Vote. And Make it Count This Time.


Queensland goes to the polls next weekend.  Leading up to the election we find out politicians behaving badly even when they know their job is to try and impress us.  My thoughts concerning the responsibility to vote and a laundry list of what I want from our politicians is not just about Queensland or Australia.  It is about every election, everywhere and I think it is time we started to wade through the maze of garbage that politics has become and be very clear about what we want.

1.  I don’t want to listen to the politicians anymore.  I would like them to shut up and start listening to me.  I would like them to listen to you.  I would like them to listen to the actual people they serve and the people that their policies are most going to impact.  People can handle tough laws that are necessary if they know you have genuinely heard and considered all the arguments before making those decisions.

2.  I don’t want to see pictures of you and your family on your Facebook page having fabulously holidays in once-in-a-lifetime destinations, 3 – 4 times a year, clearly sparing no expense.  Even if you are independently wealthy and this is not being paid for on the tax payer’s dime, have some sensitivities.  No-one voted for you because they want to see how awesome your life is compared to their meagre struggles.  I want to see pictures of you doing your job.  And sipping champagne at some $500 a plate dinner that you get to attend for free at some picture taking opportunity for some organization you drop in on once a year does not cut it.  Try delivering some meals to the shut ins, get out and sand bag during a flood, take the nurses coffee and sit with them in their lunchroom and find out about their concerns.

3.  I don’t want to hear that you can’t get along with the people you are supposed to be working with.  Let’s take the personality out of this and talk about the business at hand.  If your best shot is a personal attack on another member of government then you need to hand in your hall pass and let someone in there who is interested in the matters concerning the country.  No-one said you had to like everyone, or invite them over for summer dinners.  But you do have to be able to keep focused and find a way to work with everyone.  That is what politicians do.  Put the business of the country first and your personal insecurities in the back of your closet.

4.  Stop suing people, stop demanding the media is not allowed to ask questions, or take pictures, or talk negatively about you.  We count on them to point out things and ask questions.  We aren’t there.  If what you are doing cannot stand up to daylight it is probably not the right thing to be doing.  If you are not accountable and not responsible for your actions then who is?  You got elected because you said you would be accountable.

5.  Own your mistakes.  Stop trying to cover them up or blame others.

6.  You cannot ask a people to do anything you yourself are not prepared to do.  You cannot understand the struggle of poverty if you have never had to go without food or shelter.  Don’t pretend you do but seek out the people who do know and listen carefully to what they tell you.

We want a leader who is one of us.  We want someone who wants to work for us and with us.  We don’t need a sheep herder or a drill sergeant.   Include us.  Involve us.  Spend time with us.  Hear us.  You need a team in order to be successful and we, the people, are part of that team.  If you want to heal the problems facing this nation then engage all of us in the process and ask for our help.  Don’t exclude us because that is the biggest fatal flaw of all politicians around the world today, they have taken their votes to their privileged, secluded ivory towers and forgotten that they need the people much more than the people will ever need them.

Parallel Universes and Peas.

parallel universes

My grandfather got really pissed at the Biffster once because he wasn’t being manly enough to please his old world sensibilities. Mostly he was terrified that the Biff might be “queer.” I mean there were so many clues to justify his concern, like the fact that Biff wasn’t hitching up his jeans, scratching himself or strutting while both horking and spitting. My grandfather was a keen observer of all things life. He didn’t just leap to his conclusions, he defied all gravity and flew across Grand Canyons of expanse to reach them. He was a gifted gifted athlete!

I remember a conversation around one dinner table where “homosexuality” came up and then the word “lesbian.” I forked my cheek when I heard the words. Not that I didn’t know what they meant, just that we were learning about dangerous chemical reactions in school. Put two volatile ingredients together in a contained space and anything could happen. I was pretty sure sex and grandparents were both ingredients at the top of that list.  The fact we were adding the unknown “alternative lifestyle” into that mixture probably meant we were all going to die.

Aardvark didn’t know what “lesbian” meant. Watching Humpydora try to explain it to him while she pushed her peas around her plate with her fork and dabbed a dainty hanky to her mouth was kind of like waiting in a park with a picnic lunch for the train wreck that was about to happen . . . there on the blanket . . . on your plate . . . right through the potato salad.

“You know Aardvark, it is two women . . .”  she started and stopped mid sentence.  She was glancing furtively around the table at us kids … her motherly gears kicking into overdrive, needing to protect our prepubescent innocence from the horrors of the world but at the same time giving us enough air in our water wings to keep us afloat. She looked at Aardy, and then at us kids and then back at Aardy . . . unspoken messages of “please Aardy not in front of the children…”

Aardy was not above just giving us both a kick off the edge of the pool with his boot, into the deep end, forget about water wings.

“TWO WOMEN WHAT????” Aardy asked, bellowing in his best frustrated obtuseness. He sounded a lot like the bull out in the field that bellowed and all the cows took cover. I am pretty sure there were cows ducking behind tractors and under piles of straw when he hollered that day. Humpydora however, had nowhere to hide.

(This is where I like to involve the reader in the story. As you read out Humpydora’s parts your voice needs to waiver a little and you will need to hold your housecoat up to your mouth to simulate a napkin being forced into your mouth hoping to muffle the sound of what you are about to speak. Muffled talk of lesbianism is much more palatable than outright understandable words. Make sure you look fondly off into the sky sort of cross-eyed because you are both frustrated with Aardy and feeling the pressure of all that religious upbringing to self flagellate or wash out your own mouth with soap.)

“Well, two women …. homosexual … you know … instead of two men… you know . . . two women …” Eyes straight down with the peas …. be one with the peas ….her voice trailed off in a whisper.

I started thinking to myself, “how the hell does the Humpster know these things? EWWWWW …. think of something else, think of something else!” Snorking was out of the question because old Aardy was not moving. He was frozen in his chair, eyes speeding back and forth – evidence his brain was in overload and he was about to explode as he considered what Humpydora had just said. We waited breathlessly, I already had my hand clenched into the appropriate position under the table, on my lap. If Aarvark blamed me for anything I was ready to point at Biff. It was every man for himself.

Then it happened. Aardvark sat straight up and moose-called across the prairies …. “Well I can understand what two men do (don’t go there Aria, DO NOT go there) but what the HELL do two women do???” I projectiled my peas across the table into Humpydora’s plate. In her mind Humpydora leapt across the table, one hand and one foot over my ears and the other two over Biff’s screaming “save the children save the children.” I think she may have suffered with Body Dysmorphic Disorder.  In reality she simply escorted my errant peas across the plate to an isolated edge and pretended that she needed salt which she asked Biff to pass. Then she instructed us all on the benefits of protein and vitamin c in our diets with 3 words, “eat your peas.”

We all knew the drill to perfection – pretend nothing had happened.

We ate our peas. It was only a matter of time before Aardvark processed the information and made it into some type of evidence of the world going to hell in a hand basket and the leap from that to “not MY son, not on MY watch,” was inevitable.  One day while I was busy knitting Aardvark’s Christmas present, a nice moosey sweater with the word “Homophobe” stenciled in around the antlers, Aardvark descended on the Biffster to slap him upside the head, rip the bedazzling gun out of his hand, and tell him to be a man. I had tried my best to teach Biffy – he just never really caught on to horking properly. Aardvark told him to “grow a set of balls” and I was like, “cool, I got this.” And right there and right then, because what good is a sister if she can’t share with her own brother, I pulled the golf balls outta my own pants … and handed them to the Biffster.

I thought it was really nice that my brother phoned my girlfriend and told her she should probably not try to drop by and see me for a few days.

It’s really dark in the root cellar you know …

Who Are Our Children? Who Are We?

all paths that lead to the light

The most successful people in life are not those who have important positions, a thousand social media “likes” or more money than God. They are the people who changed the lives of the people they met. They are the people whose names are etched in other’s hearts for the seemingly small acts of kindness and service offered. Our capacity for love opens us to compassion and our compassion spurs us the action. That action builds the web that holds us all in together.

When we die, no-one cares what a great house you lived in, how much your car cost or how much money you had in your bank account, besides the taxation office. Collecting their due does not require them to admire you When you die, most of your treasures are thrown out, donated to good will, or packed up in a box and put in the attic or the garage. A few things might have a place somewhere on the shelf of a child’s house, a nice little memory of YOU, not your bank account. Allow one generation to pass and even the odd surviving treasure will also end up at the dump or goodwill. Your money will have been spent on equally meaningless things. We spend a lifetime collecting things, so much more than we need, so we can attain a certain status. In the end it means absolutely nothing. Who had the biggest haul to the local dump is a pretty empty measurement of who we were.

The most intelligent people are not those with a university degree. Wisdom is a gift of a life lived engaged in the world around you. It has nothing to do with a privileged life that provided opportunity to attend school. Nor does it have anything to do with the ability to memorize facts, and pass tests. The most intelligent people are those who are open minded, always learning, and who apply what they learn actively, blessing the lives of those around them. Measuring our privilege and opportunities and even our left brained ability to navigate a very narrow educational system against other people is just a weapon that unintelligent people use.

The most beautiful people are not those that fit a mould of a certain weight, hair colour or bra size. Why not? Because that standard is completely subjective and without any real dimension. That standard is about being “pretty.” Real beauty is multi dimensional and is not about judgment as much as it is about an awakening. A beautiful person makes us feel beauty, makes the world seem beautiful, and therefore we assign the attribute to them. Many people are incapable to seeing or understanding beauty because they are too blinded by their limits. They look at life always competing. They actually only see themselves and where they fit in compared to what they are looking at. And yet, if we truly look at other human beings, we see that beauty exists even in the most unexpected of places and it reminds us that we too are beautiful.

People look to life and consider money, education, beauty and power to be the cornerstones of a life worth living.

How strange that we do not say,”I want to learn about politics and volunteer on a campaign, or get a job at parliament so that I can participate in meaningful discussion and action to make this country a better place.” How strange we do not hear, “I want to be a doctor and find a cure for cancer, or help people to feel better.” We don’t hear, “I love to sing and entertain people.” Instead we hear, “I want the power, I want the money, I want the fame.” People can slip on roles in life without ever actually becoming a leader, a doctor or an artist. We can fake it, we can buy our way in.

The value of our life pursuits is not that a doctor earns more than a janitor. The value is in what we do with the “vehicle” we have been given to travel our lives in. A broken down bus that carried hundreds of children back and forth to needed medical care has more real value than a shiny sports car that sat in a garage and occasionally couriered the owner and a date he was trying to impress to a lavish dinner party.

Some people get that. They don’t whine about what they don’t have. The roll up their sleeves and get to work using what they have. The live meaningful lives despite their limitations. Some people are so busy pointing out to everyone how much better they are because they are educated, are in a position of power, are pretty or have money that they never really do anything at all.

And still these are the empty lives often held up to our children, as if pursuing that road will promise them happiness.

We aspire to emptiness.

And those of us who have woken up, are awake . . . are walking away from it all. And you are hearing children who speak of healing the earth and its people. They have a connection to life that humbles you with shame. They are pledging their all. They believe they can. They serve and love wherever they are planted, no matter what their education, no matter what their financial situation. They are ready now.

THESE are the leaders of tomorrow.

Don’t plug your kids into the broken electrical grid we have created and called “life.” Plug your child into himself, into discovering who he is and what he can be. Let him be himself and let him do it his way. Amp him up to broadcast. Let. Him. Be.

Don’t medicate, don’t contain, don’t channel. Let him experience and find his own path. That’s his job. Yours is to give him the tools he will need, to love him, to create a safe environment where he can both fail and succeed and realize it is all just part of learning.

And those of us who are still fixated on an ego based world where in order to win, others must lose, are becoming colder and harder. These parents push their kids towards power and money. They infuse them with their own insecurities and encourage competition where you must win at all costs. They fill their lives with meaningless pursuits void of service or relevance. They have convinced their children that they are entitled and they navigate their world with no respect for others, no sense of personal responsibility and avoidance of consequences.

There is a profound polarization happening. The haters are becoming more closed and hard. They see the world as their enemy and they are fighting with everyone. And the people who are waking up are opening and relaxing and letting go. They are healing. They are reconnecting. It is dividing our communities. We have the kids that are completely ego driven, void of compassion, and those who are soul driven, fueled by compassion.

All our children deserve our encouragement, support, and love. We should do everything we can to reach out, not just to our own but to the children in our lives . . . our neighbours, our friends, our communities. We all have a choice in this. We will either be the ones actively engaged in the work, we will be preparing those who will be actively involved or we will be supporting those who are actively engaged. There is no room for ego, only community.

The world is changing and the decision of which side you want to be on is up to each of us individually, warrior and destroyer, darkness and hate or healer and light, innovator, creators. As the tragedies continue all over the world some respond with more hate, others respond with more compassion and love. We are all being broken open and we choose to fill those cracks with hate or love. We choose light or darkness. We already know the outcome. Darkness is an illusion that exists only when light is withdrawn. As long as there is an ounce of humanity left in any of us, there is light.

A Bit Of A Frog In My Throat, And In the Bushes, And The Other Bushes Too.

whatever 4

Last night we had a spectacular experience. There was music, drama, fireworks and lots and lots of swearing. It is not often that the travelling Circus comes to town and parks itself in your yard and sends in ALL the clowns, but last night was magic.

The frogs flash mobbed us. Except they clearly have a short attention span and did not quite get through all the instructions. They nailed, “a bunch of you assemble suddenly in a public place/our back yard, and perform an unusual and seemingly pointless act . . ” They failed to finish the sentence that continues ” . . . pointless act . . . for a brief time, before quick dispersing.”

They also failed to grasp the concept known as practice or that they should sing the same song. Neither did they have a firm hold on harmony of being in key. Someone left all the keys on the bus that drove them there. There were no keys. No-one was in, on, or near any key whatsoever.

They did have volume however. LOTS of volume. It was competition volume. A fight to the death volume battle. Silence lost.

Many flash mobs have incorporated instruments and dancing. There were no instruments. Probably because no instrument known to man could possibly cover the notes that they were using, let alone the competing keys. In fairness, they may have been dancing. It was hard to tell. One, it was dark. Two, they may have been doing a modified version of River Dancing. One where they followed tradition and did not move their arms, but a dance with a creative new take on it where they did not move their feet either. They just sat there.

And croaked.

And Crrrrroakkked and croakedddddd and CCCRRROOOAAAKKKEEEDDD.

It was disturbing when we could not hear each other talk, distressing when we could not hear the television and damn scary when we could not hear ourselves screaming for help.

You know those movies where the cult is holed up in the compound and the FBI, the CIA, the DEA, PGA, the NFL, PETA AND the Tupperware Lady all move in and they try to force them out by blaring this mind numbing sound all night long???

Ya . . . it was worse than that.

Normally when one of the frogs get carried away we go out with the flashlight and find the little dude, often not bigger than your baby fingernail, and we pick him up and carry him gently over to the trees by the douchesicle neighbours house and carefully set him down. (the frog, not the neighbour . . .) Don’t roll your eyes at me, one of the other neighbours catches the frogs, puts them in a container and takes them with her on her way to work where she releases him out by someone else’s pond. It helps keep frog dating interesting and can also be an effective way to punch up your normal passive aggressive response to someone you hate. Drop off the noisiest frogs outside their bedroom window. It beats writing cryptic messages on Facebook, especially when they have already blocked you.

Sometimes the big green tree frogs get into the down pipes and echo around for awhile before it is going to rain. In every other instance the frogs only carry on for an hour or two and then shut up. You can understand there really is no need to go on and on because you can only scream for someone to come find you and have sex for so long until you are either hoarse or you get laid. But last night … neither hoarseness nor getting laid made anyone shut-up. Or maybe someone put Viagra in the pond punch and it was a really great night that went on and on and on. Hard to tell the difference in frog bellowing between “Matilda, over here baby” and “WOOOOHOOO.”


We were out hunting. And then one flashlight burned out, and another and by the time we found the little bastard we were beyond Greenpeace and National Geographic and “ahhh aren’t they cute.” When we finally found him, turned out to be a freaking BIG green tree frog that that escaped the downpipes and was wandering willy nilly around the yard. Like hello Mother Nature, isn’t there supposed to be some kind of understood order to the chaos of nature? We “helped” to relocate his ass down into the back paddock.

I could hear him screaming instructions on how to reach his revised location to “Matilda.” It was a far away somewhat muffled croaking that was still very distinguishable. There was no mistaking that attitude amongst the cacophony of frogs doing their best imitation of horny toads.

And we just managed to slow our breathing and start to dream about a better world when our twilight sleep was disturbed with one giant “BUUUURRRRUP.” Playboy Frog was back. Closer back. Kissing the screen door into our bedroom back.

And he was pissed. He didn’t care about sex. He knew we had no frogs in there with us, he just wanted to swear at us in frog croak while it echoed in the patio … All …. Night …. Long.

Frogs carry a grudge. They are vindictive. They can move with lightning speed . . . obviously. They can sniff you out. They see you when you’re sleeping AND they are trained to kill. I can’t prove that of course but it was all there in his attitude, the slit of his eyes, the suggestive movements he made with his lips when he croaked. It may not have happened last night but he is there, lurking in the bushes, waiting for the day when we finally have to come outside, alone … and then … He is going to tap dance frog attitude all over our sorry faces. I know. My hubby knows it. We are frog toast.

I am writing this so you all know if anything happens to us, if we suddenly disappear, I don’t care how innocent and incapable they look … the frogs did it. Look for us to have been dumped at some other pond, one with frogs that our frogs have issues with. They can do passive aggressive every bit as well as we can.

Taking the Wonder out of Winter Land.

down the lane the snow is glistening 3

They always make frolicking in the snow look like such fun. People who have never been in snow romanticize it. A good friend does not let another friend erroneously romanticize snow. They just don’t.

I have a friend in Australia who wants to go to Canada because she loves the winter fashions. She gushes when she talks about plaids and the beautiful fur coats. I would slap her but that is not allowed.

I so want to take her to Canada and drop her off in the mountains for an hour … like when it is 40 below and the deer and the antelope are huddled together begging the hunters to shoot them and take them inside and cook them over the open fire.

I want to see her try to toss her static light bulb hair and make duck lips at her phone while trying to snap pictures with fingers that are curled into a claw, frozen stiff with the tips turning black from frost bite. I want her to try to do that when flesh freezes in a fraction of a nano second and watch her duck lips break off and shatter when they hit the icy ground beneath her feet. I want to hear her call for her mommy when she has to pee and she realizes it will take her an hour to get all those clothes off her and that when she does, unless she can be in a fraction of that nano second before her flesh freezes, she will die naked on a frozen lonely mountain and no-one will find her until the spring thaw. I want her to consider the alternative to just pee in her snow pants and possibly be stabbed to death in her long johns from the shards of pee ice.

I am not a nice person.

Some people really annoy me when they gush on and on about how magical it could be when I am sitting right there in front of them with my missing fingers and duck lips, a living testament to the romantic nature of snow.

Letter to the Friend I Failed Yesterday, I’m Sorry.

heal the world

To the person who reached out yesterday, hurting more than human beings should ever have to hurt.

I was so overcome with your pain when we talked that all I really wanted to do was to cry with you and just give witness to the frustration and hurt that all of us have been feeling about this situation. We all share a profound sense of powerlessness to direct any of it to a different outcome except one where you are unfairly the victim of it all.

You talked about your anger with God and asked about how to cope and what the purpose of it all was.  I got so lost in the hurt and the anger and in not wanting to speak meaningless platitudes to such pain that I simply sat with you in the misery and offered not a shred of hope or understanding.  Last night as I lay in bed I felt so taken to task over my response that I spent the night lecturing myself. Or at least my higher self lectured the me that was lying there in the dark.

No pain should ever be allowed to rob us of our hope.

I told you there is no magic and there isn’t some point where someone stands up and announces that you were the victim, innocent of all the “charges” and makes sure everyone sees the truth and knows you are a good person. There is not even any guarantee that you will ever get justice or that the “sentence” handed down will not be both painful and unfair. You may never be proven right and the other people may never have to face any music of any consequence.  You act, putting the needs of others first and you are rewarded with this, while they act with selfish narcissism and they are supported.  You speak the truth and no-one believes you, they lie and every word is accepted without proof.

But I do believe there is a reason for all of these things. Part of the answer lies in you finding out who you really are and what your journey here in life is all about, and the other part is in understanding how this experience can actually serve you.  We are indoctrinated with ideas and beliefs from the moment we are born. We are like empty vessels, unpainted canvases, that everyone and everything begins to fill and paint on. We do not choose these things. Some are offered and some are forced, some are survival. Within all of that we start to formulate our beliefs, which direct the way in which we think, which directs the way in which we interpret the world. When we are closed, life allows us to go along in our boxes with our blinders on. We see and do nothing that contradicts our vision or opens us up to different possibilities. But just because people do not see does not mean that things are not blowing up all around them. Their life may be just as dysfunctional as our own but they appear happy and untouched by any of it. They sit in the safety of their boxes, with all their “beliefs” intact and unchallenged. Life has zero impact on those beliefs and they sit without ever moving forward.  Where they were 10 years ago is exactly where they are now.  They are the same person.  Exactly.

Life challenges our beliefs, and therefore the way we think, and therefore the way we see the world. If we are open we are given experiences that challenge us and make it very clear where we have work to do. And it is painful work. The path to a higher understanding, a more evolved spiritual self is not sitting on a beautiful mountain top humming mantras with bells sounding and water running. It is hard damn work. And we are beaten down. We cry. We bleed. And no-one can ever know how life is ripping us apart because this journey is so intensely personal, even when we are swimming through icy waters towards life rafts with dozens of other people.

But in enduring we gain insight and understanding. We grow. We find strength. We move forward. And when we are ready, we will go to battle with the next belief that we hold on to that limits us and keeps us in a box that we have used to shelter us from life.

We were never meant to be sheltered from life.

We aren’t meant to hold onto these bodies of ours and hide them in a closet and keep them perfect for a hundred years. Everything about this life is about the cycle where we are born, we navigate, we experience, we tire, we sleep, we die. What good is a brand new set of golf clubs that we never use? What love do we have for the golf clubs now dented and faded and worn with years of playing, years of great games and times honing our skills?

We are meant to open, and use. We are meant to embrace life and head down paths with dark unknowns and huge mountains and scary caves.  We become stronger with every obstacle we encounter and overcome.  Our lives should leave us dented and worn and faded from years of being out there, playing the game, honing our skills.

So there is pain in life. It means you are alive. It means the universe is reaching out to you. It means you are up to the challenge and it means that you are moving forward. It is only when we interpret these things as evidence that we are “bad” or “sinners” or “worthless” that we stumble. Of course the people hidden in their boxes, still at the starting gate of emotional and spiritual understanding call you all those names. They insist that they have no problems and life is only good and everything is great. Of course they point at you and say and do cruel things to try and stop you from leaving them there. They are not going to get out and experience life so they need life to always circle around them relative to their limited vision of what that is. Drama is often the only way they can do that and so they become experts on how to create it. They become addicted to it. They need it.

They do not see what you see. They do not feel what you feel.  They don’t accept responsibility for themselves.  They don’t learn and grow.  They try to pin you to their world in every way they can but they can only succeed when you agree to stand there and not move forward … and away.  Walking away and leaving them where they are is always an option.  Always.

Your life is saying, ” here, SEE this! See the deeper meaning, see the truth, see yourself. Reach for it. Grow. Be.” Trials are gifts IF we understand and use them. And they are hand picked gifts stitched together with the power of the universe, meant to give us a deeper, more meaningful life. They provide connections on such a deep level that our souls weep with the beauty of it all. Don’t fear them. Meet them head on with your chin held high and know that you are so beyond worthy.

THAT is what I should have said yesterday. Forgive me for not having done that. I am saying it now. I am saying it because I love you and I too have wanted to curse God and smash a wall. I have felt anger so deep that it scared me . . . but I have also felt joy and peace so exquisite that I cannot give it words and I am grateful for every experience this life has brought me. I am grateful because through it all I have learned that I may not control the universe, the world, or even this block on which I live . . . but I am in control of me and I get to choose who I will be. Nothing that other people throw at me or do to me gets to take over MY steering wheel.

My life. My terms.

I just need to be reminded of that sometimes.

Yesterday was a reminder. I will stand with you through this. I hope you will remind me when I forget this important lesson because all of us have moments where we need the strength of others to help us through.

A Shave and a Hair Cut, Sans the Shave.

jewellery box momento 3

I cut my hubby’s hair last night. I have been doing it for years and it always works out very nicely and he remains handsome and I even get some kudos for the good job.

I was tired. I have a knee that is killing me. It was hot and muggy and the clippers were in my hand and on his head making the second swipe across his skull when I had a flash back to sheep shearing and bald bald sheep baaing on the floor of the shearing shed. Except my hubby was sitting on the edge of the bathtub and no-one was baaaing.

I did what any woman in my position would do, I kept going. I sang a little, asked him if he wanted me to make dinner that night, if he wanted a massage later on, could I fetch him his slippers and of course I promised sex. I told him he was really handsome. And then I tried to block his view of the mirror and hustle him into the shower. Thank heavens for extra large bath towels and the life time habit of fluffing them before use.

The next morning he woke up and asked me if I thought maybe I had cut his hair shorter than I normally did. I was caught. I was pinned in my office chair, him standing between me and the door, the window heavily screened with pretty metal ovals. I began to whimper. I told him I had kind of wondered but the attachment was already on the clippers and he put it away last and so I thought he would never put the wrong one on and I went with it. I considered laying on the floor on my bag, legs and arms in the air and showing him my belly.

He said it was ok, it would be fine in about a week or two and he left me alone in my office.

I sat in the corner facing the wall and spent most of the morning thinking about the consequences of my actions.

Thank heavens I had one of those calming bottles with all those pretty sparkles and things. Otherwise I might have chewed my own leg off to get out of there. I am not good with long periods of sitting reflecting on my mistakes.

I get depressed easily.