News from the trenches

Well, today we are celebrating 10 000 page views. My how time flies.

I don't know quite why I have not been blogging this year. This year has been strange--but is OK at the moment.

I don't think I have much to say anymore. I feel I have said it. I don't want to sound like a broken record. I've been reading some old posts on this blog and not a lot has changed really in terms of mentalness.

Everyone is good. The Surfer is number 2 in the state and off to national titles in December. I'm kind of thinking that maybe HM and I could tag along as pit crew. Maybe the little people can stay at the best grandparents in the universe's house for a few days. Hmm.

HM has a new career. OUT OF THE HOUSE. And onto the set of HOUSOS. Well not exactly, but let's just say he is now teaching at one of the more challenging high schools with gangs, weapons, drugs right out there in the open. Where cops are hiding in the bushes. Where deputies walk around with ear pieces alerting others of "incidents". Where kids are smoking in the toilets. OK that happens at all high schools I am sure, but at this one they are smoking crack. There is total lockdown during school hours, complete with barbed wire fence. Not to keep the kids in, but to keep others out.

Anyway, HM is actually loving the knife edge atmosphere that comes with this mid-life career change. And I am really happy for him. He even seems to be getting through to some of the more hectic kids in a Dead Poet's Society kind of way. If you can imagine that Dead Poets was set in a prison. With Samuel L Jackson in the Robin Williams role. And with no poetry lessons.  I believe the quote is:

And me, well I am still trying to live the freelance dream but it is just not really working for me. I hate the feast or famine existence. I hate the unrealistic turnaround times. I hate trying to work out how to budget the lump sums for the times of famine. But then again, I love the freedom of picking what jobs I want to do. I love the fact that I can drop and pick the kids up from school (bizarre I know!). And I can do yoga at home whenever I feel like it.

I even love doing the parent helper thing at school. AND I simply adore being able to go food shopping during the day sans kids. But dammit, I NEED to get dressed and get out of the house. I am going nuts.

Having said that, there is a distinct lack of suitable jobs that aren't full time... though I will keep searching.

I am sure the nuttiness is totally getting to me because, drumroll please, I'm thinking of taking up running. Yes, laugh if you will. But I've been inspired recently by this lovely lady and maybe I should consider it. Everyone I know who runs says the same thing. Stay tuned. In the meantime, this is what I look like at the moment for those I haven't seen in a while:

SO what's new with you people? ANYTHING AT ALL??

Jane Jane Jane x x x

Light at the end of the tunnel

There is the teeniest, tiniest flicker of light at the end of the longest, darkest, most claustrophobic tunnel ever. I am FINALLY getting to the end of the workload for the year.

I promise to write posts of a more profound nature in the coming months. Looking back so far I think this blog is just a melting pot of whinging and general first world nonsense. There are far more important goings on in the world. However, it has helped me to move on with a few things. I don't really know why. But I keep reading that others say the same. I guess putting things out there in the blogosphere brings clarity.

I am, unfortunately, still having a LOT of trouble with the memory. Not so much that I can't remember things, more that I am just VAGUE AS. I can't seem to remember to stay focused on the task at hand. Simple tasks that I have been doing perfectly for 43 years are simply going awry in a bad way. I have just recovered from an INSANE 48 hours. This is what happened:

1. Friday: Put lamb roast in oven to cook for an hour. Check on roast one hour later, realise I have set oven to GRILL and not fan force. Dinner one hour late that night.
2. Saturday morning: Drive off from petrol station leaving petrol cap on boot of car. Lost petrol cap forever.
3. Saturday afternoon: Put colour in hair to hide 50 shades of grey—something I do quite regularly. After 45 minutes I rinse and hair still very grey. Go to apply the conditioner included in the pack and discover it is not actually conditioner but the COLOUR mixture in a very similar container. Had put conditioner in hair for 45 minutes. IDIOT. And even then could not put the colour in because it has to be mixed with the special solution stuff that I had already mixed with the "conditioner".

NOT SO Nice and Easy

I'd like to think that all mums and 40 somethings in general are going vague at this time of the year. Am I right?

Oh and today, one of my very good friends sent her daughter over with some toys they no longer use to give to our peeps.  One of the toys was a loud, noisy plastic sword with flashing lights and a neverending series of loud beeps. Far, far worse than a Zhu Zhu pet. Hammerhead was absolutely delighted, never having been the recipient of such an offensive toy weapon. I couldn't bare to confiscate the toy so early in the peace. HM {irate} vacated the premises within 60 seconds while I sat and endured this horrid noise for a few hours, firing off a THANK YOU text to my friend, who assures me the batteries will die any minute. I now have The Surfer on a special mission in the shed (deep down in the dark recesses of the back yard jungle) attempting to use up the batteries as fast as possible.

If you would like a picture of this you can now follow me on Instagram at @msinsanejane

OK, it's back to the books. Hope you're all having a great weekend. xx

Friday rant

It's only 11.17am and things aren't good.  Day started at 6.30am with HM firing up the iPad (next to me in bed) as I snoozed. What makes him think it is OK to start streaming a surf comp from Tahiti at full volume at that time? It is still dark. Not even the little people are awake and I've got an over the top American surfer accent blaring in my ear. What's more, HM seems to think that I am INTERESTED in this comp and fully expected me to wake up and lean lovingly on his shoulder, oohing and aahing over the various manoeuvres on display. What is it with surfers????????

If Kelly's not in it I don't want to know about it.

Anyway, I went seriously mental at him and suggested that he use the earphones that are right next to the iPad. I even implied what he could DO with those earphones if he didn't put an end to the nonsense immediately. He acted all surprised at my attitude. And all this coming from a man who cannot handle me (silently) reading my iPhone in bed at night!!!

OK, then I get up and find that Barnstormer and Hammerhead have done a spot of rearranging in their bedroom while I was snoozing and HM was in Tahiti. Their room is chaotic: the slats are off one bed, there's mattresses blocking the doorway, there's a whole pile of bags with "clothes that are too big for them" strewn all over the floor and every single book has been taken out of the bookshelf. One of Hammerhead's t-shirt drawers has been emptied. When I [somewhat angrily] enquired as to WHY the redecorating, Hammerhead calmly pointed out that they were merely looking for his "favourite white colourful t-shirt" which had gone down the side of Barnstormer's bed! Hmmmph.

I'm an angry bear today!

Then there's more chaos at breakfast time which I won't go into. But it was something like this without the drop-in.

This was shortly followed up by an email from the publisher re manuscript. Except it's now from the "editor" that has been assigned to the project. Apparently, lots and lots more stuff to take on board. The sort of stuff that should have been mentioned up front. Can I amend 77 pages of manuscript by early this afternoon, Eastern Standard Time? As in NOW. Do they not know that we're behind them?

The fact that I am blogging right now should clearly imply that NO, it is not going to happen.

Every single room in the house looks ransacked. Hammerhead has rekindled a love affair with all of the toys that I'd secretly culled yesterday while he was at Kindy and put into a large bag that should have gone into my car boot last night. Wants to know why they're in what he calls a RUBBISH bag. Is suspicious that they are being removed without consultation. We are talking about toys he played with when he was six months old. He is accusatory in tone. He has arranged them all neatly in the lounge room and is guarding them fiercely. He even gave up a ride to a cafe with Barnstormer so as to protect the haul.

The day must get better. And the day will end with wine. How's your day?

On the edge

Dangerously close to another meltdown this morning. Everything became too much. Yes, I know what you are thinking, some of you have spoken to me as recently as yesterday and I would have said I was feeling really good. I am still desperately struggling with the face-to-face stuff. I do feel so much better putting on a happy face. I do try to convince even myself that all is good.

And then I think, am I just a drama queen? Aren't these all just first world problems? That everyone has.

I had a bit of a moment this morning. I was just recovering from a conversation with HM about insane work choices and realised something had to give. I simply cannot keep working day and night (and I mean till 2am and later) and missing out on all the good family stuff. Some nights HM has been asleep for six hours before I even get into bed. I cannot remember the last time I sat in the loungeroom at night without my lap top. I am either too tired to or I am working.

And I am a boring mum at the moment. Sometimes the only quality time they are getting with me is the bedtime story extravaganza. Which could soon to be made into a movie I might add.

So after my almost-crash, I buckled down to work this morning and lo and behold, an email from the publisher. Turns out there were a few things she forgot to mention about the books that I am currently writing. It would appear that the series has "evolved" since we signed the contract some months ago. Apparently the books I am writing are not even going to be BOOKS (!). They are going to be INTERACTIVE WORKSHEETS. This "evolution" of theirs seems to have happened sometime over the weekend. What goes on in that place?

Now I won't bore you with the details but the ramifications for this lack of  CRUCIAL information in the publishing brief are bigger than Ben Hur. Essentially, almost everything I've written so far cannot be used. MONTHS of work now rendered useless. Naturally, I remained extremely calm upon reading this news. I wrote a nice reassuring, carefully worded, soothing email expressing that I did not mind at all that everything I've done so far has to be binned. I did not feel at all put out that I have spent so many nights ignoring my family. I mentioned that I was more than keen to redo everything and start again following their impossibly limited, new interactive format that evolved since last FRIDAY. I also pointed out that I was not fazed in the slightest at having to forward on far, far, far more interesting and highly lucrative projects to my other colleagues, so as to fully focus on these BOOKS that aren't going to be books. Yes, that's what I did.

Just kidding. Of course that's not what I did, at all.

What really happened is that I fired off one of my horror angry-bird emails again. And I do have to say, my publisher--god bless--who I have never met face-to-face, is either VERY USED TO THIS KIND OF ABUSE or she is on serious happy drugs and whatever they are I would like some. She never writes anything remotely unpleasant back. She just goes with it and actually agrees with me. She even said, she will pay me for the book that is going in the proverbial bin. And that I do not have to rewrite it. I can just move onto the next books and she will give it to an editor who will "FIX IT" for me.

Isn't that nice.

So I'm stopping now. I think my posts are far too long anyway. And I just wanted to end on a happy note. Also, just checking, who of you are actually reading all the way to the bottom? I want a show of hands. No, I want a comment. Anything to prove that you read this far. I'm off for a walk in the sunshine.

Image by rawtoastdesign.com

Angry Bird

I'm angry today. Angry with everyone and everything. NO one has done anything in particular that bad. But even just the slightest whiff of disagreement with anything I've said or done has resulted in a verbal assassination of offending person, be they standing in front of me or at other end of a computer email.

HM made a hurried exit [see below] house to avoid the wrath. The Surfer is at school and thankfully oblivious to the storm. Barnstormer is actually behaving and has piped down about not having matching clips in her hair. I think she must not be feeling well. Hammerhead is knee deep in Angry Birds and informs me he is up to a level far higher than has ever been achieved by anyone else, EVER. Which is probably a good thing because he has a very, VERY angry bird for a mother.

That's me in the black.

Why am I mad? I do not really know. But it is a classic case of INSANE JANE. Where seemingly tiny things get blown right out of proportion to create a CATACLYSM of epic scale.

Case #1

The publisher I am dealing with casually mentioned a few things of concern about my latest manuscript. In a fit of rage, an email that one MAY perceive as nasty, sarcastic and accusatory, was fired off by moi. I shouted and muttered over my computer while HM made coffee. He read the publisher's initial email and could not really see what I was so peeved about. At this, the volcano inside me erupted and verbal lava spewed out all over poor unsuspecting HM, but obviously not aimed at him. Exit HM stage left.

 
So then I reread her email. And turns out there wasn't really anything that bad in it at all. I quickly fired off another apologetic, begging and grovelly more coherent reply.

Case #2, hey

The surf mum that follows HM around like a BAD SMELL--even worse than NAIL POLISH--has also copped it, hey. HM innocently mentioned to me some of the questions she had been asking him ABOUT US and it was all too much for me, hey. She has been defriended on Facebook, HEY. Thankfully he thinks the same about her as I do, hey. What is it with some women, hey? And she's married, hey. I would possibly understand a bit more if she were single but to blatantly stalk attempt to flirt with another parent at every surf comp is just not on, hey. The fact that she ignores me ALL THE TIME just adds fuel to the fire, hey. HM says she is one step away from being a bunny boiler.

But really, on another day her inane questions to him probably wouldn't even bother me, hey. And I think she just stares through me in wonder as she knows that we do not have A SINGLE THING in common, hey. Or maybe it's because she knows I am onto her bunny boiling aka "Play Misty for Me" strategy, hey.

Case #3

HM {home again hoping that good calmer karma has come my way} informs me that it is going to take MONTHS to get an appointment at a skin cancer clinic with a specialist. He's had conflicting reports from two GPs and wanted a third opinion before they go all Jack the Ripper on his back. All of a sudden I find myself drafting out an email to The Hon Tanya Plibersek MP with some key recommendations to funding priorities for mental health skin cancer screening. 

Some time later ...

Ok, breathe in, breathe out. I'm calmer now and the angriness seems to have passed. Relax. It's Friday. It's whine wine night soon.

 

Oh and why the new look? {What new look I hear you ask?} Well, dear sister said she traversed upon a blog that had my retro pic background. It was just an image off the net. Hmmm, so I've found a new one. As they say, a change is as good as a holiday. I think I may leave the old image on the FACEBOOK page which is here for anyone who hasn't gone there yet.

* Late note: Have reverted to original look. It was a short holiday.

Writer's block

I have writer's block. I can't think of anything at all to write about without whinging and I am personally sick of reading whingy stuff on Facebook and literally everywhere. I've reread some of my earlier posts. I am such a whinger.

Watched Packed to the Rafters last night and aside from last week's episode, I haven't tuned in much this year. I was mildly horrified to see that Julie Rafter is now blogging. Vintage Mum I think she calls herself. And--quel horreur!--there's a Daddo in the cast. Oh the mainstream-ness of it all. And why do the Rafters have to be so clichéd? Dave Rafter will be tweeting about the next episode of Q and A at this pace.

[daverafter: @QandA: Loving Tony Jones' tie tonight. #paisley #slick]

Anyway, I digress. I really can't think of much to say. I've got too much work on and still suffering from SAD. A black crow keeps wandering down our path. I don't like this omen.

The alleged storm of the century last night caused a large tree branch to fall down in the back yard. The kidlets were most fascinated in the lead up to the storm and were hoping there would be some ugliness the next day. "When is it going to get ugly?" asked Barnstormer last night. Hammerhead wanted candles on. At that stage the power wasn't even out. It was as exciting as a trip to the zoo for them.

This was all of us in our bedroom this morning though:

That's me on the left with morning hair.

Thank god for gas stoves and hot water systems during a power blackout. It was nice to be able to have my hot cup of caffeine-free cereal beverage coffee replacement (?) and a shower, even if it was in the dark. HM made me a latte yesterday. It was delish and I savoured every drop. But I don't need them every day.

Ok, on with today's work. As I had anticipated, the publishing company I am dealing with IS way behind schedule (surprise!) so the pressure is somewhat relieved on the current workload. Although, completed projects mean money so it's still on with the show.

Procrastinating with the work stuff even further, I googled Insane Jane just to see what came up and was flabbergasted when I stumbled upon this: AN ENTRY IN THE URBAN DICTIONARY
And all this time I thought it was just a random rhyming adjective. No wonder I am whingy.

I wish I could hibernate during winter. Dear blog, I promise not to post again until I can think of something positive to write about.

Monster face

Today, despite the rain, I woke up feeling almost normal--whatever that is. I even got creative before kindy and this is what Hammerhead would have found in his lunchbox.

 
I wish I could have seen his face. He just adores gherkin. Give him a bowl of gherkins and a bowl of marshmallows, he will eat all of the gherkins. He would pass the marshmallow test for sure. He simply does not like them. He does not like them, Sam I am. He does not like green eggs and ham.

Feeling like mother-of-the-year, I skipped out of the house pleased that I had both kids sorted and into the car on time. My euphoria was short lived. Feeling like bad mother-of-the-year, I realised I was the only kindy mum who didn't seem to have a massive umbrella that could comfortably shelter a small African nation. I didn't have an umbrella AT ALL. And worse--Hammerhead wasn't even in a raincoat. I even saw some child in a PERSONALISED raincoat.

Ok, so now I am home trying to work (but blogging instead!). I've had some positive work comments recently. I always feel better hearing those. I just sometimes wish I had a job where aside from paying me the client would send me thank you gifts. Nothing much, just a little memento like a bottle of Veuve Cliquot or something like that. My travel agent friend gets all sorts of stuff like that. Free dinner, cases of expensive wine, free weekenders. I guess I need to get a new bunch of clients with products I like.

Me: Guess what {client} sent me the other day?

Travel Agent friend: Ooh what?

Me: A free copy of their strategic plan on metropolitan groundwater systems, hot off the press.

Travel Agent friend: You are so lucky. All I ever get are bottles of Piper Hiedsieck or a weekend at The Legian.

Me: Ah, you're in the wrong industry my friend. Next week I am expecting a couple of free editions of a 350 page academic text on architectural projections. It even has a whole chapter on the discontinuity of continuity.

Travel Agent friend: It's just not fair.

I must stop talking about alcohol. I'm still "dry". It's going ok and the benefits of not drinking are more numerous than I once thought. It's dawned on me that I now have at least a spare half an hour a day as I no longer am trawling liquor stores looking for that increasingly elusive New Zealand Montana Sauv Blanc 2-for-1 deal. Or those very hard to find heavily-oaked chardonnays that HM still thinks are in fashion.

It's just occurred to me that my burst of creativity this morning is going to mean that I will have to create a different monster face sandwich every day. Got any lunchbox tips?

Insane work decisions

I don't know if it's the black dog or lack of coffee but I am making some almost unworkable work decisions. I'm currently writing an educational series for a publishing company over east. I've never written for them before but they are big and pay well. I'm supposed to have three of the six books ready by the end of June. END.OF.JUNE. I'm about a third of the way through one book and keep telling myself that once I've done one book, the others will follow on very quickly. At the rate I am going, even if I were to work for every possible waking hour left in the month, I will only have one book done.

If this isn't bad enough, I just accepted a contract for a government department to edit some strategic plans by END.OF.JUNE. I hate to say no to jobs as I know they may never contact me again. I also need my editing fix. My day is no good until I've corrected grammar somewhere.

I guess I am hoping that the publishing company is running behind schedule--like my old publishing company always was. And that the government department won't be ready to send me their stuff, which is almost a dead cert from past experience. Any grammatical errors in any of my posts are intentional.