OCD

All posts tagged OCD

Fresh Friday

Published December 20, 2019 by helentastic67

Fresh Friday

It’s not every Friday, it’s not even every other Friday but when it happens it’s fresh! And I’m writing it the day before it goes live because it’s time sensitive and needs to be said. That is because Christmas is only a week away – not even!

While there are many pluses to being a single barren spinster, there are a few negatives and the main obvious ones is the dilemma of Christmas. Before you ask, no my family do not read my blog! But it is also to say, despite the situation at Christmas time it’s not anyone’s fault. No one is to blame it still goes under the heading, it is what it is.

It’s just kinda crappy!

At Christmas, my family is in opposite ends of the state. My mum and younger sister live in one direction close to where I grew up. My older sister and her partner, sorry fiancé live in the other. My father is still in my hometown and I only generally get there to see him when I go to my mums at Christmas for about a week.

While arriving at my mums in the countryside, opening the car door usually late at night upon arrival, brings an instant breathe of fresh air, I fled with pine trees and wood smoke. But from the moment of my arrival, I need someone to help me do everything. There is slip and trip hazards everywhere. Also, doors that must be kept closed to keep this cat outside, my cat inside, me away from cobweb-hazards.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And while my mum very generously gives me her bedroom for the duration of my stay, I’m down the other end of the house from activity. It’s hot and isolating. We all like different things but mine is not at all in line with my hosts. I pitch in by way of packing and unpacking the dishwasher and usually upon arrival I get a wave of OCD, because so much doesn’t have a home, and they have both been so busy making it to Christmas the dust kick-starts my hay fever and I can’t sit still for collecting things for recycling, etc and that just drives them insane that I can’t sit and relax.

We are all tired and we mostly all go into a kind of survival mode. I hibernate, watch my TV shows and sleep.

There is a day I go to visit my high school friends for a few hours, I browse my favourite shop and go visit my father where he has arranged his two brothers and sister in law to visit for afternoon tea. My Aunty always asks, “do you still like honey bread?” Do we all of a sudden stop liking chocolate? Or needing air to survive? And I go home with honey bread. It’s rhetorical right?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My older sister and fiancé are dog people. They have three. Why are they not labelled crazy dog ladies??? No! Of course, it’s just cat-ladies that get a bad rap. They generally do their own thing Christmas Day, this year being the first Christmas my future sister in law without her mum, sadly.

In recent years, we have managed to get together for what I refer to as a lovely lady’s lunch. Usually early December, somewhere a bit special. This year, I offered to attempt to arrange where and when and something we could all afford to contribute to. We all have vastly different fluidity of funds. (That’s a lot of F’s, and none of them my favourite version) You gotta give me a point for that? And after early efforts it became obvious it was to be put off for January, I was fucking (sorry, not sorry!) busy and everyone was proving hard to please. So, I dropped the ball.

So, it has not happened. I made the decision to spend Christmas home with Mika in air-conditioned comfort where I can at least have my carers every day and maintain my independence without need for someone to stop what they’re doing to open a door or move something for me. Not to mention our blend of intolerable foodie intolerance’s. No turkey? Last year I was informed mum forgot the stuffed turkey roll only 30 minutes north of Melbourne in a 3.5-hour drive to the country. Take me back and no Christmas pudding! Because the youngest hates peel! What?

So, this year I decided to go it alone at home and I’m ok with that. I’ve got enough ham to last me a portion a day for two weeks and some for the freezer. Not yet sorted a pudding, but I can cope with that. Besides I have rum balls.

I’ve also been managing the guilt and expectation of others, at the last minute my mum has asked if I can invite some of my neighbours over on Christmas Day? Because Christmas is supposed to be about family and being together and putting all of your shit aside for one day, so you can celebrate together and I don’t want to inflict myself upon others and ruin some other family’s day. I told my mum the people she suggested I could invite over we’re going to be in the States for two weeks and the other neighbour is Muslim, so no ham for her, or rum balls.

So, as a gentle reminder to those with plans for Christmas Day. Please check in on a neighbour or elderly person or anyone you know who may be socially isolated. It means so much to hear a friendly voice when you feel you are all alone.

FYI, I’m off social media Christmas Day and both my numbers are silent. So, if you want to reach out be prepared beforehand.

Now, on a more upbeat note: I do have a really upbeat post planned for Christmas Day, so stay tuned. And JD, you will get your cat-friendly Christmas tree!

Cheers,
H

Daisy

Published June 21, 2019 by helentastic67

Daisy

Because I can’t help but mix it up a little, I’m not suffering OCD however, I am likely to circle back to other topics. Today’s post is about when people are in our lives for a reason, season or a lifetime.

So, once upon a time I worked at a large environmental company as an admin. Don’t get excited, I wasn’t an OH&S officer (that’s short for Occupational Health and Safety) let’s call her Daisy.

Whenever someone had an injury in the office, even so much as a paper cut and someone called out that they had hurt themselves, someone would call out “Daisy!” even though she was not located anywhere near us.

Rumour was, if you got a paper cut, she would bring you a tube of cream and I suspect she did a regular stocktake of the bandaids in the tearoom first aid. Paper cuts, big problem in admin, should qualify for hazard pay or just BYO bandaids.

However, at the time my boyfriend who lived with me, also worked at the same place as an Environmental Scientist. He was far more qualified in his work. But at home, Daisy followed us everywhere. If in the backyard I would be hanging my washing on the line, the garden hose curled out across the concrete, creating a delightful tripping hazard. One of us would generally call out “Daisy” and then we would share a little chuckle.

Daisy was a bit of a joke in the office. You all get her name was not Daisy, don’t you? Because one day on ‘site’ there was a gate to enter a site and Daisy had gone out to check on the ‘safety’ of the job. I suspect it was a disused petrol station or some such, which is what my ex worked on or ‘whatever’. Daisy should have parked outside the gate and entered carefully on foot or better yet parked and called out for the guys to escort her on to the site. But NO, apparently, she drove in and proceeded to drive all over the site.

But with the absence of the ex or the other people that were in my life at that time, the “OH&S chant “Daisy” has gone. Sadly….

I’ll share some more soon.

 

Hot off the Press – 20th November 2017

Published November 20, 2017 by helentastic67

Hot off the Press 2011

Hot off the Press

OK, by the end of this post! Watch how I smash shout outs to my Little Red Truck guys, me Mum (Yes, on purpose) and my carers and a few special time-poor friends who never fail to deserve my thanks!

Monday! The start of the big moving week. I take possession of my new home. An apartment on the second floor of a six-story building. I’ve never done such high density living and I have paid my first month’s rent but was given grace to get bond assistance. Made a call and found out I didn’t get it. The whole process of being able to keep a roof over my head is the most soul-destroying balance of proving I can afford the rent on my income. Rent must be less than 55% of my income, but I had to prove I earn less than $48,000 yearly. (What I could do with that!) and apparently, I earn too much to qualify for bond assistance! It’s fucking ridiculous……….

Rental assistance

Now I have to find money for bond and to pay my removalist. I know I haven’t mentioned, but in my family, works on guilt. My mum travels often to do whatever needs doing no matter how financially strapped she is or how unwell or exhausted she might be. It’s a true testament to a mother’s love. My father doesn’t. He previously was able to contribute a little financially to my staying out of a group home that would have me go crazy! Or a nursing home, same result! My younger sister has actually assisted with some short-term loans, which feels so wrong. And my older sister who lives the closest to me will, help on the day.

Family help

By the end of Monday, my mum had managed to have my father help me with the bond and the removalist costs and I think he has disowned me because he feels I cost him too much money. If you can’t shake the funding out of a tree for people like me? Shouldn’t I be able to call on family?

Tuesday, moving day woke at 5.30am, at 7am, just gave up on sleep and got up. Didn’t stop all day. Everything I picked up was too heavy but I managed to stop myself from lifting my slow cookers or my LeCruset pot! (So heavy!) My moving guys came in the form of the Little Red Trucks! Two trucks by the names of RZA and GZA, (members of the rap group Wu Tang Clan), and Lenny and Carl (apparently the lovable duo who hangs out at Moe’s Tavern on the Simpson’s. My guys in red on the day were Dylan, Rory, Henry and Rohan.

Little Red truck

I first used Little Red Trucks was two moves ago when the guy I booked (the only person who is primarily booked by low-income people and funded by the NGO’s) stood me up by six hours. By the time I heard from this guy he told me he had been to the hospital he was so sick, by that stage I had not wanted to hear from him, I wanted to hear from his next of kin to tell me he had died! I felt it was the only reasonable excuse for not turning up!

When I first used the Little Red Trucks, they only had three trucks. Two of the trucks were called Hall and Oats, Salt n Pepper and I can’t recall the other. The drivers are all in bands, so it provides them with a regular income from a day Job. The first guy I dealt with years ago was also a carpenter. The trucks are traditionally named after musicians who have influenced them. I don’t get the Simpsons reference, but anyway. Having 4 guys made it very quick and efficient!

I hope you are aware, I’m a real ‘housey’ kinda girl so I have a lot of things. On the day, as I was going from a three-bedroom unit that felt like a house, to a two-bedroom two bathroom less than 5-year-old apartment. So, down-sizing!

I issued a warning early: Any mention of ‘she has too much stuff’, it’s too small, it’s not going to fit! you owe me a dollar. I needed to set the standards early. My older sister arrived on time an hour after the guys and She pulled the last of everything all together. While my sister was demanding where some last-minute things could or would go, I introduced her to one of the guys, it went something like this, I was going to mention someone looking a bit like me but grumpier would arrive soon. She let out a “Hey!”, I turned to Dylan with the prosecution rests. All in good fun!

https://littleredtrucks.com.au/

Wednesday, everything hurts. Just everything, worst case of OCD ever. (no disrespect for people who actually have OCD) You know, you’re looking at an area in your home and think I’ll just move these few things and you have to find ‘something’ and you get distracted by the other ‘something‘ and I managed to find my immediate bathroom items, very handy.

OCD

The day went like this – moved some things, unpacked some things, did some washing. Left the house in shorts! (So, I don’t expose my legs to the general public, nobody needs to see that!) I offered my chiropractor, that she could make one comment! Then, we would never speak of it again!

Wearing shorts

The new apartment is starting to come together. But I still haven’t found the TV remote and that’s proving to be a needle in a haystack! It’s now late and I might struggle to get to midnight. I’m so tired and everything still hurts.

Thursday, had a carer for 5 hours and Sana and my mum really pulled it all together starting to look like a home. Had my first PJ day, since I’ve had a crappy cold for weeks now and haven’t had time to even stop.

PJ Day

Friday, had my young carer Jennifer again. Oh, how I’ve missed her! (She was on holiday) Managed to vote! (So I don’t need to go out on Saturday!) Shopping, just the basics. Late Friday night my mum left but not until she managed to give my old landlord an appropriate serve! My mum is not even a bit Italian, but she managed to tell him to make ‘this go away! And told him how dare he ……….xyz! (Just trust me you don’t want to know!) She got the biggest hug for that.

Friday

The weekend! Didn’t get to go off grid, hardly stopped unpacking, barely did any TV Catch-up! And haven’t completely nailed this 1am curfew to get to bed. Last night, it was practically 2am! But I’ve decided the foodstuff that won’t fit into the pantry I’ll just have to eat and I’m working on my bookcases.

Weekend

So, shout outs to my Little Red struck guys again. Dylan, my mum, my older sister Jo-Bunch! Younger sister A-Super chook, Tamsin and I help for tech support and Silvia for giving me the term, Sentimental. As in I can keep this T-shirt I’ll never fit into again for sentimental reasons and her partner Sam for assisting with my scooter shed. Countless carers who have had a piece of the puzzle.

Thank you

While, I’ve still got the cold, Mum and Jo got it eventually. Caring is sharing! I haven’t had a migraine! Winning!
Stay tuned for photos…….
Cheers,
H

New week

ABI a bit OCD

Published April 13, 2017 by helentastic67

ABI

ABI a bit OCD?

I’ve probably mentioned I spend some time with groups of people with brain injuries. And you may think it’s not that challenging.

Well, I’m always trying to gather my “words” to sufficiently describe how challenging it is to achieve “things”.

Firstly, I use the term a friend has used for “other things” and say it’s like herding cats! I had to say it! Priceless!

Cat Herding 2

I’m often feeling like I need to make reference to a Tate Gallery exhibition, I was back in 1994 with my then boyfriend. He knew it was wrong but he suggested it looked like the Artist had propped the huge canvases up against walls in a room, sits on a chair with a shot gun before blowing their brains out. I realise that’s dark and that was in an era way before “DARK” was a term. Or “Wrong” or anything!

Tate Gallery art

A perfect example of how smoothly things don’t run is that one person mentions some ‘event, facts or person’ in passing. Another person will hear the end of that ‘whatever’ it was and ask for it to be repeated. It is repeated and someone else hears the end of it again and they ask what it’s about and it is repeated again.

Repeat please

So, some of us hear it three times!

It’s any wonder I go home with a migraine.

Being Italian

Published November 27, 2015 by helentastic67

Being italian

I should also mention, I will use the term “Wog”, from time to time and to those who are unaware.

Wog.

Now, I tried to do a Google search and after an attack of OCD and being distracted by rubbish for 20 minutes, the basic definition of Wog is ‘a foreigner’.

I learned from an early age , it actually meant “Western Oriental Gentleman”, but in Australian culture we really save it for Italians and Greeks that immigrated to Australia back in the late 1940’s and after. The immigrants also came from other European places too, however w!!hen Aussies use that term, we generally mean Italians/Greeks!

I went to a Private Catholic School where even the kids with 2 Italian parents would yell out and call me a wog! And I only have one Italian parent. I don’t consider myself a ‘wog’ per say, but I think I’ve .”

Great Italian food culture and that ‘feed an Army mentality’ and all the other good stuff from my mum. The great CWA –cooking/baking.

CWA being Country Women’s Association of which she does not belong and does not need to. Anyway, occasionally I’m going to drop the ‘Wog-bomb’ and I feel I’m allowed as I’m a little Italian as I like to say…

I speak a few words of Italian and even less Greek, but when I walk into my GP’s office, the 2 Greek ladies start speaking briskly in their native tongue and you can pick up a lot from their hand gestures and tone!

I have often discussed this with my GP who is Greek!

They’re tone says “Oh, that’s a pity, but she’s so pretty! Hopefully she has a husband!”

WTF?!

I usually get asked by the Greek ladies on my tram in guttural/broken English “you Greek?!”

I return in the same tone “no Greek, a little Italian.” I tell them from my father and they often ask from what part of Italy?

After the last 10 years or so living in an area with plenty of ‘wogs’ that can put my finger tips together and tap my forehead and reply “Calabeze!” Given up years ago saying “Calabrias” The hard movement is to symbolize “stubborn!”

The Italian from that area are known to be stubborn. Sounds about right!

Years ago, I worked across town in a Supermarket and a guy asked where the Tzatziki was? I confess I was younger and didn’t know what that was. I tried a cheeky question to ascertain what it was. FYI: If you aren’t sure, it’s a dip! It’s kept in the Supermarket in a fridge.

He looked at me rather disgustedly and asked how I would not know what this ‘thing’ was.

I asked “why?’, this wog motioned to my name badge and said ‘you’re Greek!”

Why do you say that?

“Your name is Helen!”

FUCK OFF! (Obviously not what I said, but I then explained I was not.)

So many times I’ve had to respond to the query “You Greek?” Always asked or as a statement and I always respond with “No! No, Greek!” Greek ladies always look so disappointed. I am surrounded by Greeks these days. The good ones luckily. My GP! My Chiropractor! My taxi driver, young John! So lucky!!!

I have a mobility scooter, which I like to call Hell on Wheels!

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