Context

All posts tagged Context

Don’t Worry

Published March 28, 2022 by helentastic67

Don’t Worry

We have made our way out of the 2nd Covid lockdown in Melbourne 2020 and people have been talking about all the vivid dreams they were having. ‘Only during Covid’ I ask.  I always have very vivid dreams; I greet my carers in the morning with “I had a crazy dream!”

They literally shrug their shoulders like “What’s new?” years ago, I had to start what has become a tradition. I said to a friend “I had a dream; you were in it” he then made a bit of a hopeful questioning noise and I responded, “Don’t worry we had clothes on” To his great disappointment.

Evil laugh.

So, ever since I’ve always stated that line on every comment when I’m telling someone they were in my dream the night before. You were in my dreams last night. Don’t worry, we had our clothes on and I’ve often received responses. “Why would you say that?” A little disturbed.

So, try it next time you have a dream and someone is in it. Tell them they featured and they had their clothes on. Then explain the context.

Is this how legends begin?

Birkies – Part 3

Published January 24, 2020 by helentastic67

Birkies – Part 3

Yes, I’m finally getting back to it, part three. I’ve given you the context, but the reason you needed the context was for this part. I had a dream the other day, I don’t generally dream about places I’ve lived except the previously mentioned house I lived with my favourite housemate “B”.

For a few years I lived there alone with B and after a year of the house being in some form or other of needing repairs after a horrible storm, where I was home alone trying to prioritise if I rescued my thing’s or B’s (The answer is both, but mine first) and the last few years (we were there four years all up) my then boyfriend moved in, making it cleaner and cheaper.

But I dream about it sometimes, crazy dreams where I’m in my old bedroom, on a bed that isn’t made, the bed is higher off the ground and I’m leaning back against pillows and there are two young children (not mine, I don’t have any) playing on the bed.

My mum is out and girls are on the pillows around me. There are other details I recall from this dream too, but don’t seem relevant and I remember them for weeks without any idea why this seems important to revisit.

I’ve recently increased my very mild anti-depressants to help with my “Crazy Bitch Hormones” and sleeping problems. Although the dreams are getting weirder and my desire to hurt people has not diminished.

I’m debating with whether this as the happiest time in my life and this is why my subconscious returns there? But the dreams are always vivid and immaculately detailed.

Why am I hiding under the round formed dining table in the room that was B’s bedroom? What am I even doing inside? How can they not see me?

Can the manufacturers of anti-depressants get this shit sorted out? I never took drugs in the 90’s, so it’s all new to me and I don’t like it.

Sort this shit out please!

Birkies – Part 2

Published January 20, 2020 by helentastic67

 

Birkies – Part 2

Now, you may ask, did we ever work out who this neighbourhood passive/aggressive carpark stealer was? With the red Barina and the nickname for a company on the side?

Why yes, we did and I worked it out because I’m the cluey one in the house at the time. The following conversation I had with B is why I loved sharing with him.

I didn’t think of the name, but I knew he would tell me if I prompted him, this is how the conversation went.

“What’s the name of the women’s shoes?”

I know that didn’t actually help much and he answered as any self-respecting straight man would.

“I’m not good with women’s shoe brands.”

Turns out that was a lie.

“What are those shoes that German/Lesbian backpacker tourists wear?”

Before you get all OMG Helen, you didn’t. He replied swiftly.

“Oh, Birkenstocks.”

Yes. Oh, we laughed.

We had neighbours who were German (No offense) they had a house next door that was originally two houses, they bought that, had been renovated to make a bigger house. Eventually, after we moved out and our house was sold, they bought it and renovated it after four years and merged it into theirs.

They had family live out here for six months every year to be with their family. Ok, that’s done. Now the reason I had to give you that context?

 

Burkies – Part 1

Published January 17, 2020 by helentastic67

Burkies – Part 1

Ok, the next two short posts are purely context for the third, I now must write today. So, bare with me and strap in for a bit of a chuckle.

When I was first diagnosed in 2007, I lived with my favourite housemate down in Clifton Hill. My favourite housemate even in twenty years of sharing, will as he has in the past, go by the name of ‘B’. The street we lived on ‘F’. We lived on a corner of ‘F’ and whatever the side street was.

During peak hour F street became the alternative route for people not wanting to use Hoddle Street, which was once described by my friend Frank as the carpark. Clifton Hill often had many commuters drive from the outer suburbs, so they could catch the tram from there to work.

The home was brick veneer and our bedrooms were right at the front of the house, surprisingly not as noisy to sleep as you might think.

We had a tiny bathroom, an equally small kitchen with an old Aga, where I stored my gladwrap, foil and such. To put it in perspective, an Italian couple had immigrated to Australia back in the 40’s and this was their first home, where they had, had and raised their children before moving out to the suburbs (as they did).

We had an outside toilet; we did have a garage and possums in the backyard which I fed bread. No, don’t eat that, eat the bread. That’s my finger! Eat the bread!

Anyway, I digress, B parked his car at the front of F street and occasionally he would not be able to park in this spot and he would become quite grumpy.

We consulted over this mysterious red car that was in ‘his’ spot. It was a little red Barina and it has stencilled letters on the side. You know, like those for Tupperware or Mary Kay or Avon.

Anyway, even if you know who is parking in your car spot, you can’t really say anything to them because it seems you are being rude. You resolve this dilemma in all good neighbourhood squabbles with the appropriate passive/aggressive culture of you just keep your car there until they stop trying to park there.

Anyway, B didn’t drive his car for a good few months, maybe he couldn’t afford his rego or whatever. B decided to sell it.

One particular Saturday, he called RACV who were out the front getting his car started. That afternoon, a woman came to see the car and buy it. Ironically, she had gotten a job as a Personal Carer (Support Worker) and needed a car. What a small world.

After the sale was completed, I was moving from one room to another and saw B standing inside the front door, which was timber and glass and he was (from where I was) hugging the door. I thought maybe he was sad to see his car go. He had inherited it from his grandmother.

I went past him a second time and he was still there, so I prompted him “Are you OK?” his reply came after a few moments. A car engine idled in the distance.

“Yes, I’m just making sure she got through the lights down the street and it didn’t conk out” or something to that affect, he was concerned she would come back insisting on a refund.

Moments like these.

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