad on HIS cell phone, and him picking up Chewie but still not knowing where i was, and getting the call from the Hospital, or the Police at the door.... on and on and on and on and on......

It's kind of like having nightmares, only i'm wide awake...

Random things. Trivial things.
I had no idea what would set me off.

And not only that, but the constant surge of adrenaline and the crash that would follow became increasingly exhausting, i was unable to focus, i had no concentration, tasks that were simple that i did every day required an IMMENSE amount of effort - and it wasn't uncommon for those simple tasks to bring me, literally, to my knees.

One Monday morning, after B-rad went to work i called my Mom for an emergency mom-daughter session wherein she talked me down of my emotional ledge, by calming me, helping me breathe through the sobs and generally reassuring me that Everyone feels that way at some point.

She told me that this is nothing new, that i've always had 'freak outs' like this one. Even when i was a kid... she said sometimes if there was something big happening, or a change, i'd get headaches... it didn't even necessarily have to be something bad, it may have been something i was excited about, like a field trip... but it would be too much for me to handle and my body would shut down with headaches.

I didn't tell her about all the physical symptoms i was having, just the "OHMIGODHESGOINGTOLEAVEME!" thoughts. But the thing that stuck was when she said: "You're not the only one that feels this way"

YOU are NOT the ONLY ONE that feels THIS way....

...that night, while worrying about the ultimate demise of the human race thanks to the Mayan Calendar's 2012 prediction... i remembered her words and thought: "If i'm NOT the only one who feels this way, that means OTHER people feel this way... that means that MAYBE there's someone who can help me STOP feeling this way."

this, in my eyes, was a huge eye opener for me... and it was like there was a tiny crack in the darkness that let in just enough light for me to feel not quite so scared.

I resolved to talk to someone, anyone, about how i was feeling...
Some **really amazing friends** of mine (you know who you are) helped me to realize that help is out there and that i'm not SUPER CRAZY, only a little crazy. :)

that Friday night, B-rad and i were able to get out of the house to see a movie... and i was, essentially, an emotional zombie. We stood at the Ticket machine trying to decide what to see... i was physically unable to make a decision... i was physically unable to READ the words that were on the screen... i started to panic, and i turned to B-rad and said: "Just pick something! I just can't make this decision." He picked a movie (Zombieland, which i thought was hilarious) but it didn't start for a little over an hour. So we went for a walk by the river, where i finally broke down all my walls i'd built around myself... and told the B-rad everything i had been feeling the last couple of weeks.

The man is not an idiot. Obviously, he knew something was up, but he didn't know what.

My biggest fears that he would think i was crazy, or that i was just being over emotional... or that it was all in my head and i should just SUCK it UP proved unfounded. My husband was and is amazing, and refrained from trying to 'fix it' and listened as i gave him a play by play of what "Teh Crazy" felt like.

I won't give you the dirty details of our conversation because it was pretty personal, and also pretty effin' awesome.

But what came out of it was the concrete knowledge that he wasn't just my husband, but my PARTNER and he was going to be there to hold me up when i felt like the world was crushing me down. Feeling like i wasn't alone was like this immense weight had lifted off my chest, and through his strength, i felt stronger.

he asked: "So, are you going to see someone about this?"
"Well, i think i kind of have to."
"Yeah, i think so too."

Which brought me to the doors of Dr. Sharon, the Psychologist, who very gently coaxed me into a position where i felt safe enough to tell her what was going on.

She said words like:

anxiety disorder, anxiety attacks, panic attacks, depression, catastrophizing, ....normal...

whatever "normal" is.

She helped me to realize that the physiological symptoms i was feeling were not just in my head...


The tension, the nausea, the heart racing, the sweats, the dry mouth.... all symptoms of anxiety. all "normal"... as far as normal goes.

She gave me some tools to help me pull myself out of anxiety/depression cycles - and it's a struggle, but sometimes it actually works.

Tricks to stop the spinning of my mind, and most importantly - to relax. To remember to breathe. To calm the heart, the soul, the mind, the spirit.

So, to answer the question posed in the title... where the HELL have you been? i've been here. Trying to relax. To be calm.

But i feel good.
I feel better than i have in weeks, and it's because i took the courage i needed to pick myself up off the floor and carry on.

It's a work in progress though... i'm still smacked in the face with things i think i can't handle on a daily basis. At work, at home, in my brain...

but if this whole experience has taught me anything, it's that i am not alone.
That people can be incredible.
That shoulders will be made available for crying on.
That hugs are free.
That bloggers like Saviabella, B-rad, Witchypoo, Matthew, Wench, Tumak Hunter, and Abigailroad (guest post to come) FUCKING ROCK.
That my husband loves me and supports me and is part of the TEAM that makes our marriage.
That i don't have to keep feeling this way, and i can be happy.

Public Service Announcement

A Public Service Announcement

Protect yourself and others from influenza...and zombies!

Stop the spread of viruses that make you and others sick or undead!

1. Cover your mouth when you sneeze or cough then wash hands.

2. No tissue? cough or sneeze into your elbow, not your hands. No hands? cough or sneeze wherever you like, you're a zombie.

3. Clean your hands with warm soap and water or gel or alcohol based cleanser.

4. Stay at home if you're sick or infected.

5. Do not bite or eat your coworkers.

6. If bitten by a coworker, please stay home, barricade yourself into a locked room and call the authorities. You will be taken care of, promise.

Simply following these six guideline can help us all prevent the spread of influenza and the zombie virus. The life you save may be your own.

Thank you,

Ministry of Health

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Hey everyone, remember me?
I wanted to share with you this awesome poster that is currently hanging in the ladies washroom at work. HA! They sent me, like, 50 of these posters - and we have a tiny office. Anyway, i thought it might need some improving, so... i improved it. Then i came up with the following PSA, which i'm going to send in an all staff email on monday. :D If we lose our sense of humour, we're all toast anyway, right?

--laura

Guest Post - Tumak Hunter

In my long freakin' absence from the blogging world - you lovely people keep offering me posts! You're so kind, and starting soon you'll all be receiving cookies in the mail**. :D

**actual cookies not included

Today's guest post is from a Tumakhunter who blogs over at My Journey and i've been reading his posts for a while... but what really intrigues me is that he's an actual honest-to-goodness druid. So when he offered up a guest post and asked what he should write about, i asked him a super huge question regarding his faith and how it all works... and he put together the super informative following response. Thanks Tumakhunter ((hugs))

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I grew up (sorta) with the United Church, but when my folks broke up when I was 8, we stopped attending. By 11 I was a sworn atheist, but by 15, I found myself looking to the moon and stars and offering prayers. I started realizing that there was something there, and began looking for others, but it wasn't until I got to Vancouver (I grew up in Cranbrook, in BC's East Kootenay region) that I really started to find others.

Pagan was a word I knew, and I also knew Wiccan wasn't it (I had been approached by a schoolmate who wanted me to check out her Wiccan group, but it didn't *feel* right to me). It wasn't until I started dating a rocker chick three years my senior that I glommed on to the name Druid, though I had always kind of felt that pull. I think I avoided the term in highschool because I was/am a real D&D freak, too, and that game was in the middle of doing the talk show circuit/satanism thing. I didn't want people thinking I'd gotten *too* into the game, y'know?

About 12 years ago, I really started meeting people in the local pagan scene, and making a lot of friends. Wnt to a lot of public rituals, that sort of thing. I even took a friend's "Wicca 101" course - a 13 week crash course in what wicca is and how things are done that way. In the end, I didn't opt for initiation, though, because it still didn't "feel" right. Sometime earlier, however, I had stumbled across an organization called OBOD - the Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids (www.druidry.org ), based out of England. I *really* wanted to join them, but it's so expensive. The, about six years ago I met an OBODy, and together with a few other (some new) friends, joined up ourselves, sharing costs and training materials.

I found that it wasn't as much for me as I'd hoped, however - too "wiccan" in style, but without the emphasis on sex and sexuality. Then that same OBOD friend got me a one year membership with ADF [A Druid Fellowship] as a birthday gift and the rest, as they say, is history.

One thing I try to do, is live my religion. And that’s what paganism / heathenism is to me – a religion. I once heard a man say, “Spirituality is something you do by yourself. Religion is something done with a community.” Wise words. I actually see myself as an incredibly religious man, and I twitch a bit when I hear people use the word to indicate, basically, fundamentalist Christian. But that’s just usage of terms, what can I say. I always want to ask them what they think Islam is, or Buddism? But I digress. Now to some history...

When I began with ADF in 2006, I decided to work with the Irish pantheon. To me it just made sense. And as I was a new father, I chose to work with the Dagda, in hopes that doing so might help me to be a good father. Brid also seemed a good choice, firstly as a hearth goddess, then later for her other aspects. I began making offerings every morning - for Brid, the first pour of coffee every morning, for Dagda, usually - but not always - a small amount of oatmeal.

Approximately half a year later, we moved into a new home with some friends of ours. We were to take the basement suite, and they the main floor, but at the time of the move there wasn't a suite in place. For the next few months, my offerings waned as I felt I had no personal space to perform them - even for the first little while after we got downstairs, I didn't make much space. After awhile, though, I really started to feel the lack, so made a very small space on the mantle of the fireplace. Eventually, over time, I have been able to create a larger, more permanent space.

Then in 2007, shortly after my first anniversary with ADF, something odd happened. It began with a dream sometime around the summer solstice. In this dream, I was having a conversation with a dark robed man. His face was completely shrouded by the hood of his robe, but I knew him to be a man prominent in ADF - I'm not sure if he told me that or not, though. In this conversation, we were discussing gods, and the topic of Patron Dieties came up. I don't remember much of the conversation, but I remember that part. I remember proudly telling him that my patron was the Dagda. He paused a moment and got very thoughtful, almost trance-like. Then he threw back his head and laughed, a loud, hearty laugh.

"The Dagda's not your patron," he told me. "Don't get me wrong, he likes you, but he's not your patron. Your patron is someone else, someone like Ma'at - a god of justice. But he's of a more... recent vintage, I suppose you could say."

When I awoke, I was confused. The Dagda isn't my patron? Someone of recent "vintage" is? And a god of justice, at that? Who? So I wracked my brains trying to think of recent gods of justice. I must have been thinking too recent, though, because the conclusion I came to was Superman. As much as I'm into comic books, and believe that superheroes are the new generation of gods, that still didn't feel quite right.

It wasn't until a month or two later that it came to me. I was at a birthday party for another friend of mine, and I gave him a staff as a birthday gift. However, this staff wasn't the best I could have done - it had been a part of a handfasting in a previous relationship. So I decided to do a better one. Looking around his home, I saw that he follows a Norse tradition, and that he uses the runes. So I decided to put runes on a staff for him. The staff itself would be a piece he gave me - a long piece of driftwood that I cut to six and a half feet long. So, I drew out the Elder Futhark on the staff in a descending spiral, and began to cut them into the wood. As I was cutting, I got a strange sensation, somewhat like a tickling voice in the back of my head. I knew it immediately to be Woden, and it said, "There you are. It's time to look over here, now, at the gods of your ancestors." These weren't the actual words - none were really spoken - but it was definitely the message.

Huh.

While I didn't get the impression that Woden claimed me for himself, per se, I was now given focus. My Ancestors. Well, I'm Anglo-Saxon in heritage, so that seemed the best place to start. On the internet at work, I googled Anglo Saxon Gods. This led me to a few sites on A-S heathenry, such as Englatheod, which I began to study. I learned a bit about the gods, and upon inquiry on the ADF Northern mailing lists, began to study Tiw (Tyr), as he seemed the most like me. I was never able to completely connect, though, oddly enough. I continued (and still continue) my studies, though.

On another occasion (back in March, I think), I had been doing some reading on the different gods of the Anglo-Saxon peoples, and had read a bit about Seaxneat (also Saxnot), one of the chief gods of the Saxons. Little is known about him, though, other than that he is listed as the first in the line of Kings of Essex, and was in the Renunciation Oath that Charles made the Saxon peoples take before baptising them (the other two gods in that oath were Woden and Thunor, so Saxnot is obviously somebody pretty big). A lot of scholars consider him to be the same as Tyr. Well, on that day at work, I was doing some mindless task or another (pre-packing truss bolts, I think), and all of a sudden I'm transported to what at first seemed a battlefield, though there was only one person there: a man, about 5'10" with short black hair and well trimmed beard. He was dressed as a soldier from about 500 AD, and in his right hand was a bared sword. I *knew* him instantly to be Seaxneat (whose name translates to 'Sword Friend'), and he called himself by the title 'Kingmaker.' Now, since he obviously had both of his hands, he definitely wasn't Tyr, let me tell you. I went over to the Englatheod messageboards and asked about this. I was told that the Saxons only had kings in times of war, so perhaps he was a god of the Thing, or assembly, where kings might be chosen. I don't know.

Some time later, while on break at work, I was reading a bit more of my book ('Taking Up the Runes' by Diana Paxson), and was in the supplemental section of the rune Tir, or Tiwaz. The book told of the Irminsul, the pole erected by the Saxons at the centre of their communities that is said to represent the World Tree. It told of how in olden times a glove would be placed on the end of the pole, and the phrase "the glove is up" would signal the beginning of a fesitval (still used at Renaissance Faires today). Suddenly I had this image pop into my head of a man pushing up from the ground. His right hand pushed at the sky, seperating it from the Earth as he cried out with the effort. This man was the size of a mountain, was naked from the waist up (all I could see), and had short black hair and a short black beard. I at first thought it might be Seaxneat, and am still not entirely certain it wasn't, that I saw.

Guest Post - Wench is on the Wire

another bloggy buddy coming to the rescue. Love.

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Hello there diva worshippers. Most people call me wench, and I thought I'd give la diva a day's grace to meditate on the oneness of the universe ;) I'm sure that many of us are all to aware of the difficulties with weight - whether we are trying to lose it or gain it, it always seems to be more or less than we wish it would be. For myself I have spent uncounted hours counting carbs, fats, weighing food, reading self help guides, doing cleanses, avoiding particular food groups and going to meetings where I never felt anything but demeaned. I've been overweight since after my first child with a span of about 6 years in my late 20s early 30s where I was all hotness which then evaporated into a fast 40 pounds in one year. In the following 15 years I only found myself winning the battle of the bulge for about 6 months and then I put my back out and c'est la vie. Those fat molecules were attracted to me like iron filings on a super magnetized horseshoe iron. It seemed like overnight and poof! It was back to humongous once again.

Having failed so miserably so many times - or been successful and then allwing the extra flesh to pad my curvy bits I am looking for the CAUSE of the extra tonnage. It's not sugar, I eat very little white - pasta rice potatoes bread. I do love the gravy and white sauce and curry though. Lots of salad and very little process food. Love my beer. However, I determined in August that my biggest hurdle was my own mindset.

I eat for comfort, to celebrate, socially, for the flavour, when I'm upset or angry... I have learned to ignore the extra pounds attaching themselves to my ass - until I need to by new pants and then I rationalize it as "They" are making the sizes smaller. Which they do, but not that quickly. I stay large because then no one WILL ask me out and I won't have to deal with all that heart risk once again - other women don't consider me a threat and men consider me as a friend - only. People like me this way ... you see where I'm going with this.

Fat = Safe.

Except for the possibilities of heart disease and cholesterol problems, blood pressure and arthritis. I'm a type 2 diabetic (with it very good control so not to worry) but that extra weight just means that I'm killing myself slowly. Hmmmm - was that what my subconscious was doing?

So for 5 and a half weeks I have been on a 1500 calorie a day diet - and I'm winning. Yes it's tough BUT I eat 4 or 5 times a day - small meals - yogurt, lots of veggies reduced portions of meat and fat - no junk food/fast food, but high fibre and legumes and soup. It's a relatively varied diet with a limit of 1 cup of food per meal except fresh veggies - those I allow myself to my heart's content. Lots of tomatoes and red peppers, nuts and dried fruit in small quantities and if I get a real chocolate craving I buy myself one of those single serving 80% cocoa chocolate squares.

And every 2 weeks I get a free day.

I got on the scale today and was surprised to see less of myself YAY!!!!  3 pounds in the last week and 34 since I started the process in August. I still don't like what my body looks like but I will someday.

Cheers

wench

Guest Post - Dying Tonight

So, a little while ago i happily stumbled over AbodeOneThree, where Matthew was discussing The Age of Caffeinated Enlightenment and i thought - "now THAT'S something i can get behind", so i added him to my reader and went on my way. Fast forward a few weeks and here we are! What i'm saying is... we're brand new bloggy friends! Brand Spankin! So when he so generously offered to allow me to repost something from his blog, i was touched. He is now ranked number one in my list of sexy blogger men. :D
To quote his email to me recently: "This is a friendly world we all occupy, isn't it?"
indeed, Matthew, Thanks!!

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There have been a few times in my life when I thought I was about to die. I remember the first very well, although I admit to being a little sketchy on the exact date. I was young, probably around eight or nine, and we were living in a pebble-dashed terraced house in Staple Hill, a suburb of Bristol on the South West coast of the UK. It was the four of us back then; my mother, father, brother and I. We would have had a dog, too - probably our second dog Freya, she of the pie-eating and general food stealing fame. This was before the family move to Reading that followed a few years later. Back then, we lived in Bristol and Reading was what you did with a book in your hand.

That year, be it 1979 or 1980, my family took it in turns to contract flu. By that, I don't mean a heavy cold - I mean bona fide influenza. To date, I have never been as sick as I was back then and these days when I'm off work and return to fill out a sickness absence form, I always write 'heavy cold' in the description box. Once you've had flu, you don't call anything else by the name. I remember feeling really, really sick for the first time in my short life. I don't remember how long I coughed for, how long I stayed in bed for or how high my temperature got, but I do remember the day that my chest became so congested with phlegm that breathing became difficult. The more I tried to breathe, the more crap I sucked deeper into my chest and the harder breathing became. I got very, very scared and remember crying and shouting repeatedly that I was dying. In hindsight, I was making a pretty good racket so I doubt that lack of oxygen was really going to do for me as long as I could protest that vociferously but anyway, the point is that the fear was real. I remember it vividly and I sense I always will. I honestly thought I was going to die, right there and then.

Fast forward just over 20 years and 100 miles west. I don't know the exact date but I do know this isn't how it should be. It's a work night, it's late and I'm sitting on a wooden stool in the kitchen of my first floor flat in North London. I've lived here for a while now and I like it. My first marriage has gone south and, like some people do, I've jumped headlong into a new relationship and moved in with the girl. It's different, exciting. The sex is good (for now, anyway). There's only one slight problem - the girl I live with is standing in front of me with a kitchen knife against my throat.

How this came about, god only knows. I remember arguing with her, although not what that argument was about. It could have been something as banal as her being unable to find the television remote and then getting more and more angry, accusing me of not looking hard enough to help her and then of deliberately hiding it to cause her grief. Me being me, my response wouldn't have been overly supportive by that stage. Maybe that's how I got here - or maybe I'd got some freshly washed sheets dirty by accident and the argument had spiralled from that. Basically I should have admitted to something and apologised for everything a good ten minutes ago, if not sooner. Now, sitting on that stool at one o'clock in the morning, looking into a face that I don't really recognise these days, I wonder if this is the moment that I leave this world. Common sense would say not but let's face it, common sense doesn't put someone who claims to love you in a position where they have a large knife pointed in your direction. Time slows, moments are drawn out and you become aware of everything around you - almost as if you're preparing to take in one last gulp of life before the lights go out.

I find myself wondering how it came to this but, more importantly, how I'm going to get out of this. I talk, I admit to things I didn't do, intentions I never had and I promise to be a better person. Anything to get me off this chair. Eventually it works. I persuade her to calm down, put the knife away. I talk her back to bed and tell her that I'm just going out for a walk - to clear my head. I click the door shut behind me and tread quietly down the old wooden steps, never actually calm until I'm through the big front door and out on the street. I walk through North London, stopping at the all-night coffee shops run by the Algerians and the Moroccans. I order thick black coffee and smoke cigarettes with the locals. Then I do the same again. After all, it's not like I was going to be able to sleep anyway. Inevitably, hours later, I find myself walking back to the flat. Despite the area's reputation, I never feel in danger out on the streets of North London when I'm walking and it's late. I feel the wind and hear the traffic and smell the exhaust on the air and I wonder if I've ever felt more alive. I also wonder how many more times this will happen before I finally leave. Just the once, as it turns out.

Now hit the fast forward button again and come up to the present, to a well-to-do house in Sydney's affluent Northern Beaches. We have travelled down for the weekend to see family on Sunday but made the journey late on Friday night so that my wife and her mother could shop for cheap stock at Manly Markets on Saturday morning. I am distinctly unwell. My breathing's fine, my temperature's normal and no psycho ex is holding a knife to my throat, but I find myself nauseous, with absolutely no appetite and unable to keep any food down - or in - for prolonged periods. Maybe I should have stayed in bed at our host's place but I tend not to do bed-rest so instead I'm out at the markets with my wife, her son and her mother. Later after the markets are done, we send her mother home in a taxi and the three of us sit on Manly Beach to have lunch. It's a beautiful day, warm and filled with sun. We buy a large portion of hot, salted chips and I eat just five of those chips, only because I feel I should try and keep my strength up rather than through any real hunger or desire. Later we walk to the local gallery and I am grateful that there are public toilets nearby for me to throw up in. We walk around the coast to a lovely aquatic reserve cove and paddle in the crisp, cold surf - but my highlight is finding the one remaining toilet that isn't occupied on the two occasions I need it at short notice. That night at dinner I order a small bowl of soup; again to try and keep my strength up rather than because I'm hungry. The soup's a success - it stays down for around 2 hours before reappearing. It's at that stage I decide to go to bed and try to sleep.

My night is disturbed and my dreams are strange. I tell myself that this is just temporary, that normal service will be resumed as soon as possible. Deep down though, I'm wondering if this is something more serious. Maybe this is the start of something major and maybe I'll never be the same again. Maybe it's the start of bowel cancer, stomach cancer or something else entirely. Deep down I know it's just a bug but it's laid me low and ravaged me, more than any illness has managed since I was a young boy living in a pebble dashed terraced house. I find myself wondering if this is how I'll die - not suddenly through asphyxiation or stabbing but slowly, painfully and without dignity, in pools of my own waste. It's a long night and I'm glad when it's over and Sunday's upon us. I'm even more pleased when Sunday sees me able to keep down fluids and small portions of food. Maybe I needn't write my epitaph just yet.

The meeting with the family takes place in Sydney's Botanical Gardens. We have lunch together, I manage to eat and I am able to show some flashes of my usual self. My wife drives the three of us home just after 5pm. Although I know she doesn't like doing the drive from Sydney to home at night, she refuses my offer to share the driving and I love her all the more for that.

Monday comes and the bug draws its final breaths before expiring just after midday. I play it safe, calling in sick to allow myself time to recover for sure. That gives me an extra day of recuperation and that's fine with me as despite having packed so much into the weekend, I feel as though I was cheated out of a significant part of it. I cook spaghetti for dinner that night. Much like the North London air in the early hours of a morning all those years ago, it tastes sweeter than it has any right to.

Guest Post - a la Witchypoo

And now a post by the Lovely Witchypoo who so wonderfully volunteered to do a guest spot for me. I less than three her.

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My twenty six year old son still lives with me. I don't have a real problem with that, although I fear going into his room. He has accumulated so much stuff that there isn't room for another thing.

Yet? He had over $500 discretionary income last week, and spent it in two days. I get that. He never really had any amount of money before to spend exactly how he wanted to, and to buy the things that he really wanted. Also? He enjoys the activity of shopping.

He showed me his purchases, after much coaxing, because really, showing them to people is part of the fun of shopping, isn't it?

Maybe not so much in his case.

He shopped for his alter ego. The girl. He bought two pairs of shoes (cuter shoes than I have had), two or three purses, make-up, two watches, and a fancy deodorant that cost over $20.

I thought he would buy a new camera, or crap for his computer. When I think of it, why should he? That's the kind of crap I give him for his birthday. I never buy him girly things. Not that I have a problem with that. It's just that nobody else can really buy that shit for me, so why do I think I can for him?

Seriously, though. If he has another small things shopping spree, I fear his room will burst at the seams and disgorge all of its contents into the hall.

I live in fear.

Guest Blog - an interview....

Dear Friendternets,

When i put out my call to arms, as it were, asking for you - the reader - to help me out in my tough time, i have to admit that i was most surprised and delighted when someone so very close to my heart, and near and dear to me offered to write a guest post. In fact, it would be fair to say, even, that i was flabbergasted. Never, in a million years would i have guessed that he would offer, but ladies and gentlemen... the one and only B-rad offered. i KNOW! can you BELIEVE IT!!

and not only that, but it's a Two Parter!

The most gorgeous and talented Saviabella is in on the game. She's come up with ten questions for my husband, and then he asked *her* ten questions...

So, without further ado: i give you

"Interview with a B-rad"

Savia: When did you know that Laura was the gal for you? How did you know you wanted to spend your life with her?

B-rad: Well, as Im sure all you M Diva followers are aware, it all started back in gr. 9. She walked into the classroom as the new girl, cute face, nervous smile, extra high jeans, and an amazing set of mammalian protruberances.

I knew she was my one and only when I realized that there was no woman comparable to her. Living without her would mean becoming a hopeless, deranged lunatic, moving from female to female in search of that certain something I knew I would never find in another.

Savia: Have you ever had any weird encounters with people who knew you from Laura's blog but you had never met in real life (like how I friended you on Facebook even though you had no idea who I was...)?

B-rad: Weird encounters? Hmmm...you, Savia, have definitely been the weirdest encounter for sure. Try accepting a FB marriage request from some crazy blogger chick that is in lust with your actual existing wife. In the end it all turned out for the best, cuz you're hot, and I dig ya ;)

Also, Im sure you read the post about meeting, uhh...Marshmallow something (you can link to that post please) at our neighbours. That was a lil' odd. She knows some of our secrets and stuff. Kinda felt embarassed a little

Savia: What do you think of the whole blog world and people knowing about your life? Are you a private person or do you let it all hang out (tee hee)?

B-rad: Blogging, in my opinion and preference, is an anonymity thing. You know, mostly writing about stuff you cant talk to friends or family about. All your secrets revealed, but not being judged by those close to you as a weird messed up fool. On the other side of the coin, thats also the con of blogging. Escape from reality. It can cause a bit of a problem with some people, just being an online personality, you know? Hope Im not offending some bloggers out there.

I am a fairly private person, so blogging is really not my thing. Also I am a really slow typer, as you know, so writing a blog post is a long process. Also, I am very careful and m-e-t-i-c-u-l-o-u-s about the words I choose, and that takes a long time as well.

In regards to letting it all hang out-You're gonna have to find out for yourself sometime.

Savia: What's it like being a new daddy-o? How has it changed your life? Does having more penises in the house give you a power advantage over Laura?

B-rad: New dadhood is pretty sweet. Never thought I would ever love another male of our species this much.

I now turn to a mess in movies where there is any kind of father-son issue or death. Life has also changed in many, many, many other ways too numerous to count. I guess the biggest is not being able to just pick up and leave for anywhere-movies, pub, etc...

The penis thing factors not. At least not yet. Home movie night will be interesting later on.

Savia: This probably doesn't even need to be a question, but I'm going to ask it anyway - Laura's pretty hot in bed, isn't she?

B-rad: In short, yes. And I know you're looking for details here, but you now know my policy on privacy. Besides, I dont want her readers to think Im a weird messed up fool. If you want a personal account of certain details, I could get ya pretty revved up.

Savia: I have it on good authority that you're a sexy awesome musician. What's your favourite music to play, listen to, see live?

B-rad: Shit, I could write a lot on this subject but I wont. Sorry.
Fave to play-original stuff mostly, Tool, Beatles...
listen to-Tool, Beatles...
See live-Tool, Beatles(I swear in another life I saw them at least once)

Savia: What do you want to be when you grow up?

B-rad: I always answer this question by saying "Something to do with music" but, maybe I just need to grow up and actually figure that out.

Savia: What do you love most about Laura?

B-rad: Trick question-so I'll answer it as truthfully and hilarious as I know how.

Boobies, jugs, tits, gazongas, etc...

Savia: How often am I in your spank bank?

B-rad: Well, there was that one time... and the time after that... and one or two times after that... good times, thank you very much.

Savia: Tell me something I don't know.

B-rad: Answering all these questions took the better part of an hour, thats why I dont have the time to blog. Bingo Bango! Also I just went back and edited for another five minutes. Like I said m-e-t-i-c-u-l-o-u-s.

Cheers,
B-Rad. Formerly known as Gtr Boi.

All done here? Wasn't he awesome? Why not give him some love in the comments
- and then go and see part two over at Savia's blog!!