don't worry mate, she's apples!

Category: Whinge Cry Complain (Page 1 of 8)

Sometimes life sucks. Or blows. Or bites.

State of my Mind

I am angry.

I’m not seething and throwing chairs angry, but if it were more socially acceptable I might just give it a whirl. Presently I’m doing what every well-mannered angry woman does. I’m bottling. I’m also randomly crying and wishing that the world would just coccoon around me until the worst of it has passed. The most irksome thing of all is that I’m not sure that I have any right to feel how I feel, even though that has no bearing on how I actually feel. I’m cross. I’m hurt. I’m bloody well gosh darn it annoyed.

Other people get to be selfish.

Other people get to do what they think is right.

Why can’t I be selfish once in a while? Why is it always my job to play peacemaker, to make sure everything runs smoothly and that everyone feels secure in their own little space? I’m tired. I’m emotionally exhausted. I have no space in my mind to keep more than one person afloat at a time, and once in a while I like that person to be me. Not always, not forever, just every so often it has to be my turn.

People seem to have come to expect me to be something that I’m not. I’m not really sure what that something is but they seem very determined that I should continue being it. I am not allowed to be anything other than what I’ve always been. One little move, one step outside of the box, one piddly-arse fuck-up with the best of intentions. Nup. No go. Cannot deal.

You know what? I think I deserve better than that.

Look again

I generally assume people expect me to be honest, open, and just a little bit out there, but I’m starting to wonder if that really is the case. Perhaps I’ve spent so long trying to be everything to everyone that I’ve become a bit of a nothing. Just another friendly face. No outstanding features, no real substance, just another sugar-coating, self-censoring someone who happens to fall within the definition of friend.

I don’t like that. I don’t like that one bit.

I used to be so shrewd with people. If they didn’t like me, or I didn’t like them, I just moved on. Case closed, it was just too much energy wasted, and that was not in plentiful supply. These days, with more energy to burn, I seem to be bending over backwards trying to keep the peace with people. Like them or not, for some reason I don’t want to step on anyone’s toes. I’m holding back. I’m censoring myself. I’m mirroring behaviours that I find utterly distasteful just so I can fit in.

I am rather peeved that this is what I’ve become.

Over it.

Annoyed with myself.

Trying a new tack.

They talk so loud it’s hard to disagree

Self-confidence is a funny thing.

4 hours ago I had plans. Good plans. I was going places. I finally had something concrete to hold on to that I could identify with. I could be that person. I could almost taste it.

Now, I’m just another late night salty mess.

I’ve been ignoring it for months. I’ve been busting a gut to stay quiet about things that are really important to me because I have become aware that nobody wants to hear. It seems that my interests and accomplishments either are so completely foreign to them and hold no meaning whatsoever (this variety generally nod and smile), or are so totally utterly beneath them that they can’t even be stuffed making the effort to try and relate (this type force a smile, say “uh huh” and change the subject). If they do make an effort, it is only to be critical.

This is patently unfair.

For years I sat still and sucked up information like a sponge so that I can now participate in conversations with those well above my education level. I’ve learned things about certain subjects that wouldn’t even win me prizes at trivia nights, they are so obscure. I’ve sat and listened to topics that were so utterly dull and pointless to me that I was almost convinced my brain would become aqueous and dribble from my ears at some critical moment in the exchange. It isn’t because I have nothing better to occupy my time with, it is because I genuinely care about being able to understand where everyone is at.

It really wouldn’t kill people to be remotely interested in what I’m doing with my life. It wouldn’t hurt them to have a bit of faith in my decisions. It honestly wouldn’t take that much self control for people not to roll their eyes just that little bit and find something else to talk about if I happen to get a tad over-enthused about my latest project.

And you know, I get it. It isn’t the sort of thing that floats people’s boats. Vet nursing was fine because everyone loves their Fido and wants their Heartguard tablets at cost, even if they fancy themselves a regular Dr Doolittle. Websites on the other hand, unless I suddenly invent the next Facebook, I’m no more worthwhile of conversing with on the topic than Joe Bloggs down the road who chucked together something for Great Aunt Gladys in his lunch break at school. I honestly do get it.

No. You know I don’t get it at all.

I really want this to work. I want this like I haven’t wanted anything in a long, long time. I know I can make this work, even if I screw up spectacularly along the way, this will work.

All I’m asking is for a little respect and a little support so I don’t have to be sitting here at 4am sewing my tattered ego back together.

And, just for the record, no I will not make your website.

The Who, The Doors, and The Moody Blues

The Who

When I was first told that the almost-in-laws would be joining us for an extended holiday, I was concerned. I worried about sleeping arrangements. I stressed about touristy activities and how I could keep them entertained while PSWC was at work. Then I fussed about finances, and birthdays and, well, you name it. I went through every conceivable scenario so many times in my head that I figured I had all of my bases covered.

Yeeeeah, not so much.

The Duke and Duchess arrived safe and sound. They are sleeping in our spare beds, have celebrated several birthdays with us, and if anything they have lessened any funding issues that have arisen. That is all completely wonderful. Unfortunately, however, my planning on the activities side of things appears to have fallen short of the mark.

I let them get bored.

I didn’t keep them occupied.

But this is, of course, not an issue for them as they have found a way to occupy themselves…

The Doors

They are systematically stealing my doors.

This is amusement plan B, which is infinitely preferable to plan A. Plan A involved my kitchen becoming unhygienically close to the cat litter box for an undetermined amount of time due to the complete demolition of a dividing wall, rendering my laundry more of an abstract concept than an actual room.

When the suggestion was made that perhaps it would be best to complete some low impact renovations, I thought it was a much safer plan. I mean, the vast majority of the house would stay intact and our daily lives continue unhindered, allowing everyone to enjoy the holiday. No worries! A window lock here, a speaker mount there, it’d just be the odd bit of drilling and maybe a lick of paint. It would be the kind of weekend renovation stuff that would mean I could avoid playing site manager and retreat to the sanctuary of the study and focus on my course work.

I don’t know what I was thinking.

With my study door removed so it could be chemically stripped of it’s paint right outside the study window, and the pitiful warmth being generated by the antiquated two bar radiant heater being sucked down the hall at a frustratingly constant rate, I can’t say I was feeling all that studious.

Not content with passively freezing my tootsies off, it was decided that multi-tasking was the go and thus, the bathroom was also stripped of it’s flaking paint while the door dried in the sun. I was being attacked on two fronts with my defence perimeter confiscated and being painted a pleasing shade of cream. I found my headphones and loaded up and typed in “doors”. It seemed appropriate.

You can imagine my surprise when, halfway through Light My Fire, I realised my world had turned a lovely shade of lime with bouncing purple spots.
What had started as a happy little wet paint scent had morphed into a full blown ammonia assault, the likes of which even our most industrious cat would be hard pressed to match.

I did a somewhat fuzzy calculation regarding the likelihood that I would be able to extract both myself and the large glass box (in which my hermit crabs are currently moulting) from the room, and concluded that such an action might best be left to those that could feel their lower extremities.

It seems that perhaps our shower screen glass was a little dirty or something.

The Moody Blues

I’m not quite sure how to say this without coming off like a spoilt ungrateful so-and-so. I suspect there is just no avoiding it. All this (very wonderful, necessary, appreciated) house tinkering has got me alternating between unsettlingly easy-going and wanting to tear strips off anyone who so much as breathes in my vicinity.

I like my space.

I need my space.

When the world gets too much to deal with I can always come home to my little nest, shut the door on the big bad world, curl up in front of whatever, and believe that everything is that tiny bit more rosy than reality would have you think.

Of course, it all goes to pot when you are freezing cold, high, and doorless*.

I want my nest back. :(

*the door has been returned to it’s former position with a new coat of paint and a fancy new silver handle. There is not a skerrick of the old painted-over-poster job to be seen and to be honest it does look fantastic. There has been no thorough testing of this latest release of the door however, so I’ll be running some long term tests on how it functions in the ‘on’ position. You can’t be too thorough with these things.

Little Piddle Pisspot

There comes a point in one’s life where the necessity for differentiation of furkids by urine scent alone is not required.

When I reach it, I’ll let you know.

*trudges off to wash her jacket*

A Finger of Scotch

It is in me bloody index finger, it is. Right on the centre of the pad. A teeny tiny flesh-coloured flexible glass-like sliver of scotch thistle prickle has found it’s way into my flesh and is actively seeking out nearby nerves and giving them little nerve wedgies.


I just tried to peg out a load of socks and undies. Opening each and every peg sent shivers down my spine. Writing tomorrow’s shopping list was waaaay more exhilarating than it should have been, and typing is making me sweat just that little bit. Don’t even get me started on clicking my mouse, ouch!!


I’ve prodded and gouged and soaked and salved but the sodding thing is nowhere to be found. At this point I’m considering a stiff drink and a set of bolt cutters.


No matter how good of an idea it seems at the time, bare-handed weeding of prickly dead things is not to be attempted. Ever ever. The worst bit is that, because of the lovely pricklies, I didn’t put it in the garbage bag. Oh no, I’m too sensible for that. I turfed it over the side fence so I can pick it up out the front tomorrow and put it directly into the bin. Agghh!

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll give this one last shot before calling it quits for the night.


Come on, Eileen!

Or in this case, Eileenette.

I have a space invader. Here I was, minding my own business, getting ready to upload my assignment to the college server, when all of a sudden I spotted a rogue link on my homepage!

My mind immediately went to visions of little 1337 haX0rz in darkened bedrooms, laughing their collective arses off at the success of their devious plan to thwart my assignment submission. After some thought, and reading the link text of “Eileenette – Work”, this seemed a little unlikely.

So I took a deep breath and clicked.

My new houseguest had practically wiped her feet at the door and brought a pot of my favourite homemade casserole. Not only was the link I clicked carefully placed in my existing menu, but the brand new page I’d ended up on was themed. I kid you not, good old Eileenette had looked at my index page and made hers fit my theme!

Want to know the best bit? She did it from scratch. There was no snaffling of source code for my intruder. That’ll earn an A+ for politeness right there.

Polite as she is, she has got to go.

My house.

My site.

Out. Out. OUT!

I’ve sent off a rather wordy email to the campus server gods via my perpetually frazzled teachers. Methinks someone in that department has sniffed one too many too many laser printers.

In the meantime, my new intruder-cum-friend is camped out on my virtual sofa bed surrounded by her improvements and assignments, whilst my assignments are safely stored away on my flash drive awaiting her eviction.

Of course, we are waiting on possibly ozone-affected tech monkeys who apparently wouldn’t know how to run a chook raffle, let alone sort out permissions on a student server, so she could be here a while…

Fed up

I suspect that to some people I am seen as a bit of a soft touch who always likes to see the good in others and will look for any and every possible reason to explain even the most apalling of actions. It is a nicer way to live than looking for the bad and much kinder than writing people off for understandable, if unacceptable, actions. I am one of those people who could, given the right situation, happily explain away a homicide.

There comes a point though, when you realise that it is all bloody pointless.

Where is the gain in providing yourself with reasons and explanations for behaviour when, irregardless of the motivations, it shits you up the wall? I tell myself that I’m only being the type of person that I’d like as a friend but when it gets right down to it, there is a limit to the number of times that you can turn the other cheek or take the higher ground before you are overwhelmed by the desire to tell people where they can shove it.

I have hit my limit.

I cannot deal with any more of this juvenile high school bullshit.

Tell Me You’re Joking…


“Hello, am I speaking to the person who applied for X course last October?”

[Oh dear, this woman sounds quite stressed, what have I done?]


[OK, I’m listening, but lady, I’ve just rolled out of bed…]

“Ahh. Right. Well I’m just calling because we’ve had a few problems with applicants getting letters informing them that they haven’t gotten in to the course when they actually have.”

[You are joking…]


[You are not bloody joking, are you?]

“Did you, er, get a letter?”

[Oh my god! I’m not stupid! I got in!!]

“Yes I did. It said standby.”

[Go on, dig your way out of this. I’ve spent months fretting and all because you buggered up a letter?]

“Ahhh. Well. That was wrong. It should have said you got in.”

[Keep going princess…]


[Dammit, what should I do?]

“Um, do you have your work organised? I just need proof of that and I ca…”

[Oh dear god, I’m going to regret this….]

“Actually I’ve just signed up to an IT course because I thought I was not going to get into this one, so can you please take my name off the list?”

[Hey, that actually felt kind of good!]

“Oh. Yeah, sure. I’ll do that now.”

[Aaand it is too late to change my mind now. I seem OK with it still. Am I ok with it?]


[OMG OMG OMG I got in! I’m not stupid! Er, yes. I’m still OK with it.]

“OK, all done. Sorry about all this, and good luck with your IT course”

[Yipee, I’m doing IT! I… yep, I’m better than OK with it.]

“Not a problem, and thanks!”

[I got in and I said no. I am smart, I can fill in forms, I got in and I said NO! How come they can’t fill in forms? Bah, screw this, I’m going back to bed.]


No, wait. It gets better.


“Hi, I’m calling from college, did you apply for X course?”

[This is confusing, what is wrong now?]


[No, I’m positive I didn’t dream the first phonecall…]

“Are you planning on attending the full time course this year?”


“Um, no. I’ve signed up to an IT course. I was supposed to have been taken off the list?”

[Do they even talk to each other? Surely people refusing placements isn’t that uncommon and difficult to handle…]

“Right, well thankyou for calling to inform us, goodbye.”


[Shit. I should ha… Hold up a second, did that rude cow just dump the blame on me? Did she just hang up!? No. That can’t be right. How was I supposed to say I wasn’t accepting if I was unaware I was accepted? Should I call and tell her about the letters and the mix up and th… Bah, sod it. Not worth the energy.]

And so there you go.

[Yes, I’m still happy with my decision.]

Those bloody whales

If I see one more link to that “Save the Whales” petition, I’m going to lose it.

If I get one more invite to “Go Away Japan, Leave our whales alone” I shall spit the dummy.

If just one more bozo says “…and they are killing whales in Australian waters!” they are going to be subject to much ranting and raving.

I’ve had it up to here with people getting all high and mighty over something that they seem to think is so completely simple. This is anything but simple. This is an incredibly complicated and serious matter, made even more complicated by the overwhelming public outcry and their painfully underwhelming understanding. I’m not saying I’m an expert on the matter by any means, no doubt I’m well off the mark on some points, but I’m getting so fed up with being fed garbage and being shouted at to ‘save the whales’ and abused when I don’t fall all over myself to support the cause as they see it that I thought I’d get on my own little soap box and do some yelling of my own.

Japan is killing whales in Australian Territorial Waters!

NO, they bloody well are not. If they were, then something would have been done about it well before now. What they are doing is killing whales in our Exclusive Economic Zone (EEZ) off the coast of the Australian Antarctic Territory (AAT). This maritime zone extends 200 nautical miles off the coast and encompasses the Australian Territorial Waters which only extend 12 nautical miles. It is big. Within the EEZ, Australia has sovereign rights for the purposes of exploring and exploiting, conserving and managing all natural resources. While we have some ability to ensure that people aren’t just popping in and fishing us dry or setting up oil rigs willy nilly, we do not have the same ability to enforce our laws as we would within our Territorial Waters.

But that still seems like the government is twiddling it’s thumbs while those nasty Japanese fish us dry, doesn’t it?

So here’s the thing; Japan, and most other countries in the world for that matter, does not recognise Australia’s claim to territory in Antarctica at all. This is a fairly big deal. This is where it all comes unstuck. If they do not recognise the AAT as being Australian, then they don’t recognise our territorial waters or the EEZ and therefore our right to enforce compliance with Australian and International laws relating to such a zone is somewhat limited. To a majority of the world what we call the Antarctic Whale Sanctuary is actually viewed as the High Seas. This means that in the eyes of the world, we can call it Holly Golightly for all they care, we have no claim.

But wait, it gets better. There is also the Antarctic Treaty.

This spiffy document came into play a long time ago and is essentially a ‘play nice’ document for everyone who has staked a claim to a chunk of the frozen continent and everyone who might wish to do so in the future. It specifically does not recognise any claims to territory, and prohibits the making of new claims. As best as I can see, the EEZ was actually claimed (as an extension, but claimed nonetheless) after the treaty was in place so that is, as you can imagine, a bit of a hiccup . It also states that scientific investigation is to continue so, given that the whalers are operating under the guise of research vessels, they essentially have a free pass.

And then of course we have the toothless tiger – the International Whaling Commission. And you know, I couldn’t be stuffed even going into that, because this is really SO MUCH bigger than whales. This is an international incident waiting to happen. What exactly do people think we should do? Try and drag them to court and see if it flies? What if it does, what then? And what if it doesn’t? We can’t very well send the Navy down to defend disputed territory. There’s a word for that, and anyone willing to go that far is barking mad.

But they are killing endangered whales!

This is highly debatable. The Minke whales that everyone seems to get so tightly wound about are not listed as threatened, vulnerable, or endangered. It has even been said that the Antarctic Minke population might well be the most substantial of all baleen whales. The Fin whales are listed as vulnerable, which is problematic for sure, but the collection limit is set at 50. Japan did apply to harvest humpbacks this year also, but has postponed those plans for a year or two, presumably to see if the interest in the matter diminishes or possibly in an effort to save face.

They are terrorists! They’ve taken two men hostage!

For real? I can’t even begin to get my head around this one. The research vessel was boarded in international waters by two fairly pissed off men that had come from a large vessel that was known to be used by what is essentially a militant offshoot of Greenpeace. I’ll eat my left shoe if the two blokes on the zodiac were just going to politely hand over a letter of explanation and leave. You don’t board a ship uninvited to hand over an impotent piece of paper when a) you can be fairly certain they’ve heard it all before and b) you could get the gist of the letter to them another way, like via marine radio, megaphone or even a big banner. Even if they didn’t intend to cause damage to the Japanse vessel or equipment, they certainly intended to cause a scene. If two foreign men from a hostile protest vessel boarded an Australian ship in that way, I’d be more than willing to bet that every Aussie would happily support their detention, if not for the safety of the vessel and her crew, then for the safety of the protesters themselves. Protesters of that level are not exactly known for their careful attention to health and safety. Can you imagine the outcry if one slipped and drowned or was chewed up by the prop? I’d take a punt at unlawful detainment being a label that might stick, but terrorism? taking hostages? After being boarded in by uninvited guests who had absolutely no right to do so? Yeah. Right.

I am just getting so tired of the same old fiery war cry with seemingly no appreciation for the vast grey area that surrounds this issue. You either want to save the whales at any cost, or you don’t care (and are a horrible, gutless, heartless person with no empathy etc). Why is it so black and white when, quite plainly, the actual issues are anything but?

In case there was any doubt, I don’t support whaling. It isn’t because I think whales are highly developed, beautiful, mystical creatures that deserve a chance to live as intelligent beings. It isn’t because some country is sending vessels into our fairly arbitrary whale sanctuary and picking them off while they feed. It isn’t because the science conducted is probably all done with the view to proving whaling is sustainable and lifting the moratorium on commercial whaling. It isn’t even because it all seems to be conducted for the purpose of preserving a tradition that is not even that important to the current generation.

It is the method, pure and simple. You can’t just go around half-exploding animals and waiting for them to bleed out, I don’t care where you are or why you are taking them. That just isn’t a humane method. It isn’t even particularly efficient.

If anyone asks, that is what I’ll tell them.

But given this is largely being played as an ethical issue, I’ve had to make an ethical decision. I won’t be signing any petitions or joining any Facebook groups or putting my name to vitriolic form letters and sending then to various governments. I can’t seem to get past the fact that in doing those things, I’d be willingly associating myself with the fanatical people who have no concern for the wider issues and would be representing my position as being something that it is not.
It just isn’t that simple. It never is.

« Older posts

© 2021 She's Apples

Theme by Anders NorenUp ↑