TOILET RATING: THE WINDSOR HOTEL, MELBOURNE

Do I dare?

Do I dare rate a place so elegant as The Windsor Hotel, Spring Street, Melbourne?

Oh yes; I do.

This is by far the most elegantly beautiful toilet that my arse has ever had the privilege to grace.

I was so impressed, that I would have taken a photo of the cubicles for you if it wouldn’t have seen me physically removed from the premises.

It was beautiful.

Now, these are the toilets that are located just off the foyer of the grand hotel.  I was there for High Tea (inserts silver spoon in mouth), and had the need to use the facilities, as one does after drinking copious amounts of tea.

When you enter the ‘Powder Room’, you’re greeted by a room that is so elegant in its simplicity.  Soft lighting illuminates two gorgeous wing back chairs in beautiful, rich fabrics, with a small table and massive bouquet of flowers on one side of the room, with a massive mirror and marble vanity (with complementary tissues) on the other side.

When you pass through the Powder Room, you enter the cubicle/wash area of the facilities.  The cubicles themselves were constructed of solid timber doors and walls (not all the way to the floor or ceiling, mind you), and beautifully tiled floors. 

It was so elegant, that even the cubicle was furnished!  On the rear wall of the cubicle, above the toilet itself, was a lovely picture with an old-world lamp above it, casting a soft light over the artwork. 

And ladies; the crème de la crème: there was a small shelf on the side wall of the cubicle FOR YOUR HANDBAG.

No putting bags on the floor at The Windsor (not that this floor was even remotely close to dirty – I could have eaten off it), nor hanging them on the back of the door like commoners.  No; a small shelf for your handbag.

Room?  Oh yes.  There was so much room in this cubicle, that even with my fat posterior on the toilet seat, I still had about six inches between myself and the discreet sanitary napkin disposal bin!  So much room!!

AND: Four. Ply. Toilet. Paper.

Yes, you read correctly.  Four ply toilet paper, my friends.  Four ply.  I was in heaven.

At the wash basins (I’m at a loss to think of what I could call them that’s more elegant), were individual soap dispensers (not common units stuck on the wall that you have to pump 120 times to get anything out of, if you’re lucky), and a basket with rolled up face washers.  Omg.

AND; paper towels for drying your hands.  No electric dryers in this place, my friends.  Oh no.  Paper towels.

The only thing I can criticise, and that’s me being uber picky, is the stairs.  I had to walk down a flight of stairs to get to the toilets. 

The stairwell was wide, beautifully decorated and lit, with lovely carpet and shallow stairs, so it wasn’t such a trauma in heels.  There was a gorgeous mirror at the top of the stairs, so you could give yourself a last moment ‘once over’ before returning to the human race. 

However, the old, frail or disabled could not possibly handle the stairs, but one would assume that there would be facilities suitable for those not able to tackle them.

Did I mention the smell?  I don’t know what it was, but there was a lovely, gentle perfume in the air.  No horrendous public toilet smells that make you wonder what the fuck the person in the cubicle before you had eaten for lunch.

The whole facility was simple, practical and elegant; a dream toilet.

Not only did I not use hand sanitizer, but I specifically washed my hands just so I could use the soap dispenser, face washers and paper towels. 

I actually think I walked out of those toilets cleaner that I would have been after having a shower.  Seriously; just beautiful.

Out of a possible five flushes, The Windsor Hotel achieved an elegant five.

Peace out.

HIGH TEA

I recently had the privilege of partaking in High Tea at The Windsor Hotel in Melbourne.

Now, for those of you not familiar with the tradition, The Windsor Hotel holds afternoon tea (high tea) every day, and has done so for longer than I care to think about.

Set at the political end of Melbourne, across the road from Parliament House and Treasury Place, The Windsor Hotel is an establishment steeped in tradition, and has seen many guests from royalty and celebrity, through to common folk, such as myself.

This magnificently preserved relic of the late 1800’s, which apparently pre-dates the Savoy and The Ritz hotels in London, is the only hotel of its type in Australia.

It was recently purchased from the Government in 2005, with a view to restoration and renovation, which in itself, has been surrounded by controversy.

Amongst the modern architecture and abstract sculptures that is Melbourne’s astounding landscape; The Windsor offers us an unmeasured journey into a period of traditions that is nearly lost on society today.

Going to the Windsor is simply like stepping back in time.

So, when my friend Greg decided to have a small gathering for his 40^th at The Windsor, in the form of their traditional High Tea, how could I refuse?

Particularly when I wasn’t paying J

Now, High Tea is something that Charlie and I would normally not do.  It’s just something that’s financial impractical for us.  I’ll be honest about it.  We are poor white trash, after all.

Through the week, High tea will set you back $59 per person.  Apart from enjoying a selection from a vast menu of teas, you receive a selection of ribbon sandwiches, sweet and savoury pastries, and of course: scones, jam and cream (real cream, too!).

One the weekend, $79 per person will see you enjoy not only the delicacies above, but selections from an amazing dessert buffet that’s enough to send a healthy person into a diabetic coma.

Charlie and I were lucky enough to be invited to High Tea on a Sunday, which included this amazing sweet buffet.  Ironic really, because I’m diabetic and Charlie’s not a sweet tooth at all, and his idea of dessert usually extends to fruit salad and ice cream (which is exactly what he had!)

So when Charlie and I walked through the main entrance of The Windsor Hotel, I couldn’t help but feel elegant.  Like, somehow, walking through those doors had transformed me into another time and place, where I actually had some class about myself.

However, there’s no classing up Charlie, though he was on his very best behaviour.

Whilst we waited for the High Tea session to commence, we sat quietly in the foyer, chatting amongst ourselves whilst the rest of our party arrived.  Naturally, I checked out the Powder Room (which I will blog about later – OMG), and Charlie wandered off to inspect the stair case, which he quietly declared was nothing short of a work of art.

I did spy him standing in the middle of the foyer, staring up at the detail on the ceiling at one stage, and couldn’t help but smile.  Easily distracted by sparkly things, is my Charlie.

Greg had contacted me a few weeks beforehand, and asked me to organise some cupcakes for his wife, Marika (my bffl’s) birthday.  Their birthdays are but 10 days apart, and Greg (who never really does anything special for his birthday), felt that Marika’s birthday was being overshadowed by his High Tea, and wanted to do something special for her.

Now, Marika didn’t care about her birthday being ‘overshadowed’, as such.  She’s not that kind of person.  She was there to have a good time and celebrate her beloved’s birthday with her family and friends. 

No; Greg just wanted to make her feel special, which I thought was just gorgeous.

So, I organised these special cupcakes for Greg (Angry Bird cupcakes, because Marika’s a nutter about the iphone app ‘Angry Birds’), because you can only get them from Fergusson Plarre bakeries, and there are none around where Greg and M live, and a couple near me.  I picked them up on the way down to Melbourne, and I snuck them to the High Tea staff to bring out at a later time as a surprise for her.

So, the time came for us to make our way into the grand dining room for High Tea, and as I walked through the double doors, I couldn’t help but be impressed by the opulence of the room.

Beautifully adorned tables, with stunning Noritake crockery (which would have been worth a bomb), polished silverware, lavish chairs and stools, and fresh flowers filled the room.  It was a lovely autumnal day in Melbourne, and the soft sunlight filtered through the windows, sparkling off the glassware and filling the room with life.

We found our seats and braced ourselves for what we were sure was going to be nothing short of awesome.

And we were not disappointed.

The waitress presented a three tiered stand containing the most delicious ribbon sandwiches (gorgeous, mouth-watering smoked salmon; chicken, apple & mayo; egg salad; ham, and traditional cucumber & sour cream), which I had to control myself from making a pig of myself over.

You see, I had a plan of attack for this event.  I figured that if I consumed enough low GI stuff, like the sandwiches, had plenty of tea and water, it would cushion the massive hit of sugar my poor body would get from all of the sweets.  That was my plan, and I rolled with it.

I simply devoured some sandwiches and the most gorgeous little meat pie and quiches you have ever seen.  Naturally, I had a scone (with copious amounts of jam and cream), and then braced myself for sweets.

OMG.

I’ve never seen anything like it.  Mango cheesecake, raspberry cheesecake, pavlova, chocolate tortes, lemon torte, mille faille, mini crème brulee, mini profiteroles, mini macaroons that were seriously the size of a twenty cent piece, freshly made crepes with a selection of sauces, handmade ice-creams and platters and platters of assorted mini pastries that I cannot even begin to describe.

As they were all tiny servings, I had a selection of about ten different treats, at which point I thought I better start respecting my sugar levels.  I savoured every bite of everything I ate, because I simply didn’t want to rush through the experience.  OMG… it was heaven…

After the sandwiches, savouries, scone, tea and sweets, I was set to blow.  Though, Charlie did point out that it’s nothing a good fart wouldn’t fix. He was right.

I didn’t want to leave.  It was such a wonderful, elegant experience, and I had such a good time.  Fuck everyone else; I was rollin’ in the joy.

My friends impressed me; they simply went back for seconds and thirds; something I simply didn’t have the stomach (or the sugar resistance) for.  Buffets are a little lost on me, because I simply can’t eat any more than my fill.  Charlie can go back again and again, but I can’t.  He absolutely filled himself with fruit salad and some of the yummiest ice cream he’s ever eaten.

He was gorgeous, actually, because he flipped open the Tea Menu, and really studied it.  Charlie loves his tea.  Loves it, and this surprises a few people, because he seems more like a ‘beer’ person than a ‘tea’ person, if that makes sense.

So, he enjoyed the Windsor House Tea (which was stunning!) and his favourite Earl Grey for the afternoon.  Along with his sandwiches, pies, fruit salad and ice cream, Charlie-Albert was a happy man.

We left the Windsor in the late afternoon, holding hands as we wandered back to the car, still revelling in the experience of High Tea.  Both of us had enjoyed it so much, and were really appreciative of being able to go (thanks M & G), as it’s something that we possibly would have never done off our own back.

Mmmm… I can still taste that beautiful tea….

I think I might take Iris there for a Mother’s Day treat.  I think she would really like that.

If you can, get yourselves there; it’s well worth the experience.

Peace out.

http://www.thehotelwindsor.com.au/index.php?GMPM_PAGES_PAGE_ID=restbars_afternoontea

A LETTER FROM YOUR BODY

This is a piece that the girls at Contours Wallan posted on their Facebook page, and I thought I would share it with you.

Interesting reading.  Enjoy.

Dear Highly-Evolved, Intelligent, Creative, Conscious Being living inside of me.

Hi.

Long time, no chat (no fault of mine, however).

As you may or may not know, I have been trying to make contact with you for quite some time. Years, in fact. I’ve been sending you regular messages but for some reason, unknown to me, you seem determined to ignore me, no matter how obvious or unmistakable those messages have been. If I didn’t know better, I’d assume you either don’t like me or you don’t respect me.

Or maybe both.

Anyway, lately I’ve been wondering how I might actually get your attention; seeing as nothing has worked so far. Clearly, the physical messages haven’t done the trick, so here I am getting a little creative and hi-tech. Knowing how much attention you pay to your much-loved computer, I thought I might have more success by trying to make contact with some kind of electronic message. And here we are. You and me. Or to be more accurate, you in me. 

Nice.

So, in case I haven’t made myself clear, let me do so now. I don’t like the way you treat me. In fact, I hate it. It hurts. You are killing me. And I don’t mean that metaphorically, I mean it literally. I don’t know why you would make decisions and do things that cause me pain when all I’ve ever done is give you my unconditional support; even when you load me up with sugar, fat, salt and all that toxic processed crap that I don’t want or need. And don’t get me started on the constant lack of exercise. 

FYI, I’m quite good at moving when you let me do it. You’d be surprised how functional I can be when you don’t restrict me to a chair or couch. It might come as a shock for you to know that I don’t actually like sitting nearly as much as you think I do. It hurts my back, neck and shoulders. And messes with my posture.

I’m the only resource you can’t replace but amazingly, I seem to be the one you value least. You think your home is that place with the doors and windows but you’re wrong; that’s your house. I am your home.

I am where you live. 

Peace out.

I'VE MISSED YOU

Hi peeps,

Sorry I haven't blogged for nearly two weeks (OMG!)  I've been a tad busy.

There's been lots happening, which I promise I will blog all about shortly.

I am still here.  I'm not dead (yet) or in hospital (again).  Though, I do have a little 'check up' coming soon... yay...

So, sorry to all those peeps that read my blog at lunchtimes to keep themselves sane, to those who like assurances that they are no alone with their toilet phobias, and to those that use these blogs to wipe their arses, because you've had nothing for a few days now.

Thanks for hangin' around.

Peace out.

Lee xoxo

WEEK 7 SYL CHALLANGE: VISION BOARD

Gaaa…. A vision board?

I’m not one for visual stimulation, but maybe it’s time I started thinking outside the box.  So, I will take up this challenge, and create myself a vision board.

It’s taken me like five weeks to do it (you will notice that this is Week 7’s challenge, and I’ve already posted up to Week 11), but I’ve done it.

It’s funny, because there is no ‘wrong’ when it comes to something like this.  You can let your creative side run wild.  Even so, I found myself wondering if it would be ‘good enough’.

You can use pictures, words, both; whatever.  You can just stick it on cardboard (like I have) stick it on a massive poster sheet, or scrapbook it (like I know a girlfriend of mine is doing).

So, I have a good think about the board, and what I wanted to see every time I looked at it. 

I wanted a combination of things I need to focus on, things I am doing now, goals, dreams (materialistic, physical and emotional), and things I appreciate and enjoy.

So, this is what I’ve come up with.

Items are spread across the board in no particular order, but centrally, is my Wheel of Life from a few challenges ago.  I want to remain focused on this, and improve it where I can.

I’m stuck on a picture of a Mercedes, because one day, I want one.  It’s a goal… a dream… so why not?  There is a picture of an ipad, because again, I would love one.

There are references to my health, my well being, my fitness, my energy, my family, my garden, reading, music, cooking, relaxing, money, direction, diet, Hello Kitty (couldn’t resist) and re-education.

I have placed on there a fun picture of my husband and I on our wedding day, mucking around during the photo shoot.  That’s to remind me that even though there are tough times between us, we still love each other and love to have fun.

There is also a picture of a woman on there; I don’t know who she is, but this is what I would eventually like to look like.  Slim and fit.  One day, I hope to get there.

There are things I would like to do, things I would like to be, and things I need to consider.  Overall, these are the things that are important to me right now.  Dreams and desires, mixed with focus and goals.

There’s also a little room here and there should I wish to add something down the track.

It’s funny… I’ve been able to create something rather detailed and personal by simply flicking through a random selection of magazines.

Interesting how the mind works.

Peace out.

WEEK 11 SYL CHALLENGE: KINDNESS, GRATITUDE & ALTRUISM

Kindness:     is the act or the state of being kind, being marked by good and charitable behaviour, pleasant disposition, and concern for others.

Gratitude:    is a feeling, emotion or attitude in acknowledgement of a benefit that one has received or will receive.

Altruism:     is a concern for the welfare of others.  Altruism is the opposite of selfishness.

The challenge: incorporate these things into your daily life.  Start a gratitude journal, express thanks to others, set out to do random acts of kindness, look for a volunteer role in your community, or buy nice cards and write a whole heap of thank you letters – maybe start with your nearest and dearest, choose to be kinder every day and let things go. 

Mmmm… what do I have to do to achieve this?  Is it much of a stretch from who I am already?  How I already behave?

Not really, and I hope I don’t sound like a wanker when I say that.  I don’t mean to come across arrogant; just honest.

As I read through the challenge information on the website (see the link at the end of the blog), I had to smile at a few of the processes and ideas for implementing kindness, gratitude and altruism into your life.

I can see, buy the language that Deb (the creator) uses, that she and I have read a few similar books, and follow a few similar philosophies.  She suggests that you ‘give your partner acts of service’ without any expectations of reciprocity.  ‘Acts of service’ is straight out of a book called The Five Love Languages, by Gary Chapman.  A fabulous book on how to communicate with your loved one (see the link below). 

I read this book quite a few years ago, and it has helped Charlie and me so much.  When I worked through it, I explained it to Charlie, who to his credit was really receptive to the concepts presented, and we were able to open up better pathways of communication.

Basically, the book explains how we communicate with each another.  There are five keys ways that we communicate (I can’t remember them all right now), and the object is to determine which ‘language’ applies to your partner and yourself. 

What I mean by ‘language’, is the way in which you communicate with them, that makes them feel loved.  The same applies in reverse to you.  Once you’ve worked out what your ‘languages’ are, you can apply them more to help increase your partners feeling of love (called ‘filling the love tank’).  This often requires you to step out of your comfort zone, be less selfish, and totally unconditional.  It can be quite challenging in its simplicity, for some.

Charlie’s love language is ‘acts of service’.  When I do his washing, ironing, cook his meals, rub his feet, do the housework, take care of little errands for him, he feels loved and special.

I have two love languages, which is not uncommon.  Predominantly, it’s ‘quality time’.  I like to spend time ‘quality time’ with my hubby, something which he finds a challenge, let me tell you.  I also have ‘gifts of appreciation’.  Now, this doesn’t say I expect to receive a new car every week.  What it refers to is, I suppose, little gifts of acknowledgement. For example, Charlie knew I was feeling a little down last week, so he bought me a bunch of flowers.  A gift of appreciation, telling me he loves me and that he was thinking of me.  Made me feel quite special and loved at a time when I was quite down.

So, I do ‘acts of service’ for him anyway, but I’m sure I can amp it up.  Increase my kindness and altruism, and maybe give him the foot massage he needs, or make that scotch and coke for him when he’s relaxing in front of ‘Married… with Children’ for the fifty billionth friggin’ time. 

Deb also mentions about creating a daily gratitude ritual.  Now, I found this particularly interesting, because I already do a lot of what she suggested already, and before I go into what I do, I’ll explain why.

Another book I stumbled across a few years back (in 2004 when I had cancer) was ‘You Can Heal Your Life’, by Louise Hay (again, see the link below).  This book has, without a doubt, changed my life.

I have learnt not only a better understanding of my own personal behaviour (and that of others), but to listen to what my body is telling me.

Throughout this book, Louise Hay talks about gratitude, and being grateful for everything we have, no matter how trivial or insignificant it may seem.

She gives an example that has stuck in my mind for years.  It suggests that instead of complaining when we receive a telephone or power bill (though, lately it’s hard not to complain about the power bill), be thankful that we have the means to pay for it.  Be thankful that someone out there has given you the credit that allows you to use their services before you’ve paid for it. 

Switch your thinking. 

I’ve blogged it before.  We’re all transmission towers.  We send out signals to the universe, and the universe hears them, and sends you exactly what you’re asking for.  If you send out negativity, you receive it in return.

Switch your thinking.  Change the signal.

Easier said than done, though. 

However, increasing the gratitude in your life is the perfect place to start.  After reading this book, I decided to switch my thinking, and express my gratefulness for a lot of small things.

Over time, I found that this started to expand to other areas of my life.  I felt that I was quite a harsh, gossipy and judgemental person.  I think this was because I was coveting too much and feeling down because I ‘didn’t have’ what others had.

Instead, I focused on appreciating what I did have, and my entire outlook and attitude changed. 

I became more appreciative of the smaller things, and less focused on the bigger things.  I became less materialistic, and my values shifted to ‘experience’ rather than what I like to call plastic gratification (satisfaction through materialism).  Watching a movie and eating homemade popcorn became more important that dining in a fabulous restaurant, or having to see the latest show or concert.

I became less judgemental of others, and acknowledged that every person has a story, and those stories create the people we know and meet today.  I learnt that if you understand these stories, you understand the person.  That alone can make you more tolerable.

I also became much more understanding and supportive of other people as well.  Instead of being jealous that my sister-in-law has just bought a brand new Mercedes 4WD, I’m proud of her, because I know how hard she’s worked to get it.  She totally deserves the benefits of her hard earned success.

I am of course human, and I can still get dragged into the bullshit on occasion.  However, I try to stick with my core values, and assume nothing and be impeccable with my word.

And I try to find the positive in everything, and not dwell on the negative.  However, sometimes, that’s hard.

So, every day, I get out of bed, and I express my gratitude for simply waking up to another day.  For having a comfortable bed. For having a tv in my bedroom which allows me to watch The Today Show whilst I’m getting ready for work.  For having a spacious shower.  For having the money to buy my proactive beauty products. For having a selection of clothes to wear to work. For having a job that earns me money to pay for all of these things.  For having a nice car and fuel in it to get to work. For having money to pay for a gym membership, so I can work on my health.  And so it goes on…

I’ve done it so much over the years, that it’s an unconscious thing now.  It’s a quiet, mental dialog running through my second mind whilst I go about my business.  It’s real and it’s honest.  And, it works.

It’s also taught me to slow down; one of the things that this challenge suggests you do. 

I let people in line ahead of me at the supermarket if they only have a couple of items, and I have a trolley full.  What’s a couple of extra minutes going to cost me?  Plus, their appreciation is my reward.  You never know, they may pay it forward.

I let people into the line of traffic ahead of me, because I know the pain of not being able to get through the peak hour traffic because people cut you off or won’t let you in, because they just can’t bear the thought of being an entire car space behind.  It’s one car space; who cares?  However, I do get shitty when they don’t give a thank you wave… I am only human, after all.

So, as I read through the brief for this challenge, I could see a lot of things that I’d already implemented.  I can also see a lot of areas that I can expand in, too.

For example; give thanks to family and friends that I appreciate.  That’s one I’m going to jump on.  I don’t let me friends and family know that I love them and appreciate them often enough. 

This morning, I sent a text to a couple of friends that are helping me with something at the moment.  I told them I love them and that I value their friendship.  One of them, in typical fashion, sent back ‘any time’ and a string of insults that I best not put on here.  That’s our relationship though; engaging insults.

So, I think I will buy some cards and send notes out, like Deb suggests.  I will openly express my appreciation to people more.  I will increase the acts of service for my husband (until he pisses me off), which I’m sure he’ll hate.

I’m already volunteering for a local charity (CWA); that kind of thing comes naturally for me.  It’s very satisfying to work for a cause that’s bigger than yourself, without the expectation of anything in return.  If you don’t already do this, consider it.  It’s most rewarding.

Most importantly, I will increase the gratitude and positivity that I extend to myself.  Instead of putting myself down or overly criticising, I will try to be kinder to me.

Peace (and love) out.

http://www.homelifesimplified.com.au/simplify-your-life-week-11-kindness-gratitude-and-altruism/

http://www.5lovelanguages.com/learn-the-languages/the-five-love-languages/

http://www.hayhouse.com/details.php?id=3320

THANKS

I just wanted to say a quick thank you to all of you who read my blog.

I don’t know how many of you are out there, and I truly have no way of really finding out, but whether it’s one or one thousand; I thank you for taking the time out of your day/life to read my rambles.

I also dearly love the comments you leave on the blog or on my Facebook page.  The fact you felt moved enough by my words to make the effort to do that, is truly appreciated.

It means a lot to me, and I thank you.

Peace out, peeps.

IT'S AN OUT HOLE!

Just when life is settling down in to some semblance of normality, I discover that I have haemorrhoids.

Isn’t this a wonderful topic of discussion?

The dysfunctional tendencies of my body seem to provide a great source of entertainment, particularly to Charlie.  Seriously; what else can go wrong?

The strange thing though, is that I have no pain or discomfort, unless of course I try to use my poop-shoot.  Then it’s game on.

Apart from that, I’m okay.

So, whilst in the doctors clinic the other day, I found myself lying on my side facing a blank wall, on an examination table that was about as wide as a skate board, with my doctor’s finger up my arse.

‘You know… this takes our relationship to a completely new level of intimacy …’ I said calmly.

The woman I’ve known for over eight years, who has steered me through some pretty serious shit, found that comment incredibly amusing.  Great.

‘You could’ve at least bought me dinner first…’

‘You have internal haemorrhoids, Lee.  Go to the chemist next door, and get some cream.  Give it a couple of weeks, and we’ll see how we go.’

No problems.

I stroll into the chemist, and start desperately scanning the shelves for any form of cream that will help me.  Hopefully, I can find it before some smarmy twelve year old asks me if she can help me.

‘Can I assist you?’ one of the sales staff asked, sneaking up on me like a friggin’ ninja.  Thankfully, she’s not twelve (unlike the ultrasound dude from the other day).

‘Yes you can.’ I smile, thinking to myself that I’ve just had my doctors’ finger and some other instrument up my arse; there is pretty much nothing I can get embarrassed about now.  ‘I’m after some haemorrhoid cream.’

‘Is it for yourself?’ she asked discreetly. 

Like that makes a difference, I thought.  Yes! I have fucken hemmies! Help me here! I wanted to scream.  ‘Indeed it is.’  She walked behind the counter and grabbed a box of ointment, and came back to me. 

‘This is just a basic cream that’s quite effective.  Are they internal or external?’

‘Internal.’

‘There’s an applicator in the box that will assist you in applying the cream.’

Whoa.  Stop the fucken press.  An applicator?  No one said anything about a fucken applicator!

‘No worries.’ I mumble, hand over my hard earned, and bolt from the pharmacy.

An applicator?  This better not mean what I think if friggin’ means.

I rip open the discreet brown paper bag that thankfully disguises my embarrassing ‘condition’ from the general public, and examine the directions on the box. 

Holy shit.  I have to use an applicator to ‘insert’ the cream.  What. The. Fuck.  I have to insert something into my arse to apply this cream?

It’s a fucken out hole!  You don’t put things into it!  IT’S AN OUT HOLE!

Surely I can rub it around the area or something?  Surely I don’t have to stick anything into myself?  How the hell am I going to do this?  I can’t stick something in my own butt?  I can’t even come at the idea of friggin’ tampons (not that I need them).  How the hell am I going to do this?

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!!

Three days.  Three days that box of Rectinol has been sitting on my vanity unit at home, and I just can’t do it.

Every time I pick the box up, I freak out, and walk away.

Every time we go to bed, Charlie picks up the box and says ‘Have you started using your cream yet?’ whilst waving it at me.  Fucker.

‘Clearly fucken not.’  He finds this most amusing.  ‘Go fuck yourself.  I’ll do it when I’m ready.’ I declare.

I believe I could stitch myself up if I had to.  I can change dressings on serious wounds or surgical incisions.  I don’t blanch if someone else has cut or injured themselves and needs attention.  It doesn’t bother me to have injections or drips inserted into my arms, wrists, legs, hands or feet; have had that many.  Invasive tests or scans don’t really bother me (except fucken mammograms). The concept of surgery doesn’t bother me.  The concept of death doesn’t bother me.

But I cannot stick this little tube up my arse.

‘Charlie, I’ve got a problem.’ I said the other day as I strolled into the back room, where Charlie was playing on the computer.

‘What?’

‘I can’t stick this tube of Rectinol up my arse.’

Charlie’s head snapped around in a heartbeat.  ‘Don’t look at me! I’m not doing it for you!’

‘Calm down man…’

‘I love you and all, but there are just some places on your body I don’t want to know about!’

‘Calm the fuck down.’  He just looked at me.  ‘I am struggling here.  I don’t know what do to.’

‘Have a fucken mug of concrete, and just do it.’

‘Oh, you’re a wonderful help.’

‘Well, what else can I say?’

‘If I was dying, would you do it for me?’

‘Yes, but you’re not dying.’ He points out, quite confident with himself.

‘What am I supposed to do?  I don’t know what to do?’

‘Harden the fuck up and just do it.’

‘You’re no help. Go fuck yourself.’

So, later that afternoon, I go into the ensuite, and see the little box sitting there, and decide ‘this is it.’  I shut the ensuite door, assemble the stupid fucken applicator, and drop my strides.  I’m ready to rock.

Suddenly, there’s a gentle knock at the ensuite door.  What the fuck?  ‘Yes?’ I sigh.

‘Lee, can I show you my new blaa blaa blaaa…’ Jade was yabbering away from the other side of the door.  Thank fuck she didn’t open it.

‘Not right at this point in time, champ.  Give me five minutes.’

‘Okay.’ She chirps, and a few moments later, I hear her footsteps carry her away.

Every other minute of the day, she does her best to friggin’ ignore me.  Why does she pick that exact moment to hunt me down?  Thank God she didn’t open the door.  She’d need therapy for the next ten years to get over that sight.  It would burn into her retinas, and haunt her so much that she’d end up clawing her eyes out in desperation….

*sigh

Five jittery minutes later, I emerge from the ensuite a changed woman.  After that kind of intimate experience with oneself, you’re never going to be the same again.

Though, it wasn’t so bad.  Now I just have to resign myself to the fact I have to do this shit to myself twice a day for the next fucken week.

I think I’ll be the one that needs therapy to recover from this.

Peace out.

WEEK 10 SYL CHALLENGE: LET GO AND BE VULNERABLE

The Challenge: be honest with yourself and identify at least one thing you are afraid to do, to try, to say, etc and do it.  If it is a huge or long held fear, find a way to at least identify and take the first step forward.  How are you going to face that fear?

I think I’ve blogged this before, but I find it interesting how these weekly challenges seem to be heading in the direction that my life is taking at the moment.

Now, I don’t know whether it’s because the challenge is steering me that way, or if I have decided that’s how life’s going to roll.  Either way; it doesn’t matter.   These challenges are either just presenting themselves at a time when I’m ready to deal with them, or they’re simply signs that I’m heading in the right direction.

So, I’ve taken it upon myself this year to change my outlook toward a lot of things (this I have blogged about before), and try to create a more positive space around myself.  This challenge has been an amazing assistant throughout this process.

I’m tired of being stressed out and anxious over shit that’s nothing to do with me, or shit that really doesn’t matter.  I think I’ve been able to do this, because my head has been in the right ‘space’, or perhaps this challenge has given me the guidance and strength I’ve needed.

Again, either way; it doesn’t matter, because it seems to be working okay.

So… let go and be vulnerable.  Mmmm…

This is possibly, so far, one of the hardest things for me to address.  I think, in part, I have done it, but no where near as seriously as I need to.

You see, I am ready for a change in my life; a major one.  For a long time, I’ve had a dream to pursue a career in cooking.  No, I don’t want to be a friggin’ Masterchef.  I’m totes not interested in that at all.  No; I want something more… real.

I have a few ideas of what I’d like to achieve, and how I will be able to do it.  It will be a long process for me, but that’s okay.  Time is on my side.

However, like most other major changes in anyone’s life, there are obstacles in the way.  Some of those obstacles I have put there myself, and some of those obstacles are a necessity.

You see, what’s stopping me from pursuing my cooking career is simple; I’m stuck in another career. 

‘Stuck’ is the wrong word, I think.  ‘Stuck’ would imply two things: 1. that I’m trapped, and 2. that I hate what I’m doing.  I don’t hate what I’m doing, but I’ve tired of it.  I’m craving a change; a challenge.  Something completely different.

However, I do feel trapped.  Not by work itself, but the life that revolves around it.

Like most families out there, we’re financially dependant upon me working. We, like everyone else, has a mortgage, a child to put through school, food to put on the table and bills to pay.  It’s a basic understanding that we’ll have to work to obtain these things, and I’m cool with that.

The obstacle for me, though, is that I cannot afford to give up work to re-educate myself, and pursue my career.  I need the financial freedom that ‘no mortgage’ provides, to be able to pursue this.

Sure; I can change careers and take on a traineeship in the cooking industry.  That’s something that I’m considering as well, but what holds me back on this level, is fear.  Plain and simple.

What if I do this, and I hate it?  What if I throw away a perfectly good job to pursue something that turns out to be a disaster?  Can I afford to expose my family to that change?

Is this the kind of ‘vulnerable’ I want to be?

Taking a couple of steps back; I want to re-educate myself before I jump headlong into this career change.  Anyone can open a café or restaurant or food related business without the ‘formal’ education.  However, I don’t want to do that.  I want as much knowledge behind me as possible before I do, and that knowledge is something I’ve been gathering for a long, long time.

I will need to go back to TAFE or something like that, and undertake a course whilst I’m working part time.  That’s a reality, and one I can do when the mortgage and Jade’s education is no longer hanging over my head.

But… is this just an excuse?  Is it an intentional obstacle that’s just delaying my future, because I’m scared?  Or is it a reality that must be responsibly addressed?

My greatest fear with this dream is failure.  Natural fear, really.  No body wants to fail at anything.  No one sets out to; sometimes the best laid plans go awry. 

However, I don’t want to look back in ten years time and realise that I could have done something differently.  That I could have waited, researched more, educated myself better, planned better and set myself up more financially before I made this transition, so it has very little impact upon the family unit.

Though again, I wonder if this is just an obstacle I’ve placed before me, because I’m simply scared.

Maybe.

Or maybe it’s the ‘other’ thing that holds people back from pursuing things they want; guilt.

I would feel guilty if I subjected my family to this major upheaval, but I don’t understand why?  Why would I feel guilty? I would feel terrible if it failed and we lost a lot of money, sure, but why am I not permitted to pursue my dreams?

Is it because I’m not permitting myself to do it?  That I don’t think I’m good enough to succeed? (that old chestnut)  Mmmm…

It’s interesting when I think about that, because I look at Charlie as a perfect example of achieving your dreams.

He’s always wanted to own a lot of land and run cattle.  With my help, he’s been able to achieve this dream.  It’s now a reality that he’s living.  As I type this blog, he’s standing on the verandah, leaning against the railing, looking out at the back paddock at the cows.  He’ll be thinking ‘they’re my girls’.  I just know it.

Yet I sit in here, regretting some of the choices that have lead me to a point where I’ve chosen to sacrifice my dreams.  Where I’ve given up what I want, to enable someone else to achieve what they want.

Not that I think that’s a bad thing; to help someone else achieve their goals.  I am, in all reality, quite proud of that.  However, it doesn’t make my soul necessarily happy, and that’s what I need to focus on this year.

Making my soul happy.

This is why I find this particular challenge intriguing in its timeliness.  Let go and be vulnerable, and if you can’t, acknowledge the fear and take the first steps toward it.

So, to me, this means ‘make a plan’.  Set some goals.  Work toward something a little more concrete.

In four to five years time, I’m hoping that our mortgage will be paid off.  When this time comes, I will be in a position to re-assesses work, and perhaps cut back hours with a view to undertaking a part-time course in some kind of hospitality certification. 

Between now and then, I intend to educate myself as much as possible on the different areas of the food industry, including the varieties of cuisine, with a view to working out if I’m definitely heading in the right direction with my plans.

What I have in mind for myself in the future may change twenty times between now and when I actually finish my qualifications.  For all I know, I may pick something else up along the way that takes me in a completely different direction, and I need to be completely open to that.

I also need to think about how to deal with the members of my family, particularly Charlie, for his fear is also holding me back.

He knows that I’m not 100% happy, and that I have every intention of shifting gears when the mortgage is done and dusted, but he’s the kind of man that carries the attitude that ‘if it ain’t broken, don’t fix it.’  Life is bowling along quite nicely at the moment (thank the universe for that), so why change anything?

Happiness doesn’t even enter into the equation, and this is something that I’m also going to have to address.

Suddenly, the thought of ‘letting go and being vulnerable’ has become a hell of a lot more complex.

So, let’s go back to ‘career’.  When I look back over my working life, I can see the building blocks I’ve put in place for a future change.  Customer service, retail, administration and management in all aspects of the workplace, vast knowledge that sets me in good stead for one aspect of a new venture; one thing I can tick off the list.

Now, only time and well laid plans can see me toward the rest of it.

And patience. 

Let go and be vulnerable.  Just typing this blog is making me nervous, and believe me; I don’t get very worried with the blogs I usually write! 

Interesting… I suddenly feel very vulnerable.

Peace out.