You know when you work so hard in one area and push ahead in one direction, and then you get to the end and realise that you don't really enjoy doing that thing anymore and so you stop doing but don't really pick anything else up to replace it? Yeah. I think that is where I have been for the last 3 years.

I am listening to a performance of a Bach Suite number 6 for cello. It is so beautiful. But tainted with the thoughts of aching hands, the pain in the arm muscles that seemed to come about half way through, feeling the music racing along and getting faster and faster and gosh I am killing this piece and my arms hurt and I am no good at this why am I doing this again my back hurts so much my shoulder is burning I am holding in so much tension but I don't know how to release it ...

I gave up cello 3 years ago. I let the skills I had spent the last 13 or so years developing fade. With it went some of the negativity. But not all of it.

3 years later I am still trying to figure out what to do. I have become a mum (being a mum is easier than being a musician) I have sewed and gardened, knitted and cooked. But I still feel lost, without a direct skill which I put my all in to. 

...

Today

Carrying my baby on my back, feeling her weight shift and she cranes her neck to see over my shoulder, I walk through the market. Navigating my way around clusters of distracted people, I enjoy being among people again. Talking, laughing, feeling my identity as a mum. Strong and independent.

A few minutes of peace. Some muesli slice and an unsatisfactory hot chocolate. Eavesdropping.

...

I am always distracted. Always tired. Always looking for ways to find the balance and the stimulation I need to keep moving forward. I don't feel whole yet.

...

I can see why people write!
x x x 

Yesterday was a triumphant day for me.

I drove a car.
I played a game of scrabble.


I have my well-reasoned (or so I believe!) excuses for not learning to drive. I love to walk. Too many cars driven in the world. I just don't want to.

The most honest reason is fear. The idea of being in control of a car is terrifying. The level of concentration required is daunting. Having people watching me while I try to do something tricky is a very unpleasant thought.

But driving seems like a good way of getting some independence.
And it was fun.



I used to play scrabble with mum. Usually I was given advantages like doubling my score. I would lose miserably. I can be a very bad loser.

Games make me feel dumb and grumpy. I have never played scrabble with Alex because I knew I would lose and then be in a foul mood. For some reason (perhaps it was the gin?) last night I felt relaxed enough to play.

I didn't just play a game of scrabble.
I won a game of scrabble.
Lesson learned.



Today was just as grand.
Clothes shopping without the self-hating. Its a beautiful thing.

I am not a writer. I feel awkward when I write. But write I shall, dammit!
Two weeks ago I ventured into the bizarre world of 'self-help' books. One of these books was about journal writing. I haven't actually gotten around to reading it yet, but I am sure it is very enlightening.

My daughter is six months old. I have spent these last six months trying to figure out what the hell is going on. All the usual crap that I put down to breastfeeding hormones and a bit of depression. But I have been digging deeper into the way I think and the way I behave, a hard and awful process which brings up a lot of self-hatred. Revealing destructive patterns that have shaped my teens and early twenties. Falling into over-analysing myself.

For my birthday I bought a sewing machine. I have been giggling excitedly while trying to sew in a straight line. I bought birthday plants and check on them every day. I sorted through my huge piles of clothes and got rid of stuff dating back as far as college. Having stern words with myself over jeans I grew out of 3 years ago. Looking at old clothes and finally realising that I really was that thin ('now if only I could get that thin again I would be happy' I stupidly think)

These feel like big steps.

Today I had a 'bad parenting day'. I got angry. Very angry with my daughter. I raged and I swore and I actually felt the physical urge to throw myself on the floor and thrash and scream. There are so many emotions that I have let fester and grow. Not knowing how to deal with them. Envy, jealousy, rage, fear, sadness. They are all there. It was a big processing day. I feel guilty about my behaviour today, but I am glad it happened. Because it revealed a lot.

This post feels very discombobulated. I feel very discombobulated.

3 1/2 months

So I craved labor, I tried to nest, I knitted, moaned and groaned impatiently. Then one Tuesday morning the contractions came. It was the labor that I knew I would have. Movement, breath, talk, smiles and the occasional curse. It was the kind of labor I expected, mostly because I couldn't comprehend it going any other way.

I labored at home with my incredible partner and my wonderful sister. I went in to hospital on the Wednesday. I was 8 centimeters. My daughter was born 7 hours later. A straightforward, drug-free birth. The feeling as she left my body is still with me. The lightness. Relief. Empty.

Little G is 3 1/2 months old. Incredible! These months have been full of love, breastfeeding, smiles, poo, chatter, angst, tears and many, many visitors.

And she, she is amazing and willful and cheeky and flirty and oh so much fun.

I am waiting for my baby to arrive.

I am craving space.

Strangest craving of the whole pregnancy? Craving labour.

My life in fragments .. most wanky

Today I saw two people standing in the middle of the footpath with a life-size statue of a dog.

Well, it was either a statue or a really creepy dog. I was in a tram at the time. But it sounds good right?

I also saw a tractor swinging from a crane.

Unplanned flights to New Zealand have been purchased.

Frantically knitting scarves, making up the pattern and the design as I go. Complex but fun.

Copious amounts of cream and butter have been consumed.

Resolutions have been made ... and swiftly broken.

I have been obsessively searching for a new rental home. A home with rooms, space for a cello and books. Maybe even space for a table and some chairs.

Life is bubbling away here. I don't feel like I am doing my life justice, but I still haven't figured out how to change this.

Two pieces that make me cry: Dvorak (I can't do fancy yet) Serenade for strings in E Major, op.22 and Grieg's Holberg Suite.

I have been rocking out to Duffy, Patti Smith and Goldfrapp. Strong, beautiful female voices.

The things I love

Wet and windy Sunday afternoons.

French and Saunders tickets.

A snuggly new jacket that looks hot.

Stimulating the economy.

Long necklaces.

Bookshops.

Blue ipod shuffles - the coolness of the ipod but the dagginess of the shuffle!

Earl grey tea.

Random French music with beautiful cello solos.

A boyfriend who ventures out into the rain to buy French pastries.

I fucking love my life.