Work, Life and Dreams: 2013 365 Challenge #282

Cousins doing craft

Apologies that today’s post is a little late. I try and have it live by 10am GMT, usually writing it the night before, but various things have cascaded this week and I’m rather behind.

My sister and her family arrived from America yesterday, so we spent the evening with them, letting the cousins meet and play properly for the first time. Then, this morning, after a rather hectic double drop off for school (having had to wake a tired son ten minutes before leaving the house, and asking nursery to feed him!), I got chatting with some of the other mums about school and life in general.

It was an interesting discussion. They’re both teachers and finding it tough adjusting back to work after the vacation, because the ante has been upped (new Head) and the workload is even more impossible than before. I really don’t know how they do it. We got chatting about public vs private sector (I’ve always worked in the private sector in various listed or privately owned organisations). They have their pluses and minuses, with the main difference being job security and holiday time versus better pay.

Captured for posterity: cousins cooperating!

The middle ground, that I think more and more of my generation are moving towards, is self-employment. Working freelance so you control your own holidays and remuneration, in exchange for even more sketchy job security!

When I got home, I ran through the discussion with hubbie, because it’s just as relevant for him at the moment, having (finally, hurrah!) got a job. Particularly now he has to be in a company two years before getting any kind of payout if he gets made redundant again (the nature of his job is that he quite often does it so well he does himself out of a job, if that makes sense. He’s been made redundant three times).

We had a great conversation about setting five year goals; about having a dream and visualising it so you know what you are working towards. I understand it now, because that’s how I feel about with the writing. When I left work, six years ago, it was because I hated my job. I didn’t really have a viable plan of how I was going to replace that income. I had a dream that I would sell paintings to hotels and restaurants and make money that way, but it was a pipe dream because I’m rubbish at sales.

Now I’m looking long term and without the rose-tinted specs. I know it will be years (if ever) before the books make the kind of money I earned in the private sector. But I have job security: I decide when to write, when to publish, where to promote and at what price. I have flexible working: I can take my kids to school and pick them up and I don’t have to pay a fortune for childcare. Above all, I have self belief. I know the path I’m following and I’m happy about where I think it will lead.

Embrace Life. Trust Love. Cherish Dreams.

When I worked in an organisation, I never fitted. I desperately tried to change my personality to enable me to keep my job and get promoted.

The things that made me me – the things I felt I could offer that were of value – were all the wrong things as far as my colleagues and managers were concerned. Now I can use those traits to advantage: I can be open and honest, without having to play a political game, I can work inside my own moral and ethical code, I can be myself.

I know I am hugely fortunate. My much-missed Dad left me enough to follow my dreams and I thank him for it every day. I know he would be proud and would very much approve of my choices. He always ploughed his own furrow, mostly he always worked for himself, and he kept his dreams simple. I’m happy to forgo skiing holidays, new clothes, a car that doesn’t rattle and randomly decide not to start, in order to be content.

Maybe that’s why my author tagline is “Embrace Life. Trust Love. Cherish Dreams.”

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Below is the next installment in my novel Two-Hundred Steps Home: written in daily posts since 1st January as part of my 2013 365 Challenge. Read about the challenge here.You can catch up by downloading the free ebook volumes on the right hand side of the blog:

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Claire ran her hands around the steering wheel and smiled. The endless grey tarmac outside the window flashed passed as she pressed the accelerator, and her smile widened. After weeks trapped on a coach, it felt great to be free.

“Oi! Steady on. My car isn’t used to going above fifty.”

Claire grinned sheepishly at her friend. “Sorry, Kim.”

Kim grimaced and Claire felt some of her elation seep away. Kim had found fault with everything since their departure early that morning. Although she tried to be sympathetic it was starting to grate.

I have to remember she was in hospital until last night. This must all be so overwhelming.

Claire flushed guiltily as she thought back to her conversations with Kim. Her friend had wanted a few more days to recover but, conscious of her money and Conor’s goodwill both slipping away, Claire had pushed her friend to leave immediately.

And it doesn’t do to dwell, I can see that. Keeping moving is the thing.

She thought Kim had fallen asleep and so her voice made Claire jump.

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

“Oh crap, really? You poor thing. Hang on, I’ll find us somewhere to stop.” Claire searched alongside the motorway for a sign to indicate how far away the services were. She didn’t fancy stopping on the hard shoulder. At last a blue sign informed her that it was three miles to the next service station.

“Can you hang on for five minutes?”

When Kim didn’t respond, Claire glanced over. Her friend was slumped forward with her hands covering her face.

Crap, crap, crap. Stupid idiot. I should have listened to her, let her stay home and rest. I’m sure Conor would have understood. Now she’s going to end up back in hospital and it will be my fault. Again.

Gripping the wheel with slippery hands, Claire indicated for the turning and guided Kim’s hatchback up the ramp to the car park. Parking close to the grass, Claire jumped out and ran round the car to help her friend.

Within minutes they were perched on a picnic bench, although Claire was grateful that her friend hadn’t yet vomited. It was too early in the morning for that.

“What can I do? Do you want water? Something to eat? What did the doctors say?”

Claire wondered if she should call Jeff. The hospital hadn’t given much advice when they’d discharged Kim. Only to say that she needed to be watched; to make sure she took her anti-depressants and to check back in from time to time. Nothing about the physical side effects of the overdose.

Helplessness washed over Claire as she watched Kim staring at the floor, her face a pale tinge of green. It wasn’t worth it. No job was worth making her friend more sick.

“Sorry, Kim. I rushed you into this. Do you want to go home? Back to the hospital? We’re only about two hours away.”

Kim shook her head, but didn’t speak. Claire’s mind raced with options, her throat aching with supressed tears.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

“I’m okay.” Kim’s voice drifted up to Claire amidst the noise of the busy car park. “The stuff they made me drink – the charcoal – I feel like it’s still in my mouth, in my stomach. It was awful.” She gave a dry chuckle. “Makes my poo black too. Like I’ve eaten a mountain of liquorice.”

Claire strained to hear Kim’s words; her ears muffling out all the other sounds until her focus was completely on her friend. She wanted to ask more, ask her if she thought she might do it again, but it felt like prying.

“Could I have some water, please?”

Claire nodded, then hesitated, unsure whether to leave Kim alone while she went into the shop.

“I’ll be okay, I promise,” Kim said, interpreting Claire’s indecision. “I’m not going to do anything stupid. I don’t want to die. It was just then, at that moment, I didn’t know how to live. I wanted the pain to stop. I felt like I was trapped in a burning building and it was jump or be burnt alive.” Kim clasped and unclasped her hands, and Claire watched, mesmerised.

“I’m still not sure if I know how to live, but I’m fighting it. You’re here, now, and Jeff. We’ll find a way.”

“I’m here,” Claire agreed, but the words tore through her.

I’m here, but you shouldn’t be coming to Cornwall. You need constant care, and a therapist to help you. What if I get it wrong and you try again and we don’t stop you. What then?

Fear, indecision, guilt all dragged at Claire. She had to start her job, to pay off the bills before the credit card companies made demands. But Kim needed her.

I don’t think I can do this.

The darkness washed around the edges of Claire’s vision, and the world pitched and fell, as if she and Kim were cast adrift on a sinking ship. She wasn’t sure she had the strength to keep them both afloat.

***

Why we need government job?how it is better than private job?know the perfect answer? (rahuldhelord.wordpress.com)
Holidays: definitely not for wimps (reed.co.uk)
Singapore, a place where dreams die? (silvershootingstars.wordpress.com)
The Universe Wants the Best for Us. ~ Sarah McMurray (elephantjournal.com)

Sleep Deprived Stress-Bunny: 2013 365 Challenge #281

Working hard

My 350th post today! I like it when the milestone figures come around, it makes it easier to prise the eyes open and write some words!

Like yesterday’s post, today’s is likely to be on the short side. On top of the cold I’m fighting off, I had physio on my knee this morning. Physio always leaves me limp as a dishrag, and that’s without it being rush rush to get there on time.

It was a bit of a squeeze to get to the appointment (it was actually hubbie’s but he’d double-booked himself), as I had to stop at a service station for quarter of an hour en-route from the school run so I could tidy up and publish the few words I wrote during breakfast!

I might have no core muscles. I might tick all the physio’s danger categories of Sleep-Deprived, Sensitive to Temperature, Stress Bunny, Sedentary Lifestyle and Perfectionist (he said, try as he might, he couldn’t think of an alternative word beginning with S for that last one! Maybe ‘Super Perfectionist’?). I might be knotted and tied up and a bit wonky, but I can at least stick to my daily blog deadline! 🙂

All I have to do now is think of something to write about. The little energy left to me today has been spent tidying and planning for my sister’s long awaited arrival. After over two and a half years, I’m finally going to be able to give her a hug tomorrow, as she and her family come to stay (not with us, thankfully! I think two children in the house might be enough for me). Luckily my parents’ house is close by, so we’ll hopefully see them loads. I just have to figure out how much to take my daughter out of school so she finds a balance between not missing out there or here. Tricky.

Anyway, no dazzling words for my 350th post since I started the blog last year. I’ll have to hope for some inspiration before tomorrow! For now I’m going to try and stop yawning long enough to catch up with Claire, and then I’m going to bed to secure a few hours’ sleep before little man has his first nightmare or his nappy leaks (despite being on our fourth different brand of nappy)!.

This is the sleep deprived stress bunny saying night night.

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“You want me to do what?” Kim’s tired voice rose in agitation.

“Come to Cornwall with me. Just for a week or two, until Psych Liaison are off your case. It’ll be fun. The forecast is great, and Cornwall is meant to be beautiful.”

“Well it isn’t. I had a gig in Newquay once and it was horrible.” Kim folded her arms, reminding Claire strongly of Sky.

“That’s just one town. Milton Keynes is a boring town of concrete and roundabouts; you wouldn’t judge the whole of the Midlands on it, would you?”

Jeff caught Claire’s eye and signalled that he wanted a quiet word. Claire gave an imperceptible nod.

“Just think about it, okay? Now, would you like a cup of tea?”

Kim nodded, then sank her head back against the sofa. Although she’d seemed brighter once they’d reached her apartment, she’d soon slumped into despondency; drifting into a dark place beyond Claire’s reach.

In the kitchen, Jeff filled the kettle before turning to face Claire. “Don’t give up. She’s just being stubborn. Perhaps don’t mention the bit about the tent– Kim hates camping.”

Claire shivered, remembering Jeff’s attempts to get the friends to see sense before she went to New Zealand. Determined to carry the high ground, Claire lifted her chin and took Kim’s tea back into the lounge.

Kim lay with her eyes closed, but they flew open when Claire put the mug down with a clink. Claire happened to be watching her friend’s face, and saw the muscles tighten into the obstinate mask from earlier. She didn’t know whether to be irritated or amused by the wilfulness of her friend’s reaction.

Determined not to rise to the bait, Claire perched on the sofa and said in a bright voice, “So, am I to have a travelling companion? We never managed the girly holiday when we were younger – maybe this is our opportunity?”

Kim remained silent and Claire searched her brain for a way through the wall. “You can help me keep up with the blog, if you like? As I’ll be working for Conor this time, I might struggle to write something every day. Fancy trying your hand as a blogger?”

A flicker of interest passed across the pale face and for a moment Kim looked less unhappy. Then it was gone.

“Isn’t there a theatre in the cliffs, down at the bottom of Cornwall? I’m sure we could try and get tickets to a play – all paid-for research of course. Give us something to work towards?”

At last Kim turned to face her friend, and the tension dropped from her face.

“Alright, enough already, I’ll come. It’s not like I have so many other options.”

It wasn’t exactly a grateful acceptance speech, but Claire didn’t mind.

“Fabulous. I do just have one favour to ask, if you are coming.”

A wary look crept across Kim’s face.

“What’s that?”

Claire smiled.

“Can we take your car?”

***

The Importance of Sleep… (scots511.wordpress.com)
Dangers of Sleep Deprivation (maribelquinones.wordpress.com)
Sleeping badly? Don’t go food shopping! (iol.co.za)
Sleep Deprived (strongnewme.wordpress.com)
Sleep deprivation & baby jail. (momentsinmommyland.com)
Catching the ZZZZZZZZZZzzs (thatasiangurl.wordpress.com)

Have a Mental Health Day: 2013 365 Challenge #276

Daughter taking some downtime in the dog bed

I have come across a term recently, on Facebook and Twitter, called mental health day. To me, Mental Health Day is a day in October when we seek to de-stigmatise mental health issues like depression and anxiety. But no, apparently these status updates are referring to a phenomenon that I guess must be a US thing (correct me if I’m wrong, neither hubbie or I have had an office job in some time) which is basically taking a day off to prevent potential mental health issues.

I’m familiar with it as something I’ve done in the past. I’ve even had a boss tell me to take some time off, get some perspective and come back with a better attitude. Whether it’s considered sick or holiday time I’m not sure.

Generally though I think it’s a good thing. In our frantic world, where we are being communicated with 24-7 and the internet means we’re always at work, taking some time to nurture our brain and spirit is essential.

I jokingly told hubbie I was going to take a couple of hours’ mental health time this afternoon, while he took the kids shopping for my birthday gift. I intended to read my book, but I don’t find reading so nurturing anymore as it feels a lot like work. Then hubbie and I had a row about birthday gifts just before he left (a topic for another day) and I spent my first half hour of free time sobbing.

Son and dog chilling out together

If ever there was a person on the edge of (another) breakdown it’s probably me. I spent my whole life sobbing at the moment and then hating myself for it. Because it’s so thing specific, and because I had a bad experience with them last time, I really don’t want to go back on SSRIs. The knee injury means I can’t do more exercise and lack of funds rules out a spa day. The daily blog means no real downtime, so what to do?

I spent the rest of my two hours cleaning. Usually I do as little cleaning as possible, as it is an exercise in utter futility in our house. I guarantee that, ten mins after kids, hubbie and muddy dog get home, you won’t know why I’m exhausted. But, hopefully, maybe, I’ve cleared as many cobwebs from my mind as from my house.

What would you do on a mental health day? Is it a sickie or genuinely a way of preventing yourself from collapsing from the weight of work? I’m really interested in the idea. I wonder if it’s what we used to call a Duvet Day, back when I worked flexi-time (those were the days!)

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Below is the next installment in my novel Two-Hundred Steps Home: written in daily posts since 1st January as part of my 2013 365 Challenge. Read about the challenge here.You can catch up by downloading the free ebook volumes on the right hand side of the blog:

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Claire let the silence of the car wrap around her like a blanket. Now and then she glanced over at Conor, but he always had his attention on the road ahead, following the directions of the SatNav taking them to the hospital in Cambridge. She studied his profile, but wraparound sunglasses concealed his face. He drove with one hand on the top of the wheel and the other on the gear stick. When the tears came again, in fits and starts, he reached across and patted her knee; always removing his hand back to its resting place.

Claire sighed and stared out the window at the familiar landscape. Her head ached from lack of sleep and too many thoughts. The caffeine buzzed around inside her skull like a swarm of flies.

She didn’t remember falling asleep, but she jerked awake as the car stopped and Conor said, in a low voice, “We’re here.”

Rubbing her eyes, Claire peered out the window at the busy car park and felt a shiver run over her skin. Now she had arrived, she wanted to be anyplace but here.

“Do you want me to come in with you?”

Claire turned towards Conor and her stomach lurched at the concern on his face. She nodded.

Conor opened the door and climbed out of the car. Claire noticed that he moved languidly and with an unexpected grace, as if he had all the time in the world. Before she knew it, he was opening her door and offering his hand to help her up.

“You look like some food would be a good idea. Do you want to eat first? I hear hospital food isn’t as bad as it used to be.”

Claire shook her head, feeling her greasy hair sticking to her scalp. “I’d really like a shower.”

“We can probably do that. There are usually facilities for family in big hospitals. Do you want me to ask?”

She was about to agree, when she remembered that she’d thrown all her cosmetics away at the airport. “No, let’s leave it. I’ll shower when I get to my Mum’s.”

The words made her blanch. How was she going to get to her Mum’s house without a car? Public transport didn’t exactly run that way regularly and she doubted it would be running at all on a Sunday evening. Never mind what she would do if she got to her parents’ house and was turned away again.

Swallowing down imminent tears, Claire decided to deal with one thing at a time.

“Is your Mum local? I can drop you there, after, if you like?” Conor’s voice broke through her turmoil like a ray of light.

“No, you’ve done too much already. I’ll manage.”

“Don’t be silly, Claire. You’ve just got back from a long trip away. Let someone help you for a change. You don’t have to do everything by yourself.”

Claire wanted to protest, but she didn’t have the strength.

“Okay, that would be great, thanks. She’s about an hour away, but it’s in the right direction for you to get home.”

Satisfied, Conor led the way into the hospital and over to the reception desk.

Claire felt her knees give way as she approached the drawn blue curtain. Memories of visiting Ruth, of the shock of seeing how ill she looked, ran through her mind and she hesitated. The receptionist had explained that visiting hours would end in twenty minutes. Deep inside, Claire felt relief: she thought she’d be lucky to manage ten.

With trembling fingers she drew aside the curtain and peered round at the bed. Conor stood behind her but had already said he wouldn’t come in. She felt him gently place his hand on the base of her back and guide her forwards. Without the gesture, she thought she might have legged it.

A woman lay on the bed with a drip attached to her arm. Her closed eyes were sunk deep into her face and her cheekbones rose like armour either side of her nose. Claire wondered for a moment if she had been sent to the wrong cubicle. Then the woman’s eyes opened and her face stretched in the shadow of a smile.

“Claire.”

The voice whispered across the room and Kim tried to raise her arm, but let it fall back to lie on the covers. Her brow creased, in pain or frustration, and Claire took two steps forward to stand by the bed.

“Don’t move if it hurts.” She reached for the nearest hand and laid hers over it, ignoring the paper-dry skin and the chill of death that seemed to seep into her body through the touch.

“Where’s Jeff?”

“He had to go home. He’s been here for two days.” Kim paused, as if the words were hard to speak. “The nurse told him he was no good to me if he collapsed.”

She closed her eyes briefly, and Claire wondered if she might be sleeping. Her own breathing felt shallow, as the unmistakeable smell of hospitals and sickness invaded her senses. All the words she wanted to say, the questions and apologies, stuck in her throat.

Somewhere a clock ticked away the time until the sound of scraping chairs around them indicated that visiting hours were over. She gently removed her hand, not wanting to wake her friend. As she rose to leave, Kim’s eyes flew open again and her gaze was sharper.

“Must you leave?”

Claire nodded.

“Will you come back tomorrow?”

She nodded again, unsure how she would get there but not prepared to let Kim worry about that.

“Claire? I’m sorry. For blaming you. For everything.”

“Shhh.” Claire walked back to the bed and dropped down to her haunches, so she could talk directly to her friend. “You get better, get out of here and home with Jeff. Everything will be okay. There will be another baby, another job, you’ll see.”

Kim’s face crumpled. “No more babies. The doctors said I couldn’t have any more. That was why…” She scrunched her eyes shut and Claire forgot to breathe. “I know now, that the miscarriage was nothing to do with the wedding or anything. I couldn’t understand before, but I’m clearer now. I wasn’t meant to have babies, that’s all.” She tried to smile and the sight wrenched at Claire’s heart.

“We’ll find a way, Kim. You stay with the people who love you, and we’ll find a way.”

With a squeeze of her friend’s hand she fled from the bay.

***

Sofa Saturday: 2013 365 Challenge #272

Sofa Saturday

We let the kids have a sofa Saturday today.

Weekends haven’t figured much in our lives, certainly not for the last year, with hubbie looking for work and the kids only in childcare a couple of times a week. But now my firstborn is at school, Saturday comes back into its own.

I had to write my post (I’ve been struggling with story line recently, and it’s easier to come up with ideas in the morning), so I filled the lounge with cushions and let the kids watch TV while I searched my brain for inspiration.

I’ve noticed that my daughter is taking more time to be by herself since starting school. Not surprising really, as her joint class has over fifty children. For someone who has spent most of her life with just her brother to play with, the volume of kids is completely overwhelming. She starts full time next week and I’m actually thankful the teachers are on strike on Tuesday, just to let her have a day’s breather in what will be a long and tiring week.

We finally coaxed her out of her pyjamas after lunch, and dragged the family to the farm, dog and all. It was a bit of a waste, as she could barely keep her eyes open and little man – who has marched into the tiresome threes with passion – was in full back-chat, pushing the limits mode. We came home and collapsed exhausted. With all the emotional upheaval and sleepless nights of this week, I think we all need to take it easy.

So, an early night for the little ones, a glass of wine and some homemade lasagne for hubbie and I, a decent dose of Strictly Come Dancing, and it’s about the perfect Saturday. Now to go and make some more misery for Claire. Poor lass.

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Claire stared into the darkness, aware that her alarm would drag her from sleep in only a few hours. The need to rest pulled at her but her eyes wouldn’t close. The phone on the pillow next to her face remained stubbornly still. She willed it to shine with good news. Or any news. The wait stretched her nerves until she felt she might snap.

Around her, gentle breathing indicated the other sleepers in the room. Claire envied them their peace. The last person had stumbled in an hour before, bumping and bashing the bunks before crawling under the covers and starting to snore. For the first time, Claire found the sound soothing. Normal.

Her heart thudded out time in her chest and she tried to imagine what might be happening around the other side of the world, where the sun was probably high in the sky.

Why hasn’t he sent me a message? Surely he knows something by now.

The thought that he’d arrived too late, and was too distraught to contact her, ran over and over like a stuck record. Claire fought the repetition with words of her own.

She’s not dead. She’s not dead.

At last the phone flashed bright light into the darkness. The hammering in Claire’s chest increased in tempo, booming into the silence. Her hands shook as she reached for the phone and it took a while for her eyes to focus.

We’re in the hospital. She’d taken all her meds, but the docs have sorted it. Hoping she’ll be fine. Thank you, you saved her life. Come see her when you land, I think she needs you. J

Claire slumped back against the pillows and let the adrenalin flow from her limbs into the lumpy mattress. Relief, guilt, exhaustion, swirled around like smoke. With shallow breaths, Claire allowed the news to sink in.

She’s going to be okay. She has to be.

The alarm tore through Claire’s troubled dreams. Vivid images of chasing across an endless field after a fleeting shadow danced infront of her eyes, even as she blinked to ground herself in the present. There was no time to think. The coach was leaving early and she had to be on it.

It should have been an amazing day; the perfect finish to her journey around New Zealand. The coach took them through a pass in the mountains and down into Twizel. Around them the alps stretched magnificent to a clear blue sky, the snow-capped peaks dazzling with their brightness.

Claire felt encased in lead. The beauty couldn’t touch her. Her body still trembled with spent emotion and she had to resist the urge to text Jeff every five minutes for an update. It was night time back home: if he was asleep he deserved the rest.

They arrived at Lake Tekapo and Claire looked across at Mt Cook in the distance. The iconic image of New Zealand was as remote as if she were viewing it from home. The tranquility clashed with Claire’s urgency to be moving. The coach was too slow, the passengers too relaxed – spending just another five minutes soaking in the view, just another five minutes finishing their lunch, taking one last photograph.

Come on, come on! I’ve got a plane to catch.

Wishing she’d found the extra money to take an Intercity coach, Claire made sure she was always first on the bus, hoping her punctuality would ensure their timely departure.

They drove into Christchurch after the sun had set. Claire couldn’t bring herself to check the time. She already knew she was cutting it dangerously close, getting to the airport in time for check in.

Staring at Christchurch out the window, part of Claire’s brain regretted not having time to explore the garden city. From what she could see, it was very like Cambridge, with the canals and the punts, all tied up waiting for the morning.

With any luck I’ll be in the real Cambridge the day after tomorrow. That’s what’s important.

Claire wrapped her hand around the strap of her rucksack, already on the seat next to her ready for her to dash from the coach as soon as it stopped. The coach seemed to be barely moving, stuck in the city traffic.

The knots tightened in Claire’s stomach as she tried not to contemplate what horrors awaited her if she missed her flight.

***

Life Sucks and you Move On: 2013 365 Challenge #270

Focussing on what’s important

You spend your life worrying about the little things – have the kids eaten a healthy tea, can I afford to take the youngest for lunch in the coffee shop or buy them new pyjamas? Then life throws you a curve ball, like being laid off or an illness, and all those petty worries seem meaningless.

Only they don’t. They seem huge; bigger than before. Because in a world gone to shit they’re the things you think you can control.

As parents we can’t keep our kids safe all the time, so we stress about making sure they’re fed and have slept well.

In work we can’t stop ourselves being in the next round of budget cuts so we focus on not getting fired at least.

You might have gathered that we got thrown a curve ball today. Not something I can discuss, except to say I’m gonna have to sell a whole heap of books to make a tiny dent in the financial hole that has gashed open beneath our feet. One of those life sucks and you move on moments, where, through no fault of your own, you’re suddenly at the bottom of a deep pit and need to start climbing.

No one’s ill, no one died. Though I may have to put my author dreams on hold for a while and get a proper job that pays more than a $10 royalty cheque every other month. For now, we pour a glass of wine, give each other a hug and say, “You and me against the world, hun.”

And file it away as a great story that may, or may not, have a happy ending. (I put a strapline on the back of my Baby Blues print version yesterday: “A happy ending is just a story that hasn’t ended yet…” Ho hum.)

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Claire peered through the battered window and tried to enjoy the view, but her heart sat like a lead block wedged in her chest. Low cloud still swirled around the pointed peaks of the fjords, but at least the rain had stopped. The pilot assured her the flight would be without incident. Claire decided she wouldn’t count on anything until she was on the ground.

The rucksack at her feet took up the same space it had done the day before, but in her mind it was smaller: diminished by the loss of her Helly Hansen boots and the tablet that had kept her company through months of solitude. In the new simplified world of travelling, when everything else had been stripped away – her car, her apartment, her friends – the impersonal black rectangle had come to represent home. Her contact with the world, her reading material, her music, her photos, her memories: all stored in the small device.

With a harsh laugh, Claire remembered a fantasy novel she’d read as a teenager, where the solution to the survival of a community of people was hidden inside blank black cubes.

Who knew that fantasy would meet reality so soon?

With a shrug, she tried to convince herself it was just a possession; no different to having her phone stolen when she was mugged.

Except everything was backed up to the cloud, then.

Pushing the dark thoughts aside, Claire gazed out at the view that had cost her so much. She searched for a sense of excitement at the thought of going home. Some feeling of returning older, wiser, with a pocketful of experiences. Instead, the future yawned ahead like the long snaking tunnel whose closure had forced her to hock her favourite possessions.

Oh, pull yourself together, Claire, for heaven’s sake. Enough maudlin crap. This is life, get on with it.

Sitting straighter in her seat, Claire focussed on what needed to be done, in order of time and priority. Finding the bus to Christchurch, or booking on another one if the tour bus had left already. Checking in for her flight. Getting home, getting to Dorset, finding a new car.

Beneath the mire, a flicker of joy bubbled at the thought of seeing Conor in a few days. His quirky texts had kept her smiling through the last few weeks, and she hoped that would continue even when he was her boss.

The hulking elephant in the room of her mind was Kim. Just thinking about seeing her again made Claire’s mouth dry. Her head throbbed with the thought of how to mend their broken friendship. Her countless emails had received no response, not even from Jeff.

I screwed up, I have to fix it. But how? I can’t give her another baby. I can’t unsay the words.

A thought Claire hadn’t admitted to herself before reared up. She tried to ignore it but it tugged at her sleeve.

And is it really my fault? Michael shouted it out for everyone to hear, not me. Kim never told me to keep it a secret. I’m all for taking responsibility for my actions, but where do you stop?

Claire ran her hands through her hair. She was tired of feeling low; tired of the world smothering her in blackness. She wanted to laugh, to get through a day without analysing her every thought and action. To feel alive again.

Do I really need possessions to make me happy? I don’t remember ever being this miserable when I worked for Carl, despite him being a tosser and life having no meaning. Suddenly now I know I want more from life and I feel like crawling into a cave and never coming out. What’s that all about?

Tears trickled down Claire’s cheeks, but she ignored them. Maybe if she didn’t give the black thoughts any attention, they’d go away.

Beneath her, the monochrome landscape continued on unending.

***

When life throws you a curve ball ………… (alisoncrossjones.wordpress.com)
Life’s Curve-balls: 2013 365 Challenge #253 (writermummy.wordpress.com)
Is it just me or does life throw curve balls when you least expect it ? (nanasnaturalcare.wordpress.com)
Facing Reality. (eatprayandlift.com)

Dark Dreams: 2013 365 Challenge #267

Today’s Claire post is about the beautiful Milford Sound

I had a dark dream last night; a full story one, like Dragon Wraiths but much more creepy.

When I woke I wasn’t scared although I hate scary or violent movies: I told hubbie off the other night for putting Three Kings on without telling me what it was like. The scene I saw – of soldiers aggressively stripping captured people naked – had me fleeing the room in distress. The image stayed in my mind for days, like it was burned into my retina.

Last night’s dream was a bit like that, but without the horror. I don’t remember dreams with much lucidity but I recall I was in a huge building, hiding out (I think that bit came from a news report on the awful terrorist attack in Nairobi, where they said people might be hiding anywhere in the shopping centre). Only this was a Bond-esque evil empire complex with some terrible purpose behind the bustling activity and the steel and glass.

In the end I was captured, hiding out in a disabled toilet of all places. Then it gets really weird. Because I’m sure I was assaulted and tortured. I definitely remember that they changed my face to make me hideous and unrecognisable. But, unlike my usual dreams, I didn’t wake up terrified. And although it’s stuck with me all day, it has done so in a detached way that’s very unlike me.

I didn’t see much of the Sound when I was there!

I can’t help but feel my subconscious is trying to spill out another book. But I don’t write suspense thrillers. I don’t even read them anymore. When I had kids I grew soft and now I need happy endings (even to the point of redeeming the antagonist).

I thought Dragon Wraiths, which also came in a dream, was a long way out my comfort zone. Writing a story around this dream would be outside zones 1-6 and across into France.

I didn’t even intend to make notes on my dream, despite the vivid nature of the images in my mind. But they won’t go away, especially the image of my warped tortured face.

Maybe there’s another message there entirely (possibly linked to discussions I’ve had with hubbie recently about whether I need to lose the 2 stone baby weight I’m still carrying. It’s not bothering me too much, and dieting turns me into a psycho, but my Mum’s been dropping hints.) Or maybe it was the steak I had for dinner or the fact that I got more than three hours’ sleep. Who knows?

What’s the weirdest dream you’ve Ever had? Do you incorporate dreams into your writing?

_______________________________________________________________________________

Claire’s memories of the south, she decided, would be memories of silence. The Catlins, Invercargill and now Milford Sound, seemed to give off an air of quiet confidence, as if there was no need to speak.

Despite the early start, Claire felt wide awake for the long journey to the fjords. The bus stopped again and again and each time the scenery became more impressive. Huge mountains towered above them, or glittered in reflection. Overhead, the skies shone blue and Claire thanked the weather gods for their parting gift. She decided she didn’t mind if it rained for the whole British summer when she got back home, in return for seeing the mountains all the way to the top.

And at least it didn’t look like they would get stuck the wrong side of the Homer tunnel because of snow. The tunnel had only just reopened after a rock fall, and she’d read it was possible to be snowed in for days, or weeks, if the weather turned, for those not fortunate enough to be able to fly back to Queenstown.

Please God don’t let that be my choice: I can’t afford to fly, but I can’t afford to miss my flight out of Christchurch either. It already cost a fortune to change it from Auckland.

Claire pushed her money worries aside and concentrated on absorbing the ethereal beauty outside the window. The bus slowed, and Claire saw a sign for the tunnel up ahead. Her stomach tightened at the thought of being stuck in the long snaking seven hundred and fifty metres of concrete. Soon it was their turn to go through. Claire rested her head against the seat and closed her eyes.

The darkness gave way to light and the tunnel disgorged them into the sun. Claire looked at the towering mountain walls as they drove away, and prayed she would be driving back through at sunset.

Claire sank back against the seat and craned her neck to see the top of the peaks surrounding her. By the time they reached Milford the sun had disappeared, leaving heavy clouds lurking above them. She guessed they wouldn’t see any seals or dolphins swimming alongside the boat today.

The view was still beautiful, as the peaks wore their fog shawls like a huddle of old women. It was disappointing not to see the Mitre Peak but Claire’s sadness lasted only until they reached the first waterfall and the guide explained that recent rainfall had made the water gush down.

Milford Sound

The boat pulled up close to the waterfall and they were able to reach out and fill glasses with the ice cold water. It tasted pure and refreshing. Claire tugged her waterproof around her face and let the spray of the waterfall cover her.

At the next waterfall, the boat drove right underneath the cascade. Claire thought about retreating inside, with the majority of the passengers. Something made her stay put, as the water poured over her and drenched her despite her raincoat.

Laughter bubbled up deep inside her as she stood with water dripping down her neck and running off her hair. Turning, Claire saw the bemused looks of the dry passengers and gave a little wave. A beaming child waved back, enjoying her mirth.

The boat pulled away from the waterfall, but the water continued to fall as the heavens opened. Claire watched the droplets hitting the flat sound, reducing the visibility even further until she could barely see the end of the boat. The world turned into a monochrome photograph: the slate grey water, the charcoal grey cliffs visible for only a short distance before everything else swirled into foggy white.

Shivering uncontrollably, Claire admitted defeat and went back inside the cabin, glad that she had her rucksack with her. There was something to be said for travelling light and not having a car to leave all her belongings in. Her hands trembled as she fumbled with the drawstring and eventually managed to retrieve some dry clothing.

An announcement came over the tannoy as Claire headed for the toilets to get changed.

“As you have probably noticed, it is starting to rain. The weather is as extreme as the landscape down here in the fjords, and the area can see up to 50cm of rain in just a few hours. The boat will return to Milford now, and you can continue your tour at the observatory. We apologise for any disappointment.”

With a shrug, Claire continued on her way to get dry. The rain hammered relentlessly on the cabin roof.

“What do you mean we’re stuck?” Claire glared at the driver and tried to ignore the fear gnawing at her innards. “I have to get to Queenstown: my flight leaves Christchurch in a couple of days.”

She felt the tears welling behind her eyes, and stopped to brush them away. Swallowing the painful lump in her throat, Claire turned away from the driver and listened as he talked quietly to the other passengers.

“Sorry, guys. The heavy rainfall has loosened some rocks near the tunnel. They won’t let us through in the dark. You will be given accommodation for tonight and we will assess the situation tomorrow.”

Claire heard a few groans, but mostly the passengers took the news calmly. If you were travelling for a whole year, what difference did an extra night make? It was all part of the adventure. Trying to find a similar fortitude, Claire followed the group to the bus and prayed for the rain to stop.

***

The Longest Day: 2013 365 Challenge #264

Say Cheese!

Today feels like it’s gone on forever. Uploading photos for the post, I saw a picture of the kids eating ice cream in the coffee shop and was shocked when I remembered that was lunchtime today. Daughter went to school for three hours this morning, and hubbie took son shopping for pyjamas, while I painted a shark (photo tomorrow) and wrote my post.

After school (only a morning session) we had lunch at the coffee shop (because Mummy has forgotten to buy food this week), home for quiet time, and then I took son to the Farm so Daddy and daughter could clean the house, ready for the birthday party tomorrow. There is still a lot to do.

It doesn’t help that I seem to be in a low point at the moment, and have been randomly sobbing for most of the day over trivial things, like not having any reviews on my book yet, despite asking friends who have read it to please at least give a star rating on Goodreads. I know reviews are as much a curse as a blessing, but for me a book doesn’t feel published until it’s had a review.

Enjoying the sun

Then, of course, there are the dismal download numbers for my Dragon Wraiths free promo. I didn’t push it much, because I had other things to do today, but it’s still disappointing when you can’t even give your book away! Thankfully that’s the last free promo I need to worry about, as DW comes out of KDP Select next week, hurrah.

It’s frustrating the random things that seem to crash my brain when I’m already struggling. Stupid things, like worrying that the boys won’t like having pizza and chips for lunch at the party tomorrow, or the mummies will frown at its unhealthiness.

Or reading a blog post this morning about judgmental mummies and realising I can be a bit quick to judge by appearances, despite knowing how stupid that is.

All in all I probably feel about as good now as I did three years ago, when I sat eating fish and chips with my toddler, while hubbie was away in London on a work’s outing to a Dara O’Brien gig, and my waters broke – five weeks early.

Sand shark, sand boat

My mum had to leave behind her half-cooked dinner and take me to hospital nearly an hour away – a hospital I hadn’t even visited, because my tour was scheduled for the following week.

I went in with a book to read and some clean pants, expecting to be there a few hours as was the case when my waters broke early with my first child, and I came home ten days later.

It’s the most surreal time of my life and quite possibly the start of my postnatal depression. There’s nothing like sending a control freak to hospital five weeks early and trapping her there to start a downward spiral.

Anyway, it’s been a long tough rewarding love-filled sleep-deprived three years, but I survived and I have a gorgeous boy to make it worth every moment of pain (as well as a beautiful daughter who is the best big sister in the world). Happy birthday little man.

________________________________________________________________________________

Claire waved at the minibus and it pulled up beside her. A tanned man in his thirties beamed at her through the window, before jumping down and opening the door for her to get in.

“G’day, you must be Claire. Welcome to the tour.” He checked her name off against a clipboard, then ran back round the bus.

With a quick glance at the other passengers, Claire found a free seat and gazed out the window. There were only five or six people on the bus and she wondered if there were more people to collect. Her question was soon answered as the driver turned round to address the group.

“It’s just us today, folks, so should be a lovely quiet trip out to the peninsular. None of you are booked on the Albatross Experience, so we’ll spend a short time up at Taiaroa Head and see if we can spot some flying in. It’s the only mainland albatross colony in the world. Then we’ll head out to the beach and see the rest of the wildlife. Any questions just holler and I’ll try and answer them.”

As the bus pulled away, Claire revelled in the silence of a small group. It felt strange to be in a vehicle smaller than a coach, but it was great to be able to see the streets around her as they left the city.

Albatross at Taiaroa Head

Before long they were driving round a bay, heading for the Otago peninsular. The road hugged the coast as they made their way to the albatross centre. Overhead, blue sky blazed in between the pure white clouds scudding past.

At last the minibus climbed up a winding lane and arrived outside a long low building. The wind hit them like a wall as they headed for the bluff. Claire tugged her jacket closer and bent her head into the wind.

“Good weather for flying,” the driver yelled over the noise. “They need good lift to keep them airborne; they’re big birds. Keep yer eyes peeled.”

Claire gazed up at the sky, blinking away the tears dragged out by the wind. She wasn’t so sure she was bothered about seeing a giant seagull and wondered if the centre sold coffee. Tucking her hands under her arms to keep them warm, she stamped her feet and looked about to see what the other passengers were doing. She didn’t want to go inside and get left behind.

One of the couples were shouting at each other and pointing at the sky. Claire thought they were fighting, then realised they had seen something. Following the direction of their gesturing, she saw an enormous bird circling low before disappearing behind the building.

“Wow!” Even though she knew that albatrosses were big birds, nothing had prepared her for just how large.

“Keep watching. It’ll come back out shortly.”

Claire kept her eyes trained on the sky, while reaching for her phone to take a picture. As predicted, the bird re-emerged and Claire grabbed some shots, sure the bird would only be a tiny speck when she looked at the images later.

Buoyed by the experience, the passengers chatted together as they headed back to the bus. Claire wasn’t sure if the couples all knew each other, or were just being friendly. She didn’t feel like talking, so she hung at the back near the driver.

“Right, next stop sea lions. We’ll drive through the wetlands so you can see the sea birds and waders, but it’ll be good to get down to the beach fairly early, the weather often shifts later in the afternoon.”

Claire let the driver’s words wash over her, glad for once to follow along like a sheep. Despite the cost of the tour, this was the real New Zealand and she was happy to enjoy every minute.

The next hour passed in a blur of bird names and beautiful scenery. Claire realised how little she actually knew about any sort of wildlife, as the other passengers discussed this and that type of bird. She breathed a sigh of relief when they finally pulled up at the sea lion beach. This was what she had come for.

Hooker sea lions

“Right. Just some rules before we reach the beach. These fellas are huge, but they won’t attack unless provoked. Don’t get between a sea lion and the sea and, whatever you do, don’t turn your back on them. If need be, run.”

Claire laughed, sure the driver was joking. He raised an eyebrow at her, and chuckled.

“We had an American tourist chased off the beach only last week. They move pretty fast for big creatures.” Seeing her grin, he added, “The sea lions. I couldn’t comment on the gentleman.”

The walk down to the beach tested Claire’s balance, and she tried not to think about how hard it was going to be to walk back up. Her muscles were already sore from the climb up Baldwin Street.

All this tour bus travelling is making me soft.

Suddenly a roar cut through the silence and Claire felt goosebumps rise on her arms beneath her jacket.

“Sounds like some of the young males are getting boisterous.” The driver’s voice came up the hill to Claire. “Should be good viewing.”

As they reached the beach Claire understood what he meant. Out in the middle of the sand, three or four giant beasts roared at each other, heads swaying, mouths wide. Claire shivered and turned her attention to the driver, determined to walk exactly where he did across the sand.

They made their way around behind the creatures, stopping at a hide to take some photographs. Then they were taken up to a grass covered sand dune, all of them following the guide into a wooden hut.

Penguins coming in at dusk

“It’s nearly time for the penguins to come in from the sea. As the sun goes down, they’ll come up the beach in groups; keeping a watch for the sea lions who might be after a tasty evening snack.”

Claire hunkered down to watch, ignoring the quiet chatter of the couples behind her. It was a magical place. She’d never seen such animals in the wild before. She couldn’t even remember the last time she’d been to a zoo.

Watching the little penguins run in from the sea and make their way up the grassy hillside, Claire was conscious of a deep warmth within her chest. All the years she’d spent inside an office, surrounded by glass and steel, wires and technology, made no sense to her anymore. Here, shivering in a hut on a hillside, watching yellow eyed penguins scurry and scamper for their homes up impossibly steep terrain, seemed more real than anything in her own life.

She had no idea what the future held, but she was certain it wasn’t going to be in a concrete cage.

***

Different Types Of Mummy (youbabymemummy.com)
End of Summer (peoniesandpolkadots.com)

Friends are the Best Medicine: 2013 365 Challenge #263

Friends

It’s going to be a short post today, for various reasons, some good, some bad.

The bad is I have a stinking cold. I spent the afternoon trying to rest because I had dinner plans for my bi-annual catch up with my old work friends. The good is that I made it to dinner and spent a lovely two hours with good food and good company, catching up on the work gossip and not talking about the children (much).

It’s hard not talking about the kids but it is sort of an unspoken rule that we don’t, even though five out of six of us have children and the sixth has a puppy that is just as troublesome and gorgeous.

Even my friend who had her first baby seven weeks ago started the evening by saying “I don’t want to talk about babies.”

It’s actually rather lovely to forget you’re a parent for the night. I think parenting can be a divisive rather than inclusive subject for discussion. Everyone has different techniques and priorities, and there’s such a difference between age stages, from a baby to a pre-teen, as the age range is across our group. Plus the passing of the years are more noticeable when we talk about such and such starting school or big school. Without the kids to mark time, it only feels like yesterday that I left work rather than six years ago.

Work is always a safe topic. Even though two of us haven’t worked for the company in years, it’s still possible to follow along. Like an old school friend you haven’t seen in a decade, you can still talk about that shared experience. Incidentally the picture is one I drew of me and my two best friends at high school (a scary 20 years ago). The friend I gave it to emailed me a copy this evening, after finding it in a drawer. Happy days.

So, it’s off to bed for me, with the intention of writing my Claire instalment in the morning, after I’ve painted a shark. It’s been a lovely evening and I want to round it off curled up in bed with a lemsip, finishing Reckless Rebellion by Rinelle Grey (published on Amazon today!) Night night.

________________________________________________________________________________

Claire looked out the window at the changing scenery and wondered if she’d make a mistake. It felt lonely knowing that Bethan wasn’t on the bus.

I would have had to say goodbye in a few days anyway. Travelling is all about meeting people and then saying goodbye to them, carrying them with us in our hearts.

She smiled at how corny that sounded, although no less true for all that. Bethan had begged her to stay in Queenstown for the extra day, but Claire felt no pull to stay in the famous town. Despite the lure of luging and drinking and other activities, she wanted to get on and get home.

I guess I could have missed out the bottom bus completely, but I really want to see the sea lions.

The brochure said she could do a wildlife tour in Dunedin and that had been enough to persuade her. Bethan hadn’t understood that she’d rather do that than drink shots out of tea pots.

I’m surprised too. I must be getting old.

She turned her attention back to the view, as the bus pulled into a town. She guessed it must be Dunedin, although it was nothing like she had expected. Apart from Wellington, it was the first really hilly town she’d seen, and the buildings seemed to be made of stone rather than wood.

As they drove through the streets, Claire peered out the window and felt a quickening in her tummy. It seemed familiar, as if she’d visited before in a past life. She soaked in the grey stone, the university buildings, the formal gardens and smiled.

I could be in any northern British town.

It felt like home

The bus pulled up at the bottom of what looked like a residential street. Claire wondered if they had arrived at the hostel, although it didn’t look like the centre of town, where she thought the hostel was located.

“Right, peeps. We’re at Baldwin Street. World’s steepest street. Climb to the top and back and you get a certificate.”

The driver finished his terse announcement, got out of the bus and lit a roll-up. Claire followed all the other passengers, glad to stretch her legs.

Outside it was raining, a light mizzling rain that hadn’t been noticeable as they drove through town, although it probably explained the greyness of the buildings. Claire looked up the street and wondered if she had the energy to climb it. It didn’t look too bad from the bottom, but she knew looks could be deceptive.

Some eager passengers started up the hill at a run, but soon dropped to a jog and then a walk. As she climbed, Claire marvelled at the buildings, where the road started at the lower floor window and passed somewhere near the upper floor. She took some pictures and kept on climbing, ignoring the burn in her thighs and the lack of oxygen in her lungs.

At last she reached the top and turned to survey the view. It was worth the climb. The road dropped like a child’s slide beneath her, a straight ribbon of tarmac. In the distance, tree covered hills hugged the little bit of town she could see. The sun had broken through the clouds on the other side of the valley, and its rays lit the fields like a spotlight. More than any place she had visited in New Zealand, the place felt welcoming; as if she belonged there.

With a sigh, Claire put her camera away and headed back down to the bus.

***

Breaking Point: 2013 365 Challenge #262

Daddy saves the day

Attempting to plait my daughter’s hair this morning was the proverbial last straw. Her hair was shiny from washing and she has a double crown. It’s had me swearing most days since she started school as she’s never worn her hair tied back before and I’m rubbish at plaiting someone else’s hair (especially a wriggly child).

Today I lost it. Full on panic attack, sobbing, hysterics the works. Bless my amazing family: hubbie did the plait, son gave pats and leg cuddles and daughter said repeatedly, “It’s okay Mummy.” However much I worry about the impact my hormonal instability has on my children, there’s no doubt it’s taught them empathy.

It’s also taught them blindness to difference, in a way. Mummy’s behaviour is normal to them, so if they encounter anyone having an episode, be it panic attack, asthma attack or emotional breakdown, they’re likely to remain calm. That counts for something, right?

Given that they’re likely to inherit an element of serotonin imbalance from their parents, hopefully they’ve also learned to give themselves a break: to let it pass and get on with their day as I had to do, with hubbie off to an interview, two kids to drop off and pick up from different places and a birthday party to prepare for.

Self awareness is a blessing and a curse and I’m not entirely sure my kids will thank me for introducing them to it early. But there’s no doubt it’s easier dealing with a toddler tantrum when it comes with “Mummy, I’m sad because…” rather than just screaming rage.

Only time will tell whether that helps in the teenage years. I try not to think about the future too much. So far parenting has got harder rather than easier and nothing I’ve read lets me believe for a minute that that pattern is going to change. Although, maybe at least one day I’ll learn to plait hair. ________________________________________________________________________________

“Are you okay, Claire?”

Claire opened her eyes and looked at Bethan, before closing them tight again.

“No.”

Around them, the aircraft vibrated as it climbed into the clouds. The man behind Claire kept checking an altimeter in his hand and providing a running commentary.

“Ten thousand feet … eleven thousand feet …twelve thousand feet …”

Claire wished he would stop.

“Remind me why I let you talk me into this?” She yelled above the noise of the engines.

“So you could impress your new boss.” Bethan yelled back.

“Maybe I could just buy him a beer?” Claire thought about it some more. “I’ve already done grade five water rafting, hiked across a glacier and kayaked with seals. This probably wasn’t necessary.”

“But just think how cool you’ll look. It was this or the bungee jump.”

Claire’s stomach lurched at the idea. For some reason jumping out of a plane at fifteen thousand feet seemed an easier option than throwing herself off a bridge with a piece of elastic tied to her ankles. This way, at least it wouldn’t actually be her doing the jumping. She was pretty certain the burly blonde man designated her tandem partner would make sure she didn’t chicken out.

“Fifteen thousand feet,” the man announced on cue. “Time to get ready, ladies.”

Claire looked around the cabin at the other passengers. She seemed to be the only one not grinning. Even the seventy-year-old grannie was peering through the open doorway with interest. Maybe you worried less about dying when you’d lived more of your life.

It was the grannie that had swung it, in the end. Bethan’s entreaties had fallen on deaf ears. She’d let herself be talked into the heli-hike and, although it had been beautiful, she wasn’t sure it had been worth the money. This was equally expensive, especially with the extra for the photographic evidence, and Claire was pretty certain she was going to enjoy it a lot less. Then the old lady had turned up, and shame had taken over.

Claire felt numb as she followed the burly man’s instructions, listening intently as he ran though again how she had to hold her arms and what she needed to do on landing.

Then, before she knew what was happening, a body plummeted from the plane. Claire’s heart skipped and her instinct was to reach out and grab at the disappearing figure. Then another person fell, and she realised they had started to jump. Her stomach knotted tight and she thought she might be sick.

One by one the passengers disappeared from view at incredible speed until she was the last one left.

“Let me go back down in the aircraft, I’ve changed my mind.” She could feel the blood draining from her face and wondered if the man would still jump if she passed out.

“Sorry, chick, there’s only one way down. You’ll be fine, no worries.”

He shoved her towards the gaping hole, and Claire just had time to register the blue of the lake and the blend of green and white of mountains before air was rushing past her and she was falling.

Shock pushed all the air from her lungs and she gasped, unable to breathe. The wind pulled at her cheeks and the cold burned her skin. Claire barely registered the ground leaping up to meet her or the other skydivers around them, until her host tapped her on the arm and she looked over to where he pointed.

Falling alongside them was the camera girl. She waved and gave a thumbs up. Claire tried to smile but her face was frozen in a mask of fear.

The camera girl circled them, taking pictures, before changing her body position so she could dive to the next person and photograph them. Part of Claire’s brain marvelled at her casual ease, as if she were walking across a garden rather than plummeting at 200km an hour through the sky.

A sudden jolt told Claire the parachute had opened. She watched as other chutes opened beneath her. She could see some of the people swinging from side to side, spinning in spirals down to the lake. It looked like fun. She waited for her host to do the same, but he didn’t.

Still breathless and panting, she was unable to ask him why they were falling so sedately. Disappointment clouded her vision and she looked at the view below through jaded eyes. Her host clearly thought she was having a panic attack and wanted to get her to the ground quickly and gently.

She wanted to explain she was fine, that it was only the shock of the jump that had stopped her breathing, but there wasn’t time. The land once more rushed up to meet them, and before she knew what was happening, it was time to lift her feet up and let the man land.

Sadness fought with exhilaration and, eventually, elation won.

“That was amazing! I want to go again, now!” Claire looked around for someone to hug, and saw Bethan running towards her.

“Aren’t you glad you did it? How awesome was that? Especially the spinning at the end.”

Claire’s face fell. “I didn’t get to do that, I think Muscles over there thought I was too scared.” She saw Bethan frown, and realised she was being a killjoy. “But, oh my goodness, it was brilliant. Thank you so much for convincing me to do it.”

They walked arm in arm to return their kit and watch the video. Claire wondered how she would drop it into conversation with Conor that she had jumped from an aircraft at fifteen thousand feet. She wondered if he would be impressed.

***

Panic Attacks – Can We Describe Them? (thejourneyofmyhealing.wordpress.com)
Living with anxiety: Britain’s silent epidemic (theguardian.com)
Anxiety …. We meet again. (mumblingsontheverge.wordpress.com)
Quiet People (thedemonawakes.wordpress.com)

Life in Layers: 2013 365 Challenge #261

Driving to Wanaka – 2006/7 Honeymoon

The problem with working on multiple writing projects is I end up living my life in layers. Part of my brain is on a beach with Helen and Marcio, searching for typos, while another part is flying with Leah, as I format Dragon Wraiths for print.

In the back of my mind I’m searching for a new life (and a new name) for Rebecca, as she deals with the death of her father. And I’m permanently in New Zealand with Claire, remembering the three separate times I visited; as an independent traveller, a tour bus sheep and a honeymooner.

By the way, did you spot the cameo in yesterday’s Claire instalment? To try and get my mind in the right place for writing amid the chaos I read some of my travel journal and came across this:

“I drove from Franz Josef Tuesday morning. The weather was beautiful but cold. I stopped at Lake Matheson near Fox Glacier, and walked round it: passed all the Magic Bus sheep which made me again really appreciate how great it is having my own car! I walked all the way round so I could go to the view of views: Mt Tasman & Mt Cook both reflected in the lake; but it was full of loud kiwis, so I left!”

As an aside, it’s funny how much you can dislike your former self – even more so when you realise you haven’t changed as much as you’d hoped. My journal from eleven years ago is full of me whinging about my fellow travellers and feeling like I’m a freak with no place in the world. I came across this nugget:

“The more I travel, the more I realise how little I have in common with people, how few people I like, and how few seem to really like me. No more turning into Dad [he hated the world and everyone in it much of the time] – I have arrived!”

Anyway, I digress. The problem with a life in layers is I am also living all the layers of emotion. As most of my novels are in some part based on my own life experiences, albeit transmuted and transformed, I truly live the events alongside my protagonists. I’ve been to the beach at the end of Baby Blues & Wedding Shoes, so I can imagine I’m there too. I’ve been to New Zealand several times in different roles. I keep flicking through photo albums to help me with my writing and ending up lost in the past.

Puzzling World on Magic Bus Tour 2003

It’s all good for my writing, but not so much for my day to day life. I end up dreaming epic fantasy adventures with dragons and fight scenes where I also forget to pick my child up from preschool. Or I’m trying to figure out the details of my son’s birthday cake (he wants a shark – in the end we settled for a football) while also wondering whether Claire should meet some more people before she comes home from New Zealand. I’m cooking stew and writing a guest post on postnatal depression in my head. And we know I walk the dog while mentally or physically writing hundreds of words.

Sometimes I wonder if this is what it feels like to go mad. Certainly I don’t feel entirely sane. I feel like all the words and scenes and chaos in my head are seeping out. I couldn’t plait my daughter’s hair this morning because I was overwrought and my hands wouldn’t work. Why? Because the vivid scenes from my dream, where I healed the good queen only to have her turn into a wicked monster who made me miss a school pick-up, were still swirling round my sleep-deprived brain.

I guess the upside is I don’t have to worry about no one liking me anymore, or not being able to make friends: I have a permanent posse of people with me at all times. Unfortunately they’re all a version of me, so we don’t always make the best companions. Thankfully their male counterparts and best friends are usually rather good company. Who needs a life when you can write one?

I wonder if you keep hold of all the characters when you’ve written ten books, or twenty or fifty? My head could become very cluttered place if some of them don’t go away! At least I’ll never be lonely.

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“Aren’t you coming into Puzzling World?”

Claire looked from Bethan’s eager expression to the building with the illusion tower outside that people were pretending to hold up, as if it were the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Except this wasn’t Italian architecture, it was a money trap for tourists.

“No thanks, this isn’t my idea of New Zealand, any more than tobogganing down a sand dune or racing round a track on an aerial bike. I’m exhausted by the endless ways we’re encouraged to part with our cash.”

“Oh, come on Claire, lighten up. You are a tourist, you know. You’re only here for a few weeks, why not experience as much as you can?”

“Because I’m skint, and I’m tired of being a sheep and it’s all a con.” Claire saw the smile slip from Bethan’s face and stopped her rant. “I’m sorry, ignore me. I’m tired. I was up late, thinking about stuff. You go on; I’m going to catch up on my email.”

Bethan shrugged and ran ahead to join the rest of the group. Claire felt a pang as she watched her leave. She’d meant every word, but she hadn’t intended to belittle Bethan’s enthusiasm.

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. This is a trip of a lifetime and I’m being a complete grouch. What’s that kiwi song? Weather with you? We’ll I’ve certainly brought my black clouds with me.

Finding a bench in the weak wintry sun, Claire zipped up her jacket before loading her emails, expecting only blog comments and junk. When she saw Conor’s name her heart gave an odd lurch. He hadn’t texted for a while, and she only now realised the hole left by the absence of his happy messages. Her heart thudded uncomfortably as she loaded the email.

Hi Claire

I’ve spoken with my boss regarding my wish for you to join the company, knowing that you are reluctant to curtail your travels in order to take a full time position.

The Board have agreed to offer you a temporary contract that will also incorporate an element of hands on research. This will entail visiting hostels and tourist attractions in the surrounding counties to undertake a benchmark exercise on where Isle of Purbeck tourism sits at present.

At the end of three months you will be expected to prepare and deliver a presentation of your recommendations, including your vision for the future of Purbeck Tourism. The following three months will be spent drawing up implementation plans from your findings.

If this is of interest to you, please let me know as soon as possible. I understand that you are still travelling in New Zealand – perhaps there is something to be learned from their tourism and attractions also?

Extension of your contract will be dependent on your recommendations and implementation plans being accepted by the Board.

I look forward to hearing from you regarding this matter.

Conor

Claire read the message several times to ensure she had understood it correctly. Conor’s formal business language made it hard to grasp the full extent of the deal. At last she gathered that he was offering her everything she could want and more.

I get to continue travelling and get paid? The man’s a magician.

The idea that Conor was trying to impress her flitted through her mind, only to be dismissed. There was nothing in his demeanour or his communications to suggest anything other than a working relationship, albeit it a much more lighthearted and friendly one than she’d ever managed with her former boss. Claire tried to imagine Carl sending her jokes by text, and laughed at the absurdity of the thought.

Scanning the message one more time, Claire quickly tapped out a reply.

Hi Conor

How can I refuse such generous terms? I’ll be back home in a week. Jetlag aside, I should be able to start work immediately (I need the cash!)

Looking forward to hearing more about the contract. Off now to investigate one of NZ’s most popular tourist attractions.

Talk soon.

Claire

With a wide smile, Claire slipped her phone into her bag and strode towards the entrance.

***