Always more to learn

My silence over the last month continues to be explained by the write up phase of my PhD. This phase is desolation. Even my GP said the other day that 'PhD's are enough to drive sane people insane, imagine the stress you are under'. How interesting, when one lives with stress as a daily partner it becomes normalised. That doesn't mean it is any less debilitating but just a part of the mental torment to control and 'get through' in one's normal routine. Turning is desperation to people whose words can describe the things I find hard to encapsulate adequately in my creative writing, and the things that sound cliched in my academic writing, I find that every time I open their books new things jump out at me.

It's as if... I feel even more inadequate> How could I have survived with this condition this long and not seen or understood the obvious things being spoken about. For example throughout my life I have had suicidal ideations and indeed taken a perverse pleasure in them. It was as if my safety was thinking about suicide rather than acting upon it. I was not and am not alone. Apparently this is the very stuff of suicide ideation, a form of wish fulfilment that promises and imagined respite from the unbearable pain. Yet to act upon it is vengeful. It is to purposely hurt others... along the lines of Spike Milligan's "I told you I was ill"...a sort of see, you wouldn't believe how real this was, now you can feel guilty.

To have that much anger seems counter to the despair and enervation that is upon one when suicide ideations occur. Why have I not been able to see it before reading famed entertainment industry attorney Terri Cheney's book, Manic: A memoir. Or another, Darkness Visible by the late author William Styron.

I have felt comfortable re-reading Kay Redfield Jamieson's 1993 Touched with Fire as an academic search for knowledge, and previously her memoir, An Unquiet Mind. It is as if these people are publically successful and safe to speak about their depressions and manias that make me stop and reflect on what I am actually doing in my own PhD. Is my lack of public profile good or bad? Does it mean that what I have to say will be less valued? Can there ever be an 'everyone' voice of the disease BMD, when it is so idiosyncratic in its shifts, phases, cycles and even within the polarities themselves, let alone the individual differences in reactions to and success with medications and pharmacological interventions.

So in the academic sense what can be my contribution to new knowledge as demanded of a PhD? What can I say that these highly skilled and intelligent wordsmiths and successful professional people have not said?

Maybe it is simply to let people share a glimpse inside the world of madness, and that it is not unrelenting and there are times of absolute psychological normality. We are not all the same. I am not my illness.

It has been a revelation to me that the sexual promiscuity that can accompany mania is less about feeling desirable and sexually powerful and is more about a desperate need for human connection... the need to feel connected with someone. Communication being the goal however when the libido is freed from normal rational constraint, it becomes the equivalent of 'beer goggles'.... sex becomes confused with connection.

is that what my PhD is about and also this blog... my need to connect as I am alone in life and have no partner to be strong for me throughout the ups and downs?

"Only connect! That was the whole of her sermon. Only connect the prose and the passion, and both will be exalted, and human love will be seen at its height. Live in fragments no longer. Only connect, and the beast and the monk, robbed of the isolation that is life to either, will die." Howards End 1910 by E.M Forster.

Like Rita in educating Rita, it finally makes sense to me too.

Shakespeare's Fool

As usual I will leave it to my old pal at Crabby Road to tell the story in a picture worth the proverbial... but you know me, I am not short of a word or two on the topic either.

Ah the joys of technology.
Two hard drive crashes.... who'da believed it?

Well really it was only one and the second as a consequence of the first. But let me just demonsrate what it means to have BMD and be atempting to function in the 'real world'.

The actual workload I have whilst officially on three monthe leave of absence includes:

• Writing 50-60,000 words draft of my novel
• Creating a major web site of International Conference Proceedings (with a second Conference occurring simultaneously... the reason the inaugural isn't live... the academic responsible threw it to me with a two week lead time!)
• Creating a second website for a friend... again with two weeks lead time - the same two weeks, before her story aired on the ABC TV, so that there was a public call point for contact and info.
• Creating my own updated website to accompany job applications
• Doing the actual job applications including updating a seriously non-functioning CV
• Writing three refereed journal articles (not begun yet)
• Refereeing two academic journal articles (done, at least)
• Writing two refereed Conference papers (one national and one international... half done)
• Finalising the pre-publication draft of a jointly authored academic journal (online and published... yeah)
• Keeping content live on the Swinburne Post Graduate Writers network FB page so new members from other states can gain something of benefit also.
• Keeping my own FB page live and of use to colleagues and scholars living and studying o/s.
• Keeping on top of my RSS feeds and emails filtering out research data, calls for papers, conference notifications, new journal calls for submissions (ongoing) and the ever infuriating spam.
  
• Keeping track of useful research material from O/S conference proceedings and attending one run by QUT's CCi in Melbourne last week (now chasing those feeds and recordings).
  
• And lastly supposedly applying for a writing fellowship for this summer.

Yep ,and that's just whilst I am ON LEAVE!

Being back doing the PhD in Decmeber adds....

• researching and writing final draft of exegesis
• writing and redrafting novel draft
• attending symposia

So this is a great snapshot of current life as an trainee/junior academic.

The first list is the 'own time' list of duties which are conveniently looked at as key selection criteria for employment, under the guise of collegiality, contribution to discipline knowledge, cross-institutional and industry linkages, and community involvement and contribution.

The actual workplace tasks really fall simply...

• Teaching, lecture preparation
• Student advice and academic guidance
  
• Marking
• Quality audit administrative tracking via paperwork or online survey data
• Teaching quality audit tracking via student feedback data and 360 degree surveys
• Attending discipline, department, faculty and campus admin meetings (and social events... for collegiality and demonstration of collegial commitment)
• Presenting at Conferences, running symposia, mentoring junior academic staff (or students)
• Doing your own research and publication (for productivity audits and research active status)

To think as a PhD candidate when I was on stipend all this is worth (according to the Government $11.84 net per hour)!

As a sessional, it is valued by the University as worth $90 gross per hour, but no more than ten hours a week or I will compromise my PhD candidature. (In my current situation because I am a 'bad' (read slack and troublesome) PhD candidate ZERO sessional work!

Then if I am lucky enough to gain a lectureship after the PhD I might beworth a whopping $80k gross... for a ninety hour + per week workload.

Is it any wonder people in the 'real world' often query my sanity?

I know I do.

Often.

Hence leave of absence... an existential crisis if you will, and one all normal people can have!

Yet, because I am openly diagnosed as BMD, the nameless they assume I just can't cope and am breaking down!

No.
I am having a bloody break believe it or not
And NOT A HOLIDAY either.

Then let's just throw in a little guilt....

Non-timely completion of PhD after being awarded a PhD stipend...HOW DARE I?

Even with some months left in the STANDARD FOUR YEAR PERIOD OF CANDIDATURE! Not pulling it in in three and a half... HOW SHAMEFUL AND DISRESPECTFUL....AND UNGRATEFUL!

SHE MUST BE CRAZY. Told you 'we' shouldn't have accepted a crazy candidate.

Then lets add in....

crippling financial distress... surviving on Disability Pension of $580 per fortnight. Yep you read that right. Paying off car, intenet access, funeral plans, car insurance, a silly thing called food, medications and supposedly private health insurance and a student loan. Yep, easy as... just need to do some cash in-hand house cleaning, ironing or freelance writing in my spare time... oh yeah, that's called sleeping time.

Next the clincher (and how I began this blog)

The wonderful USB external hard disc drive that has been my life saver for just over a year... and yep... here comes the brand name... WESTERN DIGITAL MY PASSPORT pocket hdd crashed with everything on it.

Not a problem you say... still got backup on laptop HDD.... you'da though wouldn't you, especially with two partitions on the HDD, one simply for data, away from applications.?

But alas, no; the problem with the WD is that it crashes the RAM on your HDD... and you cannot restore or reboot even in safe mode... need replacement RAM.

Great the data is still there but you try justifying spending nearly $100 on ram and data recovery on a 2003 laptop to a tech savvy son of 21 and an ageing luddite aged 78.

"What? When you can't even pay the family health insurance on time?"
"Buy a new laptop for Chrissake...."
"Don't go into more debt... don't take a Cash Converters loan at 24 per cent either"...
"Just use the old desktop Mac you were given"

But don't expect to buy any software of that age, or even get it wifi'd to the household LAN that you pay for... and don't expect to be allowed to have an ethernet cable running from your study to the modem (across a hallway and into son's room... hmmm now why was it located there in the first place... oh I remember I wasn't home).

Then, when I try to tell the IT guy at work that my research (on my son's laptop loaned under duress and borrowed under cintant threat of revocation should I even alter an icon place...) has found in the techie forums that this is a COMMON PROBLEM with WD usb ext HDDs and even the company software won't/can't recover the data.

Yep, built in obselescence!

But try telling that to the IT guy, because the Dean at work has just ordered a department full of them for her academic staff.

You'd think forewarning would be acceptable.... but guess what?

"Don't listen to her... she's just a crazy,crabby old bitch. She must have done it herself, not the hardware."

And so Shakespeare's fool exits stage left.

Oh dear, navel gazing

This is the man, the guru, Aaron Beck MD from the Beck Brain Institute. He is reputed to have developed Cognitive Behaviour Therapy for use in clinical depression and other manjor mental illnesses. Like any therapy it takes years of practice, and typical me... when I know I am heading downwards on the Bi-polar express, it is so difficult to dredge up the will to do the thought auditing required, let alone connect the analytical with the emotional and mobilise action. I am very good at staying above intellectualle and knowing the effect of my thinking, but I am very very bad at translating the 'common sense' across to what always feels like an overwhelming swarm of self-hatred.

It is so hard to put these things into words, for fear of being judged. To be seen as self-indulgent. If one has suffered from situational depression then you have an idea of just how debilitating the condition is... but when you add the constant pull towards clinical depression wrought by my illness, it is almost unbearable. Of all the people who should (oh dear just used the no, no word),
be able to call up an inner strength and harness my intellectual capacities it should be me. But at the start of this blog, I promised to be honest and take any readers through the Bi-polar express from a safe distance.

Well, as you can see from the many gaps and lack of daily posts, whenever I felt in the 'grey zone' or what people call 'normal', I forget to blog. I just get on with life in all its 'grey mundaneness'
.
But when the colours are brighter, the sounds orchestral, the aromas gastronomic then there is a pull to the keyboard. To capture this moment. A fear that if I do not capture these emotions and ward off the inevitable fall down to grey again. And similarly, when the mood swings towards the black pit, with the 'dog' nipping at my heels again I refuse to sit and type for fear that I empower the blackness and am drawn irrevocably into the abyss.

Yep, for the priliveleged well people this sounds so overly dramatic, but simple words are so powerless in describing the intensity of the swings. So for well over 30 years now I have happily worn the description of drama-queen, what other choice do I have but self-acceptance? I have made the ultimate promise to myself that I will never act on any suicidal ideations so I ust have to wear the negative labels. This is a small price to pay for the sacred life I have been given, that my parents strugdled to nurture, and the life that pushed so many loving people away when they felt so powerless to stop my spirals.

I guess this is the reason I am so sad when new friends run a mile in fear when they learn of my illness. They fear this sense of responsibility or the confrontation of raw emotion on this scale. I wish they could trust me that the 54 year old woman is no longer the self-centred, hurt the world type who woud act on her anger and pain.

At the core of my downward spiral would have to be the saddness of being alone. And I do not just mean partnerless. I mean alone... intrinsically devoid of any kindred spirits to walk my journey with me. Who could expect anyone to voluntarily choose this path? I wouldn't. I fell alone because you can never expect even the best friends to be there all the time. It is so draining for me, let alone someone else. Above all I feel very sad that my illness also conjures memories of pain for other friends who have lived and loved someone with Bi-polar and have never recovered from that pain and dissppointment that the relationships were inherently doomed from the start.

It is for this reason that I run away from relationships and put on so much excess weight to fend off any intimate relationships. I did it when I left the workforce to stay home with my son and now that I am at home again, on my supposed three month leave of absence (to attend to my mental health swings), the weight demon is calling my name.

When working as a salaried employee I feel intrinsically valuable and my self-esteem rockets. The more people expect the more I strive to produce and live up to their (and my own expectations), I feel good, I begin to look good and I am happy, for that wonderous prolongedperiod of time. But of how tenuous it is to attach self-esteem to employment status. I know this thanks to CBT and Dr Beck and Co... but I seem unable to ward off the feelings of worthlessness when I am not employed and am in receipt of welfare sickness or diability benefits. Yet I am disabled... so totally disabled that I am under seige. The pull of self-destruction is so intense. Ido not sleep. I cannot concentrate.

The smallest professional task takes Herculean effort, as does the dredging up of the 'party-face' to keep small linkages with my colleagues and possible future employers.

Party-Face.... so tiring. I am so over it. If only I could strive for acceptance, warts and all. But the 'outisde world' is not ready for this. So... the self-esteem plummets, the call of alcohol to ease the pain is assuaged with chocolate... for those supposed endorphins of whatever. After all fat is a battle I am prepared to wage over again, but alcoholism is my one of my gravest fears... to lose even more self-control and willpower, I doubt I could survive it.

Well dear reader/s, this is the thinking at minus three on the mood scale. The tilt to minus four is even scarier. It is coming and I will write about it. Yet I also ask for forgiveness and acceptance when this cess pit of loathing curdles on the screen.

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?

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!

Another 'Fryday' even though it is Wednesday...

Yesterday was another of those meetings where I got to witness just how many work hours are bogged down by management people just ensuring that i's are dotted and t's are crossed to ensure compliance with institutional policies, frameworks and practices.
It was interesting to see how the biggest fear infecting discussions and decision-making procedures is PRECEDENT....

Some times circumstances just do not fit neatly into boxes created by monolithic institutions and institutional thought totally dominates and stops innovative and creative responses.

I cannot be specific about any of the particular academic issues discussed but it also brings into sharp focus the need to 'be seen to be operating fairly across ALL disciplines' and for policy to be CONSISTENT across disciplines.... even when disciplines themselves are so radically different as are their ways of being taught. One model cannot fit all.... no matter what the more bureaucrats amongst us say. This is a ludicrous guiding assumption that ensures that Universities do not function at the highest level of innovation... there are inbuilt biases against exactly thattype of 'out of the box' thinking.

That my particular discipline cluster is Creative Arts, it immediately becomes obvious how (literally) soul-destroying such meetings are for me to participate in, and to observe exactly how some terms and conditions are used to systemically discriminate against our preferred disciplines and skill sets.


Who decides on artistic abilities and hence Quality Assurance of a degree... based upon what insight or experience?

Why do arbitrary limits and demands HAVE to be adhered to if a case can be made that better demonstrates merit or competence?

I simply have to get back to working in research disputing the corporate managerialsit mindset that infects our Universities... please someone hire me. We can never achieve a sustainable and equitable nation where all young people (and formally excluded older people) can access the highest level of education in their recognised fields of expertise whislt bureaucratic blinkers remain the decision filters. Enhanced cultural capital is not such a bad goal for 21st century Australia and I want to be at the vanguard of this recognition... not a victim of marginalisation and tokenism.

This is exactly the head-space where I am in danger of 'dropping my bundle' when the world appears so out of sync with my beliefs, abilities and sensibilities.

I am so glad the sun is shining. I am feeling like I can draw on some shreds of energy left to get back on my 'campaign horse' and write it out of my system... but I must act quickly before the angst puddles and pulls me down into my stagnant sludge of apathy.

This invariably leads to the bottom-ward gradient on my mood-state graph. Let's just say today, after yesterday I am sitting at about a -2!

Add to this, today is the 'chosen day' my son wants to dine out for his 21st (with father, ex-boss and wife), an evening I am not 100% looking forward to. Well now, I feel as if by speaking about it (and viewing it) in such a negative way, I have caused The Fates (or would that be The Furies?) to reign down their displeasure...

... My son's boss's wife's sister (wow, so many possessive apostrophes in one clause) has come to visit her, and as many family events can be, the timing is very bad to get out of this commitment, so my son's dinner out is not viable under the circumstances. They have had to postpone.

Next, his father still wants to go out as he is looking forward to it (for him of course, not my son). I can't eat most of the food there and my son couldn't give a shit to go out with his father. So I will have a disappointed son arrive home soon, a likely fraught exchange between everybody later and most probably a dinner for three of us who really don't like sharing a dining table anyway!

Next complication not so easily

My son is keen to cook for a friend to thank her and her husband for his birthday gift (which neither of us were expecting).

He does not know how to actually say Thank you, it seems out of his lexicon, so he wanted ME to ring her up and say thanks on his behalf!(Cooking is his only way of saying thanks when I think about it) Yeah sure... I am about to do more family emotional upkeep, I think not. It would be so simple if I could just ask these two friends to dinner but that means the whole 'ex-boss and wife' thing would have to be postponed (which it obviously has to be)... and I will be up for two or three dinners at this lovely restaurant where I cant eat (or drink... as I am designated driver).

And to think in my last blog I believed the big frantic emotional days of 2010 were about to subside into memeory, and the tense 'don't mention the elephant' state descended upon us for another fortnight or so.

And people wonder why I see my hospital stays as a spell in a tranquil haven.

Perhaps reading these blogs not only will my friends gain and insight into Bipolar Mood Disporder, but into an understanding of my life also. Yep, I need to wallow in sympathy at present so I feel valued.

And if in the text above I have used any split infinitives... today's news is that the Australian Government Style Manual for 2010 allows them. Now I just have to work out what they are!