I feel like I wrote this

My boyfriend and I function in very different ways.  This usually gives us a great appreciation for one another, but when we have disagreements they get weird.

Me: you said “this thing”.
Him: I did not say that. You’re putting words in my mouth. 
Me: *thinks* I feel like what you said was “this thing”
Him: That’s reasonable.  I can see how you might feel that way.

Huh?!  To me, they’re the same sentence and mean the exact same thing; but to my boyfriend one is this statement of fact, and the other is an acknowledgement of irrationality.

It’s strange, words are unusually important to him, and it takes a bit to get used to it.  He remembers pretty much everything I say, whereas I can barely remember the topic of our last conversation.  And because I talk my thoughts through out loud, sometimes I can offend him with things I haven’t even properly considered. To me they’re just flyaway ideas; to him they’re these meticulously crafted statements of my truth.

He thinks in very linear, logical and rational terms; I think in impressions and concepts and vagueness and blurry distractions and running-on sentences.  So he will make a comment, and I will grab that comment, interpret it, and then tell him he said this completely different thing.

When discussing how we’ve upset each other this way I have to be conscious to modify my sentences to include “I feel like...” or else the situation will escalate.

I’m not very good at it though. I end up creating these long ridiculous sentences like “though I know you are not responsible for my feelings, I feel like your actions have contributed to my feeling this way and I feel like I wish you would hug me in these situations.”

I also believe that a hug can solve anything.

Anyway, he’s hugged me now, so we’ve got our resolution. I just find it interesting how we relate to each other. In hindsight I think we’re both a bit silly.

Or, I feel like I think we’re silly. :P



PS. Happy 83rd birthday Nana.  I miss you like crazy.  Like, crazy crazy.  I think about you all the time, and I love you. I hope you're happy and content where you are. Xx.

Aye aye

I don’t know why, but it bothers me when people use the subject of an email as the body. I feel sad for the body, starving for text! But then, I’m often the person who neglects to put a subject in which forces the other person to have to guess what my email is about. Who is the real jerk here?

That has nothing to do with what I want to write about today. Onwards!

Two weeks ago I had to drive out to Fyshwick to pick up some corporate stationery for work. The lady on the phone gave the address as “the red building next to Officeworks”. I got a little miffed because I can navigate much better using street addresses. So I drove out there trying to find “the red building” and when I got there there were 3 red buildings surrounding Officeworks and I facepalmed.

It got me thinking that I am much better when working in 2 dimensional planes than 3. The more dimensions involved the more cranky I become! Then I thought to myself that maybe it’s because I don’t see the world with depth because a) I’m usually depressed and having existential crises and b) my vision is pretty ordinary.

My mum tells me that one night, when I was around 2 years old; I had a lung infection and was kinda unwell. She took me to the hospital where the doctors and nurses judged her for her “over-reactive” parenting style, but admitted me for observation anyway. Mum went home for an anxious night’s sleep while I was left in the care of the judgemental healthcare providers.

During the night I stopped breathing. When mum came back the next morning I was in an oxygen tent and pretty much gave her the cold shoulder for abandoning me when I nearly died. Out of spite I’d also developed a lazy eye. Take that, mother!

(I joke; it was actually quite traumatic for everyone involved. Especially poor mum. I love you mum!)

Since that night I’ve been looking at the world like this:

Me 20-something years ago

Me 20-something minutes ago

So, because of my thoughts following my visit to “the red building next to Officeworks” the other week, I decided to visit the Canberra Eye Hospital. Oddly, the directions I was given were “the building across the road from Officeworks”... Facedesk.

(...and since when was Officeworks the pivotal landmark of Fyshwick? Were people really getting too uncomfortable with “two streets from Hello Sexy”?)

Anyway, my eye consultations came and went yesterday. Though I am a candidate for laser eye surgery, they don’t recommend it for me at my age because I'm probably going to get more longsighted over the next few years, and my condition will just return. I have a condition called Hyperopic Esotropia. Basically it means that my eye wanders when I focus. When I “accommodate” for my longsightedness, my eyes converge.

According to eyewiki (which is a thing!) the “disease may be preceded by illness or trauma; the illness or trauma doesn’t cause the disorder, but can precipitate its manifestation.” So mum’s story takes on some credibility.  I always thought it was a bit strange that stopping breathing made me cross-eyed, but apparently a severe enough childhood illness can trigger it.

It’s pretty naff. I hated wearing my glasses when I was a kid. I had these horrid things with bars down the middle to stop my eye going in. I also wore an eye patch for a bit. I had this book about “Sam the pirate” and he had an eye patch and pretended he was a pirate. I didn’t want to be Sam the pirate; I wanted to be Sam the pretty 20/20-visioned princess. Sam the pirate liked playing in the dirt and climbing trees and that was not what I was about at all!

I've always been a snappy dresser!

I reckon it was my preschool teacher who saved my eyesight. She put glitter on my glasses and told me they were fairy princess glasses. I wore them a bit more after that, enough to ensure that as an adult I receive information from both of my eyes; if it wasn’t for her my left eye probably would have quit the band.

Now days when I see young children wearing glasses I get a little teary. I was in a book store and was looking at a book about raising your children (like a normal 20-something childless woman does) and there was this page called “your child and glasses”, and I just burst into tears. I have a detrimental amount of empathy.

I’ll probably be in glasses for the rest of my life now. I suppose having worn them since I was 3 years old I don’t really know much different. I can’t help feeling a little “why me?” about it though.

But, y’know, it’s all part of my journey. I rationalise everything with “oh, it’s just part of my journey”. Go back to the commune, hippy! Sigh. Sometimes I wish it was acceptable to just feel my emotions without them needing meaning. But it isn’t, so that’s how I roll.

Today is my mum’s birthday. Happy birthday beautiful mother! I know we butted heads about me wearing my glasses when I was a kid, but thank you so much for winning those arguments! I’m so glad we chose each other – you’re one of my best friends and I love you a million! oxox

My beautiful mum with me and my brother

Edit: Mum just sent me an email, apparently I was a little younger than I thought. "For the record you were not much older than one because I was pregnant with Tom.  I suspect it was sometime between your first birthday and Tom being born, so I would say the middle of winter July or beginning of August 1986.  You poor little thing."