Update

from here

This is my 200th post. :)

A hundred blog posts ago, I finally put into words the disquiet I’d long felt about my lack of a clear vocation and path. I’m still figuring it out as I bumble along, although at the moment these thoughts are simmering away rather than boiling (as they were in that post), and I’m not disliking this in-between time of having space to gather ideas and consider them carefully before discarding some and filing others away for future reference. I’ve thought briefly about looking into radio production or floristry, and my recent excitement over the purchase, arrival and installation of Microsoft Publisher made me wonder if graphic design would be something I could enjoy studying, but none of these options truly make my heart leap. I’m still remarkably good at catching things. I still have no idea how this could be turned into a rewarding career.

I keep returning to the idea of studying Psychology, but I’m not sure I have the brains for some of the subjects I’d have to do for it and right now’s probably not the best time to test this; last week I handed over my Medicare card to pay for groceries. I’m fascinated by people and what makes them tick, and the way experiences shape us to be who and how we are (an all-time favourite book of mine is They F**k You Up by Oliver James;* it’s possibly what brought this fascination with psychological things into focus, three years ago). After reading (and loving) Second Chances: Men, Women and Children a Decade After Divorce by Sandra Blakeslee and Judith Wallerstein, I think I’d particularly like to be able to work with kids of divorce, and families in the process of breaking up. Or just with kids generally. Or with adults. Maybe.

But then I think again about the actual getting of the degree, and I think about the fact that I’d have to do statistics, and I realise it wouldn’t all be “Omigosh, this course is, like, soooooo interesting!” – it would also be “Omigosh, this course is, like, really HARD.” (Seriously, I also recently forgot how ATMs work and stared at the machine for ages looking for my cash and thinking the only thing it’d spit out was a receipt which I hadn’t thought I’d asked for. I walked away in confusion looking vaguely at [what may not have been] my balance; fortunately the man waiting behind me was honest and kind – he called out and handed me my $20. Just the word ‘statistics’ makes me panic right now). And maybe this natural interest in the psychological will spur me on to read and research without the incentives of exams and deadlines and degrees, and I should instead choose to study something that I’d need pressure to focus on and that would promise a rewarding job at the end? After all, I went with my heart on Linguistics, and look where that got me.

I still have a while to mull it over; my next giant project is baby #2**, and, judging by my experience with baby #1, I’ll be in Motherland (it’s just off What-do-I-do-with-my-life Road) for quite some time to come. Knowing me, I’ll return to the Road once again after my stay, with my questions and ideas and uselessly speedy reflexes; hopefully, in around 100 posts’ time, there’ll have been some kind of progress.

I’ll probably keep you updated.

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* The title is based on this poem.

** Is it wrong to refer to your (as yet unnamed) second child as baby #2? Does it imply that they’re ranked, and that Moses somehow won the competition? I always pause, and yet I can’t think what else I should call her.

Diagnosis

from here

A little while ago I walked past the ad above in a chemist window. As I speedily read through the symptoms I wondered if it was an ad for pregnancy; it’s not (it’s an ad for Iberogast). I’ve been thinking about this poster recently, because I’m finding it hard to figure out if my weariness and my general feeling of bleh and my negativity and my desire to avoid people and my sudden bouts of tears are a sign that Depression is lurking (I feel as though I’ve spotted him outside and heard him knocking, but when I go to the door, he’s never there), or just the result of this month’s particular combination of hormones and pregnancy-related exhaustion.

Mo's MasterChef-style cold

Moses is currently sick in a way that would make MasterChef proud; I’m not sure whether to call the last month ‘The Deconstructed Cold’ or ‘The Cold Reinvention Test.’ The first week-and-a-bit was apparently The Snot Challenge (he lost points for the lack of colour variation*, but scored well on consistency and volume). The following week he presented us with something I’ll call Sneezy-But-Otherwise-Seemingly-Well (I didn’t mind this one, although it lacked substance) but then came down with a brief tummy bug that didn’t seem to be part of the Cold plan, although we weren’t entirely sure.

He obviously realised that if he continued at that rate, he’d be dishing up illnesses until July, so the next week he experimented with a concoction of temperature, cough, sleepiness and misery. The main component wasn’t the cough or the sleepiness, as I expected, but the misery. He certainly gained points for his ingenuity, although he lost some for over-seasoning; I’m having a hard time getting through the amount of misery he’s served up.

I hope this is the end of his offerings. I’m stuffed.

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* Clear snot confuses me. Is it bad? Is it contagious? IS THIS A COLD OR IS IT NOT A COLD?! Hence the loss of points (I want you to know I was trying to judge fairly).

Mad Men (aka Mad Woman)

from here

I decided to borrow Mad Men from the library and, surprise surprise, found myself completely hooked. I’ve spent the last month or so having 60s-style dreams in which I work at an advertising agency alongside the Mad Men gang, although I’ve just finished watching season four, which is as far as my library’s stock goes, so I fear these nightly shenanigans are over. I’ll have to start designing my own dream settings again, which is much more work. Until the library gets the fifth season, I plan to pretend I still have episodes to watch by sitting on the couch each evening and yelling, at regular intervals, “You’re a jerk, Pete Campbell,” or “Don’t do it, Don. Don’t do it. No. No no no. No no  nononononononooooooooo! Don! WHAT ARE YOU THINKING, DON?! I thought I was finally getting to know you!!” I’m pretty sure I won’t even notice that there’s nothing on the screen.

As my good deed for the year, let me warn any future borrowers/buyers of season three that the synopses inside the DVD cover are TOO DETAILED. I read a few of season one’s (to try to remember which episode I was up to), and they were nicely vague (along the lines of “Roger and Bert make a big decision and Peggy gets a surprise”), but season three’s said things like (I’m making this up to avoid spoilers) “Don gets his arm eaten off by a giant rat on the same day that Sally runs away from home because she’s angry at her neighbour’s rooster for waking her up too early in the morning. Oh, and Pete dies.” Fortunately the only one I read was for an episode I’d already seen; I realised then that unless I wanted to have the story ruined, I was going to have to do a better job of remembering which episode to start with the next night. Season four’s synopses return to vague; obviously the writers for the previous season’s DVD cover were reprimanded or fired.

I have season one of Downton Abbey, patiently waiting for me to pick it up and give it a burl. Considering it’s as popular among people I like as Mad Men, I suspect I’ll soon be just as hooked and dreaming in a British accent. I’m not ready to move on from Mad Men yet, though; it still feels like it’s too soon. Hopefully a week’s worth of yelling at the blank TV will make it clear that it’s time to let go. For now.