Leaf, probably…

Yesterday at Taekwon Do I had to do push ups on my knuckles for the first time ever. On a hard wood floor. Today - I shit you not - my knuckles are black and blue. OUCH. 

Luckily bruises on my hands don’t usually linger too long - as opposed to the ones on my legs that hang around for weeks. 

My marks for last semester came back: I got a B for International Relations, and a B+ for my European politics paper. Monday was my first day back at uni, and I think the papers I’m doing this time are alright. 

They seem a little easier than what I’ve done before - they’ll be covering a lot of old ground, but I choose to look at that as a good thing. I think my average is sitting at about a high B, I’d like to get it up to a B+ at least this semester. 

Finally: This morning I read something on the Internet about bacon. This afternoon my brain went: Bacon. Bacon. I need to do some filing. Bacon. I should probably do a quick milk run. Bacon. Bacon. Phone call. Bacon. Baaaaaccccooooon!

I have bacon on the brain.

Reasons for me to own a credit card:

• I want one.
• You can buy bus and train tickets online, and outside is rainy wet and horrible.
• I want a Something from the Something Store. Very very much. (Especially considering I’ve only just realised it exists.)

Reasons why I don’t:

• I’d lose it.
• I’m crap at managing money.
• I have no money anyway.
• Online shopping is not my friend.
• I don’t plan expenditure. Expenditure plans me.
• I hate being in debt, and yet? I am Very Much in debt. Stupid student loan.
• I’m still crap at managing money.

Also? Today I had a conversation that went like this:

Shannon: So listen Big Boss Man called about his appointment this morning. He wants some stuff for it, and it was your appointment, so we don’t have the stuff. 

Colleague: Oh. Hmm.

Shannon: Do you have the stuff that he needs?

Colleague: Well you don’t have the stuff that he needs, so we’ll find the stuff that he needs.

Shannon: Great thanks.

Is it just me or does ‘The Stuff’ sound dirty?

And? It’s only 10am and there are 200 trucks parading past work laying on their horns in protest of road user charges which went up suddenly and without warning. Aside from that whole right to protest blah blah blah, I’d just like to say that truck horns are LOUD.

I’m going back to Foxton and Feilding tonight, and I forgot my camera. Since Marvin was stolen back in 2007 I have no family photos stored digitally. Sure I have a FEW in photo albums, but my favorites were all the stupid snaps that I’ve never bothered to get printed.

I might have to borrow a camera and then store photos on a CD. Or something. I’ll see what I can work out.

Today I spent lunch down on the waterfront with Kat, Becks, Jeri and Maike.

Usually when we all get together it’s fun and we laugh a lot, and bitch about boys and relationships, and talk about punching things. Our meetings make me feel powerful, capable, and happy. 

When it’s time to go I leave with a sense of direction and a cool ball of calm lodged just under my rib cage. Not many people give me calm. I value the ones that do highly.

We were all there on the waterfront today for Kat - one of the very few people that I actually hero worship.

Over three years ago now she introduced me to kickboxing and changed pretty much my entire outlook on life. To everyone else she’s the person who taught me how to throw a nice punch, to me she’s the person who taught me that I can be badass.

Kat can make me do things I never would have thought about trying without her influence. Like the time I did two boxing classes in a row for her. Or the time she convinced me to try scuba diving.

She’s the first person I think of when I need courage, or no nonsense ‘get your butt into gear’ advice. And I have a feeling I’m going to be needing that sort of advice quite a bit in the next few months.

All in all she’s one of my favorite people, and even though she’s younger than me I look up to her like the totally badass big sister I’ve come to see her as.

Today’s get together on the waterfront wasn’t about boys or laughing about crap, or punching things.

It was because Kat is going to Rarotonga for a long time. She’s planning on doing her diving instructors exams while working in one of the dive shops over there. We were all there to say goodbye to Kat, and to try and keep our collective raging jealousy under control.

When I left I didn’t have a sense of purpose, and I sure as fuck didn’t have a nice cool ball of calm under my ribs. Instead I have a messy ball of weepy sad GIRL.

I haven’t lost it and actually cried yet, but it’s probably not far away. In fact at 1.15pm tomorrow I’m going to be standing with my hands pressed to my office window watching Wellington airport and blubbering like a big baby.

It’s hard to be badass when you’re sad.

Kat: Have an awesome time, but not too awesome, because we all want you back.

So. I have an exercise for you. Yes YOU. Get off your chair.

Now stand with your right side towards your computer chair. 

Lift your right leg up and out to the side so that your foot is resting on the seat or the back of your computer chair. You should look like you’ve just been interrupted doing a side kick.

You look a little silly, so you may wish to go ahead and shout KAPOW ! or Put your game face on - you’re about to get played suckahs!

Now, here comes the fun bit. The foot that is resting on the ground - you know, the one keeping you upright?   Jumpit off the ground, tuck it up quickly and tap your inner thigh. You should land back in the same side kick position you were in before the jump.

At no point should your right leg come off your computer chair.

Do a couple each leg. (Seriously, do it please, I’LL WAIT.)

Now, tell me, how many of you managed to get your foot off the ground? How many of you actually managed to touch your inner thigh with that foot? How many of you sustained major head injuries caused by losing your balance?

I got my foot off the ground, but only 5 cm off the ground. And boy did I feel like a dork doing it. Especially in a room full of TKD spring people. (And we didn’t use chairs, we partnered up and our partners made a platform with their hands at hip height)

We also played leapfrog in teams of four. I was fine jumping over the little 7 year olds, but when it came to the fully grown man I wasn’t so sure. I took a bit of a run up, then stopped. Then I thought about it for a bit, calculating angles and height. And then told him quite frankly that it wasn’t going to happen.

He’s a tall dude, and even with him all hunched over I could just see myself not getting high enough and then landing on his back and breaking him.

I don’t want to be responsible for breaking the instructor. Every week at TKD I’d have to put up with the new people pointing at me and saying ‘You know that girl? She once broke the instructor, seriously. She jumped on his back and rode him like a pony - or at least that’s what I heard.’

This weekend I plan to practice jumping. I suck at jumping games, and jumping kicks, and jumping changes.

I think it is ridiculous that I got to be 22 without learning how to jump properly. There are 15 year olds in my class who can jump their own height, straight upwards from a standing start - for that matter there are 30 year olds who can do the same. I can get to about knee height.

I lay on my back with my hands under my butt and my heels one inch off the floor, wondering why the hell I am here doing this.

Lifting my heels to 45° hurts. Opening them as wide as I can hurts. Holding that position hurts. Dropping back down to one inch and closing my legs doesn’t hurt, but it doesn’t exactly tickle either. Going back up to 45° is an excercise in pain.

I briefly drop my legs before imagining Kat scowling at me, I lift my legs back up to the proper position and scowl back. Kat isn’t even here and she’s being a bully. I’m going to miss her when she goes overseas.

Back down to one inch. I try tilting my hips upwards, but that doesn’t help either. My lower stomach and thighs are killing me.

The things I do for Taekwon-Do I marvel. It’s not like I particularly enjoy this sort of crap, right? I’m not a pain person. If I had a choice between the crazy abs workout from martial arts hell and drinking a mojito on a beach I’d choose the mojito and the beach every time right?

45°. Open. One inch. Close. Back up to 45°.

Actually I’m not even sure I like mojito’s. Sometimes they’re alright but other times they’re just too soda waterish. And I don’t like soda water.

I do like beaches though. I should really call Claire about doing that cleanup dive, it sounds like fun. Or as much fun as picking up rubbish from the ocean can really be. So, you know, lots of fun.

45°. Open. One inch. Close. 45°.

We roll over and stretch our stomachs out. Mine feels a bit like cold taffy - about to shatter into little pieces. I don’t pull too hard on it.

Then we break off into groups to practice our grading skills. I’m with two other 9th gup white belt-yellow stripes, guys that I’ve never actually worked with before. I feel about a million years older than them, and tired.

I don’t make much conversation, because I’ve never know how to interact with highschool aged boys. I can’t tell a good fart joke to save my life. High school boys are a group that I still don’t understand even now that I’m in my 20’s.

We go through our pattern, Chon-Ji Tul. I struggle to get the stance changes right in the second half, and briefly consider throwing my toys. I don’t. Instead I make myself stop after every turn and double check my feet. It’s slow going. I wish there were mirrors here.

We run through our four directional punch and four directional block fundamentals from last grading. I’m a little annoyed at how much I’ve let them both slip.

Then we run through sparing: Forearm guarding block, three offensive paces forward, step back into attention stance. Three defensive paces back, counter attack.

We’re supposed to yell out before we begin our defensive and before we begin our offensive. I do, but it sounds like a dying frog in a hall full of snakes. I don’t like yelling out. I don’t want people to hear me.

I’m tired, and my eyes hurt, and we’re done. My stomach muscles breath a sign of relief, and I touch my toes to try and loosen up my back.

If I enjoyed this my back wouldn’t be tense and sore.

I sort out the ‘good’ pain from the ‘bad’ pain and stretch the bits that can’t wait until I get home. Nobody enjoys this sort of thing, not really.

Leaving the hall I know I’ve got a silly smile on my face. I’m tired and I’m sore and I’m only smiling because I’m done. There’s no other reason to smile. Who the hell actually enjoys that sort of punishment?

I go home and fall asleep in the bath. I dream about doing the perfect pattern, and nailing the stance changes from gunnun sogi into niunja sogi.

The bath goes cold, and I know that I still have that stupid smile on my face.

__

I’m rock climbing tonight with Louise and maybe Karlie, anyone else interested? Send me a text before 5pm. Seriously. I’m actually going to do it this time.

I finished my essay on Friday at 15 minutes to 11. I got up the hill in record time, handed it in, and promptly forgot about my 11am class. I was too busy hearing ‘Eye of the tiger’ while bouncing around on the 5th floor stairs in the Political Science office.

I wandered out of the building and caught the next bus into town. When I sat down all the tension in my back released. It sounded like a baby T-Rex was munching on my spine.

Then I went and did 3 gym classes in a row, had a bath, and drank a bottle of wine with Ben.

Why did wordpress log me out while I was in the middle of a love letter to M&M dark chocolate candies?

It doesn’t matter I guess. It’s just that given my well known aversion to work, I’ll never write that post again - and that’s a real pity considering it’s you guys who miss out on reading about the “crunch of candy between my teeth”, and the “delicious, slightly bitter, chocolate after taste”, and how I am a Very Big Fan of M&M’s dark chocolate.

Oh well. Console yourselves because I’m moving on to a new topic.

It’s not quite as interesting as the M&M’s dark chocolate love letter, but then not very many things are more interesting than reading someone elses mail. Especially when it contains details of a sordid love affair.

My backup topic today? The stench in the number 22 bus from Uni yesterday.

It’s not just a stench. It’s a stench. A urine scented stench.

Are you all gagging yet? Because I was, for the entire 11.58 minutes it took to get to the bus stop closest to my work.

In honour of the stench I put together a short poem. I say ’short’ because it’s generally quite terrible, and I don’t like to drag punishment on longer than it needs to be.

This bus smells like pee.

This seat is squishy
if I could move, I would.
Fat sob on my left
has wedged me in real good.

Excuse the terribleness of my poem (Is it too short to actually be classified a poem? Maybe) I wrote it on the bus, while attempting to free my thigh from underneath a very large lady’s butt overflow.

Or I have a haiku version. I’ve never written a haiku before, so you’re going to have to excuse this one too.

this bus smells like pee;
breath frigidly through your mouth.
I wish we could wait

Did you know that haiku’s aren’t actually done in syllables? They’re supposed to be written on the sound counts (when a new sound it introduced). I dont know how to figure those out properly, but I took a guess that in this case it’s the same as the syllables. (An example that isn’t the same? syllables: Hai-ku sound count: Ha-i-ku. Get it? No? Me neither.)

Also Haiku’s generally have mention of the season they were written in there somewhere… Lets just call the word ‘frigidly’, in mine, a reference to winter. Ok? Ok. Good.

So the moral of the story? If wordpress hadn’t picked 10 minutes ago to sign me out without warning, you wouldn’t have had to read bad poetry about a bus that smells like pee.

Shannon thinks that the only real way to eat eggs is:
a) Poached.
b) Fried.
c) Omletticised.

Shannon thinks coffee:
a) Sounds like a good idea sometimes.
b) Sounds like a bad idea at all times.
c) May actually be the devil in disguise… Not a good disguise, but a disguise anyway.

Shannon prefers:
a) 8.00 am - the day is full of promise and sparkly stabby light.
b) 6.30pm - work is over and she’s at the gym or kicking things as hard as she can.
c) 11.00pm - most people are asleep, and the house is calm, dark and quiet.

Shannon secretly dreams about being:
a) a ballet dancer, a rock climber, a baker, an astronaut, and a jockey.
b) a wood carver, an astronaut, an actress, a heiress, and a baker.
c) a wood carver, a heiress, an actress, a spy, and an astronaut.
d) a rock climber, a ballet dancer, a spy, a wood carver, and a jockey.

___

This Saturday I went to the Mediterranean Food Warehouse in Newtown with Ben’s parents. And Ben of course… It would have been awkward if he wasn’t there too.

The Pizza was AMAZING and, if you have an e-book, there’s a voucher in there for pizza. So, you know, you pretty much have to go.

And while you’re there grab a couple of bottles of Italian wine, because the wine was awesome. Much like the pizza.

I think my favorite had cherry tomatoes and Italian sausage and cheese and tangy tomatoy sauce - and my second favorite was loaded with mushrooms, and parma ham. And guys, I don’t even like mushrooms. That’s how good the pizza was.

You know what else happened this weekend? Karlie Louise and I were all in the same room for longer than an hour. That’s weird because usually Karlie has plans in town, and Louise works, and I have to be somewhere for something that involves being wet, or cold, or sweaty. So it was weird all hanging out together but nice too. I took a look around the room and I was like, ‘hey, I totally live with you people… Awesome…’ It’s nice to finally find a flatting situation that works.

On Friday night I was home alone. So instead of getting started on my readings, or writing my essay due in two weeks, I did a few other things. I washed every dish in the sink (It only took an hour.) Then I made myself dinner, and did the dishes again - I live on the wild side…

After that I put a load of washing on, vacuumed, baked brownies, washed a load of sheets and gross workout clothes that I found balled at the bottom of my gym bag - which I also cleaned out. Then I rearranged the lounge, cleaned up the mess of wires behind our TV, found the manual for our universal remote, put on another load of washing, and pondered why I have so many clothes, and can never find a thing to wear.

After I finished pondering I ate a brownie (I think I’m finally getting the hang of baking without burning), drank 2 litres of water, watered all the pot plants, tidied my bombsite of a room, shoved about a ton of clothing in the dryer, fixed the tv antenna so that we can get C4 without having an epileptic fit, and read all about the resting heartbeat on the Internet.

When I am bored I am productive. Unfortunately I did not do any work for Uni, or learn any more Korean for Taekwon-Do, but I can tell you that a woman’s average resting heartbeat is about 70 beats per minute, and a man’s is about 75bpm. Mine is 60bpm, measured from my pulse, which is actually not that accurate for measuring something like this. Listening through a stethoscope would be better.

Also your resting heart rate is measured while you are sitting quietly and relaxed, and things like fitness, weight and lifestyle have an impact on it. If you are overweight and unfit your resting heart rate will be higher, and indicate that perhaps your heart is under a bit more stress than it should be.

Are you glad you know that now? I am. I’m sure it will come in useful one day.

Also this weekend, I’ve been pondering glasses. I’m wondering if perhaps I need to visit an optometrist and get my eyes checked out lately. My eyes get sore and red after staring at a computer screen and text books all day, and I’ve noticed that I get headaches more and more often when I’m trying to read.

Also reading used to be something I had to force myself to stop doing in order to eat drink and sleep. These days takes actual effort to concentrate on textbooks, and recreational reading - which is weird because I am genuinely interested in the stuff I’ve got to read so concentration shouldn’t be an issue, right?

Then again, maybe it’s just too many hours in front of the computer, not enough sleep, and getting old. So maybe I don’t need glasses.

I have always wanted glasses though, I think I’d look totally smart with them, and that may balance out all the totally idiotic things I do on a daily basis.

I wen’t to Taekwon-Do last night. Just like I do every Monday and Thursday night.

And just before I tell you this main story about what happened last night, I need to preface with a few facts:

• I don’t like blood.
• I don’t like the thought of blood, even.
• Once when I was in primary school the local youth gang representative stapled himself in the finger while he was threatening the teacher with the stapler. I went white, the world got all underexposed and hazy, I threw up all over the place, and got to go home with Mum.

So last night at Taekwon-Do We split into two teams for team sparring.

One team picks a person for the ring, an the other counters. We were down to the second to last pair, the black belts, and they went pretty hard out on each other. 10 seconds before time was up one took an unexpected hard hit to the face.

He dropped to the ground, and was clearly in a lot of pain. I felt all the blood rush from my face. He hyperventilated, and a thin line of cold sweat appeared on my hairline. The black belts helped him off the mat and into recovery position at the side of the room.

The instructor came back to the mats and called for everyone to gather round. He explained that while accidents do happen safety is of the up-most importance to everyone in the dojang. He told us how most of the black belts had first aid certificates.

Everything looked a bit underexposed and hazy.

The instructor reiterated that that sort of thing was highly unlikely to ever happen to us, at our levels, because they simply wouldn’t allow it. The instructor asked if anyone had any issues with what they had seen. When he was sure everyone was ok, the class move on to learning sparring combos.

I excused myself to go to the bathroom.

I leaned over the sink with my wrists under the cold water and hung my head down to get some blood back into it. Then I went out and plonked myself down against a wall and drank some water. It only took a few minutes for me to come right, so I joined back into the sparring.

At the end of class the instructor came up and said that he was sorry I missed my go in the ring after the accident. I mentioned that I was weird about blood and stuff - even though there was no blood. I couldn’t explain my reaction to my satisfaction. I think he may have misunderstood me because he said that this sort of thing just plain old wouldn’t be allowed to happen at my level.

I was curious as to exactly what had set me off. And exactly why, So I gave my imaginary therapist a call (I have her on speed dial.)

So, someone got hurt sparring today?

Yeah. He was ok later on. I think, it was just a hell of a shock to the system and he needed a bit of help. Someone mentioned something about possible concussion.

I understand you didn’t do so well with watching that?

No I needed to sit down, and cool off. It happens a lot when I cut myself, or when other people get hurt. I’m really bad in the kitchen with knives and cutting myself because I just can’t deal with blood.

So it’s blood that sets you off?

Yup.

But there was no blood.

Maybe it was the suggestion of blood.

The suggestion of blood was enough to set you off?

There might have been blood. He could have broken his nose… At any moment blood could have started pouring out.

Or maybe it’s just the fact that I don’t like the idea of someone being hurt. All I know is I see a person in extreme unexpected pain and it’s scary, and I need to sit down so I don’t fall down. Or throw up.

Is it because You’re worried about it happening to you?

Not particularly.

So not at all?

Maybe a tiny bit. But that’s not the bit that makes me all light headed and fainty. I don’t like watching people get hurt.

So why are you doing Taekwon-Do then if you don’t like watching people get hurt? You know there’s always the chance that something will go wrong - there’s even the chance that you’re going to hurt someone.

I know that they take a lot of precautions in the dojang, and at the end of the day, it is a physical sport and accidents happen. And yeah I’m really worried I’m going to hurt someone one day. But at this stage mostly what I’m doing is so ineffective that it’s more likely I’ll hurt myself.

Or accidentally kick someon in the balls because I don’t lift high enough in some kicks. I’m very paranoid about that. Once my brother chased me through the house with a knife because I kicked him in the balls.

It was so effective at stopping him from being a little shit, that I’ve been scared to do it again until I really need to.

Seriously you kicked him in the balls? And your parents didn’t ground you for life?

Yeah I had anger issues back then. That’s not the point of this phone call though. We were talking about how I understand that accidents can and will happen.

Right, of course.

So you understand that something could go wrong, and yet when it happens you still get fainty and need to sit down? I’m not sure I understand your logic.

I know. It’s freaking weird, and I’m not sure there’s actually all that much logic involved. Here I’ll simplify it:

Taekwon-Do is physical, there is always the small chance that someone could be hurt, it’s a fact of life. I’m cool with it.

When people get hurt they make scary sounds, and there may be blood. I’m not cool with that. In fact a lot of the time I’m so not cool with it that I have to sit down and visualise my happy place with a cold bottle of water on the back of my neck.

It matters very little to me how the blood got there, the fact that there is blood is enough to make me want to throw up.

Right, blood… But you’re a woman… What happens when…

It’s unpleasant, but it’s fine. It kind of has to be fine otherwise I’d be fucking screwed right?

Right. Sorry I know it’s not a professional question to ask, you know me being your therapist and all…

I know… it’s just the first question that pops into everyone’s head when they find out how weird I get over cuts and stuff.