Anna’s Adventures

Forever is a long, long time. I really don’t need to rush things, do I? Though at the same time, I really do need to keep focused on what is happening to me right here, right now. I need to keep having fun. I need to stay in love. I need to be with sweet people.

I had such a wonderful weekend! So much happened. I saw some friends, I saw my family, I made some new friends, and I got to play biker’s moll all weekend long.

I am too tired to tell all now, but here are some highlights:

• ANZAC day - I almost won a game of pool, w00t!
• I saw a fantastic baseball wound from sliding to 3rd - yikes!
• Talked about rifles with an ex-airforce lady
• Went to newcs on Saturday
• Saw my grandmother for her birthday
• Saw my dad (yikes!)
• new friend met some of the fams and got thumbs up (phew!)
• Rode on the back of the Indian from Swansea to Newkers, and then on Sunday: from Newkers back to Sydney. It took us from 11 to 5. We had many many stops, a few visits and meal breaks too, but fuck my bum is SORE.
• Fell off the back of the bike at very low speed due to gravel instability on a driveway. Got dragged a little - got a thigh bruise, some interesting bum bruises and a bit of a pulled bicep. Man who saw it told me to get new friend home and smack him round: country folk are so romantic.
• Very, very sore today.
• Very, very satisfied.

I am sending back the key that let me into Bluebeard’s study.
Because he would make love to me
I am sending back the key
In his eye’s darkroom I can see
My X-rayed heart; dissected body
I am sending back the key that let me into Bluebeard’s study.

- Sylvia Plath

Yes, I am sending back the key.

When she was a virgin, the girl’s brothers went away to war. Her father was a cruel man, emotionally cold: needing warmth but untouched by the brightest lights. After he died, there was noone to guide the girl in choosing a mate.

When Bluebeard came a-courting, her older sisters were wary. He was odd-looking (the girl found him interesting); he was eccentric (she found him charming); he was rumoured to have married before and murdered his wives (the girl thought there must be a rational explanation).

So, she married him (and her sisters we relieved it wasn’t their duty to marry this monstor). He took her to his castle, through the fog, across the moat and gave her the keys to every room. She was mistress now. Though he asked her to never, ever, go into his study.

Of course she respected this privacy. What maleficence could possibly go on inside this man’s private space? When he went away on business, and her sisters came to stay they taunted her about her right as mistress to enter each room. What had he to hide?

So she creeps up to the room, peers through the keyhole, breathes in and takes out her key. On openning the room, she sees the glorious horror of Bluebeard’s previous wives; executed, tortured, mutilated and adorning the room. She imagines herself punished with the same fate for her curiosity and mistrust, and is so shocked that she drops the key.

Though it is a small key, simple and brass, she can’t remove the blood staining it. She scrubs it with sand. She buries it to purify it under the moon. She hides it, but the blood soaks through, staining her hands, clothes, and betraying her loss of innocence.

Her betrayal, the knowledge gained, changes her. When Bluebeard returns, she is afraid of him instead of fascinated. She flees as he pursues her up each flight of stairs in the castle, until she locks herself into a room and he pounds on the door with a sword.

Miraculously, her two brothers return from the war and murder Bluebeard and the girl inherits every treasure of the castle.

The secrets of a cold man no longer interest me. The mystique of cruelty and aloofness can’t compare to the pleasure of my own imagination, my own company and my freedom to love. Not to possess sexually, but to love openly, unreservedly without shame or fear of falling, without recourse to safety nets and artificial devices of the heart.

The brothers who rescue me are the males in my head and my heart. When I am a wife, these brothers remain dormant. When I am a daughter to my mother, these brothers are absent. When I am a lover, I forget them. But when I call them by name, they will come because they are my brothers.

I need to talk now about my extrordinary birthday weekend.

It started with a celebratory mood at work as my birthday co-incided with the Easter holidays (4 days off!) and MONTH OF HELLISH CRAP beginning to taper off. We had a birthday lunch at a nice Indian restaurant on Thursday. W00t! I also bought myself a jasmine-scented solid shampoo from Lush to use at the gym.

Then on Friday, I did SFA all day long. So good. I stayed with Kal, and we hugged tight all night long despite the heat.

On Saturday, I woke up refreshed and we went out sailing! It was so nice, and fucking scary when the boat first lifted one side in the air. But after a while, I swapped from the tiller to trimming the mainsail, which gave me a greater sense of control and safety.

Afterwards, Kal and I had a bit of a fight, which was unfortunate. I think in large part it was lots of moon-related emotions and also about me coming into his space (sailing) which has always been a site of tension for us. So I’m happy that he loves it, and that he’ll invite me sometimes.

I went off after that to meet my family for coffee and dinner.

The next day was Sunday, and the official celebration began in earnest. DylanJ and Reuben picked me up in the gold Rolls Royce and I got THE FRONT SEAT. Wow. That’s love.

JR and HalfwayDecent trekked from Newcaslte to attend, which was brilliant. They gave me pink champers, a green pendant and STRIPEY SOCKS!

BB and JLo came and gave me a lovely scarf.

But the special present came from Nicky… (you don’t always get a present, but when you do, its a doozy). She couldn’t make it, but asked JR to carry along some photos she found of the fams when I was a bubby. There’s mum, and me, and little DJ in the tummy.

I admit I had a little cry when I saw them. They were uncovered on an undeveloped roll. These pics come at an interesting time for me because I was talking a lot to my psychologist about my parents and their troubled relationship. It was lovely to see photos of happiness and carefree times. I also noticed for the first time how much I look like my mum.

Dad called, and Gran called, and it was nice. They’re both sending cash… and I’m going to put it with my cash to buy a new ‘puter. Yummy.

On Monday night, Mum made chicken and chips - her signature dishes and we all ate till stuffed. Because Nicky couldn’t come, we made chip butties in rememberance of her (a bit like jesus would’ve wanted) but with chips and butter instead of wine.

On Tuesday, DylanJ and I went and vage VirginMobile the flick-o and got onto Vodafone and got new phones.

So here I am, a birthday week or so, and I’m happy as a pig in shit. Its been the best birthday since the one where I got a green cake when I was 2. The best bit is that I’m happy, I’ve got family and I love them. They love me. We get along. Its fucking awesome.

Today, I got 2 presents. My cat gave me a lizard (safely returned to wild after a brief struggle), and my mum gave me a vanilla-scented candle.

What lovely gifts!

I did not make it to Mardi Gras. But the work I was doing went really really well - even though it went a little later than expected. I sensibly opted to head home and rest instead of hurrying to make it to Mardi Gras. It was a good choice - I was quite wrecked today.

I crocheted most of the day.

I only ended up doing the housework about an hour ago (at 7), and have not yet done the vacuuming. Damn and blast it!

Anais Nin reported when she underwent psychoanalysis that she had less of a desire to dress ostentatiously. I am feeling a similar lack of need to blog about my feelings. It always happens when I am feeling better, my diaries suddenly go unfilled and then I later find myself scouring for answers as to what went wrong. But the answers aren’t there.

I believe that I should make efforts to keep blogging. I need the record, if for nothing else, then for my memoir. Tee hee! My life, so interesting to thee.

I have betrayed my mother. I talked about her in my psych sessions. I talked about how we relate, and the mother / daughter relationship we’ve wrought. Funnily enough, these talks have made me approach our relationship in a different way, with a lighter touch, perhaps. What will I talk about next week? I think it will be love. Kalypso and Kate…Souvarine (whom I have missed terribly of late); letting go, hanging on, continuity, and platonic love of my cat. Miao.

Tonight I spent the evening snuggling, giggling and confiding with  Moonbeam, Magical Moonbeam! Life, loves, bipolar, sex, meds, community and queeritude. So nice to nibble noodles and nuzzle with a friend.

I went to the GP today, and “yay!” no STDs for Anna! She asked how my BP is going, and I was happy to say “very well”. I am finding that going to the gym is working, and I’m going to start with my sister’s personal trainer (who is a very sweet person, oh yes). I am boxing, cycling, treading on the treadmill and doing weights. I feel amazing.

It looks up.

Ok, so this mate of mine is trying to contact me… and for some reason I don’t want him to. Its really not fair or reasonable. I will get into  contact, and override this feeling of repulsion, this feeling of wanting to let everyone just slip away from me.

But this is how it happens.

I told Kate that I wanted to make friends. She said “you’ve got friends”. Well, of course I do. But I don’t feel that. I don’t really take it seriously. I don’t really take it without suspicion, without strings.

And that’s how I end up without a support network. Because I either push everyone away, or I just can’t think to ask or who to ask when I really need it. I treat my friends and family like the easter bunny: I believe in them as an indulgence that can’t withstand the assault of reason.

I’ve always got by on the minimum support network possible. But now, its becoming less and less viable.

I’ve been reading this book, Bipolar and Pregnant, by Kristin Finn. She lives in a stable middle class marriage where she doesn’t need to work (her husband earns enough for both). Her mother was a nurse. She goes to church and reads the bible. She has a routine. She’s been diagnosed and medicated since her teens. Her family and doctors constantly watch her for any signs of “hypomanic excess”, and confront her accordingly. She takes their advice.

Kristin Finn is so far from me.

I don’t have a support network like that. I don’t have all these cultural markers on what is “normal” behavior.

— correction —

Its not that I don’t have people around me who care. Its that I always push them away. Its not that there aren’t people who will give me good advice, its that I don’t take it.

As I’ve said over and over, my family have always been there for me, even when I’m a bitch.

What Kristin Finn has that I don’t is culture: the bible doesn’t tell me when to be good.

Yesterday I met Kate’s family. Really, they were quite nice. In fact, I liked them! They treated me with a friendliness and respect that I’m happy to receive (even though I was feeling disaffected, discordant and distant).

We met over a garage sale of her grandma’s. Lovely old sets of china and ceramic. Collectors perfume bottles. Fantastic vinyl LPs - “An Accordian In Paris” among others!

I loved it, and hussled like a salesman on commission. I think I netted about $4!

I met the mum (lovely), the aunts (lovely), the cousin from Melbourne (lovely and interesting coz she makes clothes) and her gorgeous baby. I got a cuddle from baby, but it didn’t last long: she wanted to play with me, not cuddle with me. C’est la vie. I was happy that Gradma approved my job.

Despite all that good feeling, I still longed to be alone. Such a shame! I could’ve seen myself enjoying it more.

You sent me a text message to tell me not to come home this weekend.

But I did, to find you gone. I had to shower and change my clothes. Also, all the while I was gone, I longed for home. Home, to be home, to be at rest and peace, to be alone.

I notice you bought rice milk, and that its gluten-free.