Memories: 13 December 2023

13 December 2023

Holy shit! I just got slugged $97 for dry cleaning of my three corsets. $32 each FFS. If I had been informed ahead of time it was going to be that expensive I would have only cleaned one at a time.

Oh well…clean corsets..there will be dancing on Friday night!

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So crazy fucked up thing number two: I am driving with rather intense focus to my psychiatrist appointment (my regular two weekly debrief!) I am raw and emotional having just finished a vlog of my usual readings of even date and also having upset myself over the ending of a new friendship and or what I hoped (stupid Tanya Stupid!) was a blossoming romance with someone.

Feeling distressed at the psychological warfare games that men constantly play with me every single time I am seriously considering a sexual partnership with them. It’s evil and fucked..but it is what it is.

So I am driving up Main Street opposite of where the entrance to the cemetery is (because my god and protector Papa Legba whom I invoked to help me let go of that long dead stale and cruel connection) has a mischievous sense of humour and cosmic comic Timing!) Thanks Papa…I think.

I stop at a red light and get this sense of being watched. I know it’s someone I used to love deeply as it soaked over my auric field like a warm sludgy bath. Almost hesitant to look, I glance into the rear vision mirror. To my astonishment and horror I see Dave in a brand new four wheel drive Jeep staring back at me from behind his steering wheel!

So feeling both enraged and a tad bemused I give him the middle finger salute, then crank up the song playing on my radio to full volume! “Jesse’s Girl” which was belting out “Where can you find a woman like that?” I almost had to laugh. I mean it would be funny if it weren’t so epically callow and cruel how after all these years, I still get hunted and haunted by that man.

Anyway I dance in my seat to the rest of the song thinking ‘fuck you…fuck off…you never should have ever fucked with The Tanya as she deserved so much better! A true real enduring safe love partnership. Not these epic fucking hollow men, hungry ghosts and npc ghouls!’

The lights change and I drive off like Sterling Moss on acid, and on my last nerve.

Thanks universe for the ride you are having at my expense. Funny. Not!

Today is also my mother in law Hilda’s secular birthday (which falls on the third candle of Chanukah) and for some fucked up reason that makes no sense to anyone, I often cross paths with that demon ridden entity Dave at Christmas time.

(‘Es not just for life, e’s for Christmas…innit) the gift that keeps giving. Usually when one of my pets has died. Well we never celebrated Christmas or Chanukah together so I do not know how he became the holiday Trinidad faery literally from Hell.

Anyway another silly season writhing in emotional agony and in my own timeworn hell created since the early childhood wounding!

But by the gods, I have my clean corsets and I will be dancing wildly and triumphantly and it’s going to be epic and wonderful and wild and carefree and all the sadists can just sit back down and wallow in their shit of their own making, as Mama T will fly!

Freedom! Joy! Full vibrant life force! Manifestations of bliss and sensuality. Hope, that haggard liar. And other things that I might unfurl in my Dance!

13 December 2022

I am at Carindale shopping centre…you guessed it…chasing Chanukah candles. None in Coles. I tried emailing Chabad House. It says the email link is broken. I tried calling Rabbi (name redacted!) A strange generic answering machine that does not state if it’s Chabad House? And the memory is full.

Is there a functioning Jewish community still in Brisbane? Like seriously. The Chabad stall at Carindale is tiny and shoved in an alley leading to Santa House. Santa’s house gets much more traffic and kudos but it is always the way in an apocalypse.

The old pagan gods would die laughing but the Jew in me is a tad outraged at the subtle antisemitism as there are no Chanukah candles to be had.

Dear Sally …this is not a hint or a request for candles…I am still very grateful for the gorgeous ones you bought me last year!

I am just astonished that we Jews in Brisbane …in particular we marginalised ones who don’t have a shule to buy candles from, are having to struggle to obtain them. It’s insane. But it is what it is.

Of greater concern is that Chabad House has an entire website and phone number and is no longer contactable.

Does anyone know if Rabbi (name redacted) is alive and well and still functioning as a Rabbi here in Brisbane? It’s a tad alarming.

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On a happier note: this time of year is intensely triggering for me and I have acquired my usual Chrismukkah depression that is intensified by: the huge increase in the cost of food, the inability to buy Chanukah candles, my usual failures to thrive or achieve basic things. Yada yada that’s all folks.

I am going to see my psychiatrist in person for my debrief tomorrow. It is the first time in two years so will have seen him. So I will be pleased to Lock eyes with him again.

Also today at Carindale shopping centre I received two lovely compliments. A lady in the Terry White pharmacy commented on my blue copper cuff. She loved it. I told her I made it myself and referred her to my instagram.

Now I feel inspired to make some more like that one as I was told it was too big and chunky and no one would want one. So here is the proof! A woman thought it was lovely. She liked the blue colours.

Then I went into a gift shop that used to be owned by a Jewish man from our community, hoping that they might sell Chanukah candles. (I didn’t know the shop had been sold 9 years ago). The young man working there complimented me on my flower in my hair. Very sweet!

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12:56 am. Yesterday was a very productive day although I failed to melt the silver for my Yoda mould so that was upsetting but I am excited that I have learned a new skill and confidant that I can improve on it (when I can afford more sterling silver or fine silver granules I will try it again). I put the mould aside for now.

A lovely refreshing storm had just finished blowing through. I feel much better now the humidity has been lifted. But it’s time to sleep.

Happy secular birthday to my mother in law Hilda Arons who passed away in 1988.

I look forward to new magical delights unfolding for me.

Good night/Laila Tov and much love from me to the multiverses and back again to Malchut. (The ground I walk on, on planet earth!) in the meantime I have an appointment with the astral!

13 December 2021

I watched “1917”. A stunningly poignant, brilliant movie. It came highly recommended by Thomas Sheridan. It is indeed powerful.

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11.24 am finally out of bed. I had a hectic few days. Creativity overload…like a driven possessed demon. I felt very mentally unwell. Not good at all. I pushed through the angst by working working working.

Yesterday I drilled odd mother of pearl earrings, broken ones. I carved out the earring holes so I can re-use them as inlays in timber. I found a cute butterfly one that had one top corner smashed so I cut both wings so it could be “rescued” as an inlay piece.

Then I got some sterling silver and made a few jumprings, and four sets of shepherds hooks. Making these by hand is time consuming but satisfying.

I found two matching MOP earrings so I put silver jumprings and silver hooks on them. I also made another pair of matching ones with silver.

The hours flew by and by now I had some aggravated depression caused by fatigue but I pushed and pushed through it.

Around 5 pm I started cutting out a beautiful wooden “grimoir” I made a few years ago with glow in the dark resin. I wanted to inlay the butterfly as a centrepiece and make the carvings slightly bigger for more resin as I was not completely happy with it.

After 9 pm I quit working on it as the dremel thingy is loud and poor Charlie could not rest.

I went and sat on the couch but my mind was racing and I was overstimulated. I watched a movie that was traumatic but also too stimulating.

I was tempted to drag the piece of wood into the living room and keep working on it but I forced myself to relax as I was in a strange headspace and feared my tipping point.

Then of course, I went to bed and could not settle down to sleep. Fuck!

Then I woke up fully around 1 am and saw my “memories” and realised…it’s my usual Christmas time agonies…nothing new…same old triggers. Yuck. After two decades of therapy you would think I would overcome them by now.

So I spent the next hour and a half copying them across to Vocal media so I can preserve my writings, my memories and who knows, some wretched soul might learn from my experiential journey to wholeness. It’s only taken me 56 and a half years.

This afternoon I am going to visit Lyn and have a lovely swim. Water will Settle down my meridians. Water and the comfort of good friends.

In the meantime I need to keep working on that grimoire timber. I want it finished today if humanly possible.

Happiness is making things with the resources you have: spiritual, mental and physical and turning shit to spiritual gold. Like a Phoenix rising. Dust to dust, ashes to ashes, but up She rises: ready to fly again.

13 December 2020

Wild weather this morning. Lots of rain and wind. But much cooler and a respite from weeks of heatwave and drought. I feel exhausted as I have been overdoing the art crafty meshugass.

I feel cracked and discombobulated...hanging on the edge of a precipice by my toes. Or teeth.

But all good. It’s a gorgeous day in spite of the wildness and what does The Tanya love best?

13 December 2019

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Here She Blows.....Rainnnnnnnn. Yehawwww

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Feeling restless! Storm building. Got dressed, ready to go for a coffee at Amanda’s but Charlie has climbed high in the frangipane tree and I couldn’t get the little buggar to come down. So I can’t go out now as I worry he will get hurt in the storm.

My energies are twanging all over the place. I just want to run amok! On top of it, it’s boiling hot. Grrr.

So I am sitting in front of a fan, waiting for Charlie to come down and for my life to settle down.

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13 December 2018

I just remembered it is also soon my dear friend’s secular birthday. Sylvia Shine. The woman who arranged for me to meet my husband. She later apologised to me as she had wanted me to have a good safe loving life and had no idea what a disaster it would become.

I quickly forgave her. Without her, I would not have had Crystal and Jasmine or the few years of financial stability if not a true love I had in early adulthood. Such is life. Some things come down to Fate.

She was very supportive of me throughout the years. A good kind woman. My wild redheaded cockney Orthodox Jewish English rose.

I often come across her loving supportive comments in my Facebook memories and it always brings her near to me as though we are not separated by death or time or space.

Love, my friends, good kind strong authentic love, is eternal.

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Happy (secular!) Birthday Hilda (Hinda) Arons.

I have many fond memories of you although you have been gone for 30 years.

The sweet way you tried to mother me when I was so sick with bronchitis. Stirring up a cup of warm milk butterrrrr and honey to soothe my cough and warm the cockles of my soul.

The indignant disgust that I refused to eat your much be-laboured gefilte fish. “What kind of Jew doesn’t eat fish?!” This one, Mum, this one!

The way you were so bemused and matter of fact about Herschel haunting you for several months after his death, appearing at your bedside as a much younger man in his early 30s (his prime!) demanding sex! Of all things!

How we laughed about that! I explained to her that spirits often come to us in their best version of themselves, perhaps when they were happiest in their life. So a handsome sexy 30 year old was to be quite expected!

She ran her hands over her head. Gevalt. Enough already! And giggled with her deep deep dimples, girlishly. “You have the right to say No, Mum ...even now!” I giggled too. Men, dreying us on the kop even after death. True love? Or pestilential Stalkers? Who knows for sure.

She got angry and would not let me breast feed Crystal in Harry’s big leather lazy boy chair lest the Dybbuk might possess the infant. Fair enough. I was seeking connection and comfort but we (the women in my family) had been possessed by enough dybbukim for several lifetimes so, nu? Genug, already.

I thought the loss of her husband had sent her a tad psychotic but alas no. I made her a cup of tea, leaving baby Crystal with Hilda on her bed, and sure enough, witnessed with my own eyes, that big old chair, rocking by itself.

Far out! I nodded in his direction. “All right Mr Arons, I am just making a cup of tea, you carry on”. The chair kept rocking but there was a kind of sparkly energy to it, like when his eyes used to light up with mischief.

“Oh and try not to scare Mum with your demands for sex, you know she is not that into you?!” I giggled. A bit shaken.

The demands for sex stopped but the old chair rocked for a few more months until I suppose he finally transitioned into a better place.

Powerful spirits, my parents in law. Of course my own line were also powerful spirits. Powerful and extremely controlling. HaShem but it was hard to break their grip on me. Love is a powerful thing.

Even my former lovers or admirers have trawled past me all year. Like watching those ducks in a circus shooting gallery. Only, I can only blow them up in my mind but some were sweet but feckless so they keep showing up and I keep observing them as they run past me, begging my acknowledgement like the Lost Boys they really truly are.

What do they want from The Tanya?! My soul. My life blood. My Joy and my love. Run along, little boys, nothing to see here. You had your moments of ecstasy, burning in my sexual heat. Then threw me aside like bad karma. Lmao!

No seconds or in some cases thirds, for you. Burn baby burn. Mama T is back in her own sexual power after years of celibacy. She is saving it for a man less foul and stingy and faithless, as you scabby lot.

My ancient “mothers” have my back in a way my mother, sister and even Hilda never did.

Hilda wanted me to submit to abuse for a quiet easy life but I chose my own freedom and innate happiness that were kept from me for decades by oppression, poverty and so so much abuse. I.Do.Not.Submit!

But Hilda... here I am. I kept my promise to you and Harry. I raised your grandkids jewish and they are strong independent fine women. I raised myself too. I like who I am now.

Proud of my tiny fractalised achievements. My survival to thrival. Proud of my heart. Proud of my mind. Letting life bless me and learning to let go of those souls that did not have my back.

Life is a cabaret, old chum. Might as well keep dancing. Playing, loving and Becoming.

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Lawnmower man been and gone. Place looks nice. I now have $7 to my name until Tuesday. I had to ring Youi to defer my outgoing debit due today until Tuesday. Phew! Lucky!

It’s a stinking hot day. So I am relaxing by staying out of the heat and watching tv.

13 December 2017

11:11 pm . What does this all mean? I am being gifted with signs and portents and most of all, love! Thank you, G-d!

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Watching “The Danish Girl”. Marvellous!

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Crystal is coming back to Brisbane in 4 weeks. So excited! I may not see her for a while but at least I’ll know she is back home, safe again.

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I had a lovely afternoon with Jenny out in the garden. Even though we sat under the sun umbrella we both got a bit sunburnt. Oops. We had afternoon tea. Pavlova and donuts. Lots of chats and cuddles with Charlie and Bobo.

Clarry came a day early to mow the lawns which looks great now!

I also had a nice time with Jarrod on Monday, practising ukelele! We went to Miss India for dinner just before closing time so the lovely lady gave me free 2 samosas and a pakora. Very spoilt.

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2nd night of Chanukah. Alas poor Tanya, we knew her well but in her denigration and poverty she failed to purchase candles.

Please light the flames of freedom from Oppression/suppression/depression/poverty/ loneliness/ marginalisation and pray that the Holy One blesses me with a glorious and beautiful future.

A flame of the heart, sealed and kissed and endowed from the mind, sponsored and mollified and bestowed in this body that craves true love, fealty and honour and intimacy like a drug that cannot be consumed by the fires of hell and obliteration.

Have mercy and compassion for the burnt out husk of The Tanya. Forgive her inability to thrive in a world that is so corrupt and salacious and cowardly.

Thank you to the humans and gods that love me no matter what or how far I have fallen from the edification of your Name, which is emblazoned on my left arm (next to my heart) like the Tefillin a jewish man dons each and every morning (except Shabbat) swearing allegiance to the Holy One, the Ein Sof Aur that comes to us in Light and Might and smites our enemies: nightmares, failures, complex ptsd and blesses those who never quit believing in goodness and purity, even while we stumble and crumble in the dirt.

Love me: the lost and broken and forgotten. The abandoned, rejected and dejected. The lonely one who cleaves to her Beloveds like a limpit on a storm-tossed rock. Stoic. Stupid. Sublime. Or should that be Subliminal?

Whom is running this show? This calamitous cacophonous speakeasy of The Tanya?

No idea but here we go!

Love me. Leave me and go forth and prosper but look back at me and remember who showed the way from the garden of eden and followed the river of Styx from the house of bricks into the house of timber that belonged to the land and the country but housed the sick and disturbed Tanya and healed her in a slow and burdensome process but here we go!

Formi-fucking-dable!

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1:11 pm. On my microwave clock. My iPhone says 1.07pm. Hmmm.

Next year is gonna be huge for me. I am a Master number 11 and 2018 makes 11. Perhaps I will finally get a break from the universe as I will be synched up with the cosmic vibe (ok ok Gregorian/Christian vibe). But that energy of mastery and mystery remains, regardless of the calendar in vogue!

I pray the gods bless me with all my dearest dreams manifesting in a positive benevolent life-enhancing way. I will be 53 (number 8. So 8/11 hmmm makes 10 which makes 1. Hmmm. Still a powerful omen to live under from April on.

Oh and 1/1/2018 equals 11 11. I should buy a lotto that day. It is gonna be a very powerful day! Hold on to your wollene gutkes (itchy scratchy woollen knickers). It’s gonna be a soaring take off into the stars (Love, success, happiness). To infinity and beyond!

Update 13 Dec 2018: It has been a good year indeed. Very powerful. Like a jet engine powering up preparing for a flight. Lots of people leaving my life but lots of new people encountered too. I am inviting people who are more on my wave-length. Finding more and more people catching onto my vibe. Feeling less alone in a crazy world.

I had some scary weeks with gallstone attacks and nerve pain early in the year but that seems to have settled down in the past few months. (On waiting list for gallstone surgery and waiting for another colonoscopy).

But life keeps marching on and I have loved going back to Ecstatic Dance. I am maintaining my own power as a woman. Loving life in spite of my many foibles, and soul sucking whirlpools and stargazing leaps of faith.

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13 December 2016

Decluttering efforts: 2 huge teddy bears and a sheepskin dog. Donated to Salvation Army.

1 theatre system.

1 keyboard and mouse.

The house is feeling lighter already. I still need to smudge and salt my place.

I pinched a nerve in my lower back so have had a hot shower and am retiring for the night.

13 December 2015

Trigger warning: csa, suicide

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My entire life I was frequently told I was useless (by my former husband who 2 weeks into my marriage offered my mother to "take me back" which she gleefully delighted in telling me), stupid or insane (by my mother/father), fat and ugly ( again, husband), boyfriends/lovers tried to kill me...literally. Many many women friends damaged or betrayed me.

So I have reached the conclusion that either I was born lucky, or I have something very precious going on that people either want for themselves or have tried either to imitate or immolate. What it is, I may never know. Purity? Light? Courage? Love? Jumbled up with fury and confusion and occasionally hate?

Forgive myself? For being a beautiful little girl and now a wild woman who knows she deserved (and always will deserve the best that Life has/had to offer). For still trying to make it. Be it. Do it. Overcome it. For living through it, past it, over it, getting around it but always to find another wall. Higher than before?

Then in true Tanya-style (Aries here). Punching a hole in that wall and skinny dipping and surfing in the deluge that seeps through the puncture.

Not drowning but waving...then landing ignominiously on some embankment, breathing gasping sucking the last vestiges of hope and truth and love (cccchhhhpit! Hack hack cough) then up and running on nothing but hopes and dreams while un-a-ravelling (a stitch in time saves nine) but the Angels have my back so I pull myself together by my invisible silver thread and on it goes, endless waves of sturm and drang, songs sung blue and loony tunes.

If my life couldn't get any weirder "They" make a mockery of everything I say, live for, dream of. They being "the universe".

Whoopie Goldberg starring as G-d. Sshhh. Don't tell her! That woman is wayyy too opinionated. Funny, savvy but annoying as hell.

However I have always liked the idea that G-d is a woman and she is Black. That is how I used to confront my fundaMENTAList Christian friends in my youth. They were racist homo-xenophobes.

The idea that God was a black women and that Jesus was a Semitic (dark brown) Jew used to make them berserk. I rather enjoyed that. Oops sorry. Forgive me. I digress on the Woemin's Digress that is/was my life.

Happy Chanukah/Merry Christmas/peace on earth and in the upper worlds. A star is dying but a new one is being born. Crash clang bam, go the Sephirot. Oops, the sperm met the zygote in a pocket full of crazy and made Me.

To Gisela and David. Thanks for everything. Or not, as the Cees may be. Gisela, David, Angela, Grant, Trevor, Cornelis "Cees", and last but not least Buck Scherer. My authority figures. Fuck you all!

Oh then let me see...Gila, Terry, David Davidson. The Scherer sisters. I hope you all rot in hell.

Now for some happy thoughts. I am alive. I am relatively sane. I am happy. In spite of those afore-mentioned people. I forgive you all. Not because you deserve it, but because you, with your epic greed, cruelty and salacious lust and lies, paedophiles, and in the case of the latter men, misogyny. Did I mention Greed???? They all worked together to destroy me. They all Hoped I would just die.

So now what? What? What, why, when, if not now, how long must I wait? For Godot? For a piece of string to tie them in a knot. To untie my attachments to their evil crimes.

Parry and thrust. In G-d I trust. A G-d who bestowed greatness upon me. At what cost? Unimaginable priceless cost. You can't bottle it, buy it or sell it. They all tried. As my true love (unrequited) once told me, I am rich in Spirit. It is enough. I am enough. I matter.

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My comment from earlier today. A trigger. I realise that I repeat the same veignette over and over. There are so many other examples from my life but that one was the most powerful. I had never before felt powerful over my abuser(s) and never before had I had validation (back-up) from another adult. In that case, Mrs Robertson:

This is why I (perhaps prematurely!) referred to the rabbi as a troll. His "science" is flawed. While much older children (10-12 year olds) or teenagers may be able to yell No and either throw something or run like hell, the imbalance of power in the child's family home makes fighting off a pernicious offender rather hopeless.

“I myself vividly remember at 10, while visiting my birthplace and literally being stalked by my paedophile godfather at my friend's home in Island Bay (where my mother sent me from Melbourne for the summer school holidays as I was desperately homesick for my friend Lynne and "Home", pushing Trevor backwards down a small step that led from their kitchen to living room. He fell backwards on his behind.

Instead of me being punished for pushing an adult and close family friend over, my host and beloved second mother Mrs Robertson asked him to leave. She too, had noticed his constant visits and demands to take me on outings to have alone time with me.

To be fair he was not sexually abusing me at that age (he had already done so 4 years earlier) but I was not going to go there again. (Which provoked my violence and aggression to gain space from him). Did it end? No!

He persisted in visiting me even when we moved back to Wellington when I was 12 going on 13 for high school. He bought me a horse when I was 14. (A ploy to have a shared experience with me as an excuse for ongoing contact).

I was fêted like a Courtesan, dressed beyond my age and basically trained by my core family to live in a world of men's desires and men's wishes. I barely had an identity of my own. What I did have left: I had to fight for. Survival.

Whilst his particular sexual abuse ended for me when I was almost 8 after I literally fought to avoid alone time with him (learnt to say No without actually saying it) it was fraught and difficult. My mother exacerbated the situation by getting violent with me when I begged to leave the house and go 3 doors up to the Robertson's.

I knew no safety other than that as a child. Without Mrs Robertson's unconditional love and meagre attempts to hide or protect me (she feared my mother almost as much as I did) I would have suicided as a young teenager.

So forgive my rage and passion when so-called experts try to blanket the on-going fire that is child abuse with ridiculous ideas that are rarely helpful in real life situations. The one child they use as an example that said No and stopped the abuse, possibly went quietly (or not so quietly) insane with trauma as I did and the adult in question became afraid he would be exposed. Lucky kid.

I was not so lucky.

So I speak for the thousands of kids each year who cry, vomit, self-harm, become volatile, scream No in a thousand different ways but are not heard. Not even by health professionals”

End of rant.

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I really should stop advocating for survivors like me, of child sexual abuse. It makes me feel suicidal to dredge up my past memories. Bottom line: no one gives a fuck.

They make ad homily solutions that are unrealistic (as in Jewish task force in Victoria) or demonise me as insane or obnoxious when I speak my truth from my own experiences or delete my comments. This shit kills me.

To be almost 51 years old and to live in a world of platitudes, and/or ignorance makes me ponder what did I survive for. Nothing ever really changes. Only a few brave souls have the guts to fight the ongoing abuses.

I didn't die on 22 August and there will be many who wished I had, with my out-spoken defense of the underdog. What to do? I have merely survived at times, if only as an act of rebellion. I almost died as an act of rebellion at systemic abuse by the Qld Police and casino.

To die or not to die. To live or not to live. I died a long long time ago. But my heart went on. I kept living for the hope of children, then for grandchildren I shall never see, then for myself then for the Hope of a better safer world.

I live my idealistic psychedelic dream. On a wish and a prayer, a spit and a polish. To fuck or fight my way in a man's world. None of that for a long time now. Perhaps that is what is wrong with me.

Anyway, off to Byron Bay tomorrow with my beloved friend Jarrod. He is one of the very very few people in my life who has stayed true and who gets me as a person.

Lucky blessed woman to have such good friends in my life.

I keep thinking of famous female writers. (successful published ones). Like Virginia Woolf and Sylvia Plath who suicided with all their success inside them.

What is my only success, happiness? Survival. Beautiful grown daughters who have long ago outgrown me. My garden. My pets. My few close loyal loving friends.

What else? Functioning brain, heart and lungs even if trauma has messed up my stomach and bowels. Not much asthma this year but OSA is enough to deal with. My body has over-ridden certain illnesses to keep me alive...for what? To what vainglorious mediocre end?

Probably Alzheimers like my mother. Scary prospect. But then my father, my progenitor is still running around at almost 87. What if I live to be really old?? What cruel hell would that be? To live in trauma and depression another 30 or 40 years.

Can I really be that selfish? To inflict my cosmic signature on this existence for another 30 or 40 years. I don't even want this. But some Angel with a bent sense of humour keeps me going. I wonder...why?

The eternal why to which the answer is always Because. I am so tired of because. Be Cause. Causation after effect. Blunt affect, death-like repose, the sleeping beauty gets happy and dances herself to death in her red shoes.

But on the way to Oblivion she respires, inspires, requires, enquires and conspires, to kick-start the throttled mottled throttle of her personal Bike! (Take a Hike!). My bike, my like, my psyche.

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Beauregard says: mama's been cray-cray today but I still lovez her!

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Eating toast with hummus and drinking tea. The puppy loves are up for the count. Socks is most displeased but I gave him a bowl of milk to comfort him in his puppy-sequel pathos. So now he is smugly licking his lips and paws on my dining table. Spoilt bratty cat, but adorable. First time he has been home during the day for a while. He is reclaiming his space at Sacred Space. Loves his Mama Tanya.

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Eating pasta salad, with mushrooms, tomato, feta, snap peas, Lebanese cucumber and balsamic vinegar. Made by moi! Drinking wine. Calming the fuck down. No Valium in my house. For nefarious reasons. I don't need to somatise myself out of my wits. I have a wonderful life with my garden and pets. Now!

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Socks stayed home with De Mama today. He doesn't like the smell of wine though but ate a tiny piece of feta cheese. He likes to be roll in' wiv de human homies. Aka eat my food.

I caught him face down bottom up in my salad but relented by giving him a bit of feta. It might have still had pussy breath on it. Lucky I am not squeamish.

They all had their Advantix/advocate and worming last night. So it won't kill me if we eat from my bowl, even if it did give me a pause for thought!

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I am now in the hammock with the puppy (who has had an attack of the savage wolf that is latent in all dogs). Just calming down. Phew. Finishing off the wine. 3rd glass not too bad, then gonna watch Netflix movies. I have settled down inside my brain. Bit scary a few hours ago. I know, crazy chickie. But I wouldn't want me any other way.

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10.43 pm I am feeling much better after my afternoon of mad bellyaching PTSD triggered memories that lead nowhere but down a dark empty spiral to hell. I have had some wine, some lovely chats with my lovely friends, some epic cuddles from the cats and Beauregard.

Tomorrow I will be in a Byron Bay state of mind. Already feeling the zen zone inspiring my brain circuits. Fresh salt water, waves, sun, and the beautiful spiritual ley lines, Closest thing to heaven I can get without actually dying. I am so glad to be going.

Another day, a one day holiday from my mundaneity and slowly rotting membranes. I will be feeling refreshed and happy.

I am now in bed with Miss Penny (who I found in my bed already waiting for me). Little Beau is in his crate. He didn't want to go to his bed until he had peed outside and had a little diabolical twirl of frenzy for another minute, but he has settled down to sleep now. Such a good puppy dog.

I have lit the last 8 candles for Chanukah. Asked hashem for my usual request (20 years of waiting for that one to be answered but you never know, one day I just might be lucky and get it). Now to watch a movie then sleep.

Laila Tov. xxx from Sacred Space.

13 December 2014

I had a great night out last night with Karen, who is coming to stay over tonight so we will be out again.

I didn't wind down or get to sleep until 7 am and I woke up at 10.30 am then 1.30 am. Super-charged.

I am also madly in love (unrequited as usual) but I am loving the intense beautiful emotions. I need to move forward but I seem to not want to. It's both frustrating and awesome.

Mind you, I once spent 5 years in love with a cruel vicious psychopath and he fucked my mind that whole time, knowing I was unwell and vulnerable.

This guy is different. In that, he is honest with me, he is "fence sitting" and he doesn't know how to handle me.

I have been very honest with him about myself, laid myself bare and presented my white soft jugular.

So far, he has remained calm, accepting but detached yet does not discourage my attention.

This inspires me in so many ways.

13 December 2011

1.11am make a wish! LOL. I wish for ..... a happy new life!

And other cool stuff I'm not telling so I can be sure it comes true! Night! DreamTime!

…

Home from dinner at Gail’s. Morroccan Lamb Hot Pot to celebrate Lucy’s birthday. Lucy gave Gail a liqueur she got as a present from a Judge at the Drug court called “Lock up!” Gail shared it with me. It tasted nice, like a wine liqueur.

I rang Trish and told her I’d come to the clubhouse on Friday night as I’ve been distressed with the failed mediation so I need to feel like I’m living my best life and hopefully I’ll pick up a nice fella. We laughed!

She said she’ll be there on Friday night if it’s definitely on and she’d let me know by text if it’s cancelled. I told her I’d let Tina and Doug know that it’s on.

I hope I meet someone I fancy on Friday night - the storm made me horny again. Lol! I want to have wild passionate sex! Soon! Lol.

Copyright Tanya Désirée Arons