Categories
Random thoughts

Of hearts and sleeves

Just thought I’d look up the meaning of that phrase ‘wear your heart on your sleeve’. I mean – I kinda knew it meant ‘to openly display your emotions’, but I just wanted to check. Didn’t know it was from the Bard! But it was used with a negative connotation – the devious Iago, in Othello, planned to fake it.

People say I do this. Wear my heart on my sleeve. For real though, not feigning it! (I think!) Which I guess ┬ácan be a good thing. Yes, I’d be hopeless at poker (BlackJack is the game I’m addicted to, anyway – again, another story for another post!) but on the other hand (Tevye‘s singing in my head right now…) I’d like to think that I’m someone that others can trust. That isn’t fake, or so reserved that it’s hard to get to know me.

So the word for today, Day 6 of 7 posts on ‘Important Words in my life”, is ‘open’. And yes, I realise that in yesterday’s post I made mention of bi-polar disorder. Which doesn’t seem to have much at all to do with being ‘open’, except for the fact that I tend to be open about my emotions. And it’s the scope of my emotions that make me sometimes believe that I might have tendencies toward bi-polar. As in, I fit that nursery rhyme down PAT “When she was good, she was very, very good. And when she was bad, she was horrid!” My default position is to vaccillate between being euphoric and hyper-positive about everything (I prefer this state to the other!) and being depressed. I’ve never been officially diagnosed, but it wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest if a diagnosis was positive, were I to take the test. Not that it worries me too much. Early in 2009, I spent some time seeing a psychiatric nurse, and the techniques she taught me have helped tremendously, so I am immensely thankful for that!

Anyway, I feel as though I’ve waffled enough for today. And I’d like some sleep in case my boy starts screaming again in a few hours…

Thanks for reading!

 

Categories
places to visit Random thoughts

The Brissie Kid

I’m the reason my parents moved to Australia. My older brother had been born in a hospital in New Guinea, four years earlier, and I guess they didn’t want a repeat experience. So when they discovered that I was on the way, they relocated to Australia – to Eight Mile Plains in Brisbane, to be precise. Dad found employment as a lecturer in Literacy and Language Development at Mt Gravatt Teachers College, (later to become Griffith University,) and I arrived on the seventh of June, 1974. Six months before the floods devastated the city.

I spent the first nineteen years of my life in that house on Padstow Road, just up the hill from Logan Road, and opposite Multicap Meadows. It got busy during that time, so much so that the B-doubles letting off their airbrakes as they drove past my window lulled me to sleep during my final years there, while I finished Senior at Redeemer Lutheran College in Rochedale and started my B.Ed at Griffith.

I was fortunate to have a bus stop not 100 metres away. With the help of a year-long, go anywhere at any time’ student bus pass, I did the ‘teenage rebellion’ thing and used it lots, spending the majority of my time passing through Garden City on my way into town, to meet friends and hang out, catch a movie, window shop. When at Uni I would bus to my part-time job/s in town, spend time reading novels while sunbaking at South Bank, or (later still) try winning money at the casino. In fact, I was so comfortable travelling by bus, I didn’t get my license until I was 20 – and that, a motorbike license. I then found an even greater sense of freedom on my blue Suzuki GSX250, travelling to UQ at St Lucia to study French in the evenings, during my 4th year of Uni – and the back way, past the Rocklea Markets, became quite a speedway at the almost-10pm mark!

And now to my apology. My prior two posts were… well… more non-events than events. Due to my incredulity at the floods devastating Brisbane again. Quoting my younger brother, who emailed me from London this morning, “I knew those streets. Now they’re gone.” Perhaps this post will go part-way toward an explanation. And that brings me to what I had not realised about myself, but have now…

My important word for today: history. My past, to be specific. I guess what ‘they say’, IS actually true. Your past DOES make you the person you are. So as I stop, and remember, and grieve for what may never be again, I shall also remember ┬áthat if my history IS that important to me, then today, right now, and every moment to come, will also be a part of my ‘history’ one day. So I should make the most of it. How about you?

Til tomorrow, dear readers…

Categories
Uncategorized

Sorry.

I’m sorry, dear readers, but my emotions are too raw to write today.

Keep safe.

Ceridwyn