inhale, exhale.

i'm waiting, in the staffroom. male voices drift down the corridor. laughter, friendly tones. can't be him, he's a dingbat. the dots between the hour and the minutes on the digital clock on the wall flash red. i will my heartbeat to slow to sync with it. with all my determination i beg, plead with my body to stop having physical anxiety reactions to this situation. i think of you, dear blog, and how i will write here later. 


new techique: i mantra myself. with every inhale (1, 2, 3), i tell myself: i cannot control what he says. and with every exhale (1, 2, 3): i can only control my reaction. i notice every person walking past, i perk up. perhaps this is him. i look at my documents. fifteen minutes plod by. i grow impatient. heartrate quickens once more. i cannot control what he says. i can only control my reaction. i cannot control what he says. i can only control my reaction.  


finally, his young secretary beckons me. it is time. a long corridor, but not wooden floors - no isolating echo as i walk, like you would imagine. just a quiet plod plod plod on the ugly red carpet. i reach the boardroom table. he sits with his sidekick, we'll call him smee. smee is smiley, dingbat tight-lipped. but that's ok. they are not my enemy. they ask me to talk. i cannot control what he says. i can only control my reaction. i ask where from, they say the beginning. and so i do. very stilted, trying to find the exactly perfect words, strings of words, sentences. it is laborious. i choke up. my heart is no longer in my chest, but firmly lodged in my throat. i swallow down hard. encourage it to descend to its proper place. after a minute, it does. i continue to tell my story. they already know everything: i am interrupted.


they say it wasn't enough - it wasn't quite enough. i need a letter from a doctor or a counsellor, to say i'm fit to try again. ridiculous, i think to myself, but fine, fine i'll do that. of course, they cannot commit to my successful readmission, only to "reassess". ok, good enough. i force a smile. i like concrete advice, but this will do. they repeat their conditions once more. i pretend to listen and care. it is that simple. it is done with, it is over.


i leave, a little lighter than before. down two flights of stairs, greeted by my handsome husband. it's all good, i say, it's not over yet. he smiles, relieved. i relive, repeat, all i can remember. we are both satisfied.


now i might need to throw back one of these. 
not that i plan to take up drinking - i more just love how the tumbler skews the stovetop.


the experience was not so stressful, they were on my side and i left feeling positive. but these sorts of things tend to build up very quickly for me, and in the two or so hours i allowed myself to build it up - well, girlfriend fills whatever space she is given. i'm calm now, and collected. they are asking reasonable things of me. and i will deliver.

first on next week's agenda? get that letter! (say it like you might say, "follow that car!" as you jump into a taxi and gear up for a high-speed chase, and the driver looks back at you like, "what?" and you're all like, "dude, just drive!").

and now for something completely different. a brief photo interlude. theme: things that make me feel that i am home. home, and oh-so-happy to be there. because, when in the rest of the world there is sometimes sadness and stress and pain, home is safe. and i am feeling ridiculously appreciative of my home today, as i think of flood victims all over australia's east and hope for small miracles.

to the left, my favourite friday-night reward: greetings from the last light of the candles. it's always a joy to just catch this moment, as we walk in the door, like those little flickers have been waiting for our return before they "tss" and then they are gone. and to the right, one of my favourite images of some matrioshka dolls to keep things merry. courtesy of my cousin lina in san francisco. she has the finest collection of them that i ever did see. another nod to that feeling of warmth and home.

any takers for first real commenter? i'll make it easier for you: tell me what makes you happy when you come home - what is it that makes you feel that oh so happy to be home feeling? go on, be brave.

-- R.