Day 1: Tourism
This entire story was inspired by the fact that the Northern Territory (that’s a particularly underpopulated state of Australia) has a tourist boom every time someone’s attacked by a crocodile.
Clearly, our tourism ads should be about snakes, spiders and prehistoric monsters, instead of Lara Bingle. (Well, actually, now I think of it. . .)
Had a great title, but forgot it
One of the things that has changed since I married is that I’ll almost definitely have kids one day. (When I had a two-month engagement, a lot of people thought I’d be having kids about 6 months after the wedding, which both amused and disturbed me – like so much in life.)
Watching “Torchwood” (written by seriously depressed types with an urge to convince the world how depressing it truly is), and the various horrible things that could, perhaps, happen to my kids some day (except, probably, for the alien bits) made me realise that I DON’T want to keep my kids safe. Not as a first priority, anyway. I want to teach them that they can handle anything. Absolutely anything. Death, murder, assault, broken hearts, debt, mental illness, their own worst failures – anything.
Of course, I’ll probably panic and lock them in a padded room from birth.
But the sentiment is there.
Paranoia Girl is so right
I emotionally crashed on Tueday. It was Australia Day, so my partner and I chose to celebrate our anniversary mainly on that day, with our traditional picnic, plus seeing “Sherlock Holmes” (which I reviewed over at http://twittertales.wordpress.com) and going and eating Chinese for dinner.
I freaked out for no reason around 11am, and stayed freaked out all day, unable to make basic decisions or generally enjoy the enjoyableness of the day. It sucked a lot.
But, setting aside my mentalness, I feel pretty good. My renewed peacefulness and excitement about God is still there (under the public crying and urges to pull out my own eyeballs). Today I bought loads of brightly-coloured booze for my birthday, and also didn’t eat my usual pile of chocolate. I had a milo, which is practically fasting for me. I keep a careful eye on my drinking, because (clearly) I have an addictive personality. Thus far, however, I can use small amounts of alcohol (like one or two standard drinks – strictly AFTER work) as a substitute for large amounts of lollies (like 300 grams).
Just now I wrote a short story (a tad desperately, since I REALLY need to finish a twittertale ready for February 1, and it isn’t happening). It’s not a happy tale (it’s white trash crime), but finishing a new story always makes me feel good, which generally leads to more writing.
I’m gonna go attempt a 7-day twittertale, just to buy myself some time.
First – more booze. (I predict a problem in the future. . . but it IS really good for switching off my editor side.)
Day 6: Complete Story
For the Man who has Everything
Sat 23 Jan
My beautiful new wife gave me the “Genuine Castaway Experience For The Man Who Has Everything But Happiness.” It’s so peaceful here!
*
Why won’t the monkeys stop screaming? I’m reminded of the days when I was still allowed to see my grandkids. Bad memories, as I now recall.
*
Drank fermented coconut milk and passed out. When I awoke and threw up, I knew I didn’t miss my youth after all. Epiphany after epiphany!
Sun 24 Jan
The “Genuine Castaway Experience” has given me a deep new gratitude for my life – especially coffee and my iphone.
*
Very glad the “Genuine Castaway Experience For The Man Who Has Everything But Happiness” only lasts three days. Food poisoning continues.
*
One more night with the monkey screams and belly cramps. My new wife’s very savvy for a twenty year old. After this, work will be heaven.
Mon 25 Jan
Too thirsty to sleep. Where’s my chopper? Stupid wind sounds just like helicopter blades.
*
Soon it’ll get dark. Did I count the days wrong? Mouth is dry as sand. Too weak to throw rocks at monkeys. Beginning to get less grateful.
*
“GENUINE Castaway Experience” they said. But they didn’t mean. . . they wouldn’t. . . would they? Poor Anna must be terrified for me.
Tue 26 Jan
Made an iphone out of coconuts. Called Anna for long talk. Felt much better until I realised I’d hallucinated the whole thing.
*
Anna will sort this out. She’s a smart girl. The blonde’s artificial, anyway. She’ll give that company what for!
My stubble itches.
*
Drank more coconut milk. Threw it up at once. Still better than the yellow choking bile of this morning. Legs covered in bug bites.
Wed 27 Jan
Tried to build a raft. Arms don’t work. Need a lie down, and a nice massage. Monkeys getting braver, and gnashing their teeth right at me.
*
Seawater isn’t like coffee at all.
*
Anna?
Th 28 Jan
. . . . . . .
THE END
Day 5: Thirst
Since our hero hasn’t found water, and it hasn’t rained, he’s in a certain amount of danger.
When I lived in Indonesia, I discovered that when Indonesians say “fasting” they mean no food AND no water (although usually a “day” of fasting is only three-quarters of a day). My friend Wibi (an Indonesian man) and I fasted for “three” days (actually fifty-five hours) at the beginning of 2001. (Katerina is an Australian staying at the same place, a provate dwelling.) Here’s what I wrote about it at the time (my doctor freaked out when I told her about it, because apparently it can permanently damage the stomach. That made me glad I’d so thoroughly prepared):
31 December 2000:
Wibi and I are fasting the next three days (it’s not actually three days; we’ll eat again on the third). I’ve drunk so much water in preparation that my pee looks like water.
1 January 2001:
I am coveting Katerina’s water bottle (she’s sitting next to me as I write so it’s probably about time for another Indo-speak lesson).
(later)
Yep. And she’s left her water here too. She’s gratuitously taken aback by my fasting. I feel pretty good actually, psyching myself up for the ominous ‘Second Day’. I’ve had a few cramps but my mouth feels mostly normal and though I’m weak I haven’t been thinking about food every second. Still, while I’m here. . .
Was craving apple an hour or two ago. Fresh cold peeled green apple. Mmm. . . but then I thought raw apple was probably a bad thing (too crunchy and hard) to end a fast with so I thought maybe apple juice. Fresh and strong in flavour and cold.
Any kind of fruit juice actually. I tend to get frustrated when I get nice drinks because water (though it’s often lukewarm, soapy or burnt in flavour) is something I can consume with no problems and the money would be better spent on food.
But I eventually settled on peeled green fresh apple grated juicily into a bowl with a heaped teaspoon of sugar. Sweet, easy on the stomach and also basically healthy: no better food to end a fast with.
I am home in two weeks today. I don’t need to put apples on my ‘special food’ list because we usually have apples in the fridge and I have grated apple whenever I want. Did I ever know before today the deliciousness of my life? It is so cool that food is so yummy. And there are so many types of food that I can never possibly try them all. (Uh. . . not that I want to.) I’m sure with a little effort I can find enough different types of healthy, tasty food to keep me satisfied for the rest of my life – even in Indo-land.
Tomorrow I will wake up desperately hungry and knowing that I will go to bed literally a day or two off death. And, if I’ve understood correctly, will spend most of the day in pain.
Okay, now I feel bad.
My stomach hurts. It’s hotter here than I’m used to – I looked at my travel clock and it’s been up to thirty degrees. I’m wearing my coolest clothes but feel sweatier than normal. Will not be eating or drinking till about midday Wednesday. We were eating and drinking till three this morning so I don’t feel too bad yet.
My body is a little achy and very lethargic and a minute ago I felt feverish. Tomorrow should be loads of fun.
2 January 2001:
I wonder which is more important, water or sleep? I suppose water but I’d rather do this than fast sleep because going without sleep you can’t. . . well, sleep. Which is the good thing about fasting Indo-style: We’re allowed to sleep pretty much whenever it’s not a prayer time (this family has prayer in the mornings which I enjoyed this morning although I was relieved when it was over after an hour). The bad thing is that ‘allowed’ doesn’t mean ‘able’. I can lie down though.
Food and water are painfully easy to get. Everything I think about seems to be coincidentally food related – when I shower or wash my hands after going to the ladies’ room (see, I can use euphemisms too) I look mournfully at the beautiful cold clear water and it helps only a little to remind myself it’s crawling with whole colonies and civilizations of micro organisms awaiting their chance to kill me and/or make the loo my permanent residence.
I feel okay now. Lying down as I write. Last night was unpleasant. The main problem was my stomach hurting. Not too bad but consistent all night long (I’m so glad it’s only two nights). Also felt so hot that after about 4:00am (when I heard rain and went to bring in everyone’s towels and a few clothes from outside) I slept on the floor. I’d set my alarm for ten to five for the morning prayer time. I went to the loo (fascinating medical fact: pee still quite clear. Maybe I’m not all that dehydrated and that’s why I’m not clutching my stomach in agony right about now). I know I slept at least for a bit because I had a nightmare that someone set my cat on fire.
A lot of people have been telling me how awful I look. I’ve been feeling feverish and took my temperature twice (midday and midarvo) and it was 101 degrees Fahrenheit – not a clue what that means.
I don’t feel sore really, but I feel like my stomach should be concave. Which it profoundly isn’t (even after recently losing thirteen kilos due to being here in Indo-land) although it seems a different shape now to what it was a few days ago. Also sometimes (especially when it does that bubbly rumble) I feel like my body is nosing around in my stomach. . . searching. And I’m getting weird pins and needles a lot.
Coconut milk tomorrow!!
3 January 2001:
Fascinating information: my stomach is flatter that it’s ever been. Strange but true: a flatter stomach in three days or less. No exercise! No special food! In fact, no food at all. Or drink. . .
Happy thought for the morning: I am now officially near death.
——————————–
Later: I felt pretty sick for several days afterward, which is normal for any kind of fasting. Since I drank coconut milk in combination with water and juice and food, it didn’t make me sick.
Day 4: Sherlock Holmes Review
Fine. I admit it. There’s no possible connection between “Sherlock Holmes” and “For the Man Who has Everything”*.
Nonetheless, here’s a review of “Sherlock Holmes”.
Three words: Violent. Funny. Excellent.
Visually it has exactly the beautiful, detailed darkness of the steampunk age that I hoped for. If I hadn’t just seen “Avatar”, I’d spend more time on how pretty it was (which is to say, very).
Also, it has Robert Downey Jr. Enough said. The man has enough charm to fall asleep for three hours and still be watchable. He is definitely in form. That didn’t surprise me either.
The thing that I loved (but didn’t expect) was the chemistry between Downey Jr and Jude Law. (The women were great too, but the film is mainly about the two men.) Every second of their dialogue was a delight.
Watson: “Are you. . . ?”
Holmes: “Am I. . . wearing a false nose? No.” [Then he jumps out the window – with his false nose on, naturally.]
Which is the main reason this, rather than “Avatar”, is a film I intend to own. Because it’s well written, well acted, well plotted, and worth watching over and over again.
*Except for a variety of tenuous ones, such as that both have a man in them.
Cloudy with a chance of mental illness
On Sunday I had a religious experience. It was very strange and happiness-inducing and rather awkward to fit into the middle of life’s usual mundanity. It’s frightening how much God means to me, while also being reassuring (partly because God is the only possible constant in life, and partly because much of my self-identity is tied to Him).
It’s creepy because. . . because I felt (and still feel) so darn happy. I’ve got nowhere much to go but down. (So you see my sunny optimism lasted the experience.) I’m also aware the happiness is a side effect of seeing God (however briefly – fear is another common side effect, but that’s a topic for another day). It’s not the main effect. So am I really completely changed? Or is this as real as a change in meds? And am I going to crash and burn? How badly?
I spent two years searching for God at about the same time as I hit puberty (my family is Christian, but I realised quite clearly that if I was going to be Christian, I needed to meet God for myself). Those were by far the worst two years of my life, even though I was pretty sure I’d eventually find Him. Searching for God really highlights how horrible life is without at least the occasional glimpse of him. It’s much worse than unrequited love, and much worse than being mentally ill.
But when I was twelve, suddenly He was there, and He was obvious, and He’d been there all along. He was so OBVIOUS, and a lot of the time He still is (even if I hate his guts).
Those two years of pain are precious to me, because if God gets silent for long periods, I now know it’s not forever. But I still think of that age (I found Him at about twelve) as when I was at my spiritual best. I wanted to become a full-time aid worker to Indonesia, and nothing – really nothing; I thought boys were a foolish distraction from what really mattered – meant anything to me if it didn’t have anything to do with major world-changing God stuff.
For the last six months, I’ve been unable to read the Bible aloud or pray aloud or go to church, because I’ve been too angry at God. I’d just cry with rage every time. It was sort of okay; I knew it was an emotional place, not a real one, and that when I was able to see clearly God would be there and the relief would be exquisite.
I haven’t fundamentally changed since my days as a God-obsessed twelve-year old. While being concerned about not becoming one of those deeply irritating “Christian” types (you know exactly what I mean), I’m so pleased that God is still everything to me. Maybe that was the main point of Sunday’s experience. All the badness of the last few years happened without making a dent in who I am.
If I could internalise the concept that I’m everything to Him – then I’d REALLY be getting somewhere.
Day 3: Survival tips
Side note: In an amusing counterpoint (amusing to me, anyway), I just wrote a blog celebrating my one-year wedding anniversay over at https://felicitybloomfield.wordpress.com although if the lovely hubbie gives me a “Genuine Castaway Experience” he’ll be in biiiig trouble.
When it comes to water in the tropics, rain is your best bet. The best type of catcher is a large cloth, like a tarp or a sail (or, if you’re me, a voluminious skirt).
Some further advice on liquids (from http://www.survivaliq.com/ ):
| Fluid | Remarks | |
| Alcoholic beverages | Dehydrate the body and cloud judgment. | |
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| Urine | Contains harmful body wastes. Is about 2 percent salt. | |
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| Blood | Is salty and considered a food; therefore, requires additional body fluids to digest. May transmit desease. | |
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| Seawater | Is about 4 percent salt. It takes about 2 liters of body fluids to rid the body of waste from 1 liter of seawater. Therefore, by drinking seawater you deplete your body’s water supply, which can cause death. | |
Wedding Belle
My partner and I married a year ago today.
We’ve lasted a year, which seems like a good start – although mostly it seems like not very long at all. I certainly don’t have the hang of it yet. (Maybe this time NEXT year. . .)
Overwhelmingly, marriage is easier than I expected. The first couple of months were scary, it’s true, but overall my partner has proved (again) that he is good at everything. His worst fault is his forgetfulness, the flip side of his very valuable calm. (He has ADD, and I have an anxiety disorder – which actually works pretty well in combination.)
Probably the things that will always need careful negotiation (one partner constantly giving in is bad) are how to deal with living together (where do you live? who cleans? how clean? where does stuff go? what happens with buying and preparing food?) and how to deal with finances. For me, the most important thing was that the house has to be tidy all the time (it helps me remember things, and lets me feel safe), and my partner had to do a reasonable amount of regular cleaning without being told (a mother-child relationship is never attractive). He’s got a LOT tidier over the last year, and I’m starting to get a bit messier (which is good). Our money isn’t great, but we do have savings now, which is pretty good considering I can only earn around $15,000 a year. He buys less stuff than he used to, and when he wants something enough to mention it I pretty much always agree that our budget can handle it – even if my spending habits pre-marriage were dedicated to survival (rent and bills, then petrol, then social obligations and minimal writing expenses, then food – nothing else).
Our home is a safe place for me, and I’ve never felt the panicky urge to get out (as in so many other share houses). Surprisingly, sharing a room has been quite easy – mostly because we are extremely respectful of each other (and he has his own extra room next door for all his messy/useless/old crap, which was a genius move on our part).
Before we married, I lived in a tiny flat that had fungus issues, poisonous water, and a leaking toilet. I was no longer able to support myself (with or without government benefits), because my mental illness robbed me of my self-control. In Jane Austen’s day, a woman needed to marry to gain her independence. That has been true for me as well.
I hate being financially dependent, and I struggle daily with my lack of novel publication, but marriage has given me a physical and metaphorical safe place where I can recover from the years that came before this, and grow back into being a reasonable sort of human. The worst part of our marriage is my mental illness, which blocks my positive emotions, limits my movements, and basically makes me selfish and inflexible (and also violent, it turns out. Since we now live together, he doesn’t get to miss seeing my worst moments, either). Fortunately my partner never questions me when I say I can’t do something, and is always gracious about instantly helping me in any way I ask.
Violence is never acceptable in any relationship, and (although I never hurt or intimidated him) if it happens again I’ll continue switching medication until it stops for good. He doesn’t think it’s serious, but I do. That’s a line I never thought I’d cross, and I will never accept in my marriage or anyone else’s. For any reason. But I *think* it’s over now I’ve switched contraceptive meds.
I was discussing fairy tales with a student the other day, and realised that there really is a little bit of truth in the idea of having a wedding at the end, followed by “happily ever after”.
Once you’re married, that’s it. Your old life is over, and a new one has begun. Whether it’s happy or not depends largely on who you are and how smart you are about communicating your heartfelt needs, and on finding happiness outside of your partner (who can never meet all your needs). But I think we’re biologically designed to devote our life and body to one person, and it takes a special person to be happily single.
I don’t see our marriage as permanent, though. Divorce isn’t an option (unless someone cheats or turns abusive), but this relationship is a gift. Our lives and marriage could change drastically or end at any moment. Next year might be just like this year, or it could be completely different. Nothing bad has happened to us yet, so I hope we can still treat each other well and support each other when something goes wrong. For now, though, “happily ever after” is quite a good description of married life.
I can’t imagine myself being able to survive marriage with anyone else.
PS a highly appropriate quote from the sleep talkin’ man: “Yeah, falling in love is WONDERFUL. Especially when it’s with me.”
Day 2: Indonesian words you know, but don’t know you know
We’ll pretend for the sake of this blog that our hero’s location is one of the thousands of Indonesian island (a small one, clearly, and one without people). So if he discovers anyone, these words may be useful. Sorta. (‘C’ is pronounced ‘ch’ and ‘r’ is slightly rolled, and voila! You speak Indonesian.)
Food:
apel – apple
stroberi – strawberry
tomat – tomato
es krim – ice cream
es – ice
kecap – any kind of sauce
mi goreng – fried noodles (mi is noodles, goreng is fried) – it’s an Indonesian product.
teh – tea
kopi – coffee
rambutan/rambut – hairy fruit/hair
durian/duri – thorny fruit/thorn
Getting around:
taksi – taxi (possibly my favourite example of Indonesian spelling)
bis/bus – bus
passpor – passport
Religion:
Islam – Islam/a Muslim
Kristen – Christianity/a Christian
Protestan – Protestantism/a Protestant
Katolik – Catholicism/a Catholic
Budha – Buddhism/a Buddhist
Hindu – Hinduism/a Hindu
Other useful words:
buku – book
marbel – marble (also a yummy lollie; the lovechild of mentos and skittles)
demokrasi – democracy
guru – teacher (at school)
oranghutan – oranghutan (orang – person, hutan – forest)
Timor Timur – East Timor (ie Timur is East)
Botol – bottle
See? You’re practically fluent.
Felicity Banks 