On blogging

I haven't written a post in a while. To be honest, I just don't think to do it. My day is filled with work, checking Twitter, surfing sites that make me smile like failbook and fmylife, and Facebook games during my breaks. I don't use the internet at home much. And I watch TV probably more than is healthy.

I used to blog a lot. Well, I used to post on Livejournal a lot. I'm not ENTIRELY sure that's the same thing. I always treated LJ as a sort of empty bucket into which to spill my thoughts. That was the least gross metaphor I could think of, y'all should be grateful…
So maybe that's why I made the transition to Twitter so successfully. I have so many random thoughts, it's the perfect recepticle. I don't often think long and hard about things. Or feel compelled to share these more in-depth thoughts with people.

That said, I have heaps to say about stuff. I think I've got to get out of the mindset of trying to make every blogpost 'interesting' or 'funny'. And just blog about life. And things. Because things are cool. And stuff. Stuff's good.

On flu

With news reports saying that this year's flu season will be even worst than the last, I can actually see myself turning into a young, female version of Howard Hughes.
You see, I hate being sick. Yes, I love time off work (doesn't every body?) but it's hardly ever worth it when you feel so bad. You can't even enjoy the best things in life - like eating, reading, or tv - properly because you just feel so awful. On the upside, sleeping becomes a hobby, or even a sport.
I'm giving serious thought to public transport during this Autumn/Winter and am considering paying for parking in the city just to avoid it. I just don't want to be somewhere where people sneeze into their hands then put them on a pole, or a handhold. Or cough on all the people within a 2m radius. I don't know about you, but hearing one of those hacking, chesty coughs that sound like bronchitis immediately make me feel sickly.
And yet, I haven't seriously considered getting a flu needle. There are apparently two types of vaccination this year - one for swine flu, and one for the latest strain of influenza. My mum gets them every year, but she's a teacher and you know kids; walking virus factories...
If anyone has an opinion, I'm interested. Should I get the vaccination? Or rely on natural immunity to get me through the flu season?

On tea

I really love tea. Tea shops fill me with delight. I'm going to visit a new one this afternoon with Ms B, my friend and fellow tea-lover.

But I wasn't always this way. Right up until my teenage years I couldn't stomach the thought of tea or coffee. I didn't like caffeinated drinks at all. But I vividly remember the exact moment I discovered I liked tea.

I had tried a few sips of my mother's Bushells before, but she always had hers unsweetened. I found it gross. One night when I was a teenager, however, I was asked to housesit for our neighbours whilst they were out for the evening. The lovely wife left me behind the most gorgeous tea tray with a china cup and saucer, a silver teaspoon and some Dilmah teabags. So I tried some - and found the wonderful additions of milk and a teaspoon of sugar made it just right.

To this day I am a big fan of Dilmah, and have one every morning with my breakfast. But I'm also constantly on the lookout for interesting black teas to try - ceylon, darjeeling, yunnan, assam and also Australian blends are my preference.

And at the end of a long day, there really is nothing to beat a sweet milky cup of tea. Well, actually a cuppa is great any old time. Hopefully I'll get to try something new this afternoon.

On childhood

My favourite radio station this morning posed a caller question: What did your dad let you do when you were a kid? Some people rang in and said Dad was in the army, he let me fire a cannon when I was 10. One said they were allowed to drive the car when I was very young, etc.

It occurred to me that my Dad and my mum too were pretty "loosey goosey". Considering we grew up on a farm, they really let us do some dangerous things. But then again, perhaps they was teaching us stuff. And they knew that an adult, be it our aunt or uncle, or our nanna or poppa, were never far away.

From an early age we (being my brother, my cousins and I) were allowed to wander pretty much where ever we liked, with the exception of the barn and in the hay bales, due to the danger of snakes. That did however leave a large amount of places to get in trouble, including the dairy, the cattle yards, the pigsties, the grain silo and the tennis shed. All perfect hideouts for poisonous animals of various kinds, and, upon reflection, all pretty much custom-made kiddy death-traps. There was a lot of potential for accidents but I guess our parents knew we had enough common sense not to hurt ourselves. In fact, the only accident I remember that predates our teen years was when my cousin fell out of a tree (we were playing "Ghostbusters, which should enable you to date the incident) and broke his arm.

One of my first memories is sitting on dad's lap being allowed to "drive" the tractor while he was ploughing. Of course, I did little more than turn the steering wheel about in a random fashion but at the time, I was amazed. I was driving! Go me! I couldn't have been more than 4 or 5.

I also vividly recall at around the same age racing along, perched precariously on the back of the motorbike. Gripping his waist tightly, we'd go almost sideways when he changed direction mustering some flightly cows. Later, he tried to teach me how to ride it, without much success. Riding it solo was scary. Then again, I was only 12 and my feet barely touched the ground on either side.

We were also allowed to give directions when he was handling heavy machinery. He owned a tip truck and a loader, and my brother and I would help him load it the latter onto the tray of the former. He probably didn't pay much attention to our authoritative calls of "A little to the right! Now straight! Ok, left!" but he made us feel involved. He even let us drive it around the quarry on occasion. I loved making the bucket go up and down.

And then when I was entering my teens, he decided to teach us to use the shotgun. In case we had to deal with a snake on our own, I guess. I remember he took us up on the hill and lined up some soft drink cans for us to shoot at. How heavy that gun was. Right now I cannot recall if I even hit anything but at least from then on I knew the mechanics of putting in a cartridge and firing. Useful stuff to know, though I never fired a weapon again until recently when my boyfriend and I started sporting shooting.

C's childhood was filled with cool army stuff, because both his parents were enlisted at the time. He spent a few years when very young in Western Australia, and has some pretty vivid memories of the heat, using army jeeps as a jungle gym, and listening to stories about the regiment. I'll have to ask him when I get home what crazy stuff his parents let him get up to.

So what will I let my kids do when I have them? Probably nothing. I'll probably be a molly-coddler of championship proportions. Before I learn to relax, that is.

On stockings

There is a girl in my office who wears black stockings every day. I don't know how long this has been going on but we're in the last month of a Queensland summer and she's still wearing them.

Perhaps I should set the scene. This is Brisbane. Summer in Brisbane means daily temperatures regularly above 30 degrees Celcius and a high degree of humidity. Over the last week, we've had weather that I can only compare to Bangkok in May. As in 35 degrees with 90% humidity. It's been very, very uncomfortable weather. And still she wears stockings. I asked her if she ever gets hot in them, she said no. I haven't yet had the courage to ask her why she actually wears them. Hardly anyone else around here who wears skirts to work in summer does, which just makes it plain strange.

I was never a fan of stockings. I've owned a few pairs in my lifetime and I tend to buy one new pair every winter, which then never get worn except in the direst of circumstances (ie. pants are all in the laundry basket and a skirt is the only option).

They're so uncomfortable. And even though they cover your legs, you still have to shave them otherwise it's unbearable (for you and for others). And yet, I've always aspired to be that be-stockinged office girl, striding down the pavement in a sensible pencil skirt and heels, satchel at my side, on the way to my important work.
I think I've come to realise now those days will never come - putting that much effort into my work outfits is just beyond me most days. But a girl can still dream.

As me again in winter when it's zero degrees with an Artic wind blowing across the train platform.

On sleep

Sleep. It's a basic human need. Though my boyfriend continues to prove that we can go long stretches without it. Seriously, I've seen him charge on for over 48hrs straight fueled purely by caffeine drinks and pure grit. And still be able to function normally.

Me, I need lots of it. At least 7 hours a night or I'm useless to everyone. What annoys me though is I seem to have lost the ability to enjoy a sleep-in. I used to be a champion sleep-iner. During my uni years, I clearly remember not stirring until after lunch on days when I didn't have morning lectures.

Now, on days I'm not working, I wake at 9am at the latest and lie there thinking about how much I'd love to go back to sleep but worrying about all the housework I have to do. Yes, housework. Damn it to hell.

So if I'm not up and about by then I now feel like the day is half wasted! What a turnabout. Does this mean I'm growing up? But there's worse to come.

I've conducted a cursory study with the people I know who have kids. They are unanimous in their assessment of sleep after having children - you'll never sleep in again. Ever. I will be up at dawn every day for the rest of my life.

So having kids, it appears, seems to be like joining the military. Lots of getting up early and running about. I'll have to add that piece of information to the 'con' side of my Having Children list. Sleep'll be hard to give up, for sure.

On ambition

I turned 29 last month. There. I said it.
I'm a bit worried, not because I'm getting old(er) but because I thought I would have have achieved more by now. Well, be married with kids or something. Or at least know the direction my life was headed in.
When I was in high school I had a homeroom teacher who made use write down 25 goals at the beginning of the year. The first 5 were short term goals to be achieved by the end of the year. The next 5 were to achieve within the next two years. The next ones within 5 years and so on. Then he told us to write 5 very cool, very fantastic, hearts'-desire goals.
I don’t remember what my Fantastic Goals were (pretty sure there was "own a McLaren F1" in there somewhere though) but I do remember some of my 5-10 year goals clearly. There was Travel the World (tick), Live in London For A Time (cross), Go to Uni and Get a Degree (tick) Get A Well-Paid Career (half tick) and Find the Man of My Dreams (surprising, tick!).
And now that I think about it, that's a pretty good strike rate. So why don't I feel like I've accomplished much? I think it's mainly because I have never had any ambition job-wise. I really, honestly, never had a career in mind when I was growing up. When I left high school, I got such a good OP score everyone expected me to do law or medicine. I balked out of Law at the last minute and did what I had suddenly decided that I wanted to do - Arts (for fun) and Commerce (for practical job-getting). After four years of study, the only things I figured out were a) I hate finance and most forms of commerce; and b) I love Anthropology but not enough to make it a career.
And so I landed by a serious of unfortunate incidents into my current Contact Centre job. Five years later, I feel stagnant, I'm itching to get out and really, really over telecommunications.
But I've got the same damn problem - I don't know what I want to do with my life. I desperately need to find my passion. And pay the mortgage at the same time. I feel adrift, directionless and lacking in ambition. It's so bad I was half-tempted this morning to look at a correspondence course in interior design.
I want to be that woman in That's Life! Who writes in about how she always knew she wanted to be a zookeeper, and now she's caring for giraffes in South Africa or some such. Or the kid who always wanted to be a firefighter, or a doctor and every bit of his education and effort has been bent towards this goal.
I need advice, peoples - how did you figure out your passion? Did you always know what you wanted to do with your life?