Loneliness

Recently I have been thinking a lot about loneliness.

I have been thinking about how loneliness can be knowing people, either IRL or online, but having an awful feeling that if you voiced your opinions on a topic, everyone would turn against you. So, you’re silent, all the time. Silent and lonely.

And that is just sad.

Perhaps it is just me. I don’t really know what it means to have friendships that go deep enough where there is no judgement, and you can discuss things freely without fear. I have only known fear in my friendships, fear of causing offense, fear of triggering anger and hatred, fear of causing pain. I do not know if I’d call that friendship.

All I can say is I am grateful for my family.

Sure, sometimes I feel like a complete alien amongst them, but, at least I’m their alien.

Happy Birthday

So. Here I am; twenty-nine years old.
My Dad called me this morning and asked me if I felt twenty-nine . Nope. My sister say’s I’m only allowed to whine about getting old when I reach thirty. Okay. Now. That number just scares me. Not because it’s old or anything, it’s because I feel like by the time you’re thirty you’re supposed to at least have…I donno…gotten married, had kids, or done something like that, right?
My mother commented the other day while we were driving to see my little sister, after mentioning my birthday, just how vastly different our lives were. She was married at nineteen, had all her four kids by thirty. ALL HER FOUR KIDS BY THIRTY. ALL OF THEM.

So yes. Needless to say; my mother and I have walked very different paths.

However, there are things I have done that my mother hasn’t done, and it is good to sometimes look back on those memories and remind myself that even though I haven’t fulfilled the dream of settling down with a bunch of little kids running around yet, I have had some pretty great adventures despite my difficulties.

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Look at me being so contemplative…

In 2009, before we really knew what was going on with my health, and just as I was starting to deteriorate – we went on a family holiday to New Zealand (my third favourite place in the whole world). This family holiday has remained one of my fondest memories. My parents noticed my lack of odd stamina on this trip, which I suppose helped in some way towards my eventual diagnosis – I also fell down the camper-van stair and twisted my ankle and created the family-meme that I *always* fall down stairs.

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My little sister, Melissa, little brother, Michael, (Me) and older brother Andrew. Hah, I just realised we should have done this by age, but we didn’t. Mel should be in the middle with me. We’re so short compared to our bros. 

Somewhere between 2010 and 2011 I went on a trip to England, Ireland and Scotland. I actually can’t remember the year…I have it recorded as 2011 but I don’t trust that anymore after my computer lost it’s hard-drive.
This was my adventure of a lifetime – and – in TRUE Kylie fashion what did I do? I tripped over and busted me knee (see, see!) I ended up in a hospital in the middle of London at Midnight for an x-ray. The ride in the ambulance was fun though, as the paramedics were really, really lovely. The whole experience was actually pretty interesting.
My poor parents though – second day in and they get a phone call from me, “Ah, yeah, um…I’m in hospital.”
Anyway, a wrapped up knee layer and a pair of crutches had me right back on track and I was on my tour. So I couldn’t really run around as much as I had hoped, but I was going to make the most of being in in the countries I loved so, so much.

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Before I did my knee in. ^_^

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I know this picture doesn’t look like much – but I am the happiest person in the world right in this moment. I am in Scotland (my favourite country), surrounded by wonderful people, and we’re in the Highlands, and I’d just bought that hat. My favourite souvenir from the whole trip.

I have so many stories I could tell from my trip to England, Ireland and Scotland. It was such a marvellous adventure. I cherish the memories dearly, and I often think of it randomly – the memories just pop into my head and make me smile. I had never seen grass so green, I had never seen fields so fresh, and streets so tiny. When I got lost in the cobbled stone roads of St. Ive, hobbling around on my crutches, crying and crying, wondering if I would ever escape, it felt like a nightmare but now, looking back, I laugh at the hilariousness of it all. All I wanted was a Cornish pasty.

My next adventure was back to New Zealand for the release of the first Hobbit movie – can you believe this was in 2012. WOW. I travelled to New Zealand with a group of Lord of the Rings and Narnia fans for an epic trip to see all the movie sights. Made some good friends. My favourite part was probably getting the most epic tan ever waiting at the red carpet (mostly because it didn’t require me moving…at this point, I knew my stamina was bad and I just couldn’t do everything everyone else and it sorta sucked, okay, I hated it, so if I could join in something that meant standing still, I was totally there.)

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Yeah! Red carpet event! Whoop!

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The best day – by far though – was the visit to Hobbiton. If I can someday get my garden looking this wonderful I will be a happy, happy little Hobbit girl. This is my favourite photo from the trip – standing in front of Samwise’s house. 

Later that evening at The Green Dragon we were the first tour group to ever have a meal there. These are the wonderful things memories are made of.

 

We had an amazing guide – Mike.

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Then – an adventurer came to visit me.
My most wonderful, best friend, Anouk headed all the way to Australia from the Netherlands. There are friendships that shape you, and define you, and bring out the best in you and the friendship I have with Anouk is one of those. We’ve been friends for…oh gosh…almost, I think it’s almost ten years now. I think. Meeting someone you’ve only known online is incredible. It was profound. It makes the world so much bigger, and so much smaller, all that once. The moment she left was heart breaking, and I couldn’t stop crying.
I am very grateful the internet opened the doors for me to meet such a beautiful person.

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Now I am heading off on another adventure in a week or so. Off to Melbourne. I know, I know, it’s not another country or anything, but it feels just as epic in my mind. I have never really travelled outside of South Australia much and this will be my first time in another Australia’s major cities.
I have a wonderful, amazing group of people I am heading off with for Supanova, and I am so looking forward to the new memories to add to my collection.

So I might not have done what I dreamt of as a little girl – fulfilled the dreams of my childhood – but looking back – I’ve had a pretty good run of it and I am so grateful to everyone I’ve met along the way who has shared these moments with me.

Thanks everyone.

Seasons of Change

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As the season changes in gradual Autumn colours the life of my family shifts once more. How can such joy come in such a tiny package? I am filled with an immense, overwhelming happiness when thinking about the newest member of my family – little Mordecai Gratez, born on the 9th of March.

At the beginning of last year things were so different and to just look upon my nephew gives me so much hope for the future, to realise that anything is possible. I hold onto that hope for my own life.

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My parents recently came around to my house to help with the garden – we called it a working bee – and it was really helpful to clear a lot away so I can begin building the garden back up again. We cut down some old, dead trees, took out some cacti. I am pretty much in the garden every day now.

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Dad was able to put my signs up. They look pretty adorable. ^_^

Having a house is an incredible change, a huge step, and I am still adapting to it, still having to pinch myself sometimes when I wake up in the morning and step outside. There is a lot to do, a lot of responsibility. Every day there is something to do. Paths to sweep. Garden to water. Floor to clean. Dishes to wash. Just something. Sometimes its something I can’t do because I’m not strong enough and I gripe about it for awhile and set it aside in my basket of ‘things Kylie can’t do’ – but I will get there, eventually.

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Having my cat with me has been wonderful. I know it’s an awful stereotype that single women, who are writers, love their cats – but I do. Once upon a time, I was a on a drug called Zoloft, and this was back in the day before the knowledge that in certain people, anti-depressants could have an adverse reaction was common. Instead of giving me equilibrium, the drug threw me into a suicidal cycle. Very frightening for my parents. It was during this period of time that my mother brought me a companion – Aislinn. I was very lonely. So, so lonely. I had just left face-to-face school, feeling like I had failed completely in my education and started school via long-distance. I was alone. So my mother brought me a friend. Aislinn barely left my side.

Eventually my mother figured out what was going on with the drugs – she’s got smarts, my Mum – and coming off them allowed me to regain my mind. I don’t recall much of this time in my life (which is odd for me), it is a big, blurry whole of nothing apart from scattered fragments. I didn’t even keep a journal, and the few scratches of pages I do have are…frankly…the writings of a girl I don’t know. Someday I want to write a book about this but I really don’t know where to start. That’s the thing about having kept a journal from when I was eight. Where do I start?

I have always been really embarrassed about it, and I’ve never wanted to speak about it. Every time I go to the doctors, having a diagnosis of ‘depression’ is frustrating because, obviously, that was a LONG, LONG time ago and I am an adult now but these things stay on your record forever no matter how much you grow and change as a person. But I am growing and changing as a young woman, and realising I don’t need to be embarrassed for a past I had no control over, for the story that has made me who I am today. The strong, resilient young woman who wants to hold her head up high and walk out into the world without fear.

I still react poorly to most medications. Whatever the worst side-effect is, there is a high likelihood that I’ll get it. Just seems to be the way my body works.

But I got through all that, as difficult as it was, and here Aislinn and I are, still together, a cat and her writer.

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But I digressed – back to my original point – as I look upon my nephew, beautiful, sweet and so new into this world, his entire life ahead of him I reminded by his existence, that anything is possible.

So I live in hope.

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The seasons are always changing and I am looking forward to seeing what adventure lies around the next corner. As I wait, I will just keep gardening, writing and loving my family as the leaves gradually fall.

 

The Passage of Time

I keep journals. I’ve kept journals since I was nine years old. Not that those journals are particularly well written, considering my dyslexia. I was only, truly, able to spell and write coherently when I was fifteen, so it was little wonder I was failing school by year nine. Yet – I digress – journal writing is fascinating. It allows this incredible record of the passage of time.

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These journals tell some very dark tales – of a teenage girl fighting for survival – but they also tell the story of hope, love and conquering monstrous dragons, and of a family she utterly adores.

During my packing process (for moving into my new house) I found my journal for the tail end of 2016 and the beginning months of 2017. I was curious – since it was New Years Eve – I decided to sit down and see what my thoughts had been at that time the previous year. Well. I can tell you. I hadn’t been in a great place. Indeed, things seemed rather dim for my whole family, according to my journal.

The thing that kept repeating itself, over and over, as I read through the months into 2017 – and no – it had nothing to do with Trump – was my loneliness. I was so lonely. This immense pit of loneliness.
But slowly – as 2017 progressed – little things happened (okay, some of them rather big)
And you know what, I never even noticed. I’ve only noticed it now, looking back.
My Dad got a job. My brother got a job. My sister is pregnant. I’ve found a small community of people to talk too every now and then – goodness – I’m even going to Melbourne this year with them! That lonely feeling – it isn’t as crushing anymore. And just when I thought I’d reached the end of my rope at the very end of 2017 – a lifeline was flung out to me.
I’m moving out of my parents house. I can begin a new journal, on fresh pages, in 2018.
I have read every journal, and none of them have started off with the optimism of 2018.
Sure, a part of me is terrified, but it is sort of that terror that comes when you do something truly daring and exciting.

My pain levels haven’t change. I’m sitting here, my body burning, clothes digging into my flesh like knives. I had the thought the other day – “I am so blessed, so, am I still allowed to cry?”
I honestly don’t know the answer to that question. It’s very conflicting to be in so much pain, yet to feel so happy. ^_^

IMG_20171231_234724.jpgThis New Years, my Father, Mother and had – honestly – the nicest New Years Eve we’ve had in a long time. It was just the three of us – for a BBQ – and then for the first time ever, after all the year’s we’ve lived in Adelaide – we headed to Glenelg to see the fireworks.
It was beautiful. It was such a lovely way to welcome in the new year.
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Whatever this year brings, whatever tales my journals will someday tell of 2018, this princess is no longer trapped in her tower.

She’s going to go and find a prince to help build her kingdom.

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I never wanted to be a stereotype…

A stereotype.
I recall hearing the word frequented in writing classes I attended – telling me to avoid stereotypes, type-casting characters into cookie cutter blocks, that I needed to give them flaws and backgrounds, something to make them seem human to the readers.
I was young, gosh, I had to be – fifteen – yeah – about fifteen. Gracious me – FIFTEEN – I didn’t know anything about what the world had to offer.
Sweet sixteen, they say, don’t they, when you get your first kiss?
No, I had my stolen from me at twenty-eight and it was the worst experience ever.  I’m filing that under memories I wish I could erase, clean my whiteboard from all the smudges that horrid recollection drudges up, every time I re-loop the memory. I’m such a broken record.

I find, though, that stereotypes in writing can sometimes be useful. It simply depends on how skilled the author in question is, in using them – much like all other tools in the library of tools at the disposal of an author.

However, a stereotype of real life is another discussion all together.
Some stereotypes can have negative continuations.
I wanted to be a particular sort of stereotype – I wanted to be a stay-at-home-mother.
It was the dream. I didn’t care what anyone ever said, it was my dream.
It is a dream that is gradually fading away. Is it my fault? Perhaps. Sometimes I think it is.

I am an author, an illustrator – and I fear I have become a stereotype of that – I live at home, with my parents. I am a lover of pop-culture, a collector of stuff, (or junk, as my family would say) and I even have a cat, who I’m a little bit…ah…overly fond of. I mean, if she dropped dead, yeah, I’d be sad, but I’d just get another one. But she is my companion. I do love her, but she’s just a pet. I just happen to not have…many people to talk to…so…I talk to a cat.
It’s weird.
And so, I am weird.

And I am ashamed of this.
Yet I cannot change who I am. I like who I am. I love this young woman I have become.
I adore the enjoyment I get out of simple things. How I light up at entertainment, and can see the beauty in art that people often scoff at, how the stories in anime utterly delight and enthral me, and I can get lost in their worlds for days thinking on their deep, deep topics. I might not manage large crowds of people, and I’m awful in big groups, but get me started on a topic I love, or world politics, or the creation of the universe, or the beauty in this world, and I could talk for hours.
Sure, I am weird – but I am weirdly wonderful.

A part of me truly hopes that someday I will be that mother, but if that dream never comes to pass, then I am already living a wonderful dream.
I am a fantasy author – with a cat.
I’m going to write, and keep writing, until all my stories are told.

Grey Skies & Yellow Fields

There is something wonderful about stopping and taking a moment to breathe the fresh air of the country. To hear the birds chirping in the high branches. There is a peacefulness here that is precious and trusting. Every so often you hear a distant car rumbling along the single main street, or a child on the school oval, shouting victory at a goal, but otherwise it is the leaves dancing in the wind that sing a clean melody. 

There is a soft, cold chill on my cheeks. A freeze that is gradually encasing the land. It runs up my legs through my tights as evening creeps ever closer. A stillness falls. The twilight hour tinges the sky mauve. How do you describe the tranquillity of being under the shadow of a mountain as protective and cloistering as the great Mt. Remarkable. It is a guardian to the small town that hugs it’s skirts. I wonder of the tales the mountain could tell us, if it could whisper them on the wind, of the lives that have come and gone under it’s shelter.  Of the hardships the first settlers faced, battling against a foreign land, carving their mark for future generations. South Australia is young, Australia itself is an infant compared to the elders that surround it, but the lives of those European pioneers were harsh. The land threw every torment it could upon them, and yet they prevailed to give us the South Australia we have today. Why, I have to ask, is it that I must seek the legends of their times myself, when their tales are still so young?   

As I turn from my walk, heading back the way I’d come, to seek out the warmth of the hearth waiting for me, I pause and stare out across the green pastures, and yonder them, to the bright yellow canola fields. The mauve tint of the sunset has turned, and grey clouds is what remains, but it is still a startling beautiful contrast against the green and yellow of the meadows. I wonder what the settlers of yesteryear would think of us now. Would they be disappointed in their children, or glad of what we have made here in the land they toiled upon? 

From my Journal – 24/8/2017

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This past week my sister (Melissa) and I went to Melrose. It was a trip to partly get away from the hustle and bustle of life, but to also do some research for a book I am currently working on that is set in the District around Melrose and within Melrose itself.
While I grew up in Whyalla, and we stayed in Melrose a few times while I was a kid, I didn’t have the clearest memories of the area so it was wonderful to have a chance to return.

And it was beautiful. So beautiful. What a glorious time of the year to visit the Flinders. The canola fields are in bloom, the wattle blossoms are in bloom, and everything is green from rain. Melrose also boasts some gorgeously large gum trees.

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I didn’t get the chance to do any hiking — I didn’t want to do the 13km hike up Mt. Remarkable on my own without a workable phone. Also, apparently, it’s super steep, and my knees are still bad, so everyone told me not to do it. BUT. I just really like conquering mountains. I really need a hiking/camping budding! However, even though I didn’t do any hiking, I wasn’t really there for that. I was there to spend time with my sister, to get away from Adelaide, and learn about Melrose. I felt those things were achieved.

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Mel and I stayed at a utterly beautiful place called Bluey Blundstone Accommodation – it was once the old Blacksmith Shop of Melrose, and the owners have been gradually renovating and restoring it. I cannot recommend it enough, it’s amazing what they’ve done. Every night we sat by a little open fire, sometimes chatting, sometimes just quiet while I wrote. It was beautiful, peaceful and away…away from everything
My phone didn’t even work! What luck! ^_^ I was really away from everything. (Though it was a good thing my sister’s phone worked, we’d have been a bit lost without Google.)

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There is one memory I have very clearly of Melrose from when I was a child and that is the Swing Bridge. I recall this bridge being really, really awesome in my mind. The coolest thing EVER. I remember running across on it, being totally awed by it, freaked out by it, thinking it was HUGE.

I told Mel about it, saying how amazing it was, that we had to go and see it…
And…
Well, my memory was shattered into reality.

Yeah, nah, it’s actually tiny and not that awesome. (Don’t get me wrong, childhood memory me still thinks its amazing!!)
I think Mel thought it was all pretty hilarious. But I am pretty hilarious. If you can’t laugh at yourself, what’s the point, right?

I am very grateful to have such a wonderful sister to go on adventures with. Who is immensely understanding of my physical condition and illness, and who puts up with me being a pop-culture nerd. It’s great to be able to make the most of the moments we are given. Times change, slowly, rapidly, who knows…but they do change. It’s nice to have memories to treasure forever.

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Oz Comic Con Adelaide

Oz Comic Con Adelaide wrapped up on Sunday. I’ve spent Monday in recovery mode. Just chilling. The weather right now is truly beautiful. Autumn. I love Autumn. The sky feels richer in its blue, the air crisp, and the chill of Winter is just beginning to set in. It’s lovely.

It was a wonderful weekend, and I am so grateful to everyone who came along to visit me at my booth, to all those who purchased my novel. Thank you. Thank you so much! It was such an honour. I hope the adventure you have embarked upon brings you great joy as you read it.

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This year my little sister helped with bump-in.
I am immensely blessed to have such a tolerant family, who accept the craziness of my life, and just how much I enjoy what it is that I do and the geeky-culture that I immense myself in. I am sure its difficult, at times, for them to fully understand it, but they accept it and enjoy it along with me anyway.
I wouldn’t have been able to set up without Mel. So, thank you Mel for the help. It really meant a lot to me that you came along. I am SO GLAD we found that trolley and didn’t have to carry the boxes of books.

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Anyone notice that our glasses match our hair colour?

It was my Dad who took the time out of his weekend to keep me company and help man-the-booth on Saturday and Sunday morning, missing church. Dad works away from Adelaide during the weeks, in Whyalla, and only has the weekends home, so as you can imagine, his weekends are rather precious, and he spent his weekend at Oz Comic Con. So, an immense thanks goes to my Dad as well.
My little sister popped in on Sunday afternoon so Dad could visit my grandparents, and she manned-the-booth during the time I did a talk with some fellow indie authors. Which went very well, I feel, and if you did attend, let me know what you thought!

Saturday morning, when Dad and I arrived early — my favourite time, because I can run around freely without a crowd — I skipped happily between all the stalls looking at all the amazing things. I don’t have a great camera on my phone anymore so uploading to social media has become difficult, hence my silence over the weekend.

It was lovely to see so much artistic stuff going on, walls you could draw on, Anime station you can scribble at happily.

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I drew Sami on the Scribble Wall.

It is difficult to leave a booth that is fitted between two other booths. So all the photos I do have tend to be taken from behind my booth once the show starts.
Thankfully I had some visitors.
Deadpool dropped by. Which was awesome.

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And then there was this amazingly well crafted Toothless along with incredible cosplays from How To Tame a Dragon. Seriously. Look at the work they put into everything. They could even ride Toothless. Genius.

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I am always so impressed by cosplay. What people dress up as, the level of detail they’ll go into, and who they’ll come along as. It is magical, inventive, and colourful.

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Half the fun of a convention is sharing a ‘street’ of the Artist Alley with wonderful, creative people who love the convention circuit just as much. I did take a photo of our ‘street’ but it blurred beyond recognition (like I said, terrible phone camera). dsc05023_zpsowaninpq

My Dad said something interesting to me while I was debating about getting an autograph. He said: “This only happens once a year (or twice, depending if I do Supanova), and it makes you happy.”
And its true. To be brutally honest, I don’t have any friends (at least here in Aussieland) in which to geek out over Anime, or Game of Thrones, The Walking Dead and gaming. No one to play Dungeons and Dragons with monthly. As Karen said in our talk, ‘writing can be a very lonely job’ and sadly, I’ve just ended up a bit isolated because, one, I’m naturally introverted, and two, my health caused me to seclude myself away.
And it is only now, that I’ve matured a bit more, and learnt some techniques to cope, that I’m trying harder to get out and about — to ‘make friends’ which is *really* hard. If anyone has a magical formula for it, I’d appreciate this knowledge.

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Do things that make you happy.
Go to conventions. Go for walks. Watch a movie. Read a book. Play a game.
Even the tiniest things can bring joy sometimes, in the dimmest of moments.  There can be a flower growing in your garden, a single flower, and it can bring on a smile.
Or, perhaps, this is just me. I do not know.
However, that is what I learnt from this weekend, to remember happiness is still there if I seek to find it.

Goodbye Long Hair

Last year I dropped my external hard-drive.
It broke. I died. I could get the contents on it recovered…for a high price…
For now, I’m just waiting until I have the funds to recover what was lost.
Sadly, what was lost was a lot of family photos – all I have left are photos from 2013 onward. I lost a LOT of photos. It breaks my heart still thinking about it.

So I can’t show you the progression of my hair adventure, but it has gone from long to short, to long, to short again…
And I’ve gone a bit shorter once again.
It just seems to be a back and forth I have.

This morning I started my day with long hair.
Pretty much the longest I have actually managed to get it.
But it was starting to get very difficult for me to brush, in the shower it was tangling up to the point that I was near tearing out chunks when I brushed it out and doing so was getting exhausting since I haven’t got much strength due to my fibro.
It’s nice having long hair — but I don’t really do much with it. I don’t know what to do with it. I have never learnt girl-y things for hair. I barely know how to braid. So…
I decided…
It was time for a bit of a change.
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So, an hour and a half later…this was the result.

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Now. I just have to use a hair straighter so that it doesn’t do this weird curly thing that I loath, that my hair does whenever it gets layered and was the whole reason why I shopped getting it layered in the first place. So, it will take some work, but that’s okay.
All in the name of beauty.

Victor Harbor Half-Marathon

Out of bed I leapt as my alarm blared loud, 5:15 in the morning. Scrambling into my office I clambered for my mobile, turning off my alarm. Down the passage, my blurry-eyed sister wandered, poking her head into my office.

“That’s a really loud alarm.”

I chuckled. “Yeah.”

Loud alarm, so that I can hear it from my office, where my mobile phone lies charging overnight, otherwise I doubt I would ever clamber myself out of bed.

Our early morning wake up call was for the eventful day ahead, the Victor Harbor Half-Marathon. My little sister, Melissa, did not want to be late, and therefore, we were leaving at 6:00am, as her 10km race started at 7:30am. She had been training for this important day, being late was not an option. ( If you want, you can learn all about her jogging adventures at her blog 365 Days of Running.)

Last year I walked the Pichi Richi half-marathon, 21km, and busted my knee (again) and it hasn’t quite recovered from my second operation. In attempting to jog 200-meters I strained my LCL two weeks ago, and was unsure if I was even going to be able to walk my 5km but I strapped my knee up and figured on giving it my all anyway.

Our father had been hoping to also jog the 10km with my sister, but alas, he had also injured his knee a few weeks back. It was disappointing for him, however, he came as driver, camera man and supportive father.

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Before the race. Yay!!

There is an incredible electric hum in the air at marathon events. When you gather a group of people together who all enjoy the thrill of exercise, the joy of movement, of propelling yourself along by the power of your own body, the conversations around you are interestingly focused:

I heard one young man discussing how he was preparing for the Olympics. He was standing right next to me, he was perhaps eighteen. I’m sorry…DID YOU SAY THE OLYMPICS.

The atmosphere is something I love. Not only that. I love that through walking I can go distances. After having walked 21km, 5km doesn’t feel very far at all, but when I reached the 2.5km mark and turned around and looked back the way I had come that feeling of distance came over me. I had walked it, with my own feet, and nothing else.
I love that feeling. I love the sensation of having carried myself over a distance and looking backward, it is such an incredible feeling – it is worth the pain.

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Starting the race. Fresh. Happy. Not red in the face. ^_^

So, how did I do? I did okay.
As usual in these events, my whole body tensed up and I couldn’t relax it. However I did the 5km in 51 minutes, which is about what I expected.

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Finished! *phew*

My little sister did fabulously. I am, as always, in awe in awe of her. She did her 10km in 1:01:01 — that’s a lot of one’s Mel. ^.^

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Here she is being amazing. Go Mel! 

 

After the race we sat down at the kiosk, delighting in a vanilla slice, and while thunderstorms had been forecast, they had not yet rolled through. We were given a chance to enjoy the peace and bask in the moment. Days, months and years are all made up of precious tiny moments that can so easily be forgotten. Oddly enough for me, it is not the race, nor the thrill of being amongst fellow runners of walkers that I enjoyed the most – it was sitting in the car driving to Victor Harbor, watching the sunrise, listening to my sister and father talk and feeling the comfort of their presence after a lonely week. Nothing was as precious and special as that moment.