PLANNING
I haven’t written about the wedding plans for the simple fact I just haven’t had the clarity of thought to do so. I haven’t had the clarity of thought to write about anything. It’s all rush and stress. It’s all miscommunication and misdirection.
It’s all too much.
This is not how I imagined it. I imagined it being exciting and fun but instead it’s just annoying and frustrating. There’s the hair and make-up and jewellery and shoes and rings and dress fittings and seating plans to figure out. There’s the ongoing struggle to see that the kids can come – one week they can, one week they can’t and we’re being held to ransom by the ex.
“Boswell, come look at this,” Tom calls from the backyard and these few minutes I’ve stolen are filled with movement.
“Just a sec,” I respond a few minutes later but it’s too late, he’s come into the house to see what I’m doing.
“Sorry. If you’re writing it can wait.” He smiles. And I know that it can wait. The tour of our blossoming garden will be there in a few hours but I can’t not be drawn away from the computer.
And with that the assignment I had been working on is forgotten. The flow necessary for writing anything coherent is broken.
And I don’t mind. It’s not that bad.
For all the stress and worry I am living a wonderful life – it’s all I’ve every wanted. But, sorry, I just can’t tell you about it yet.
It should simply be enough to know that I'm happy. I'm content. But it's not and sooner or later I'm going to have to take a break from it all and slip into my world of words.
Slip into tOOleS.
Monday, March 14, 2005
Wednesday, March 02, 2005
IDIOT MOB
Lets be clear about this.
I have no time for people who put their heads in the mouths of crocodiles.
The Daily Telegraph, however, has no hesitation in telling their tales.
“THE death-smash driver on the run after two friends died sparking four days of rioting wept hours later as he said: "I've lost my best mates."
Well so he should weep – he killed them.
Maybe that’s a bit harsh, it appeared to be a murder-suicide. Three boys willingly ride in a stolen car. They get chased by the police who by definition are supposed to chase criminals. Two of the passengers are killed when the driver loses control of the and he then runs away from the scene of the crime.
Then all hell breaks loose simply because the inevitable happened. There’s riots in the streets. Why? God only knows. I can only assume it comes down to a couple of half-wits with nothing better to do then blame someone else for what’s wrong in their lives.
Whenever I see situations like these I can’t help but think back to a story.
As the parable goes there was the most perfect village in the world. There was plenty of food and water, no crime and the members of the village wanted for nothing. The village itself was on the side of a plentiful river surrounded by crocodiles but the crocodiles were placid and never came after the residents. Because their life was so peaceful they had no need for rules – except one. Don’t put your head in the mouths of the crocodiles. Despite the happiness of the villagers some of the more rebellious youths would torment the crocodiles and put their heads in their mouths and sure enough the crocodiles would snap, biting their heads off.
The moral of the story? Do I have to explain it?
Still the whole of Macquarie Fields jumps up and down about the injustice and only the parents of the two murdered youths, the only people in the sad and sorry mess who have a right to claim grief and anger, seem to have any common sense.
They knew what they were doing, they got in a stolen car and then ran from police and they paid the price for their actions.
Still the Daily Telegraph beats the victim drum. Switching from justifying the rioters anger to justifying the actions of the driver who doesn’t have the courage to admit his mistake and pay the price and finally justifying the action of the police.
“THE grandparents of death smash driver Jesse Kelly said last night he was the product of a troubled childhood.”
“The comments came as the unemployed 20-year-old remained on the run as the community of Macquarie Fields tried to mend relations after four days of rioting.
(Ah, so it’s because he’s unemployed that he was forced to steal that car.)
“Peter Perkins said his grandson went off the rails five months ago after breaking up with his girlfriend, who is the mother of their 2 1/2-year-old child. "
(No, wait, it’s his girlfriend’s fault. Or maybe it’s his 2.5 year old daughter who’s really to blame.)
"But many of his problems came from a diagnosis of ADHD when he was 13. His childhood wasn't always loving. He has lived with us from time to time and we have tried very hard to keep him on the straight and narrow."
(Well, there you have it, ADHD made him steal and drive that car. It’s not his fault at all).
This isn’t reporting the facts, it’s not objective journalism. It’s pathetic emotionalism to sell newspapers and make their readers “feel” for the criminal. I can’t help but be nauseated by it all.
There are no innocents in this. There is no injustice.
Three boys put their heads in the mouths of crocodiles and two had them bitten off.
Would you expect anything different?
Lets be clear about this.
I have no time for people who put their heads in the mouths of crocodiles.
The Daily Telegraph, however, has no hesitation in telling their tales.
“THE death-smash driver on the run after two friends died sparking four days of rioting wept hours later as he said: "I've lost my best mates."
Well so he should weep – he killed them.
Maybe that’s a bit harsh, it appeared to be a murder-suicide. Three boys willingly ride in a stolen car. They get chased by the police who by definition are supposed to chase criminals. Two of the passengers are killed when the driver loses control of the and he then runs away from the scene of the crime.
Then all hell breaks loose simply because the inevitable happened. There’s riots in the streets. Why? God only knows. I can only assume it comes down to a couple of half-wits with nothing better to do then blame someone else for what’s wrong in their lives.
Whenever I see situations like these I can’t help but think back to a story.
As the parable goes there was the most perfect village in the world. There was plenty of food and water, no crime and the members of the village wanted for nothing. The village itself was on the side of a plentiful river surrounded by crocodiles but the crocodiles were placid and never came after the residents. Because their life was so peaceful they had no need for rules – except one. Don’t put your head in the mouths of the crocodiles. Despite the happiness of the villagers some of the more rebellious youths would torment the crocodiles and put their heads in their mouths and sure enough the crocodiles would snap, biting their heads off.
The moral of the story? Do I have to explain it?
Still the whole of Macquarie Fields jumps up and down about the injustice and only the parents of the two murdered youths, the only people in the sad and sorry mess who have a right to claim grief and anger, seem to have any common sense.
They knew what they were doing, they got in a stolen car and then ran from police and they paid the price for their actions.
Still the Daily Telegraph beats the victim drum. Switching from justifying the rioters anger to justifying the actions of the driver who doesn’t have the courage to admit his mistake and pay the price and finally justifying the action of the police.
“THE grandparents of death smash driver Jesse Kelly said last night he was the product of a troubled childhood.”
“The comments came as the unemployed 20-year-old remained on the run as the community of Macquarie Fields tried to mend relations after four days of rioting.
(Ah, so it’s because he’s unemployed that he was forced to steal that car.)
“Peter Perkins said his grandson went off the rails five months ago after breaking up with his girlfriend, who is the mother of their 2 1/2-year-old child. "
(No, wait, it’s his girlfriend’s fault. Or maybe it’s his 2.5 year old daughter who’s really to blame.)
"But many of his problems came from a diagnosis of ADHD when he was 13. His childhood wasn't always loving. He has lived with us from time to time and we have tried very hard to keep him on the straight and narrow."
(Well, there you have it, ADHD made him steal and drive that car. It’s not his fault at all).
This isn’t reporting the facts, it’s not objective journalism. It’s pathetic emotionalism to sell newspapers and make their readers “feel” for the criminal. I can’t help but be nauseated by it all.
There are no innocents in this. There is no injustice.
Three boys put their heads in the mouths of crocodiles and two had them bitten off.
Would you expect anything different?
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
EVIL ME
The more I try to see the world through their eyes the harder it becomes to see myself.
“My dad got married about six years ago,” my temp agency rep shared, without invitation. “Before he hooked up with his new wife he did all sorts of things for us but suddenly he was too busy for us. I think the wife hated us. Then they moved to Queensland and we haven’t seen them since.”
This isn’t me but I wonder if, when they’re older, the skids will see me this way. Regardless of what I do will I end up as an amalgamation of their frustrations – the wicked step-mother?
Will they be unable to see only one side of this complicated situation? Will they fail to see their father’s frustration at having no control over their day-to-day life and his eventual resignation that there’s nothing he can do so he may as well do nothing? Will they see that I’m not working against them or trying to steal their father away but merely trying to get on with my own life the best way I can with part-time children and their demanding mother?
Tom's and my friend Samantha clutched the toy tightly. An over-stuffed white bear that was much more than it appeared.
“She wouldn’t let me have it so my grandfather bought it about a month before he died.” She eyed it with a greedy gleam. “Then when I moved out she took it and gave it to her daughter. I mean how dare she. So when I was visiting I told her I was taking it and there was nothing she could do about it.”
I want to defend the step-mother. I want to step up to the plate and tell people how incredibly hard it is to have a family step into the middle of your relationship. How you simply don’t know what to do with those damaged bundles who are torn between two homes.
You treat them like your own children and you’re trying to steal them from their mother. You treat them like nieces and nephews then you’re being to easy on them. You ignore them and you’re cold. You smother them and you’re being too friendly.
I won’t win this battle and I doubt they’ll ever see me as I am in their lives.
Confused and frustrated.
At least you know.
The more I try to see the world through their eyes the harder it becomes to see myself.
“My dad got married about six years ago,” my temp agency rep shared, without invitation. “Before he hooked up with his new wife he did all sorts of things for us but suddenly he was too busy for us. I think the wife hated us. Then they moved to Queensland and we haven’t seen them since.”
This isn’t me but I wonder if, when they’re older, the skids will see me this way. Regardless of what I do will I end up as an amalgamation of their frustrations – the wicked step-mother?
Will they be unable to see only one side of this complicated situation? Will they fail to see their father’s frustration at having no control over their day-to-day life and his eventual resignation that there’s nothing he can do so he may as well do nothing? Will they see that I’m not working against them or trying to steal their father away but merely trying to get on with my own life the best way I can with part-time children and their demanding mother?
Tom's and my friend Samantha clutched the toy tightly. An over-stuffed white bear that was much more than it appeared.
“She wouldn’t let me have it so my grandfather bought it about a month before he died.” She eyed it with a greedy gleam. “Then when I moved out she took it and gave it to her daughter. I mean how dare she. So when I was visiting I told her I was taking it and there was nothing she could do about it.”
I want to defend the step-mother. I want to step up to the plate and tell people how incredibly hard it is to have a family step into the middle of your relationship. How you simply don’t know what to do with those damaged bundles who are torn between two homes.
You treat them like your own children and you’re trying to steal them from their mother. You treat them like nieces and nephews then you’re being to easy on them. You ignore them and you’re cold. You smother them and you’re being too friendly.
I won’t win this battle and I doubt they’ll ever see me as I am in their lives.
Confused and frustrated.
At least you know.
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