I am the Queen of disjointed thinking. I like your hat! :-D

Archive for December, 2011

Somewhere there is love…

My father has cancer.  There’s something most people, going about their life, never think they’ll say.  His first blood tests showed that the problem “wasn’t cancer”, and he was put on a two year public waiting list to find out what it was.  Fortunately my mother listened to her strong intuition and convinced my father to pay to have the tests done through the private system.  Whenever anyone mentions paying for anything, my father is not a happy person, but he seen became very grateful indeed when those tests saved his life.  We now knows he needs to have chemo, but we don’t know when that is to start.  It seems like every appointment is just an appointment to book the next appointment.

For a long time I’ve not had a good relationship with my father.  It’s always seemed to me that everything I really loved about him was taken away from me when I was nine years old and he started working on the oil rigs, out in the desert.
Before that, I think my dad was my favourite person.  I spent every night cuddled up to him on the couch, until my mean, mean mummy pried me off him and put me in bed.  I spent every Sunday at the beach with him, every day after school I watched the clock for when he was going to walk in the door.  My poor mother!  I only ever wanted to talk to daddy, play with daddy.  My daddy loved me for who I was.

It was August 1996 the first time my daddy went away to work.  My mum, aunty, uncle (who also worked on the rigs), a friend of my aunty, aunty’s dog and me all got in the van late at night and drove to Brisbane.   It was two in the morning when we arrived.  The ground was covered in a fog so thick and white that nobody could see anything around them.  My aunty was trying to make me feel better about my daddy going away.  She told me about all the “girl” things I could do with mum (never mind that I hate most “girl” things), she sang songs with me, I played with the dog.  Three in the morning, the fog had lifted slightly.  My dad and uncle went over and got on the plane.  I cried.  Howled, actually.  Set the dog off.  The main problem, however, came a month later.  Dad was away for three weeks, and then he came home.  Things really hadn’t been explained to me properly, and I thought dad would be away for three weeks just the once.  It was a week later just mum, dad and I were in the car going back so my daddy could leave again.  This came as a great shock to me.
It’s just occurred to me that  the little dog, my uncle and my aunty’s friend who came with us on that first trip have all died.

Over the next few years, my dad was away a lot more than he was home.  When he was home, he was tired.  There was no time for me.
Over time, he started to resent me for being quiet, for being gentle.  He also became angry with me for having opinions  and speaking my mind.  My father, still to this day views me and my mother as his property, which leads to much unpleasantness.

All of this aside, my daddy is sick, and it makes me sad.

I just wanted you to know.

Signed with love,
The Pretty Kitty.


Title is optional? When did that sh*t happen?

I feel like if I’m going to write a post here, I should fill you all in with what’s been happening.  I should tell you I had a good job, but the place closed down.  I should tell you my dad has cancer, but he’s most likely going to be fine.  I should tell you so many things, but the thing is, it’s my slack blog and I can put whatever I like, here.  So I’m not going to tell you about any of those things.  I’m just gonna whinge because I can.  If they hadn’t told me adding a title was optional, this post would be called


I hate going into the bathroom and finding every surface wet.  No, it’s just water, the toilet isn’t in the bathroom.  That doesn’t matter.  Wet things feel awful, and if I can do normal bathroom things without making everything wet and potentially growing mutant mold which kills everyone, why can’t men!? I’m sorry boys, but it does tend to be men that leave everything drenched, I’m sure some women do, too!

I hate going into the kitchen and finding every cupboard and drawer wide open.  Why!?  Why can’t you shut the doors and drawers!?  I understand pulling is more natural than pushing, but surely closing is not too much of a stretch?  Surely you can shut the very things you opened?  Surely?  Please?

More kitchen: I hate going into the kitchen and finding dirty dishes on the counter where I want to prepare my food.  The kitchen is where the sink is.  The sink is where dirty dishes go.  Simple!  Do it!  No?  Why not?  Why don’t you love your only child!?

Yet more kitchen: Please stop putting the sugar bowl in my basket of tea bags.  I pour water on those and then drink the water.  It’s really all I have at the moment.  Please don’t put your filthy, dirty, yucky and also gross sugar bowl bottom on them.  I don’t want to drink kitchen counter water.

EVEN MORER KITCHEN: I hate going into the kitchen and finding the wrappers from slices of processed cheese all over the counter, and then progressively on the floor, so as I may slip on them and die.  The kitchen is where the bin is.  Please use the bin.  Also, processed cheese is not a meal or meal substitute.  Please eat something with it.

Hallway: Why are there underpants here?  This makes me feel uncomfortable when I need to, you know, walk on the carpet.  Why oh why can’t I be bitten by a radioactive spider?

My bedroom: Why are you in here?  Why is anyone but me in here!?   Did I say you could come in?  No!  Please get out.  If you come in here when I am not home, I will know.  You have a smell (not mean, everyone does) and I know it anywhere because I know you.  Even if it weren’t for your smell, you touch all my things, you move them around.  Don’t do that.  It is not ok.

My paintings: I came home to find a large, almost-finished painting of mine had been cut down to size, painted over and nailed over my bedroom window (I have a window between my bedroom and the area under the house.  It is handy because I can put a light on in my bedroom and don’t need to put other lights on to get out from under the house).  This painting had taken me years.  It was mine but it was taken from me, cut up, painted white and used to cover up my connection to the rest of the house, also this was done from inside my bedroom.  This is not ok, and I’m currently working on restoring this painting, but a small but important part of the board was discarded. Another painting was sat on.  Another was given away without my knowledge; it was unfinished at the time.

Loud noises: I see noises, so sudden loud yelling is upsetting to me, more so than to other people.  Stop it.

That’s not all, but I’m going to stop now.

Signed with love,
The Pretty Kitty.