Leaf, probably…

My Public Policy text book is drier than cardboard. That’s right drier than cardboard.  That puts it in the same dryness category as dried up salt lakes, and scrub bushes in the heat of an Australian summer. That’s dry.

Luckily for me (and now for you) I have a plan of action for dealing with dry text books.

First off, I aim to have the right supplies. Highlighters, spare paper for jotting (or, you know, doodling pictures) and two or three of my favorite pens. I also find having a small snack handy can make study that much more pleasant. Perhaps a slice of cheese. I could go for some cheese.

Next I find a comfortable place. I can’t study at my desk because the chair makes me squirm, and I always end up slouched way down in my chair with my legs up sprawled across my desk. It’s comfortable at the time, but a few hours of that leaves one hell of a kink in my back.  

Instead I go for one of the sofas in our lounge, or the patch of sunny carpet by the front door. I NEVER attempt to study on my bed. It’s just too comfortable. The next thing I know I’m studying in the bed, then in the bed while lying down, which naturally progresses to me studying in the bed, while lying down, with my eyes closed.

Then I take a deep cleansing breath and open my book. I’m currently chapter two. The very first page of chapter two to be exact. I have two more chapters plus that one to finish by Thursday.

I like to start my readings by highlighting something. Anything at all. This time I highlight the first sentence. Then I underline the words”public policy”.

It’s important for me to do this now because within seconds of starting my reading I have forgotten I even own a highlighter. This way I at least get to use it once a study session, and I don’t feel like such a study dunce when I see other students massively highlighted and annotated readings during group discussions.

I read a few paragraphs before pausing to nibble on cheese and note down my observations so far. When I realise I have absorbed nothing but that chapter heading I go back and re-read, only this time I do it while massaging my aching shoulders and neck.

When re-reading and neck massages get me no further than page two of chapter two I change tactics. I know when something isn’t working, and I’m not scared to admit it.

Taking my cheese slice I place it between chapter six and seven (the public sector, and the judiciary) of my text.

After lightly rubbing the front and back cover of my book with olive oil, and a pinch or two of thyme, I place it into the oven to grill at a medium to high temperature.

When the cheese is melted I like to cut the text into diagonal slices and serve with a side of The Crazy and a glass of wine. Or ten.

Last night at Taekwon-Do I was grumpy and tired for reasons mentioned here, and here, and for a few other reasons not mentioned here - mostly the one about how I hadn’t eaten since lunch time.

I scowled and frowned a lot, although I really didn’t mean to. When I realised that I was scowling and frowning at my instructor and all the people in my group I tried for a smile. It felt a bit like I was baring my teeth, so I stopped.

Towards the end of the class we were surprised by having to jump up in front of all the others to demonstrate our three step sparring. Or something. We weren’t quite sure what we were attempting to demonstrate so it was a bit of a massive disaster.

I would start forward, and forget to yell in the right spots. Then I’d realise that no one else was moving. So I’d stop. Then the dude at the front would say keep going. One of the other guys in my group started again. And so I would start again, only more nervous, and forgetting to yell at all, or finish.

Meanwhile the rest of the group were still standing still. In the end I just sort of trailed off. It clearly wasn’t the right time to be asking for clarification, so I didn’t.

Also a disaster: While on the mats I managed to pop my second toe out of its joint. It’s something that happens fairly often with me (usually when I’m swimming) as a result of been stood on by one too many horses back in the day when there were horses. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s intensely uncomfortable.

I can usually pop it back in by flexing my foot in the right direction, and so I gave that a try. While up in front of the class. Demonstrating something that clearly I was getting wrong.

So imagine me running back and forwards on the mats, clearly confused as fuck, stopping to jiggle about flexing my foot every two steps.

Disaster.

I couldn’t have looked any more like a dork if I had tried to.

Later on while we watched the other belts do their thing in front of the class we figured out that we were supposed to be simulating a grading. Whoops.

Then I had to take a picture for the clubs website. I didn’t see the picture but I get a feeling that I don’t look amazing in it. I was scowling right up until the camera was pointed at me.

Later on that evening - despite the odds - I managed to look more like a dork. I popped my toe out of alignment while in the shower, and then nearly brained myself on the side of the tub trying to get it back in place.

The lesson?
There is no lesson really, but if I had to pick one I’d go with ‘eat something before working out’

Or if I was channeling my Nana Pointon: ‘don’t scowl like that in case the wind changes. You’ll be stuck like that forever, and then how would you feel.’

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.

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.

Last night I dreamed about sleeping, and having to wake up, and not feeling rested enough. Then I had to wake up, and I didn’t feel rested enough. I think when you reach the point where you’re even dreaming about sleeping, then perhaps it’s time to schedule a few more hours sleep in.

Today I reapplied with study link for a loan for my course costs for Semester 2 and 3, and I picked the courses I will be whining about for the next few months. After a bit of indecisiveness I went with a POLS course about institutions and policy process, and a INTP course about New Zealand in the world. I’m also signing myself up for a 300 level summer paper. The summer paper is a self directed study one, and I have absolutely no idea what it’s about, or what I’m expected to study over the Christmas break.

I have yet to ask my bosses permission for this lot, and it could get a little hairy because of my contract. I’m on an events based contract, and it’s highly likely that I will be losing my job later this year. From where I’m standing that’s not such a bad thing, as I’ve been desperately needing a job change for a while now (see: The Totally Awesome Job Fantasies that began to spring up a few months ago.) It also means I could find a new job with dramatically scaled back hours, and allow myself to finish uni as a full time student.

The only problem is getting my boss to agree to more study during a particularly prickly time of year. Oh well, I guess I’ll see how it goes.

I could always resign if he doesn’t agree (because as previously discussed study tops working on my list of priorities)  the only problem is getting the guts to do it. Once I’m settled into a job it takes a lot to get me to change… I really don’t like upheaval.

Wish me luck…

My POLS class took up residence in the lecture theatre at 10.45am. We settled in for cramming and fretting, and a short wait.

I was feeling quite smug with the amount of revision I managed to cram into 15 minutes until I realised that it was far later than it should have been. The rest of the class was beginning to realise this too. The noise level was quickly rising to an angry hum. 

At 11.20 we sent an envoy of students to the POLS INTP head office, to negotiate a mutually beneficial resolution to the crisis, and a ceasefire on the essay front.

The head of department responded, aggressively, with a take home exam, due Tuesday 11am, and an essay word limit of 1500. Our delegation, aided by the plaintive cries of the natives, bargained him down to 800 and came to a verbal agreement on the deal.

So there goes my weekend.

Wintertime really does showcase Wellington flats at their best. Over what seems like the last two weeks our idyllic Miramar flat has turned into a damp chilly fridge box.

In summer, or during the day - when nobody is home - the sun shines into our lounge and kitchen warming them up through our very big windows and ranch slider. At night the heat escapes though those same windows and we huddle under blankets.

As winter mornings are pretty much unbearable to shower in, we’re been leaving the window in our bathroom shut, and sometimes forgetting to open it again once we’re done. As there is no other form of ventilation, and our bathroom has a heat light, our pristine white walls have bloomed with black mould over the space of a week.

I sprayed exit mould onto the walls this morning, and I’m hoping that’s all that’s required to keep it at bay.

Our washroom will also soon become victim to the mould, as whomever designed it chose not to put in any sort of reliable ventilation and one window that does not open. It does have a door to the back to the house, but you have to be home all day, or very stupid to leave that wide open while the washing machine and drier are going.

And another thing, do you remember when I mentioned my bedroom and it’s linoleum floors? Yes? Good, because those suckers are COLD in the morning. They’re cold in the morning, and the afternoon, and they’re even cold in the evening.

Actually my room doesn’t hold heat at all. Despite only having one very small window. It’s damp, and I’m tempted to keep the dehumidifier in there all day every day. Unfortunately the dehumidifier is upstairs being used to solve the drier/ mouldy bathroom/ condensation-y lounge and kitchen issue.

Does anyone actually have a nice ventilated, dry, well insulated house in Wellington?!

Do they even exist?

In other news I have my POLS exam today. I’m freaking out a wee bit over here, so I think I’m going to sneak out of work early to go over my notes. It’s not like my boss is here anyway…

Yesterday I went shopping and brought a Jersey dress to be worn over pants, and a flowey empire type top. I um-med and ah-hed over them for ages, because although I need something to wear to Leslie’s, and for Mums partners 50th, and for Cats on Saturday I wasn’t quite sure whether they drew all sorts of nasty attention to my tummy. I’m blaming winter fat stores if they make me look bloated and preggers (I’m NOT by the way that’s just where I happen to store all my fat.)

That and the strange skinny mirrors in Farmers. They’re honestly like something from a fun house. One minute you’re wondering if you’ve gained weight from all the shitty exam eating, and the next minute you’re standing in front of the skinny mirrors marvelling at your reality defying tummy and butt.

Perhaps I should break out the nasty black corset I brought on our flat’s last outing to Bras ’N’ Things (nasty in a very good way of course)… How do you guys hide the inevitable winter bulk up?

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.

So I have two 50 minute exams coming up, that, to be completely honest with you? I’m not thrilled about.

I also have an essay that I’m moderately interested in writing. It’s on a really interesting subject and the readings for it have been great, however the actual writing of? blah.

It seems I’m always much more interested in writing these essays when they’re still an idea, rather than an activity I have to actually perform.

Loads of people I know are graduating this week notably: Karlie, Louise, and Adey. Ben would have been too, if he wasn’t doing honours this year.

It’s going to take forever before I get to that point. Remind me again why I signed up for all this study and essay and test crap?

I’m kidding I know why I’m here. I just enjoy moaning pitifully about the misfortune it all. It makes me feel like I’m getting my moneys worth out of Study Link.

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.