Feelings?

So. A few days ago, my father was diagnosed with stage 4 lung cancer which has metastasized into his spine. According to the oncologist, he's got a maximum six months to live if he chooses to not have chemo.

For me, this one is weird. See, my childhood was a violent, fucked up, prolonged nightmare, mostly because of him. As a result of that, I pretty much stopped speaking to him when I was 16 - 20 years ago. Whoa. Typing that made me realise just what a long time that is... more than half my life. There's been moments in those 20 years (!) when I've made an effort to talk with him, have some kind of basic relationship, and each time I've walked away thinking "Jesus, such a grunting pig. What a cunt. That was a waste of time." and carried on.

Anyway, here's what I'm feeling now: nothing. Absolutely nothing, and I don't know if that's right. In an abstract way, I think "Oh that's terrible, I hope his pain can be controlled", just as I'd think about any stranger I'd heard about with that diagnosis. But as for anything else? Nup. I have several siblings and at least two of them are extremely upset about his diagnosis (I don't speak to the others either - don't tolerate dickheads, and just cos I'm related to them doesn't mean I'm any more inclined to put up with their foolish shit - so I'm not sure what they reckon: presumably they're upset too). I just couldn't give a fuck... truly. If I was Gallic, I'd give an appropriate shrug.

The only thing that's popped into my vacant little head that if he wants to apologise for making my childhood so miserable, I'd consider caring about his future. But he won't apologise - he's simply not that kind of person - so I'm left metaphorically shrugging.

Is something wrong with me, or am I just at peace with never having a relationship with my father?

Nick Cave

On an Australian-based blog I read just about every day, one of the esteemed posters has been doing a countdown of their Top 10 songs. Such a hard task to undertake, and one I'd never attempt - it would cause me too much angst, not least because I have favourite songs for different moods. And while I'm not sure that death can be classified as a mood, I've even compiled a list of songs I'd like played at my funeral. Although that was a long time ago and will need to be reviewed.


Anyway. On the other blog, this week's Top 10 song is a Nick Cave track. Now, I'll just explain I've always loathed the sound of Nick Cave's voice, ever since I first heard it, at uni. Yeah, I realise it's practically un-Australian or Melburnian or something to admit that publicly, but it's true. I totally don't get the whole Nick Cave love thing. He sounds like a droning fucking nightmare and his voice makes me want to slash my wrists. Although that could be a little strong, I have a fairly visceral reaction to the sound of his voice.

There, I've got that off my chest. Thank you, I feel much better.

Fuck

Not only did I type Douglas Coupland twice, I omitted Dave Eggers. Big, bad oversight.

Hate, hate, hate it when I fuck up like that. I'm meant to be a trained journalist... and perfectionist (read anal about what I publish). So grrrr.

And now I can't change the font and I hate this one. Gawd. Frustrated!

Love it...

A Fraction of the Whole by Steve Toltz is the only book I've ever finished and immediately started reading again. And I've read a lot of books. Not necessarily classics, although I did study literature at uni (among many other subjects), but a whole lotta books.


A Fraction of the Whole was such a multi-layered story, with characters I found compelling, funny and, at times, unlikeable. The way the story was woven was so enjoyable and even complex, I wanted to make sure I'd put all the details together properly - hence re-reading it. If you've not read it, go get it!


Other favourite authors: Annie Proulx, Augusten Burroughs, David Sedaris, Armistead Maupin, TC Boyle, Alice Sebold, Nuala O'Faolain, Nick Hornby, Melinda Haynes, Elliot Perlman, Douglas Coupland, PJ O'Rourke (!), Hunter S Thompson, Douglas Coupland, Wally Lamb. Oh, I Know This Much is True by Wally Lamb - such a gorgeous book, despite difficult topics and a main character who can be prickly and an arsehole. Certain aspects of the plot had similarities to my life, and perhaps that's why I found it such a memorable read.


Now I'm debating whether to write about authors I loathe. But I'm reluctant to give them air!

Milestone!

So at least one person reads this blog... thanks for the comment Perseus!

I'll post more often now that I know this at least gets occasionally looked at. So many thoughts, so few worth publishing.

I sound like a grandmother, but...

As shameful as it is to admit this, I have an issue with neck tattoos. I just don't like 'em. Despite having tattoos myself, and loving them, I kinda cringe when I see tatts on the neck. Of anyone. Even Abby from NCIS. She might be fictional, but she rawks!

So yeah. I dislike neck tatts. And think 'but what will they look like in 20 years?' whenever I see one. Then want to smack myself in the head for a) thinking such granny-like thoughts and b) thinking them in a granny-like voice and c) publishing them publicly. Gawd.

Your thoughts?

Well hello

I'm new to this blog dealy. Be gentle, OK?

Thoughts? Layout, colours, etc?

Some things I'm currently grateful for:
That I don't have a job, or kids, so I can go overseas at the end of the month, no problem
That the only place I've got to be by 9am is asleep
My electric blanket
The heater, even though it's noisy and will possibly suffocate me one day
Great friends
Good food

See? Not so desolate after all!