Goals and the f-word.

So this time of year often yields comments like, "what are your plans? Where do you think you'll be this time next year?" Newsflash, I don't have 2020 vision! My glasses are for function, not form. ;)

That said, whilst thinking about where I will be this time next year terrifies me, thinking ahead is exciting! This year is my last year of uni, thank gosh. Hopefully I get a job at the end of this, the optimist in me wants to reassure myself, but the realist knows the facts. They aren't in my favour! I will remain confident and hopeful, and pray I get a job. My five year plan depends on my having a full-time job in the not-too distant future.

Speaking of five year plans, mine is exciting! I always said Spawn and I will have conquered each state and territory in Australia by the time he's 10 and the only state we haven't been to is Tasmania. We are hoping to do that next Summer, so pray for my savings! There are also other goals, including relocating out of Geelong (again), hoping Spawn gets his letter from Hogwarts next year, and then heading overseas! I really want to take Spawn to London for his 11th birthday, Harry Potter fans will understand why. Then we would duck over to Iceland, because that country is truly amazing and I need my fix. 😍 I'm also hoping to have a permanent contract in a school by 2024, so I can commence postgrad studies in 2025. Yes, I'm a sucker for punishment! Lord knows why I'm already planning thesis life, when I haven't even finished undergraduate studies. Wait, I know. Its because I'm crazy.

So contradictory, to be afraid of the next twelve months, yet excited for the next five years! Uni life has that affect, I suppose. I'm so comfortable being a student, I've been once for six of the past seven years. It's going to be a shock returning to full-time employment, yet I am so ready for it! My brain hurts. I'm sick of sitting in lectures, over reading dry material, done with academic writing. I neeeeeeed the mundane life associated with working, and I need it now!

So yeah, that's me. Planning years of travel, even though my bank account is down to cents.

Peace out.

- L. x

Words of Wisdom.

Note to self:
I am allowed to cry.
I am allowed to scream.
But... I am not allowed to give up.
It will all get done somehow; just breathe.

Nobody ever said parenting is easy. Actually, I'm pretty sure I was told repeatedly prior to entering motherhood that parenting is one of the hardest things I'd ever do. Still, I never expected it to be THIS difficult. I'm not much of a drinker (thank you binge-drinking teenage self!), yet I find myself constantly craving a glass of red, or a shot of tequila - pretty much anything that will take the edge off and let me cut loose for a minute or so.

But alas, that would require spending money on myself. And doing so results in mummy guilt, because Lord forbid I spend even a few dollars on myself!! :/
Mummy guilt is one of the worst things ever! Seriously, parenting is hard enough! Why do we torture ourselves by neglecting our basic need to feel good??!

Diagnosis is one step closer to completion....whatever the diagnosis may be. Spawn's school psychologist did this test that shows what a child MAY have. Spawn has markers for so many behavioural disorders! Some of which weren't a surprise - namely ADHD and ODD - however, to learn he scored so high in some areas was a bit of an eye-opener. How do I deal with this?? How HAVE I been dealing with this??!! Then I take note of myself and realise exactly how I've been dealing with it. By neglecting myself. From my neglected hair, to my neglected nails, right down to my faded old clothes and bad skin. Don't forget my weight. Jesus, my weight. I've cracked 100kg since the diagnosis process began. I hovered there for a little while previously, but had never actually cracked that satanic figure - until now. You'd think it would be motivation enough to kickstart me into doing something to lose the weight, but I lack the ability to care.

That's the thing about depression - you stop CARING. About EVERYTHING. I don't care that my hair looks like crap. I don't care that my skin is horrible. I don't care that I appear unapproachable and bitchy. I don't care that I cannot remember the last time I wore mascara (quite a feat considering I would NEVER have left the house without it even a couple of years ago!). I just DON'T. CARE. Which is the truly terrible thing about it all. Spawn has all he needs, and that's all that matters. Well, that appears to be the thought process inside my head. But he doesn't really have all he needs, because his mother - his ONLY parent - is a shell of a human. A large, ugly shell, who cannot remember the last time she truly felt happy.

I propose a resolution: let us all resolve to change things. Put ourselves above our child's possessions. Because really, what is the point in having a bunch of toys if your parents wont get down on the floor and laugh and play with you?

Peace out.

- L. x