Goodbye Electra

WARNING - If you're having a bright and shiny happy day, you may want to save reading this for when it's slightly overcast.

Man. I am having some kinda day. I've done the meditations - positive thought, positive feeling, positive action. I know I am responsible for the outcome of this day so, despite the sudden sadness I can't shake, it's going to be a good day.  I just need to figure out where it's come from... Ok I'm lying. I know where it's come from. Only a small part of it is missing my soul mate. Largely, I blame my sister for her buggering can of whistling worms. (Another story)

I went to a friends wedding this past weekend. Her dad walked her down the aisle. He danced with her at least a half dozen times. Watching him look at her, you could tell he loved every hair on her head and that she was his princess. He paid for the entire wedding and took an active part in socialising with her guests and friends. You couldn't help but sense that theirs was a father daughter relationship that would stand the test of disagreements, time, and step-mothers.

I don't feel sorry for myself when I look at my relationship with my Dad. I used to. Often. Then I thought we'd found our niche and he was the coolest Dad on the planet. Eventually I grew up. My rose coloured glasses fell off.

Looking at my friend and her Dad at the wedding, I felt a sudden and deep regret for never having known that kind of paternal love, care, dedication, patience and pride. It hurt so much for that split second I had to pack it away in a hurry or my chest would crack open. Besides, we don't open cans of whistling worms when we're celebrating the happiness of our friends. That's self-centered. I'm pretty good at compartmentalising this particular subject. Decades of practise.

Today I called my Dad to ask if he'd like to join me for my birthday lunch. The enthusiasm and joy in his voice were enough to bring me to tears. In case you were wondering, that was me being sarcasmo. Anyway, they're coming - Dad +2. That's great, right. I mean things are what they are. I'm not going to get back what I lost growing up. Life happens and how we deal with it is what counts. No playing the violins for me. Just sometimes.. it's a little painful. And I wish I could change it. But I'm okay with it. Really.

My daughter is going to be saved this. That is what I am truly thankful for.

Green and Red

For those who are scared of being exposed, or over-sensitive about my opinions: I am a writer - sharing my experiences from the arb to the private is what I do. Deal with it.

Jealous(y) adj. 1. Fearful or wary of being supplanted; apprehensive of losing affection or position.

Rivalry n. 1. The act of competing or emulating

During my adult life, I have experienced both jealousy and rivalry, as giver and receiver, in varying doses. It's never felt good. I love rivalry as a competition, but only in the positive sense. It builds character and it's fun. Rivalry in its negative form causes anger and "despisation". I have not emulated anyone except celebrities on occasion (the last time in my teens), but I have been infleunced by my mentors and friends, who are strong, passionate, caring, driven, energised and positive people. Jealousy, though, is human, and normal, except when it takes control of who you are.

Courtesy of Steven Stahlberg

When my ex-husband cheated on me, I was jealous of the other women. So jealous it made me sick. Literally. Jealousy made me forget who I was; the feisty, independent, life-loving woman inside. Jealousy stole the purpose from my life. When my son died, for months I was jealous of every woman who had a baby but didn't want it. I was jealous of every woman who had a baby, period. I couldn't look at them without feeling sick with jealousy.

Thankfully, that is my past and has been for years. The steps to get here were some of the hardest I have ever had to take. Today my energy gets channeled into the positive. Well, at least when I'm not cussing at the fucking taxi drivers on Jozi roads. Or at stroller moms blocking the aisles in stores. Digressing...I highlight those two areas to make my point.

The Point ==> Unless you have walked a mile in someone elses shoes, shut the fuck up. (This goes for me too.) 



There is always sunshine after the rain, but usually only after you've done the growing you need to do. You can lie to everyone but yourself and the Creator on that one. I fuck up everyday, so I know it's not an easy journey.

Corny but true

What I have learnt, though, and would like to pass on is this - When the sun shines on someone else, keep your nasty, negative, hateful jealousy and rivalry to yourself. Work at rising above yourself and and be happy for them. Especially when the person you're directing those negative feelings at is meant to be someone you love and care about. You don't know what the people you're focusing your negativity on had to endure, or how much they had to grow, to get to where they are at this moment. Be happy for them.

And for those of you on the other side of the coin... When the going gets easier, and things gets happier, try to stay away from being arrogant. The head-up-your-own-ass look is not a good one. Hard for some of us, I know. I have a natural tendency towards it, being human.

Is it always about boobs?

Having said that, I have truly grown in mind and spirit, and I am part of a greater collective consciousness to change the world we live in to one that is kinder, happier, healthier, safer, beautiful... Woo woo, arty-farty, gullible or naive as it may sound to you.

You can either dig yourself out of that comfortable rut you're in and join this emerging consciousness, or keep being hateful, angry, and feeling like life owes you something while you buy in to the destruction happening all around you.

*Note to self - Read this blog when I need a lesson in "practising what I preach".

The BDB's

Surprise! We move in at the end of September. In a way, it'll be an anniversary gift to us both.


The BDB Family Home

The house is beautiful and filled with positive energy. We'll be able to move straight in! There is a bit of work that needs doing, but we're going to take things in our stride.

It's the start of a new life, you know.

Running with Boobs

...Scissors would be safer.



My boobs are, thankfully, no where near this huge-mungous!

 Yeah, yeah, I haven't been around for a long time... Blah blah blah. I'm busy, ok? I'm writing and editing and publishing, in real life, and so far too busy and posh these days for the likes of you. Hah. No, not really. The 'far too pash' bit, anyway. Not yet.

Hmmm. I was going to tell you something but I forgot what it was. Oh, wait! My running kick. The seed of an idea starting taking hold in my mind during my search for a social club. I was home one evening while The Boy went out for drinks and it dawned on me that I have no social network of my own. I was devastated! *cue major dramatic angst* It wasn't a happy realisation. So I decided I better do something about it. I've been home for two years now, for Pete's sakes, with very few friends and a tiny social network to show for it. I mean, I've met people. But it was through my previous lah-di-dah job roles, when I was racing up the corprate ladder at blinding speeds, where the people I met were so bored with themselves and their money and their lives, they would stick their heads up their own asses, partake in copious amounts of coke daily, or some other prescription drug and alcohol mixture. And all they could talk about was money, what their money would get them, sex, drugs and how to make more money. Bo-ring! And not the type of people you become serious about making friends with. The few lovely friends I have made since moving to SA have bloody well pissed off to go and live in the ass-end of nowhere. (Deep breath!)

Moving on... so I thought about social clubs. Dance was, of course, at the top of the list. I've joined a belly dance school who are very keen to have me join their troupe and start teaching (again) as well. Now all I have to do is get away from the office on time so I can make a class. In the middle of all this thinking about social clubs and making friends and not becoming an everynightearlytobed-housewife-type-hermit thing (like that could ever happen to me, dahling!), I started having dreams about running. Some smarty pants will no doubt tell me that has something to do with me wanting to run away. What-ever. I'm good at running away. This was different though. I could see the road, hear my breathing, feel the stress ebb out of me with each stride I ran, see the difference to my body. Running started haunting me. For weeks.

As it happens, I ended up having dinner with a potential new friend, who is a runner and boxer (and a well known and kick-ass writer and journalist). Simply put, she inspired me. I decided to get my finger out and 'Just Do It'. Two days later I went to the Nike shop with The Boy and gots me some kick-ass new trainers bay-bay! Oops. Apologies. Slipped into my LA ghetto girl accent there.

Here's the thing about running with (big) boobs. It fucking hurts. And it looks ridiculously stupid.  So, before the Nike shop, I went in search of a NASA-space-material extra-strength sports bra. ...The Boy was there too and patiently sat and waited while I shamefacedly tried on a half dozen bra's. My lover did not need to be involved in this debacle but I couldn't tell him that I'd prefer to go alone. Then I'd have to explain why and that would lead to unsexy boob bouncy stories and I wasn't about to do that. He really doesn't need to know about the whole boobs smacking you in the eye thing. Ha ha ha. That was a joke. Promise.

Thankfully he didn't come near the change room, where I fought (until I was red in the face and had my hair flying all over the place with static) with material I found impossible to stretch without the help of a Sumo wrestler, hooks and clips and fasteners and strap adjustments, and other sports bra rubbish, having to run backwards and forwards from the change room to the floor to change sizes and colours because they had useless sales staff. Frantic! Every time I was back on the floor, The Boy spotted my red, frustrated face. Aaarrggh. Shame and humiliation. I gave up finally, 5 bras later, and went with the pulloverthehead, no straps, fasteners, no anything one. I ended up buying compression leggings as well, which are mighty sexy, I may add. Way to sexy to use for just running...

I discovered that the secret to keeping your (large) boobs in place while attempting to run is to wear two sports bras. A normal, under-wirey one, and a stretchy no under-wirey one over it. And, et voila! No booby jiggle!

So yesterday, in my no booby jiggle gym gear, I hit the treadmill at my gym. I was rather tentative to begin with. The last time I ran was in the Femina 10k Fun Run in the 90's, before leaving for the US. My boobs were two sizes smaller then. I was also worried about my knees. Belly dancing, specifically, kills your knees! But in the end I overcame my concerns and did 2kms on the treadmill (the gym put a 20 minute limit on the machines in peak hour). Of those 2km's, I ran for 0.8kms, at a gradient of 2 and a speed of 8.5k's. I then moved over to the cross-trainer and did another 20 minutes of "running". I was breathing harder than I should've been and my heart rate was crazy off the charts, but...I was a bit impressed with myself.

And now that I've broken the procrastinating and am doing something about improving my social life, I plan to keep it going. Wish me luck!

The running thing has been done with the hope that I'll meet like-minded people doing something motivating, positive, fun and healthy. I'd rather grow my social network this way, than by following the road I did before. Don't get me wrong, I still love to party, but I now know that life has so much more to offer than just that.

God, it's scary to grow up!