Built for Comfort

The new year annoys me. Not just this year, every new year annoys me. So do birthdays, for that matter. Or any occasion that incites me to examine my life and wonder what the hell I’ve done with it. Every year I say I won’t make resolutions, and I don’t, but that doesn’t stop me from thinking about what I should change and what I’d like to achieve during the year. Which I guess makes them actual resolutions, even if I don’t like to call them that. I’ve been thinking for a while that I’m kind of stuck in a rut. It’s a rut of my own making, admittedly, but I feel like I need to leave my comfort zone more often. It’s probably ridiculous to say I like my comfort zone, of course everyone likes theirs, that’s the point. Comfort is so very nice, and I try to avoid discomfort of all kinds as much as possible. However I do think I need to be uncomfortable occasionally, if only to appreciate how lovely my comfort zone really is. So my obsessive over-thinking brought on by the arrival of a new year has led me to conclude that I need to force myself out of the zone more often, even if only in tiny little ways. My real problem is that I’m too cautious and sensible. I’m not thrilled by danger or fear. I don’t like scary movies and I’m not particularly keen on rollercoasters. I like things that are safe and familiar which, while nice and comfortable, can also be a bit dull and dreary. I’m also not entirely sure what form this discomfort will take. So far the scariest thing I’ve done is enrol in a creative writing course. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time, but have put it off every time the opportunity arose. While I had many excuses, ultimately fear was the biggest one. What if I suck at it? What if I can’t keep up? What if I don’t like it and it becomes a chore rather than a joy?  But then, so what if those things do happen? Hardly the end of the world, is it? And I would like to find out if I’m any good at it, no harm done if I’m not. Now I just have to read To Kill a Mockingbird in the next two weeks before the course begins, which is sending me right into expert procrastination mode. It’s not even that I don’t want to read it, I read it at school and liked it then, and I know it’s a great book, it’s just that there’s a deadline so I must put it off as long as possible. That’s the expert procrastination rule. So far it’s been sitting on my desk at work for five days. I’ll bring it home this week and possibly even make a half-hearted attempt to read it over the weekend, but I know I’ll be reading the bulk of it the day before the course starts. I have learned not to fight my procrastinating ways because it only leads to guilt, and makes no difference to the task at hand anyway. So this year I will be looking for more ways to force myself to be ever so slightly uncomfortable. Open myself up to new experiences. Take risks. Be bold. Say yes more. Other self-help clichés that I can‘t think of right now. All within reason, of course. I’m not going to start going to parties or join a gym, but I might strike up a conversation with a stranger or go for a walk occasionally. Actually, I might need to work up to the conversation now that I think about it. Maybe next year.

May Your Heart Be Light

Like many people, I have a love/hate relationship with Christmas. I get annoyed when I feel obliged to socialise a lot more than I really want to, often with people I would actively avoid throughout the year. Everywhere is crowded and traffic jams seem to move from weekday peak hours to all day every day. My email is overflowing with "special offers" for useless tat that most sane people would never choose to buy for themselves, but suddenly become a wonderful gift idea for someone else. What should be a joyous time usually ends up being harried and exhausting. But, you know, for all my complaining about Christmas and the peripheral stuff that comes with it, I find it hard not to enjoy it once it comes around. Even the dreaded social whirl is never as bad as I think it will be. Although things have been a little different on the social front this year. So far, due to holidays from work, unforseen dental procedures, and gatherings postponed until January, my Christmas celebrations have been minimal and subdued. This was always what I said I wanted, but in reality it just feels a bit wrong. I believe what I have is a clear case of "careful what you wish for". I will have to remember it next year when I'm complaining in the midst of full-blown celebrations once again.

The one aspect of Christmas I always enjoy is gift giving. Every year I think I'll start early, buy nice but inexpensive gifts and stick to a budget, but I've never actually managed to do any of that. I have even come to enjoy wading through all the extra stuff that only appears in the shops for peak gift-giving occasions so I can get to the things I actually like. It's a challenge, although I'm not sure I always succeed. I have been told several times that I'm hard to buy for, which I don't understand at all. I know it's an overused cliché, and often an insincere one, but I really do believe it's the thought that counts. There's no such a thing as a "bad" gift in my mind. If someone's taken the time and effort to get me something then I'm always touched and appreciative. I think my difficult-to-buy-for reputation comes from the fact that I don't have any more willpower when it comes to buying for myself, either, leaving less options for the thoughtful gift-giver. I'm working on this. Of course I'd be lying if I said I didn't like receiving gifts, but buying for others gives me legitimate reason to shop without feeling guilty, and that in itself is a joy!

This morning I logged on to MySpace to find that Griff from Sighrens had posted a beautifully wistful version of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. I was touched to discover he'd recorded it after an email conversation we'd had recently. You can hear it on the Sighrens page, where there's also an accompanying blog that's worth reading.  I believe it's one of the loveliest gifts I've ever received, which I think proves I'm not so difficult after all.

Merry Christmas!

Small Things

I am a very firm believer in getting my joy from the small things in life, because the big things will rarely do it. The big things, while often wonderful, can also be complicated, out of my control, and have huge consequences and ongoing issues. But the small pleasures are well within my grasp, and I love that something relatively small and simple can make me so happy. Yesterday I bought a new television, for example, and I think it‘s beautiful! It’s sleek and black and shiny and several times I’ve caught myself just looking at it. Not watching it, you understand, it’s not even turned on, just looking at how lovely it is and thinking how happy I am that I bought it. Sure I love the high-definition picture, new digital channels and superior sound quality, but mostly I just like that it’s there. It makes me stupidly happy, and I couldn’t be happier about that. There are several other small, seemingly unimportant things that fill me with joy. I have picked up a habit of gazing out the window for an unreasonably long time, not even looking at anything in particular. I think it’s a bit of a subconscious stalling practice as I often get the overwhelming urge to do it when I should be getting ready to go out or taking care of something important. But I find it incredibly relaxing and I get annoyed if I want to do it and can’t for some reason. And I like books, just not particularly challenging ones. I read for entertainment, so I don’t want to read something that requires too much concentration or is particularly harrowing or upsetting. I want to enjoy it and I really don’t want to have to think too hard, it reminds me too much of school. I have no problem admitting that my literary tastes are decidedly lowbrow, although I am faintly embarrassed when people associate working in a library with being somehow literary or scholarly, it does make me feel like a bit of a fraud. Much to my surprise, I’ve recently discovered I can really enjoy a game that involves virtually shooting people. I had no idea I even had it in me, but I‘m more than happy to spend many hours doing it. I love pottering around the house on the weekend, and can happily entertain myself for two days without once feeling the need to go out, although I do go a bit stir crazy after that. I love singing along to music as I’m driving - as long as I’m in the car alone. I love driving in general, although peak hour traffic can take some of the joy out of it. I love food shopping, even just mundane supermarket shopping is fun to me. I hate to be rushed, and will leisurely wander the isles checking things out, comparing brands and prices, and I’m the sucker who’ll always fall for the strategically placed impulse buy. I love buying CDs, even when it's often easier and cheaper to download. I love the ritual unwrapping, playing for the first time, reading the insert. Mostly I just love that I have so many small things that give me something to look forward to when the big things are getting me down. I think that makes me happiest of all.

You're the One For Me, Fatty

'You're the One for Me, Fatty' is a Morrissey song. It's a good one, I think, in that jangly, early Morrissey still-sounds-a-bit-like-The Smiths kind of way. It's just that, being a fatty myself, I'm not entirely sure whether I should be offended by it or not. Watching the video, it seems straightforward enough. It depicts a large lady who is clearly adored by the nice man, so far so good. But it also includes my biggest pet peeves when it comes to the depiction of fat people: she's eating constantly, AND she'll eat anything, apparently, including the flowers at the picnic even though there's plenty of actual food to eat. This happens a lot on television, I've noticed. You know, that fat person so desperate for food that they'll eat the potpourri, plastic fruit, or food from someone else's plate. Otherwise we won't know they're fat, presumably. Although considering that the "fat" person on these shows is often just a normal sized person who looks fat compared to the other actors, maybe they feel that it needs to be more obvious.

I'm not offended by the word "fatty", either, although it's taken me a long time to get to a place where I'm comfortable with it. I was an overweight child and teenager before being an overweight adult, so I've been subjected to my fair share of "fatty" type insults over the years. It's also taken me a long time to get over the idea that being fat is all people see in me. I always assumed it was the first thing they'd notice, which is probably true, although that's not necessarily as negative as I imagine it to be. It's one of the great things about the internet - here, no one can see you're fat. Unless you tell them. Bugger. Anyway, for a long time I was incredibly self-conscious about it, and still am to some extent, but somewhere around 30 I decided to get over it and just get on with my life. Now I try to just be myself (which is shy, timid and awkward, mostly) and if someone is going to like or dislike me, judge me or otherwise think negatively of me based solely on my weight then there isn't much I can do about that. If it's not that it would probably be something else, anyway. At least this way I don’t have to spend time with the kinds of people who would judge me, or others, in that way.

So should I just assume that Morrissey’s saying that you can fall in love with anyone, whatever size or shape they are? Or maybe he really is saying that it’s hilarious that someone would actually be in love with a “fatty”? Or it’s entirely possible that I’m just too personally invested in the subject matter to ever really look at it objectively at all. Here’s the video (or at least a link to it, I couldn’t find one on YouTube that would allow me to embed it, unfortunately), make up your own mind. Although having watched it several times now, I’ve decided that the song doesn’t offend me nearly as much as Morrissey’s day-glo orange shirt does!

You're the One for Me, Fatty

Demographically challenged

I stupidly forgot to charge my iPod over the weekend so was forced to spend the drive to and from work yesterday listening to the radio, and it was a very painful reminder of why I gave it up in the first place. The annoyance of having to constantly change stations in the hope of finding something worth listening to was almost unbearable. If I had to do it more often I think I'd just learn to appreciate silence instead. I'm disappointed to know that there is still no radio station in Sydney I would want to listen to for more than a few minutes at a time. I understand demographics are a very broad way to categorise a potential audience, but what happens when you don’t fit into your demographic? Or any demographic, for that matter? As a 40 year old woman I seem to be relegated to the “greatest hits” stations. I don’t mind a bit of that, I can appreciate a cheesy 80s power ballad as much as the next person, and the private confines of my car are a great place to belt out a chorus of Livin' on a Prayer. I don’t even mind a bit of Rick Astley or Soft Cell, but I didn’t want to listen to Cold Chisel the first time around, and I’m not about to start now. I understand the nostalgic appeal of those stations, but at what point are you supposed to stop caring about new music and resign yourself to only listening to the music that was around in your younger, presumably more fun-filled years? It doesn’t help that my taste has never really been particularly mainstream anyway, so my idea of “classic hits” don’t usually make it onto their playlists. The top 40 stations don't work for me either. I'm so out of the loop popular-music wise that I have no idea what's even in the top 40 these days, and from what I've heard I have no real interest in finding out. Although it was vaguely interesting to hear music by some of those people I've only ever seen pictures of in magazines. And why do all commercial stations apparently feel they need "wacky" breakfast teams to entertain the masses? I don't particularly want to hear their contrived, obnoxious and not particularly funny anecdotes. I can't even imagine choosing to listen to the frighteningly conservative talk back show alternatives on AM radio. I was forced to listen to one of these shows the last time I was in a taxi and spent the entire trip resisting the urge to yell obscenities at the people who called in, not to mention the equally appalling host. I don't want to know these people exist, let alone listen to them spouting their ignorant, bigoted opinions on the radio. Talking in general on the radio doesn't appeal while driving anyway, even the very few decent, interesting talk shows. Oh, and do commercial stations get together and decide to play ads simultaneously?! Because they all seemed to be playing at the same time, making flicking between stations even more useless. Even the alternative stations that used to make up the bulk of my radio listening back in the day don't hold my interest like they used to. So where do I belong in the radio listening demographic? I feel too old for popular music, too liberal for AM talk back, too alternative for greatest hits and too uncool for alternative. I guess it leaves me with the internet, an iPod and a soon to be purchased in-car charger.

It's my blog and I'll cry if I want to

I don't like to think of myself as overly emotional, but in reality I do actually cry very easily at the most ridiculous things. It's annoying, frustrating and occasionally embarrassing, but I've yet to figure out how to stop it happening. It’s not that I think crying is bad, on the contrary, I think it’s a great way to get out pent up emotions, as long as I’m alone, or at least with people that I know and trust and not making a public spectacle of myself. Of course there are many valid reasons to cry, it’s the not so valid ones that bother me. I can be ridiculously sentimental, and sometimes just thinking of something touching will have me fighting back tears. And sad songs make me cry. Not all of them, and not all the time, but in the right frame of mind they can really set me off. Tank Park Salute by Billy Bragg almost always does it. If I have it on in the background or I don’t pay close attention to the lyrics, it’s okay, but if I let myself get caught up in it I can‘t avoid getting a little teary. Of course my taste in music leans toward the melancholy anyway, so I’m not doing myself any favours. I was talking to a friend’s 16 year old son about music the other day and he referred to most of the bands I mentioned as “sad British music”. I think that’s a great description, but I’m pretty sure he meant it as a bad thing. I love music that can alter my mood and take me away from whatever’s going on at the time, even if it’s only for a few minutes, and sad songs in particular can be excellent fuel for a nice bit of wallowing. Sad movies, on the other hand, I avoid like the plague. It's not that I don't think that a sad movie can be wonderful, some of the best I’ve seen have left me in floods of tears, (shamefully, I will also fall for the really obvious, manufactured to be “sad” movies, which just leaves me feeling stupid for being so easily manipulated) I’m just reluctant to watch something that I know will upset me; I have real life for that. I want my movies to be enjoyable escapism, they should cheer me up not leave me feeling worse. While I will happily listen to sad songs, part of the appeal is that they’re over very quickly, but if I’m expecting something sad to happen in a movie I won’t be able to enjoy it anyway because I’m waiting for the sadness to kick in and then trying desperately not to cry, which only  makes it worse. Although I don’t always have the luxury of prior warning, so I have seen some very weepy movies in my time. For me, the saddest ever was The Heart is a Lonely Hunter. I saw it many years ago, when they would still show old movies overnight instead of infomercials, and I happened to catch it in the very early hours of the morning. If I had known anything at all about it I would never have watched it, but I got caught up and by the end I was sobbing. The thing is, part of me would really like to watch it again because I still think about it occasionally and would like to see if it matches my memory of it. But I couldn’t possibly sit through the sadness again, and I know I would be crying long before the really sad part even makes it to the screen.

The thing that frustrates me the most about my weepiness is that I can’t ever really get angry - I just get teary. I can never make a forceful complaint or be outraged without becoming ridiculously emotional and eventually incoherent, so I’ve trained myself not to bother and just seethe quietly instead. Although later on, when I'm replaying the incident, I really give it to them. No one would want to mess with the forthright, no nonsense imaginary me, let me tell you! Sadly for me she only exists inside my head.

Occasional coarse language

I enjoy swearing. There’s something very satisfying about venting frustration, anger or annoyance with a good swear. I know it’s not for everybody, and I’m certainly capable of censoring myself when necessary, but it is something I do a lot. I’ve been involved in a few conversations about swearing recently and it’s interesting to hear how much people differ on the subject. I would say most of my friends have a similar view to me, although they probably aren’t all quite as enthusiastic about it as I am. Some won’t say certain words, which I respect and understand. I’m sure I have a limit somewhere too, it just seems to be a lot further away these days. Other people think it’s completely unnecessary, and  in a way I also agree with this, not that being unnecessary would ever stop me. I have many conversations where I’m able to say what I need to say and effectively get my opinion across without using anything close to swearing. I know it can be done, I just don’t always want to. Although I do have to be careful, I have been known to slip up if I'm in a particularly bad mood or speaking passionately about something. I find it's a bit of a case of once I start I can't stop, so it's better not to start a lot of the time. It can also be a struggle to keep the bad words inside my head, and I do often mutter them under my breath, which is bound to get me in trouble one day. But on the whole I think I know when to let it all hang out and when to be more demure. There’s definitely a naughtiness factor to it, and I will sometimes say things for the shock value. The timing has to be right, and the audience definitely has to be right, but there can be great satisfaction in using certain words when people aren’t expecting it, especially from a frumpy-ish, middle aged woman.

My appreciation of swearing probably goes hand in hand with my shamefully puerile sense of humour. I can't help it, if it's done cleverly and with the right amount of irony, I just find smutty innuendo very, very funny. At the same time I'm also a bit of a prude, and can be quite put out if someone who doesn't really know me makes a crude joke, expecting me to laugh along. It seems to me that the difference between entertaining and offensive when it comes to “rudeness” is intent. If a person knows me well, and they know that I know they’re joking (and I know that they know that I know they‘re joking), then they can say pretty much anything they like to me and I won’t take offence. But if someone I’ve just met or barely know made a similarly crude joke I’m much more likely to consider it inappropriate. It's probably an unfair distinction to make, and marks me as a bit of a hypocrite, but I do think that there's a very fine line. I would never assume it was okay to use certain language or say certain things to people unless I was sure they were aware of, and happy with, the manner in which it was intended. I know it’s a grey area, and it’s hard to be completely sure, but in this case I take the precaution of when in doubt, don’t. It's one of the reasons I try not to swear too often on the internet (publicly, anyway). I know I should be able to say whatever I like, but I’m also aware that not everyone will appreciate it, and I’d hate to alienate people I like by offending them with my potty mouth. I don’t want to be known as that person, even though in the right company I’m actually quite proud of it!