Cat pee and cups of tea

I arrived home at 10pm on a Thursday after a quick two day trip to Russell in memory of my granddads passing. I ran a bath, made a cup of tea, sat aimlessly on the couch staring at a picture on the wall, stood in the kitchen for a moment wondering how to get food in my body without having to eat, then I went to my room. I petted my cat and went to put my hot wheat bag in the bed so it was warm when I got in. There, in the middle of the bed was a pee stain. A cat pee stain. I looked at the bed, I looked at Charlie, he looked back at me, I looked back at the bed. Right. I’m not sure what most people do when they’re emotional exhausted and find their cat peed in their bed, but I laughed. Charlie meowed. I laughed a bit more and looked at him and said, “yep, I know what you mean”. I have no idea what he meant. He’s a cat, he probably just meant he wanted food. But I’ll take it as a sorry. So the sheets are in the wash, including the waterproof mattress cover which is apparently not also cat-pee-proof and I’ve remade my bed. Of course he also got the duvet so that’s tomorrows job. I pulled out another one of my many and put that on my bed instead. The problem I faced with remaking the bed however, is every bed in this house is a double and mine is a queen…so fitting sheets on it is similar to me trying to fit back into my size six jeans after France.

So, here I am in my bath with my cup of tea, well the second cup, the first cup ended up cold and with floating bits of cat fur in it, balancing my laptop precariously on the edge of the bath because I’ve concluded this is my only quiet ‘me’ spot…it’s even safe from the cat.

Tomorrow, Friday, is all about bridal shower planning. I’m super excited but also rather dubious as to how I am going to make a paper mache in one day…guess it’s time to get out the hair dryer! I’m also rather frightened I might poison all the guests with cake as I haven’t made a normal cake in years and as I can’t taste it, well….you can imagine how that might end.

Never the less I am alive, I went for a run today and only nearly died, and I have tea, and a bath, and a clean bed.

Deep breaths, tomorrow is a new day.



I was having a very average day. Then my sister came over. And I made a life plan. Yes, I actually have a life plan. Not just one that I ‘sort of’ want to do or ‘would like’ this one… I’m going to do. 

It pretty much combines everything I want to do. Writing, traveling, horse riding, breeding horses, working on the farm, and having enough time for Alex. Sounds impossible right? Possibly not. 

It is still raining, and it is still cold, and my bank account is still sad, and I am still tired… which reminds me, I should be asleep…. but I have a plan, and that is a start. I actually have goals, and I don’t have to sacrifice anything. I know I am very crazy, but that has been well known from the start. 

So, here we go. 

It’s time to start living. 

Fuzz ball

I went out last night. A sophisticated pizza and beer then a couple of cocktails at a bar with great company kind of night. Being a Wednesday and the fact I simply do not bounce back like I used to (I more fall and just sort of stay there now), I chose to sober drive myself home afterwards. This mean one and a half drinks over the course of 3 and 1/2 hours with pizza (that I shouldn’t have eaten). 

The sad part of it all, with all my responsibility; getting 7 hours sleep, staying sober, driving home… I still feel like someone hit the slow motion button today. I do blame the sore neck from last weeks car crash, for my headache and it is possible that my lack of sleep from just not being able to sleep over the last week, could be why I want to be a small child and carry around a blankey and just nap. Never the less I deem it unfair. 

So armed with ‘revive’ tea, green tea, and ‘boost’ (like berocca) I feel a slight pick up in my average speed. From incredibly painfully slow to just sort of getting there kind of slow. I have a lot to get done today so I need to eventually up it to fast forward. But there doesn’t look like there is much hope for me at all. Friday might be my day? 

For the first time in a long time, I feel revived (despite my not so bubbly appearance today). 

I have spoken to several people lately who feel worn out, and like they want to give up. I wanted to shout “I’M NOT THE ONLY ONE IN THIS WORLD THAT WANTS TO CRAWL UNDER A ROCK AND HIDE THERE AT TIMES WHEN I HAVE HAD ENOUGH!” at the top of my lungs when I heard them say that. It’s actually a normal human behaviour to feel like you’ve had enough. 

This made me feel excited. 

Not because I’ve had enough of life right now, but because I was there, right where they are now, last year. And now I’m here. And it’s not the end, or the peak, or ‘the moment’. I’m happy, complete, satisfied. I don’t feel like you can ask for much more than that? 



Here comes the next phase

Packing up my house this time is a little sad. Normally when I begin to pack it is full of excitement with what lies ahead for me and Melissa. This time, we’re moving our own ways. I’m still excited for a new house, and a new phase of life but the knowledge that this is the end of spending almost every waking moment together, the good and the bad ones, is hard to digest. Bitter sweet I think it is. 

My packing piles seem to have gotten far smaller. With each move I have narrowed down on the amount of ‘it could be handy in the future’ hoarding habits, with each house I have also gotten tidier and more OCD. This has left me with a very easy packing job. My room is pretty much packed (except the clothes I wear a lot), the linen is packed, the desk has been narrowed down from 4 boxes to two, one for me and one to be stored at my very obliging boyfriends house. 

Now it’s just the plates and the big things and of course the tug of war between me and Melissa for past flatmates left behind items and I’m done. Phase one of life, done. 

It is terrifying. To be honest I’m doing a fairly average job at putting it into words but daunting would be a good start. 

I got my swipy key for the office, my business cards and my first office photo. I am completely out of my depth. But I know that’s not going to be a problem when I get my head around it. I’ve just got to get my head around it. It being the fact I will be working, five days a week, eight hours a day for however long I do. I will be living in this city for a while and I know very few people here and summer is not nice in an inland city. My flatmate and best friend will be leaving. I will be living with strangers and then alone. 

It is hard to be excited when there are so many things to miss. But, at the same time I am looking forward to being part of a work place, to fit somewhere and to do a job and get paid. Stepping up in the world was always going to be scary, but I did not expect this strange whirlwind of happiness, excitement and terror in one big emotional tornado. 

Heading up north with my partner, the dog and the boat for five days is going to be a wonderful escape. Just time enough to get my head together before embarking on this journey into untouched territory…

Please let there be no lions.

A three year difference

Three years is a big difference. Perhaps not between when you start your fist year of primary school and when you complete year three. But the more ‘serious’ life becomes the more three years makes a difference. My little sister has begun to get all excited about moving out of home next year. With only two months of this one left, that is not that far away. She is fizzing with all the exciting prospects and adventures she is about to embark on. New friends, a new city, new study, new home. New everything. It is exciting that first year. 

Then my ‘when I was in first year’ begins and I can tell my sister is secretly thinking ‘she sounds so old!’ Perhaps not so secretly, when I said tonight that my idea of a good celebration was sleeping, she told me I was old. I’m not old. My life is just beginning, but it is a whole new stage of life. One far, far away from the one she is about to embark on. Hers will be full of memories she will probably quickly forget, people who will play a vital role but will eventually vanish, driving at all hours of the night, doing things you shouldn’t do and just being young, fresh, living. While she packs up her bedroom to move it into a much smaller almost closet sized room and dreams about fast cars, late nights, no rule and feeling invincible, I figure out the cost of living on my own wage, how much tax is deducted and when I will be able to buy a horse and a house. 

We are only three years apart and most of the time I forget there is even an age gap. Best buddies and sisters is something you rarely come across, but we are two peas in a pod, two very different peas in one pod. But it is strange to hear her talking and bubbling about things I’d almost forgotten I did. Growing up and moving on I think, is when you stop pining for what was exciting and new in the past, and start looking ahead to what goodie bag of life is about to hand out. 

I certainly will love having her close, even if it does mean feeling old. But while I am excited for her, I don’t miss being in that position. Because I am, right now, in the position I have always dreamt about. ‘When I was younger’ I always thought when I got a job and had my own house and a serious relationship and a cat, life would be complete. And it is, for now. 

My boyfriend told me the other day things with us were no different than when we first met. I quickly pointed out that things were completely different. And they are, but in the best way possible. Life just sort of changed and we changed with it. But the best kind of change, is the progressive kind that you never really notice. It just happens. 

That is when you know you are really part of life. 

And you’re growing up with it. 


Hard slogger

I got my first job. They called me last week but it has taken a little while to sink in. I’m not going to lie, this has been a hard year, and anyone who has been consistently reading my blog will probably agree it’s been up and down. But it has all been worth it. Every extra hour spent interning, which I did enjoy, was worth it. Even though they were great internships with amazing people, it still wasn’t home and it wasn’t relaxing on my sofa with my cat. But it was worth it. Hours of working for free were worth it. I did it. I have nearly been in tears several times lately in pure disbelief. 

I realised what it meant to feel relief. Total utter relief washed over me. I was like this weird kid who had stolen a joint the older brother had hidden in the couch. Vegged out took a whole new meaning this weekend. And I loved it. It has been not just been a tough year work wise. I’ve had to give up competing, my grandfather got cancer, my uncle has battled with a brain tumour, the effects of nana’s death were evident and the recession certainly left its mark in many ways. To finally get here, to this place, is overwhelming. I kinda get what it feels like when they yell move that bus in extreme home makeover and they see their new house for the first time. Completely overwhelming joy that it got better. 

I mean I still have to start the job and do well. But I got to this point so I can most definitely keep going. 

It’s weird how the human brain can deal with things. At the time, you just get through it step by step and you don’t stop or look back because you cannot. You have to just take it all in. Then you reach the other side and you get to take a look back at how far you came. And it is like, I just can not believe I just made it through that patch of alligators and black bears (not sure what they’re doing living together, in my mind, it worked). 

Life has managed to throw plenty my way, and in the process teach me enough to be so glad it didn’t really hold back. When you fall off the horse you don’t roll around in the dirt throwing a temper tantrum, you get back up, dust yourself off and you get-back-on. 

Phase two of life, here we come.

On my journey

I’ve let myself go. I have stopped exercising as much. My diet has slipped and well, let’s be honest, I’m being lazy. I also read too many magazines, this has lead me to have a slight body image problem. Google has been a great contributing factor to this. After spending an evening googling my many symptoms of dismal failure, I’d say I have a range of various issues. Aside from the ones I actually have been diagnosed with by a real doctor. According to my magazine I should be right on track to my ‘new’ body for summer. I thought hey, yea, good on me, I’ll start running. Then I got sick and well, running now just seems like a lot of hard work. I was being good and not eating sugar then that womanly thing reared it’s head and I thought yeah, I want chocolate. Now I can’t stop. My life is spiraling out of control. I’m going to be a fat, unhappy, unemployed, nobody by the time I’m 25. It’s over. According to my magazine (and my over dramatic mind).

The reality is I have made some very good choices lately. I’ve decided that if I want a chocolate brownie once a week, I will not feel guilty about it. If I don’t want to run, I wont. But I am going to, I made a commitment, I’ve just got to get back on the horse. I’m not lazy, I’m just having a break. I’m doing what needs to be done and I am pacing myself, because that is healthy. I should probably think about doing something during summer if I’m not horse riding or those abs that have already gone on holiday will opt to stay there. But that’s ok. I don’t need to be perfect. It just takes more energy worrying about it. I am happy, healthy and far from over weight.

I have also decided what I want in life. I want to be with Alex, I want to work on the farm, I want to write a column, I want to write interesting feature articles and I want, more importantly, to enjoy my life. I want to write and I want to spend my days happy. Yes, I will get scoffed at for wanting to be a good wife, for wanting to be married young, to be so sure I am meant to be with Alex and that yes, I would in fact be happy working on a farm and writing a column. I don’t have dreams of my name in lights or the whole world knowing who I am because of that story I broke. I am happy not being someone. I am happy being me. I don’t have to know each step or even exactly how I’m going to get what I want. But I know what I want. And that, is something the magazine didn’t tell me.

But, I do like those butt exercises. Pity they don’t have boob enhancing exercises, those would be popular. 

I’m also going to camp over summer it has been decided. If I can’t pay rent, I’ll just live in a tent.

Share your money with me?

Today I heard very sweet words. I rarely talk about my boyfriend on here, something I should change because he really is a big part of my life. We try to meet each week for coffee, tonight was that night. Living an hour away from each other can make it hard at times when you just want each others company during a tough week so, we meet in a cute town half-way and have chips and coffee. Tonight we had a full dinner. It’s our thing and it’s lovely. 

Tonight the conversation took a turn in a new direction. We’ve been dating two years now and have many plans to spend forever together. Most people I have said this to, who know how young I am either stifle a laugh or tell me about the time they remember being so young and blah blah blah. I’m happy with my relationship, unbelievably happy. He is everything I want in a guy and more and I do have every intention and absolutely no doubts I will spend my life with him.

Any way, back to the conversation: 

A shared bank account. 

Lately we’ve been talking about serious things in our relationship and it’s taken the more ‘this is real’ road rather than cute, fun and carefree. I like that. Serious has to happen some time. But normally it is me instigating these serious moves so when he brought up a shared bank account my heart did this weird like floppy thing in my chest and that goofy, weird, somewhat creepy happy smile grabbed hold of my facial muscles. 

It’s just an account for us to put a little bit of money into each week to save up to spend on us as a couple, most likely a holiday. But it’s shared. That makes it committed. And he brought it up. 

I don’t even know why it made me so happy. It seems like the most sensible and logical thing to do. But it just made me happy. It made me feel lucky. 

I dream and I plan, but rarely does reality sink in that, yes, my life is in fact this whirlwind of wonderful things. Sure theres the hard times, but really, it is times when I look at him I realize my life is exactly what I want it to be. 

Yes I’m 19, yes I’m young but no, I’m not naive, I know what I want, I’ve had plenty of ‘experiences’ and I am more than happy to be with my perfect guy forever. I don’t want to settle down, I want to go on adventures with him. I just want this, what life is, to continue being.

I don’t know who took over my body but I like new Sacha… 

Growing up feels good. Life feels good. Summer is on it’s way.

It’s nearly that time of year

I got out the razor and attacked my legs today. Well, not quite, I attacked the forest that was growing on my legs. It’s that time of year again, the weather is getting – at times – noticeably warmer, birds are chirping and the beach is calling me. I don’t much like the beach, or summer. But I like the idea of liking them. I like preparing for the months of bodily exposure I am about to endure as I pull out that sad looking bikini, desperately try to turn the snow like legs into a crisp, baked chocolate cake and trim down the extra parts of myself that have made home on my tummy. Of course, most years I have the next three months off. I probably will this year. The thing is, in past years, I haven’t had to feel guilty. This year, if I have no job, I’m going to feel a little useless.

I’m a doer, I’ve got to do something.

I have many plans. Most involve relocating to a nice one room house by the beach or if I am broke, which is likely, I will move home. This has many complications of its own. After living away from home for nearly three years the idea of having to think of other people before I do anything, find a new routine and not be able to have things a little bit my way is somewhat horrifying. Not that I don’t like the company of my family, I do, I just like to visit them. I like freedom, sort of selfish, uncaring freedom. 

Never the less I am avidly dress shopping with hopes I will have the chance to wear them. Planning on cutting my hair in that cute, sexy, beach style I am inclined to at this time of year and even considering going a little blonde again. Though, that probably wont happen. 

Oh what the future holds is yet to be determined. 

Little happy buz

I have been in a really good mood lately. Not the weird happy highs that soon end in a rather tragic fall to the bottom of a cliff. But good good. In a good space and it is a nice feeling! Perhaps it is that something has changed, perhaps it is just life is fantastic. I’m not too sure but I like it. A lot.

Due to this progressive excitement I have gone a little crazy with my song downloading. My taste in music is somewhat unusual. Happy yet odd, then a little bit of something else. I have also concluded the word ‘that’ needs to go. It is pretty useless as a word. I also use it far too much. This was concluded by my while writing stories in my head before I fell asleep after my tutor kindly pointed it out to me. I ACCEPT THE CHALLENGE.

Being a journalist is awesome. And that is not sarcastic.

It’s a weird profession you can do almost anything with, limitless. Exciting! Then there is the people you get to meet and the things you learn.

Cue weird smile.