my #metoo

I’ve been thinking about this a lot. I really don’t want to minimise any trauma that any victim of sexual assault is suffering with.

I’ve been sexually harrassed. I’m a woman. Of course I’ve been sexually harrassed. Its a casual everyday occurrence for every woman I know. I’ve also been violated. Both by men I know and random drunk/pushy/icky men in pubs. And for some light humour relief, I feel violated every time I get a pap smear and they genuinely struggle to find my cervix. Seriously, my file has a note on it that my cervix may be mythical because there have been more loch ness monster sightings than sightings of my cervix.

But back to the serious topic at hand. 

My shame is that all the sexual harrassment and violations in my life combined don’t even register as something to care about. Meh. Whatevs. 

Every sexual act I’ve ever been talked into because it was just easier than fighting him off, has become nothing more than a half forgotten thought of “oh geez, I did that, eww”. Every man who ever intimidated me or used a position of power against me has become so irrelevant that I struggle to find a specific example even though I know there are many. 

The truth of it is, the psychological abuse inflicted upon me during my life, exclusively by women, makes anything any man has ever done to me completely insignificant. My shame is I feel jealous of women who have been violated physically because I’ve only ever been violated mentally. And that shit doesn’t stop haunting you any easier than rape does. 

I feel for the staggering amount of #metoo women. I understand their fight. I understand why they need me to fight too. I hope they win their fight. But I just don’t feel like I have the right to fight. I’ve gotten drunk and felt up just as many randon men that have gotten drunk and felt me up. I can’t bring myself to join this fight while its ok for me to do that and it doesn’t bother them and nobody considers me a preditor. 

I will raise my son with a very clear expectation of what is ok and what is not ok when it comes to women. But I’m too busy fighting with my demons that were created by women to go to war with men. 

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Origin – Dan Brown

Full disclosure, I’m a massive Dan Brown fan. I’ve read them all. I read this in two days. Given I have to care for a four year old and spent half a day out shopping during that two days, its pretty remarkable. 

However… meh.

It had all the usual. Plot twists, problem solving, mystery antagonist, beautiful foreign girl.

I get the sense that as an author he’s gotten so big and famous that his editor has less input than he used to. And this book definitely suffered as a result. The whole first two thirds was a lecture in anti religion. That’s fine for me because I think Dan Brown and I probably think along similar lines where religion is concerned. But its super boring super quickly. There was none of the ‘can’t put it down because too much is happening’. Nothing at all really happened for most of it. Then the big reveal, which in all the other books left you gobsmacked and unable to believe the book actually came out of someone’s brain, in this book just left you going “is that it? Is there more?” Possibly the biggest anticlimax since I watched the sixth sense for the first time after I already knew Bruce Willis was a ghost. The whole book built to not much at all. 

Then there was the baddie. Its Dan Brown and you never know who is the mastermind trying to kill everyone until the end. Maybe I’ve read too many now and I just know how its going to go. But it was pretty clear soon after this character was introduced that they were not as they seemed.

All in all, I probably wouldn’t bother. Go back and read Deception Point again instead. Its almost like he’s punishing the universe because of what Hollywood did to the end of Inferno. You can do better Dan Brown! Put some effort in next time. This is an embarrassment to what you are capable of. Take a few years off and plan the next one out properly! 

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Fur babies

My family grew by two members this morning. 

This is Annie

And this is Clarabel 

Its Isaac’s birthday on Sunday and this is what mum got for him.

Just quietly I’m fairly nervous about pet ownership. 

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Miss me?

I know. Don’t care. You’ll just have to deal.

Sooo… I went to the Bendigo wool show. I was very restrained. I bought a few little things and… a yarn dyeing kit! 100 gorgeous grams of some merino’s finest. All spun up into bare sock skein goodness. And 3 packets of primary colour dye. Earth Palette dyes if you’re wondering. 

I mostly ignored the instructions, because hey, how hard can ‘add water, add dye, add yarn’, be… right? I now suggest always following the instructions very carefully.

I mixed all of the red with a teensy bit of blue because I’ve been searching high and low for the perfect rust/magenta colour. I had dreams of what I would knit with such a colour. Into a zip lock bag went the wool and after that the mixed up dye. It was looking good. I squished it around until I could see no white and wrapped it it a towel and chucked it on the nice warm mantle piece to set overnight.

Well, was I in for a shock when I rinsed the next morning.

I most definitely missed bits. To be fair, there are quite a few spots with exactly the colour I wanted. My plans of knitting something quite classy with some perfect wool were a little dashed. I do like how it turned out, but it doesn’t exactly scream elegant now does it.

Would you believe that I’ve been knitting nigh on 30 years and the closest I’ve come to knitting socks has been a couple of pairs (and to be honest mostly half a pair of) baby booties.

This is sock yarn folks. It has a destiny to fulfill. 

Turns out I accidentally dyed pink cammo sock yarn. Go me! I turned the heel (easy peasy) and in about 4 more cms I shall attempt a toe. So far the patten has been a dream to follow here. Lets all take bets on whether a second sock will ever exist?

In other news I learned the long tail cast on today. Also go me.

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I’m going to write a book. Called ‘three year olds are assholes’.

It will be all about how your once sweet, well behaved, perfect little angel, has overnight turned into an evil monster and you give serious thought to ‘how hard would it actually be to dig out a cellar in the backyard to lock him in’ or ‘why is it wrong to smack toddlers in the face? Surely just one quick swipe would be a valuable lesson’.


When I run the world, every single town will have a 24 hour ‘sanity point’. A building open day and night where you can drop your evil evil spawn off for half an hour and have a shower without a small person staring at you the whole time and pointing out your pubic hair every 14 seconds! Not every day. Just those select moments when your wits end was about 4 days ago. The last few weeks with my threenager have demonstrated what a serious lack of support for mums there is. Husband’s can be totally useless and despite good intentions just make more work for you. Grandparents and sisters come with guilt that doesn’t help anyone relax. Just volunteer run, no judgment, dump the kid and sit in your car and cry if thats what you need to do. Why are there none of these places?

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10 weeks.

No. Not me. Soooooo not me.

Serena Williams won the Australian open while 10 weeks pregnant. 

I like Serena Williams. I love that she cares more about being tough enough to win tennis than she does about looking like a pretty little girl while she wins tennis. She’s tough, she fights hard to get what she wants and she does not apologise for who she is.

But geez. Way to make the rest of us look bad!

Do you know what I was doing at 10 weeks pregnant? I was falling asleep face down on the bench at work and spewing in the garden next to the post office. 10 weeks pregnant for me was a special hell where there was no escape from vomit and a constant desire for unconsciousness. The only way I would have played tennis while I was 10 weeks pregnant is if I was allowed to do it while using the net as a hammock. And she goes and wins the bloody Aus open!?

Yeah. I love Serena Williams, but that just makes all of us look like rubbish.

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I haven’t forgotten my blog.

I have one reader in the USA that drops by a couple of times a week and every time there isn’t something new I feel I’ve disappointed them. So here is a run down on the last month. In pictures. Because thinking is hard.


Black cockatoos

Some weird kid who lives with us

New kitchen (not finished)


Finished cardigan (still too small)

The “they won’t hurt you” argument for spider bites has a set back.

So many apples


Batman removal not going so great.

A giant football

A goanna

And bath hair.

All caught up. Whoever my one reader is, hope you have a great week!

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