Mondayitis...or mania?

Am I the only person who looks on the beginning of a new week with dread? Yet, again after a seemingly stable week and quiet weekend attending to domestic duties and my own headspace (reading papers, watching my beloved Magpies play AFL football, one chick flick movie in the evening when alone in the house), I do not want to rise from bed and greet the new day.

Today I have begun with a leisurely lie-in which I justified by reading a hard back on Wikinomics. Yep, it is interesting in a dry academic way but it was not really a priority task. Next procrastination was my own and my son's washing (yep, he could do it himself after TAFE) but why waste all these sunny daylight hours? Then on to that wonderfully riveting household duty bathroom cleaning. Yep, even that appears better than sitting at the keyboard embarking on my final write up of my PhD.

Oh, look lunchtime. Now I MUST prepare yoghurt, hummus and vegetarian lasagne for dinner.

Next the email sort through and on to this blog.

Funny how the hours are rapidly dwindling and I have achieved NOTHING of substance.

If I stop and reflect, and am honest with myself I really do know why I feel this way each Monday.

By the end of June the Exegesis must be completed so that means only three more weeks to go. I have the material I need. I have all the reading completed, to read more is just going to make it all less 'controllale". I have written the Preface structural summary and main points. I have drafted the Chapter structural layout with thesis argument and hypothesis development through to outcomes.

So why won't I write it?

I have been trying very hard to distance myself from my candidature and look towards life after the PhD, knwoing it is common for people to face a void. For me I fear that void. My self-perception for so many years now has been that I am a PhD candidate and trainee academic.

When the Exegesis is done and dusted the Artefact remains, and I have never been comfortable identifying as a writer. I am not. I am simply a writing craftsperson on a journey of discovery, playing with the 'real writing', a novel.

And I am scared.

I am scared I cannot do it, no matterhow much research and analysis I have done into the process and practice of professional authors.

The big question remains do I have that ability to commune with the Muse? To reach out and grasp that very essence of creation?

Also to do this, mobilise my creative desires and abilities, how safe am I going to be?

Now I have worked my way down to the crux of the matter.

Do I really want to embark on that marvellous, addictive manic phase I need to be generative and productive?

Having spent so many weeks trying to consolidate my wellness routines, and stabilise my moods, am I ready to (or willing to) put it all 'on the line' just to achieve at my highest level of creativity?

It's what I have grieved for that beautific state for over twenty-one years.
I have been atempting to control it via medication ever since I accepted the need to be medicated for life. It had to be fought for my role as mother, but what about now?

Surely, as an author, I must go there.
I cannot see how to do it without mania. Is it any wonder, I put it off.

I just wish my supervisor could realise how much I am thinking of sacrificing for this last foray into my artistic self.

I am scared.

Come, hold my hand Calliope.

Blog or Writers journal?

A very interesting discussion is occurring on the Australian Association of Writing Program's postgraduate website the Writingnetwork.edu.au.

As part of many PhDs in Creative Writing the scholars must keep a writer's journal which is reflective of the process of scholarship and creative production of the Artefact. From this personal journey material emerges a record of research practice which is interrelated to the actual creative writing component. Each is expected to feed off each other thus generating an intellectual conversation between art and craft.

On the website the current Editor of the Month, a friend and co-scholar, Di, has posed the question; what is the difference between a journal and a blog?

I thought that addressing this question belonged in my Blog. I am using this blog as my writer's reflective journal.

Why?

Because an electronically archived series of entries and prinatble documents are able to be searched by tagged keywords and themes.

This allows me to also search in my bibliographic software program, Endnote for similar keywords and themes that I have listed in my fields. I am expecting that I will be able to draw together my own thoughts on the writing process with those of academics and professional writers on each key theme as it emerges.

I foresee that my exegesis will contain many styles of written text and voice, the academic voice; formal and refined, the colloquial (mine and authors from podcasts and audio files or interview transcripts), and my informal reflections from my blogs.

There is however, one very BIG difference between a blog and a journal.

The writer's journal is for all intents and purposes a private series of written entries. It is conceived of as a private space. Only certain things will be shared with the examiners, supervisors and fellow academic scholars. Thus anything can be written about without fear of self-disclosure.

The blog on the other hand is for the public domain. The author consciously decides what is posted to the blogosphere. The reason for this restraint and self-censorship was very well described by Mia Freeman in her weekend column of the Age weekend glossy magazine last weekend.

She speaks of how as an employer she was able to eliminate three candidates from her shortlist of potential employees just by checking their FB and Twitter accounts. In the same way we are judged by our appearance, voice, clothes etc, we are also judged by our cyberspace persona.
She describes de-selecting these job applicants because one thought her best public persona was that of a binge drinker getting 'wasted' each weekend. Another was very indiscreet and bitchy about her current employer... not a good sign for a prospective employer to read.

Why on earth did these women think their cyberspace persona (with or without avatar) is disconnected from their real selves?

In my blog I am always aware of moral and ethical perspectives on what I write. How will/does my entries impact on those who have experienced what I am blogging about? How do the people I blog about feel about 'their story' and their 'selves' being placed on display for public consumption? Am I being respectful and not mining their emotions for material?

Of course how I perceive someone or something is not the definitive truth, it is my 'take' on things on this given day at this particular moment at the keyboard. The guiding rule is how does this text show me in the public domain?

Okay, so why have I chosen a public domain for my writer's journal? Many reasons.

• I want it electronic.
• I want it tagged and searchable.
• I want it public.
• I want readers to gain an insight into Bipolarity.
• Bipolarity and madness is the theme of my novel and a key theme in the exegesis.
• Madness and creativity is another key theme in my exegesis.
• Gender and stereotyping is a further key theme in my exehesis.
• These key themes are being explored for academic and public consumption.
• I aim to raise awareness of Creative Writing doctorates and practice.
• My exegesis is conceived as publishable in academic texts and public forums thus my blog needs to be public for readers to find their own way into my story as writer and woman.

Okay Di, is that enough to explain how I view the journal and the blog?

Don't even ask me how I integrate my 'inspiration wall', my post-it notes, clippings, photos and general source material for my writing. Perhaps this is my archive?

Fun Friday...

Last night's book launch was fun. I felt I owed it to my dear colleague to attend his launch rather than the Alumni Chancellors lecture. Luckily this proved to be the correct decision, as the lecture was recorded and will appear podcast somewhere in the future.

I am sure that the panelists also use the same speeches at many events, and they will be readily available somewhere, perhaps at the Wheeler Centre sessions?

The book launch was good in that I met some new and interesting people, especially those from the outside world. Hello Ann! I admire people with the confidence to work in the private sector assured that their skills are marketable to demanding employers. I have never felt I had marketable skills for the world outside education or the public service sector. On so many occasions my lower middle-class background colours my sense of place in this world, no matter how many qualifications I accumulate.

It is as if I believe that my fate is to never be economically secure as I have rebelled against my 'station in life' so must be penalised.

How irrational is that?

After having left the launch I travelled back to my new, cheaper hotel. This time my pockets were empty and I had only enough for the train fare home. No room service for me, no lesiurely breakky or trips to the sales again. The only good thing was that I had some white wine left from the bottle my friend brought to my previous hotel room. I could pretend my life is comfortable and filled with wine, perfume, concerts, theatre, restaurants and companions...

Watch what you wish for!

Companionship.

Just when the night was ending and a lonely hotel bed is calling, one of my new friends arrives to share a nightcap. Luckily common sense comes into play as she is tired and we have drunk the whole bottle, plus the remainder of first bottle and some sparkling at the book launch. There is no way she should drive... so would you believe I share my hotel bed with a female friend, which I haven't done for over twenty-five years.

No lonely hotel room tonight, just two older mates being sensible after sharing honest and reafirming conversation, genial friendship and partying a bit, if a book launch counts as partying?

I would say in the age demographic 50s it does!

After such a connected evening, I cannot face Friday alone.

Again a female friend comes to my aid. I 'train it' to her home and we actually spend hours working and brainstorming our PhD exegeses.

It was such a successful afternoon that we celebrate with the almost mandatory bottle of wine.

And yes dear 'new' friend (male) you owe both of us those promised bottles of Sauv Blanc watching the sunset over the water from her patio!

This being sensible is becoming a habit.

I have to phone home and get picked up by car. Somehow I have managed the entire week without succumbing to the black dog that was threatening earlier, and I have been able to do some straight thinking for my PhD. Is this that mich yearned for work-life balance?

Yoga, excercise, sanity, wining, dining, laughter, friendship, intellectual stimulation, job prospects, and writing!

What more could one ask for?

Oh yeah, don't go back there today.

Must not watch too many Hollywood movies.

Pity I am writing this too late after having a quiet n ight in watching my beloved Meryl Streep in It's complicated.

...If only!

The Book Launch

I left off yesterday's blog feeling very Bea Arthur.

Perhaps I should see myself as more Vera Charles than Dorothy Zbornak!

Again my thoughts dwell on friendships. Thinking of Bea Arthur draws my mind back to my wonderful friend Dizzy and to the days when we would sing Bosom Buddies and promise each other we would play Mame and Vera when we were old enough... well my darling Diz, I am now old enough and you have left me forever. I miss you so much. You areone of the reasons I began my PhD. I need to capture our special times and experiences forever. They will never come again so they can live on in my novel and finally allow me to finish grieving... perhaps I may be able to go on and become Blanche Du Bois, after I've reconciled my loss of dearest Michelle also. I would love to be as light hearted and open to romance as this famous TV character.

Ah, it always had to become a blog about sex, eventually!

My new friends from work are showing me alternate female gender roles. It is amazingjust how many of the professional women academics have a very traditional domestic family arrangement.
Yet, when I first began lecturing so many years ago my colleagues were predominantly gay women and singles. Why has there been a change or is it simply that the location and type of higher education institution explains this change? Does outer suburbia lend itself to convenient employment for qualified married women, and allow the time to combine motherhood and career responsibilities. I can't see the same family friendly work practices being overtly available at the big research G8s, where career and the University must come first, for academic survival.

It is so good that at least one of my new friends and colleagues is a post-second wave woman, sexually liberated, very much in the mould of SATC. If she had a higher academic salary those would be Manolos on her feet, and not for her a Big, but toy boys and sexual freedom. I am so jealous... I sometimes fantasize that the way forward for me one day will be a toy boy, where I can be the older wise experienced woman... but it is just that; a fantasy.

Even with my anticipated weight loss and avowal to be a cougar, it is not likey to happen. If I have to be honest with myself I really would like a realtionship with an intellectual equal. Yeah, that's likely to happen. Most of my solid male friends are gay. So much for intellectual stimulation within coupledom... just not gonna happen.

This also brings me to male friendships. I watch another new friend who idolises his wife. They too share the traditional gender roles within their marriage whilst he is also free to explore his snagdom. But that is an external image he cultivates. In reality, he needs all the emotional maintenance from his partner as most married straight men I have met.

Next is a very very new friend. I am getting quite worried about him. Whereas when we first became friends he was very open and forthcoming about his dreams and hopes. He was excitedly embarking on a new set of life challenges and was confident that everything would fall into place. Now suddenly he has become more reticent and less likely to socialise and confide. I notice a distinct saddness and feeling of disappointment. This new adventure was never going to be easy but I had hoped for him it would be rewarding.

He is no longer glowing. He seems tired and a tad disconnected from his new friends and colleagues. I miss our frank conversations and cameraderie of last summer. I am wondering what happened and whether it is wise for him to be so self-contained if there are issues he needs to resolve.

I also fear that when he learned that I had BMD he is so frightened to speak openly, as my response cannot be assured as he fears he 'might set me off' or trigger my madness in some way. Since I told him I had BMD he has distanced himself as a friend. I am grieving for this. My illness is suddenly the elephant in the room, the unspoken thing. Yet, I joke as usual about it, because that's the only way to live with it and not allow it to be damaging to myself and others.

Why is it that my new female friends and colleagues are prepared to understand my illness, as part and parcel of me, yet my two new straight male friends and colleagues are less prepared to get to know me further. I hate feeling like I have a communicable disease.

I guess that's why I feel I will always be alone, if that's how educated men my age respond, what hope is there to meet someone (of the male gender) who reacts differently and isn't gay?

I adore my gay friends but hey enough is enough... your domestic bliss becomes too much for a single white female to cope with as my loneness is spotlighted!

Thoughtful Thursday

Yep, another recap... sorry.

After spending some time on the PhD (yep that's right... I worked on it at last), and attending a hypnotherapy session with Dr Caroline, I had to change hotels. I had decided to stay in Melbourne on Thursday night after attending either (or both) the Alumni Chancellors lecture and/or a colleague, Geoff's book launch.

I was able to rest my feet as the new shoes I purchased in the sales killed me and gave me the usual new-shoe blisters. I had decided that I would do more than window shop and that new boots would be great when I met my two 'oldest friends' fo dinner at the Casino on Wednesday night.

I had hoped to eat at a trendy celebrity chef restaurant there or at Southbank and had justified it by saying we could use a pre-dinner special of two courses and wine, so that we would eat at reasonable prices. It was good in theory, until I forgot to do my research and arrived at the Casino without any clear directions.

One friend saw a sign advertising half a kilo of prawns for $19.50.

We decided that if our other friend wanted seafood we would dine at "The Pub", a horrid American style chain version of a British Pub.

Yep, you got it... and absolute horror in my eyes.

It used to be where Planet Hollywood once was and even that was bad enough but this one had cheap and nasty oozing from every hard wood surface! I scanned the menu... not a great option for a post lap-bander despite listing around 50 mains! Horrid old-style pub stodge. What's the bet that everything came with "fries" and the soup de jour would be seafood based or bad pumpkin? Panic set in. Our friendship has only just blossomed in all its former glory in the last twelve months and honesty is still an issue... as are budget concerns for two of us. The third has less of a problem with dollars but here common sense and practicality rule out impulsive spending like we used to indulge as younger women.

Suddenly, my mind remembered that Crown had two Buffet's and from my memory of taking my son there as a fussy eating pre-teen we always found suitable cuisine for both him and I, and at what I remembered were reasonable prices. We could at least check that out first before succumbing to The Pub.

So I had finally conquered my own impulsivity and thought through the options and decided the celeb chef bistros (Maze grill, GA&S, Nobu, Phillipe Mouchel's Brasseries or even Tutto Bene in Southbank, or MaHa Bar and Grill were off the list of options. Bugger!)

Hate this thing called common sense.

Anyway things turned out fine. The bloody buffet, Sante had the same prawn deal but with full buffet also included. Thus my dear friends could share 1.5 kilos of prawns courtesy of my share, and I could search amongst the traditional fare. ( I found mushroom soup, an old favourite, and some rice with tofu, salad and an Indian curry puff... so I was okay). The roasts and fried foods looked horrendously over-cooked and mass produced, but what sealed the deal, apart from the prawns was the dessert station... a girl's heaven. My friends had two large dinner plate assietes of mixed desserts before I had even risen for my main. Even the wine was reasonable, a $15 Sauv Blanc... just what two drivers and one hotel guest required.

A mandatory visit to the chocolate box, and one friend's ciggy break rounded off a great evening.

The conversation was again thought provoking after the fact.

Where both women friends were in sms contact with respective daughters, I too had a very brief call to my son, which was strange. I am usually totally footloose and detached from my domestic life when I am in the City. Son and I were actually discussing the fact that he could meet up with arranged service people and I could stay another night in town, given that I had not blown a fortune on alcohol and fine dining (or boots for that matter).

My feet would be so grateful for a comfy bed and a chance to get blister pads on Thursday morning.

Once back in my hotel room, I realised how very far our lives have travelled. One friend is widowed and working very hard but slowly building a solid wealth base for retirement once she has been able to stop supporting her two adult kids. The other is in pain. She actually needs us together now like no other time in the past.

Just in this one year, she has lost her mother, thus embarking on that frightening life stage as the adult orphaned 'child'. After dealing with Estate matters and family war zones over the will and inheritances, her former familial ties have unravelled. Add to this a final move to end her unhappy marriage and a tempting possible affair with an old first love (who won't leave his marriage), she has come to see that her life is suddenly very different. She has to face being on her own as her adult kids grow up and eventually fly the nest. And in a totally C20-21st century dilemma her mind is turning to her oldest daughters forthcoming wedding. The loneliness of the parents of the bride table, is the stuff of Hollwod B grade comedy movies. She beseeched us both to be with her on this fraught day.

So you get the picture, one widow, one divorcee and a bitter and twisted old feminist sharing this "joyous occasion" (yeah sure)... with the ex-husband from hell. Please let this next stage in our friendship be as fruitful as I am already imagining it to be... an Australian version of the Golden Girls rather than Sex and the City!

ASIDE: Vale, Rue McLanahan!

What a performance and six marriages... wow, move over Liz Taylor, why can't American women learn from their mistakes??

So Thursday was to be another Melbourne night... more material for booktwo or screenplay, and more chance at deep friendships with new colleagues.

The only whinge about Thursday was that I had to move hotels. Mine was fully booked and there had been no cancellation when I had returned from Crown. So whilst surfing and looking for the best last minute deals that would fit my remaining budget, I was drawn to the firey spectacle refelcted in the calm black Yarra waters.

I am alone and wishing I had someone to share this beauty with, and a good bottle of red whilst snuggled in fluffy white towelling robes I contemplate what the future would bring for me as a single woman. Would I become a career woman in the near future? Would I ever meet a companion who could look beyond my mental illness or my physical attributes and age?

Do I really have to become Bea Arthur?

Wonderful Wednesday

I know late again with the write up but hey I have been having a little fun and time off. Just what the doctors ordered!

Again the lift out of the dark zone was brought about by the need to dredge up adrenaline and positive 'public face'.

On Tuesday I finally received an email offering me a job interview.

In the same e-post was the rejection from my earlier application. This did not hurt as much as it had a few days ago, as they had said no-one would be advised if not on the short-list. By this arrival, I can assume I must have been on the brink of the shortlist, at least considered seriously enough to warrant a "thanks but no thanks email." One has to see that objectively as a step in the right direction.... after all when I first read the duty statement I felt they would be pushing it to appoint at the lower level (under Post-Doc). What had excited me was that often if a suitable applicant comes along with all the experience the employees do indeed hire at the lowest pay scale able to get the job done, and that most assuredly would have been me. I am assuming that they actually hired an experienced and well connected (research grant-wise) Post Doc. or someone with a stronger Politics core units of specialisation. So that's cool. The job has gone to the best person, even when it is not me!

The other interview seemed more laid back as it was to be a half hour by phone. I am not a fan of this type of interview as I like to assess the potential employer as much as they wish to assess my suitability. I have learned the hard way in the last two years that by being financially dependent upon a employment contract removes autonomy and the strength to speak out when the job is not working out.

I have had two experiences where despite the utmost admiration for my direct line managers, and a personal affection for them, I have been placed in untenable work positions with unrealistic expectations based upon their lack of technical knowledge and adequate administrative focus. The two ocassions saw my stress levels explode to the detriment of my self-esteem and mental health. When things were tough or my skill level was questioned, my loyalty made me work harder and longer than the actual hours employed, just to prove I could produce outcomes that were basically untenable in the circumstances.

Of course being me, my mood state swung to the lowest blackest state and I ended up in hospital rebuilding my self-esteem and mental stamina. I will not fall prey to this syndrome again. As they say, to repeat a mistake is bad enough but to do it twice is just stupidity (in my case born out of financial stress and insecurity).

My health is now far more important than keeping cars and houses! As long as I stay well I can achieve in my studies and writing. The rest should fall into place if I stay well. I refuse to catastrophise and fall into an anxiety state that renders me vocationally and personally incompetent.

I am a stronger woman at last.

I am not my illness.

I have skills and abilities that are often undervalued by me and the broader workforce.... well, their loss really!

So many academics are poor people managers despite being brilliant scholars. That is how the academy so easily fell into the hands of the also-ran bureaucrats!

Getting back on track... that's why on Wednesday I had to put my mini-break down on hold.

I had to function at my professional best. I think I did.

And I had a good strong rapport with my potential employer and the tasks were clearly defined and timelined. The salary again is exploitative but that's par for the course for researchers in Universities (as opposed to the Private Sector).

It makes sense at this stage to suck it up, one more time, if it is offered as the context for the research is a new and developing knowledge area and an area where I have a personal and professional curiosity and interest.

So fingers crossed.

Things seemed to have gone well. A less formal interview spanning over an hour of conversation, discussion and job-related briefings. Well I will know early next week. In celebration I used one of my loyalty hotel vouchers and stayed in town at my favourite mid priced hotel, just to treat myself.

I revelled in the relaxation and freedom, swimming in the pool, excercise in the fitness centre and concentration in the business centre as well as a great window shopping experience in the End of Fin Year Sales at the big stores.

Good girly fun.

A definite mood stabiliser!

Positive 3 again.

Rest and relaxation

Again the sun was beaming and I had promised myself yesterday, no matter how I felt, I would rise, shower and get moving. After sleeping through the alarm again today, I finally woke realising that with a hurried shower and phone booking I could make it to yoga.

I am so sick and tired of being sore and in pain I thought yoga could not make it any worse, and I definitely needed the relaxation excercises. Driving up to Mornington I began gnawing at my fingernails.

My anxiety levels are out of control.

Walking in to the hospital I did not feel my usual relief at arriving at my safe place. Sitting in the admission booth I felt nervy and uncomfortable. Of course the computer would go haywire and make the admission process tedious and sluggish. The printer refused to print my labels for my wrist band.

I began to feel that it wasn't meant to happen and that I should just turn around and go home, which made me angry that I had just spent my last twenty dollars on petrol for the return trip.

After trying to reassure the agitated booking clerk that I was okay with the delay, when I actually wasn't. I had to smile politely and head directly to the staircase to go towards the yoga session after the recalcitrant printer had spewed out enough labels for a seven week stay.

They were expecting me, thanks to the hurried phone call and had left one door ajar. The session had not begun and Felicity was arranging chairs, mats and blue cubes and straps. My curiousity was piqued. We had never used this equipment before. Felicity explained that today we would be working on lower backs and she hoped that it wouldn't be a problem for me. Again she reinforced that if any of us felt discomfort or pain she would adapt the stretches and poses.

My day began to look up after I realised that any discomfort was only temporary and after the breathing and relaxation had taken hold I suddenly had no pain! How good it felt to work the lower back and spine, loosening all the previously throbbing hurt places. I began to smile and my face totally relaxed.

It was a fantastic start to the day.

Add to this that two of the younger in-patients were women I had shared the ward with earlier this year, I felt instantly at ease. We enjoyed catching up and felt a solidarity that can only be experienced by women who know intuitively what it is like to be struggling to stay well. We then sat together with one of the nurse counsellors, Brigit, and had a long de-brief session, particularly about wellness in the outside world. I really miss these sessions on the days when I have to attend Lilydale for work meetings.

The contradiction that I feel is quite curious.

On the one hand I need to feel connected to my old workplace and alma mater, but on the other I am drawn to being with people who have 'walked in my shoes'. We are apart from the people in the outside world yet together we feel that we are the normal ones. I miss this sense of empathy and understanding, but I know I cannot rely on living in an artificial world where the 'real world' is held at bay and problems left outside.

It is just that I am tired of fighting for every moment of quietude, sanity, logic and stability. I am tired of some important and influential people thinking that over my three and a half years of PhD candidature I have been slack. Every 'normal' worker gets four weeks annual leave and a similar amount of sick leave. Do I? Have I?

In the last three years I have used only one week of my holidays for that purpose; the week I booked in 2007 for a brief stay in Portugal after my Madrid conference presentation. Yep, a holiday. The very one that was put on hold because I fell down the marble steps at the Conference venue.

That same holiday which had me attending the Hospital Principessa in Madrid, having xrays, and my archilles tendons encased in bandages and moon boots whilst I reclined on the bed in the Holiday Inn, drugged with anti-inflamatories and pain killers.

Hmm relaxing hoiliday, that's fore sure.

So the following two years worth of annual leave?

These weeks were spent hopsitalised battling clinical depression.

Yep, great holidays those, also.

I guess I did have one week off last July after lap-banding surgery... or was that only four days in Ballarat, in winter with me checking emails morning and night to ensure my boss had what she needed whilst attending a Conference in Paris.

Then again this year another hospitalisation, for the same reason, clinical depression. A great time of relaxation with me accessing the internet everyday formatting a difficult thesis for a colleague and friend, much to the cost of my own recovery.

Another one of my famous 'holidays'.

• When do all these medical certificates be seen as legitimate interruptions to my PhD candidature?
• Am I being delusional counting these times/weeks/months as normal candidature times?
• Am I mistaken to count them as annual leave?

The other mistake I have made and paid (am paying) a substantial price for doing, is thinking that any Conferences I have attended are actually holidays!

Yep, the single days before or after the Conferences that allowed me to see the beautiful and exciting cities that was hosting these events, may not actually constitute holidays.

I always underestimate the intensity of focus required for actively listening to presentations and papers for three or four days consecutively and ensuring that my notes are summarised clearly at night, just to ensure I have everything in a useful form, for use on my return and ongoing study.

What on earth made me think that simply going out to dinner with other delegrates meant that these were holidays?

Every dinner held times for spontaneity and laughter, but also insightful intellectual discussions. They are no different to workplace conversations and brainstorming... part of work!

Yep, again these were definitely holidays weren't they?

Is it any wonder I am mentally exhausted? I need a break.

Why should I be made feel guilty for not pushing myslef to complete my candidature by June, just because if I apply to extend my candudature period, I might end up hospitalised in November (because the Xmas period is often emotionally stressful and I am often at risk of mania in November)? Perhaps, I might fall into mania only because people in my workplace have bullied me so attrociously and emotionally drained me, used me and undervalued my skills throughout the year leading up to November?

So many people (academics) underestimate the time certain tasks take to do, and when paid in hourly rates the pressure is on me to finish these tasks no matter how long they take, rather than have me be paid for the hours expended.

The result is unrealistic expectations, undervaluing the actual work being done, lack of knowledge of professional dtp rather than typing,limitations of available software for the tasks, and many more constraints which sees me working many, many unpaid hours.

Of course I break down under the stress.

Anybody would.

Could it possibly be that by allowing myself a bit of slack, to focus on my wellbeing, I just might be able to avoid hospitalisation?

• Am I also not permitted to be like a normal person?
• Who says I need less of a holiday with quiet relaxation for myself than another worker who needs to spend quality time with partner and family when it suits their family timeframes?
• Why are my individual wellness needs of less importance than other people's holidays, people who do not battle chronic illness?
• Are ill/disabled workers less entitled to holidays because they have different needs?
• Should my productivity be gauged by how much time I have off (hospital or not) or should it be judged upon the abilities and competencies I demonstrate at work?
• Since when do workplaces have the legislative right to discriminate based upon a worker's mental illness?

This form of unreasonable reaction and lack of understanding and empathy ensures that as a worker I will fall victim to stress-related breakdowns.

This is an incidious form of workplace bullying.

I am tired of fighting for my rights.


I guess I need a holiday!