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.
Day 1: Coconuts
Hello and welcome to a new theme and a new tale – the shortest so far. (In February stories will begin to tend toward a one-month length.)
Today’s blog is all about coconuts.
Coconut milk is recommended if you have food poisoning, because it’s packed with sugary hydration (and it’s delicious – young coconut milk tastes like lemonade, and I love it!) One tiny problem: it’s a natural diuretic. So keep that in mind on YOUR “Genuine Castaway Experience”.
Coconut trees are REALLY hard to climb. If you need to do it, do it fast – before hunger sets in. Strip off the soft outer layer of the coconut (if you’re up to making a fire, the brushiness will be useful to you) and use the tree itself to break the coconut open – it’s probably the only thing hard enough to work (unless you were thoughtful enough to bring a hammer).
I don’t recommend drinking or eating fermented coconuts. But that’s just me.
Sigh of a ninja
It’s 3am and I can’t sleep. This makes me want to eat chocolate.
I wish I could write more gooder.
Warning: Secure Your Chair Before Reading
Go and look at this blog. Just do it. But be advised a lot of it is somewhat inappropriate for children.
It’ll take you thirty seconds to realise how good it is. Just go.
“Avatar” Review
It’s like how everyone else is saying: the plot ain’t new, and it ain’t much, and the film should probably be shorter – but it’s sooooo pretty you just don’t care.
Personally I’m not big on special effects. I really like good writing. So I went in with very low expectations. And it was so pretty I loved it. There were even some neat things done with the writing – good characterisation (not super subtle, but it was enough for me to care about those I was meant to care about), and I really liked the way several of the minor characters evolved during the film. The pace is a little slower than we’re used to from American films (not that it was actually slow), but it suited the film.
But mostly, it was SO pretty. The 3D effects made everything more real and more beautiful. I didn’t believe pretty things could keep me entertained for three hours, but it turns out they can. And I liked the acting and characterisation of the hero.
I honestly do recommend seeing it.
Remaining China Photos
Here at last, is the chair skating photo:
If you visit Tianenmen Square, you’ll probably walk through the Forbidden City on the same day (which is called a city with good reason). Behind the Forbidden City is “The Mound” – an artificial hill in an otherwise flat landscape. I didn’t go that day, but apparently it’s the best place to stand to see Beijing. This is the view back over the Forbidden City:
January 19: Complete Story of “The Spy Who Shoved Me”
PS for those who’ve kept up, I’ll post the last of the China photos at https://felicitybloomfield.wordpress.com today.
THE SPY WHO SHOVED ME
Sun3
The name’s Bind. Jimmy Bind. On mission to China. I can tell the flight attendant wants me diced on a tiny tray. Time for some airline food.
*
He comes at me with a poison toothpick. I click my pen and squirt gas in his eye. He reels and hits the Wong twins. Two Wongs make it right.
*
The Wongs knock the flight attendant out cold. I unclick my pen and accidentally poison myself. When I wake up, we’re in Beijing. Smooth.
Mon4
Tracked the faux attendant to a meeting in Chinatown. Too bad Beijing IS Chinatown. Got distracted buying shoes. Stumbled across baddie.
*
Baddie is Mr Fu. The girl with him is Yen. I chase him and he throws a shoe at me. It explodes. He runs. I bind my wounds with duct tape.
*
I follow Fu and corner him in an alley. He throws some kung fu, and I throw some bricks. “Who’s your boss?” I scream.
“It’s her!” he weeps.
Tue5
I’ve a yen for Yen. She’s small, dark, and deadly, like an expresso. I track her by smell and find her sleeping. “Where’s the jewel?” I ask.
*
She yawns, briefly distracting me. Her leg wraps around my neck (also distracting). Suddenly she yields to my good looks and leans closer.
*
I wake up strapped to the side of the Great Wall; tied firmly with two rolls of my own duct tape. Curses!
Wed6
After a surprisingly good night’s sleep, I notice writing on the wall: “Forgive me, mother. The ruby is at. . .”
I fall.
*
I fall among Shaolin monks, who immediately attack! Luckily I have my blow-up gum and I spit it at them just in time. Kaboom! No more monks.
*
Due to budget cuts, my car is a matchbox car. Luckily it has vertical grip and a camera. I discover the ruby is at Solo – in Indonesia.
Th7
I go shoe-shopping, hoping to dispatch Yen and/or get hiking boots before I leave. An old saleswoman is suspiciously attractive.
*
I neck-chop the woman and she says blearily, “Yen? Is that you?”
“Yes,” I say (femininely).
She says, “Your stupid brother stole the ruby.”
*
Is my wall-writer Yen’s naughty brother? Is Fu as powerless as he seems? Is the boss Yen or her Mum? And are these boots the best or what?!
Fri8
Another flight. Fu appears dressed as a fat woman and slips me a note. “Meet me in Solo,” it says – “come solo!”
I nod.
*
“Yen’s my sister,” Fu explains over unripe-coconut milk. He tells me to search in the temple.
I put sleeping-gas in his drink just in case.
Sat9
The temple staff make me nervous after the Shaolins. Suddenly they spit acid! Luckily I’d already wrapped my torso in duct tape.
*
The holy men’s acid burns through my precious tape. I grab some gum but all it does is freshen my breath! The Indonesians close in. . .
Sun10
I can hear tourists jabbering above my cell. Even when I beg for help in nine languages, all they do is clap. My last meal was airline food.
*
I make a gun using duct tape and my matchbox car (which is made mainly of cast iron and black powder, plus of course matches), and wait.
*
Yen appears. As I scrabble to light the match to shoot her I accidentally click my pen, gassing us both. We instantly sleep. Together.
Mon11
Yen slaps me awake. I sit up fast. If she spoils my good looks all will be lost. “Where’d you take the ruby?” she says.
I say, “Huh?”
*
She shoves me back onto the floor and storms out, slamming the door so hard she breaks the lock. I run out and shoot the guard dead.
Tue12
I find Fu shoe-shopping, and demanded the truth. “It’s a bomb,” he says, showing me the glowing ruby,“and only a volcano can destroy it.”
*
“Give it to me,” I say.
He says, “No.”
“But –”
“No.”
“I –”
“No.”
“Pretty please?” I say.
He says, “Oh, if you put it like that. . . no.”
Wed13
Fu and I walk up Mount Bromo at dawn. He says, “I don’t like my family, and I don’t like you!” and shoves me into the steaming crater.
*
Sulphuric rain falls, choking my lungs and coating the crater’s sides in poison! Luckily my duct tape retains some adhesiveness. I climb.
*
Mrs Fu appears on the crater’s rim. “Not so fast!” She stomps on my fingers but I grab her ankles.
She tumbles down and smashes to bits!
Th14
The waiter at my hotel smells of sulphur. My foe, Fu! “Your mother is dead,” I say.
He says, “Thanks,” and stabs a fork into my shin.
*
I grab for his apron but the strings slip through my fingers. Luckily I catch a glimpse of an Aussie flag on his boxers. So that’s next.
Fri15
Yen sits beside me on my flight to Canberra. “Mum wanted you to have this,” she says – and kisses me on the cheek.
It burns! Acid!
*
I rush to the tiny bathroom but my face is permanently scarred. In a white-hot rage I pull Yen’s hair until she screams. Then I gas her.
*
Yen is arrested at the airport. That leaves Fu – and a bomb shaped like a precious jewel.
Sat16
I spot Fu in rehearsal for Australia Day celebrations, and drive my spare matchbox car camera up his leg and into his fake chest hair.
*
He goes to the Chinese embassy, and between bursts of static from the ASIO bugs I discover he plans to bomb Questacon. No! Not the children!
Sun17
I cunningly disguise myself as an eight-year old girl and wait for Fu near the Earthquake House. He comes in dressed as a staff member.
*
“I have you now, fiend!” I cry.
Fu attacks me with a remote-controlled chest-hair fireball, but I dodge. I punch him in the nose.
*
Fu collapses. I grab the bomb. It has just minutes to explode.
Ripping open the lightning cage, I throw it in, fold back the cage, and duck.
Mon18
I wake in hospital, and realise at once the doc has thrown in a little plastic surgery on the side.
Yen lies beside me, getting hair grafts.
*
“Bind,” I whisper through my bandages. “Jimmy Bind.”
She smiles at me sweetly and says, “I’m in a bind myself. Can you bust me out?”
*
I look into her dark eyes, and suddenly I have a plan. My shoes are beside my bed, so I grab the left one and make the necessary calls.
19 Jan
Yen is sent to a high-security tropical island for the criminally insane. I volunteer to help her readjust to society.
It’s what I do.
THE END
Paranoia Girl with supersonic hearing?
I had friends over today. It was excellent. We ate a pork roast (crusted with hazelnut and apricot), a potato bake (with extra bacon and cream, and home-grown tomatoes), and chocolate fondue – and we played Settlers of Katan.
On two separate occasions, while making light conversation, I paused suddenly and then excused myself even more apruptly with a mumbled excuse. Shortly afterward, I reappeared looking furtive, then continued to socialise as if nothing had happened. My reason? Food poisoning.
But I like to think it was a *little* like being an on-call superhero.
In other (arguably related) news, the whole idea of living as a hero and inspiring other heroes through my books (and through my epic failure to get quickly published) is definitely still ringing true for me. This is important, because it makes life worth living – rather than something I endure as a grudging favour to loved ones.
Yesterday I made it to my local church for the first time in about six months – I had stopped going because I was so angry at God I always ended up crying in the car (then spending the afternoon in a metaphorical and/or literal fetal position). Although I noticed myself being tetchier than usual, it was okay. Okay is a vast improvement.
I’m not BFFs with God like I used to be – but, to be fair, that’s probably a rational thing. Friends do everything in their power to help you to not be in pain, and God just doesn’t work like that. I feel more intrigued than angry now – God is the author, and I’m the character. What fascinating (and probably unpleasant, but oh well) thing is going to happen next?
(The answer is: more waiting. Two of my best-chance publishers are late to reply to two full-length books, which means either could call me with an offer any day. But they’ll probably wait about three months, then email me to say they’re not making an offer. My life story is a repetetive one, thus far.)
Pain is always easier when it means something. Mine means I end up with a better story. What more could I want?
My Body is a Horror Show
My fingers are still red and over-sensitive from the howling Siberian winds (China). I sustained a private person injury which is ongoing (also because of China). My gut hasn’t rested for a week (Indonesia), and I have a cold (a mucus burger with mucus sauce and a serve of mucus on the side) from Mount Bromo’s constant rain. My ear is ringing from an airport-noise-plus-mobile-phone moment last Wednesday (Indonesia). And the flag of the red baron is flying (Australia).
In the last half hour I had a nightmare that my partner and I flew back to Jakarta because we’d forgotten to go see something.
NOOOOooooooOOOOooo!!!
On the up side. . . it’s definitely the wrong time to start dieting.
Felicity Banks 