Hmm another binge night last night. Bad. Wonder why? Not connected to hormones at the moment. That’s still two weeks away. Weird.

Met up with old workmate this morning about prospect of working together with a guy setting up a food magazine. V v exciting. If that comes off I will be one very happy camper.

Caught the jetcat to work as was in Manly for the meeting. There is something wonderous about being on the water on the way to work (that may be in poor taste considering what happening in NYC yesterday). Feeling the water under you, seeing Sydney flesh out before you, the bridge, the buildings, the opera house, it fills me with a sense of promise, of expectation that something good will happen today. Nice.

Oscar and I were mucking around this morning with his doona as he wet the bed again last night and I needed to wash the corner of it. I pulled it as he was standing on it and it fell over, hurting his foot. Poor little mite, it was still really sore when AB was taking him to kindy, so I made him take him to the GP who then made him go and have it xray-ed. Bloody hell, will our world ever be free of some drama or another? Anyway, am yet to hear of whether he’s cracked a bone in his foot or its just a tissue tear. Feely v. bad that it was my fault. poor kid.

Anyway, am leaving work early to drop AB at work and pick him up, so will see how he is fairing. Might involve an icecream stop off to ease my guilt and his pain…not for me thought, ice cream makes me puke and I don’t need any incentive in that zone at the moment.

OK, today I’m shifting this a gear. I’ve been reading some other people’s blogs and decide this one needs a purpose.

Here is the goal – to be off my happy pills, 10 kgs lighter and in some form of regular exercise regime.

Once all this is achieved, then we are going for baby #3 (and maybe even baby #4, depending on how we survive #3 – on all manner of levels).

So – this is now going to become my journal of progress (or regress) in all its gore.

So there.

Had a great weekend. It was our 6 year wedding anniversary on Saturday, and while AB had to work and we were too tired to go out/do anything that night, we had a delicious dinner with the boys and watched tele. Quite a life I know.

Yesterday made up for it – went for a bus ride with the boys down to pick up the car from Manly, visited Kill, best from from school who was in town for the weekend – and then dinner and a movie (American Splendour) – much better!!

Loved American Splendour – hilarious in its ordinariness and morbidity. Loved it. There is one scene early on when he looks at his reflection and a cartoon comes up saying something like “regularly disappointing” – hah! Welcome to my world.

Other fabulous films: (that I can think of off the top of my head)

Fargo

O brother where art thou?

Being John Malcovich

Fight Club

Adaptation

Seven

Cheesy movies that I love – and won’t hear a bad word about

Footloose

Grease

Steel Magnolias

Anything with Meg Ryan and the words ‘romantic comedy’ in the precis

Books that changed my life – or showed me it didn’t have to be how it is…

The Fountainhead – Ayn Rand

Pride and Prejudice – Jane Austen

Anything by Chuck Palahniuck in particular Survivor, Choke and Invisible Monsters.

Skinny Legs and All – Tom Robbins

As I lay dying – William Faulkner

Catch22

To Kill a Mockingbird – man, this was life altering.

The above listings will be discussed in greater detail over time.

What I’ve eaten today –

Two slices of toast with 400g tin of baked beans in ham sauce

One mini Violet Crumble bar

Cup of miso soup

Exercise so far – (at 2.40pm)

nil

Bye.

Friday, yey.

What happens when your dreams and plans don’t come to fruition. Is it an issue of fault or che sera sera?

sometimes letting go of the passion, letting go of the ideal is so much harder than just letting it simmer away in the recesses of your mind as reality rolls over your body day after day. Like the sensation of entering the surf and waves hitting you, pulling you down as you force your way out further and further.

Are the waves of reality there to be fought or there to surrender too? Or maybe that is the life question – and whichever you believe determines the path ahead.

All I know is that I want to be cared for, want to be loved, want to be in someone’s mind constantly. Conceited? Needy? Princess-like? Hmmm. The weird thing is, nearly all of us are cared for, loved and thought about – but we don’t see it, hear it or even want it. once again, bizarre.

Weekend time.

strange day today. don’t feel comfortable in my own skin. Feel people are looking at me. Know that they’re not. Then feel bad that they’re not. One of those sorts of days.

Actually had enough sleep for a change and a decent breakfast. Just feel wrong.

Work has died a rather abrupt death – when you know its just a matter of time suddenly actually doing anything productive actually seems wasteful. weird. am scared at prospect of irregular income once more – it does my head in more than anything else. am scared at not having work over Christmas, but then am really stoked at opportunity to be home with the boys over the Christmas break.

not quite sure how to make the feeling of the land falling away under my feet go away.

This is my Heckler piece from The Sydney Morning Herald that appeared last year. I was very VERY excited – and am now a little discombobulated that it was actually a year ago!

Concrete jungle looks more like little house on the prairie

October 7 2002

Whatever happened to business chic? In her foray to buy a new wardrobe, fringes, florals and flounces lay in wait for Kim Palmer.

I’m not sure what has happened in the fashion world, but last time I looked Australia – and, more pertinently, Sydney – wasn’t the wild west.

Nor was its summer climate breezy enough for multi-layered denim constructs.

Admittedly, my wardrobe for the past four or so years has been predominantly focused on surviving small children.

We’re talking no whites, no crushable fabrics, nothing that requires dry-cleaning, and easy access clothing – not for amorous moments, as I had to keep reminding my husband, but for the apparently endless years of breastfeeding.

Now, as I venture back into the real world of paid work, a desk to call my own and the opportunity to drink an entire cup of tea while it’s still hot, the suits from pre-breeding life are just not cutting it.

So off I went. For the first time in four years I was in a shopping centre, on my own, with what felt like limitless time to browse, try on and, deep breath, buy clothes for me.

I was almost giddy with delight, with that heart racing sensation you get when you feel you’re doing something really naughty and you’re just waiting for the hand on your shoulder (similar to the sensation of secretly scoffing chocolate in the pantry and being caught out by your four-year-old).

But as I drifted through racks of clothing I felt more giddy-up than giddy. I know Madonna did the cowboy boots, hat, tassles and gingham shirt in one of her more recent film clips, but are we seriously meant to wear these things in real life? It’s one thing for a cool legend of rock to bootscoot on a film stage, but for us mortals to wear it all to work?

It’s as though all the TV shows that I grew up on are materialising before my very eyes.

From Little House on the Prairie, through Swiss Family Robinson to some scary constructions that look way too Eight Is Enough for peace of mind – there they all were, hanging on racks, laughing at me.

Sydney is humid, diabolically so come January and February. The long, denim, panelled – panelled! – skirts will be like wearing a wool-lined Drizabone in a sauna. Don’t say you weren’t warned.

There is no place, on any body, for horizontally panelled white skirts. Think back of the bus, think “does my bum look big in this?” and answer “yes, and so do your thighs”.

White suits – what are we thinking? I even saw white stilettos in a window display. I didn’t know whether to point and laugh or admit defeat and cry.

Has no one watched porn lately to know that, unless you really want the hooker look, they are to be avoided at all costs?

Then we go off-the-shoulder and into the bizarre world of one-shouldered tops. I blame that blonde-haired creature from Big Brother who did the off-the-shoulder thing with everything and tried to compensate for that fashion disaster with another – lip gloss. Formally known as fly-ointment.

I just don’t get it. One bare shoulder in day wear looks ridiculous.

For evening – I’m thinking Grace Kelly or Audrey Hepburn – sure, it’s a sexy winner. Even the Baroness in The Sound of Music came up a treat, but in day wear it looks as if you’ve lost a sleeve. That, and you always end up with one boob sitting higher than the other, although that could be a personal problem due to the aforementioned years of breastfeeding.

Anyway, I was crestfallen. After a day of uneven hemlines, things that looked way too much like the 1980s for my sanity (I was beginning to expect a torn T-shirt with ‘wham!’ scrawled over the front, fluoro bobby socks and bubble skirts to appear) and clothes that were simply ugly in design and ugly in colour, home I went.

Of course, my husband was thrilled.

A day of shopping and not a penny spent – talk about your dream wife!

So as I go to work in my suits, skirts and shirts from about six years ago – thrilled they still fit and even more thrilled that my investment in classic lines and looks has paid off handsomely – I’ll sit tight for the florals to disappear, the flounces to deflate and sleeves to make their comeback.