Some fucked up shit*

*Language you would normally hear me admonishing my students for using.

I am the Palagi woman who tries to tell my (mostly) pasifika  boys to stop using bad language. I am the woman who represents the systemically racist, patriarchal, historically Western, education-based set of measures and matrices that they get judged on every day.

I am the woman they know can make the difference between them being able to return to their enrolling school, and carry on with their education, or not. As simple as that. The, (incredible, amazing, awesome in the true sense of the word, and patient), staff I work with get a say too, but ultimately the kids look to me to see if they have ‘met their goals’, and whether we deem them ‘worthy ‘ to return to mainstream schooling.

Also, I am a neglectful grand-daughter, invisible aunty, barely-there daughter, and intermittent mother of two boys. Did I mention ex- not really ex -westie? Did you see that Chris Cornell died? Shit, man.

Did you know, my Nana, who I have written about many times, is STILL alive. And thriving. Of course you don’t. I barely get to see her now, and I NEVER blog anymore, and she barely knows the outside world exists. (She’s a bit of a star on Insta tho #nanalove).

I enrolled a new boy today. His folks didn’t show up with him (they usually do). Because I had no information about him, I rang his old school (from which he’d been excluded), and found out about his home life, his past indiscretions, and the support his former school had put in place. Depressing stuff.

A couple of days ago we, (Activity Centres in New Zealand), got an email indicating that the MOE don’t see us as financially viable (no shit), and they couldn’t give us a guarantee that our Centres had a future past 2018. What is telling is that my staff, (who have been doing this for 10+ years now) reassured me that these rumours about Activity Centres being shut down come out every couple of years. We currently have a waiting list of ten students with nowhere else to go, and some of them are already not attending school at all, anywhere, in any form. We only take students up until the age of 16 so these kids being referred are as young as 12. Not in school. Not necessarily at home. Just hanging. Maybe ‘jumping people’ at the train station; maybe staying at home feeling like absolute shit. Maybe both. Maybe neither.

Alternative education, Activity Centres, and specialist mental health services are so overloaded now that most schools are having to keep their ‘troubled students’ onsite now, and mostly all they can do is triage the major damage. Yay National.

Today my kids, (the ones I made myself in my womb), managed to keep it together for 6 hours and counting, because my Teacher Aide – who collects them from school 2-3 times a week – promised them fucking ‘fidget spinners’ if they behave. Apparently they are cheap and as cool as those irritating jangly-fucking-circle-rings-metal-loud things were. And doubly as useless. But my kids are behaving. SO that’s a win. My teacher Aide rulz the school – don’t get me wrong – and if she can get my actual children to behave, where I can’t, she is worth her weight in gold. Don’t get me started.

My plan for tomorrow is to start school with some Soundgarden blaring on the iPhone with my lame ass speakers. Because you know by now, as I do, that Chris Cornell is dead. What the fuck. Soundgarden no more.

No one will love it except for me, and I will fight with the kids all day to play ‘their’ music during break-times. I will acquiesce and eventually we will have a Beyonce/Kendrick Lamar party happening.  (I like Kendrick, but we will have a problem if someone suggests Chris Brown). We (the staff and I) will fight all day to have the young people in our charge not talk about gangs, racist bullshit and/or crimes they intend to commit over the weekend. As long as they don’t talk about it at school, they can stay.

This weekend I am going to try to see my favourite old grrl, but she won’t remember if I do. She spends the whole time we visit standing up and sitting down because she’s restless, but can’t remember the sitting OR the standing, and thanks us for coming but I don’t believe she relaxes until we leave. And then I don’t know if she knows that I’ve been.

On Saturday the GD and I will play some Soundgarden records and drink some wine and remember the dumb, fucked up shit we got up to listening to Soundgarden and I will think of my students doing their dumb fucked up shit now listening to Kendrick Lamar and Tupac (Can you believe he is still a thing? I thought he was boring back then too).

And I will remind myself that the dumb, fucked up teens grow up to be adults and most of them find their niche and figure out how to be contributing members of society and that high school and the five years therein are just a ‘blip’ on the timeline and mean nothing in the scheme of things really. I will remind myself that mainstream education doesn’t suit everyone and that one person can’t be everything to everyone and my Nana loves me and knows I love her.

Also I should buy my Teacher Aide something nice because my lads are shits to her and she loves them anyways.

And you should watch this now.

RIP Chris Cornell.

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290 Let the countdown begin.

I have two and a bit weeks to go until my big girls at school all go off for study leave. After that point my major jobs will be planning the year 13 stuff for the cohort, teaching my juniors for the remainder of the term, and planning and writing all of my courses for next year.

I can’t wait.

At the moment I feel like the only way to survive the next two and a bit weeks is to clone myself. As well as guiding the few keen Photography students I have safely to their due dates (this Friday and next Friday respectively) where they will hand in their Folio boards worth 12 and 14 credits, I also have a to-do list of things to tick off for the year 12’s so that things are in place for next year.

Add to that staying healthy – as in not dying of all the teacher diseases that get us at this time of the year – and eating healthy and it all feels a bit much sometimes. (Did I tell you I have a sty?!?! My first ever – someone at work told me eye health is linked with work so that makes sense – doesn’t make it suck less though).

One of the jobs I got ticked off today was collating the votes for Prefects next year. Counting votes, creating an excel doc and ranking them then in order of teacher/student highest votes etc. The list is a long as my arm and even the short list is way too many. The problem is that I want them all to be prefects of course, but only a lucky few can take the roles provided. So back to the staff for consultation and robust discussion (that’s where they get to tell me about the time that Wendy didn’t do her homework that one time in year 10 and how April always opens the door for them every time and that why she should be head girl). I’m joking – sort of – the reasoning behind the for and against any student are usually more valid and it is always good to hear the staff experience of teaching my girls because after all – most of my job is chasing up the naughties! The ‘good’ kids hardly ever step foot in my office.

I am aware that I refer to them as ‘my girls’ and I’m not even embarrassed. They do feel like mine after four years now of Deaning them. Even the Kahurangi girls who aren’t technically mine still feel like my girls because I have so often been their ‘back-up’ Dean. I guess I need a little distance – my bias is showing ha ha.

Lucky I didn’t have daughters eh? They’d have had too much competition!

But maybe they would have been quieter? I see photos of my friends lovely little ladies on insta and facetard and they are always doing things like reading and baking and hanging in cafes without having to be tied to the chair lest they lose control and wrestle their way across the length of the room. I am aware that there are girls in the world that are not readers or bakers or even quiet by any definition of the word. I am related to one and I Dean many. I am also aware that my friends don’t post images of their girls completely losing their shit because it’s bedtime or sitting on their sisters head because she called her a name or any of the other stuff that all children and siblings do.

Hell even I edit out the really bad stuff.

But that pink grass sure do look pinker and waaaaaaaaay more peaceful from over here in minecraft addicted/no inside voice/death metal singing/room destroying/crazy ape bonkers boys of my world. And I bet their houses are tidier.

This weekend the Grumpy Dutchman has read the signs all accurately and done his best to both prop me up and keep the lads away while I am trying to recover from the working week sufficiently to survive the next. He took the lads out and left me to binge on apples (bad for my gut but they were calling to me as all things that are bad for you do) and netflix on saturday afternoon, and today while I was counting votes for four hours they went to the park. He also whispers sweet nothings about how hot I am when I am feeling as wide as the side of the bus and suggests quickies at inappropriate times – like when I’m dishing up dinner or trying to drive the car or am similarly indisposed. It is helping.

I am also finding that running is helping – it’s something I can do on my own and all I have to do is put one foot in front of the other. It’s a really good time to clear shit out of my head too – have those imaginary conversations that need to be had (you know you have imaginary arguments in your head – don’t deny it) and sort out how I feel about stuff before it happens in real life.

And speaking of which – I think it’s time for a run. Arty and I had better hit the streets before I get roped in to helping with dinner… Shit he’s coming – I’m out!

222 – All the feels

Tonight I was invited to go with the Deputy Principal to watch one of my Year 12’s give a speech at the Outstanding Student Awards, for those students who have participated in Project K. Project K is a leadership and mentoring program run by the Foundation for Youth Development in Auckland and they provide an incredible service. Of the 7 students from across Auckland who spoke tonight, 3 of them will be selected to go to speak in front of the Governor General at Government house. Lord, did I have the feels.

The students who spoke were so different, from all different backgrounds and came from all ends of Auckland. The one thing they had in common was a need, a potential being wasted, a disengagement with school and their surroundings – for whatever reason. They spoke variously of truanting school because they didn’t ‘see the point’ in school, of not knowing who they were, of suicidal thoughts, of ennui.

All of them so positive now, so engaged, so motivated – one boy now literate and visibly shaking as he read his simple yet powerful speech.

Oh lordy – my eyes were a wee bit leaky.

One of the fundamental aspects of the program is the mentor relationship. The students are assigned a volunteer who is vetted and actively engaged with by the Project K folks and it is that ongoing support and guidance that all of the students spoke of. Having someone there for them, someone to collect them and take them to the gym, someone to talk through their fears and aspirations, someone to be a cheerleader and check in with them at school. The students spoke of these people with such love and gratitude.

Oh and oh my goodness. I was so proud of our grrl – she spoke so articulately about her struggle, she honoured both her culture and her journey to find where she was placed within it, she spoke of her goals and the reality of the challenges she will face – and she spoke of perseverance and support systems and how wonderful her mentor Sheryl is for her.

Such a great night.

And the funny thing was that because Chelsea Sugar are great sponsors of Project K (they even encourage members of their staff to become mentors in the program) they hosted the event and gave goodie bags to peeps who attended. I got given a bag of all different types of sugar! After a week and  half of being sugar-free and having the withdrawal headaches to prove it! Universe! C’mon!

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200 – that’s a big number

I wish I could say that my experiment had been a solid 200 days of avoiding food that damaged my gut and that I have been doing Yoga and getting mindful daily and all that good stuff. Oh well. I have 165 days left to try.

This term my goal is to get back on track – and I feel like because we are heading back up to summer it will be easier to maintain some focus.

That is once I get some sleep and can actually function like human being. I did NOT sleep last night. I woke up hours before the alarm for boot-camp. I spent most of the night thinking about work and what I needed to do when I eventually got there. And of course it was a fine day. I have a lot to do – don’t we all – and didn’t get it all done today (tell ‘er she’s dreaming!) but  am back on track.

And there you go, back to school, back to work, back to sugar-free – back to routine. Time to lose this sugar belly and focus on some long-term goals (swim suits and short shorts in Australia for xmas for one thing!).

I tell you what I am enjoying – it’s a bit drippy and the GD will enjoy mocking me I am sure – but I was reading something random online and they mentioned an app called ‘Gratitude!’. Ha ha – I can already hear him groaning. It is simply a little digi diary for your phone or whatever that reminds you at regular intervals just to stop and record what you are grateful for. I’m only 4 days in and of course it doesn’t feel like a chore yet (I have the attention span of a toddler though so it’ll be interesting to see if I’m still going in a month). Practicing gratitude has got to be good for me eh. Even if it is just another exuse to play with my phone ha ha

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183 – We made it!

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We made it to the end of term! I know I disappeared for a minute there this week but I was trying to stay sane whilst keeping everything I needed to remember in my head at the same time – no room for superfluous thoughts or word usage.

As we crawled closer and closer to 3.20 this afternoon I could feel myself slowly giving up on all fronts. Gut-healing restrictions all GONE, will to get out of bed in the morning for boot camp GONE and capacity for original thought GONE. Long blacks with cold milk – takeaway – have become my best friend. Whittakers chocolate my secret lover. Boot camp my arch nemesis. The fitbit has been an experiment in sadism. And yet I have been a chipper, chatty poppet.

My poor office mate has had to put up with me babbling away like a beauty pageant contestant in her ear all week – all sunshine no substance. That’ll be all the sugar I reckon! I also have a big, round, sugar belly.

And I have been thinking about wine. The photo at the top gave you pause eh? Especially if you’ve spoken to me recently and heard me babbling about how the only things I have managed to stay off were gluten and alcohol (that’s my stubborn streak). And the photo is of the mantelpiece in the music lounge yes.

I have been thinking about wine this week. Red wine. The wonderful kick in the back of the throat that a good(?) red wine gives when it hits it for the first time. The satisfaction of cracking the seal on the twist top (ahh so classy). The ‘legs’ on the side of the glass when you swirl it. Fuck me this mamabear loves wine. And it’s my birthday next week – surely I’ve been saying to myself, surely I could have a glass for my birthday? after all I won’t be (insert number dangerously close to 40 here) ever again! So the seed has been planted. But I’m a stubborn fucking biatch. Look again;

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That’s right ‘alcohol fucking removed’. Whaaaaaaaaa?

I was driving home after ringing a million homes to find out why half of my cohort was not at school. I have been hearing variations on ‘Oh I’m sorry Ms Dean but my daughter is on holiday already in samoa/america/hamiltron and will not be returning until next term now’ all week now (apparently the school term means nothing and the credits she might have gotten today in the Maths assessment can go to hell because cheap fares and a teenager free house is more important THAN YOUR CHILDS EDUCATION thank you very much).

I digress. Where was I? I was driving home and I needed/wanted/craved/could think of nothing but Wine. And then suddenly Eureka! They are always trying to con pregnant women in to ‘alcohol free wine’. They wouldn’t make pregnant women drink stuff that tastes NOT like wine and call it wine would they?

I stopped at Glengarry’s and went and asked the friendly wine lady if they had a decent non-alcoholic wine that actually tasted like wine. And then without even thinking I LIED and said it was for my pregnant friend coming round for dinner. What the fuck?! Why did I lie? Obviously I am ashamed of my teetotaler status. And I want the strangers in the wine shop to like me? Because I care so much. Because…..    I think that’s a whole other blog post. Jebus.

What was the ‘wine’ like you ask? Hmmm. I can’t say it didn’t taste like wine. But it did taste distinctly like sour juice. Which I guess is what wine is – except the good stuff has the alcohol and it makes your teeth tingle so good.

I have had one glass and it wasn’t awful. I will probs not buy it again deliberately but it’s like the whole gf thing – you have to forget what ‘real’ pasta tastes like before you have gf ‘pasta’ or it will be bloody terrible. I haven’t forgotten yet what real wine tastes like. I will just have to find another way to scratch the super-tired-at-the-end-of-term-mama-needs-a-treat itch.

Tomorrow I sleep in – School Holidays woo-fucking-hoo!!

179 – brain dribble

I can’t think of anything to write. I’m on an end of term high where I lurch from manically cheerful, rushing about the classroom, grinning widely at students, playing inappropriate music (accidentally) and practically skipping up the stairs – to the other end of the spectrum – slack-jawed, glassy-eyed, zombie breath; staring at whatever screen is occupying my attention at whatever moment. I tried to look at my rolls this evening and the red squares all swam together and danced across the screen. Then I followed my poor office buddy out to the car babbling like a fucking perky brook about fucking perky rubbish. Then I got in the car and drove on autopilot to the stupidmarket like a very stylish robot. You know it.

You know what I was thinking about?

What song I would like played at my funeral. Which is weird considering the song on my stereo was ‘Insane in the brain’ by Cypress Hill (yeah that’s right, old school as and I know most of the words – you can just see me white lady rapping can’t you?). Not exactly a funeral song. I have a LOT of trouble pinning this shit down.

The GD has a whole list of songs that he would like played at his funeral and because I have always figured he’d die first (seriously – he smokes, he never exercises and he is WAY too cocky about shit – it’s inevitable) I have never put much thought in to it. He has picked great songs too, Mark Lanegan features heavily. (click on the blue name Mum then the song will play in a new window)

Also there are too many songs to mention. Aren’t there? Because you have your current funeral fave which you may not love in 50 years. And then there are the classics. Bette Midler features heavily I believe. And you want to pick something that really sums you up but doesn’t leave yourfriends and family totally gutted. They need to be uplifted and thinking something along the lines of ‘fuck yeah that Kathleen was a cool chick, we had a good laugh’ type of shit. Or whatever little old ladies think to themselves at funerals (I plan on getting to be old and eccentric so naturally my mourners will all be little old folks too).

It’s a tricky one.

Wild horses is a good one. Have you got any good funeral songs on your list?

167

I have had one of those days where you go ‘oh yeah that’s what I do’.

It started with a sick feeling in my gut because that was what I had to do today – define what I do as a Dean at the Board of Trustees meeting this evening. It felt like a big deal – and I didn’t quite know where to start which is why I was starting the day of the meeting having not done my homework. All of the Deans presented – we all had to explain our focus for the cohort and then what we do well and what our challenges are and how the could BOT help us. It’s one of those things where you have to really think – what the hell do I do all day?! And although I think we did a really good job of starting to outline the job – inevitably I left feeling like I hadn’t really covered it all.

For example, today I taught for most of the day and two of those classes I hadn’t met before so it was teacher-talk heavy. I prepped for them in my five minute breaks between classes. As I was driving to school I got three texts from students booking out my ‘free’ period for the day – each student with different concerns. When I arrived at my office to start these appointments I got a phone call to say that I had an irate parent at the front desk who had arrived without an appointment and wanted to meet with me now. I managed to put him off for half an hour so I could meet with the students but it meant working through lunch again and no prep for the next class. I spent my last period of the day helping a student write a victim impact statement for a court appearance she has coming up that she was feeling really nervous about.

After school I started writing the report for the BOT. Our part of the meeting went from 5:30 to 7pm and then I headed home. Master 4 had gone to sleep already and Master 7 wasn’t far off. The grumpy Dutchman had made delicious dinner and it was slowly going cold on the bench.

This is not a pity post. This is my job – and for the most part I really enjoy it. It does suck on the odd occasion when I get home and the lads are asleep but that doesn’t happen very often.

Mostly this post is to remind myself of my day so that I can fully appreciate that the sugar cravings – that are so bad I am contemplating going out to the dairy – are simply a result of exhaustion and a need for bed. I need to change into my jammies and go crawl in to bed between my snoring little laddies so I can get up tomorrow good to go again. Tomorrow will be quieter.

Tomorrow is hump day all over again – where are the weeks going?!

161 – Hump day happiness

Last night I accidentally shared my blog post to my Deaning cohorts facebook page. What a dick! And I didn’t notice until ONE OF MY STUDENTS ‘LIKED’ IT. Oh My God. I panicked immediately and deleted the post, and then promptly emailed the student because she’s cool and I needed to explain my ‘ghost post’. She had read it and liked it (phew) and thought it was hilarious that I had posted on the wrong page – but like I said she’s cool and I am not too worried that she will start cyber-stalking me or anything. Ha ha – like I’m that interesting – whatever miss! I am so thankful it wasn’t one of my more ‘sweary’ ones. But it did give me a good reminder that my posts are public and anyone – current students included – can read them. I am not sure how I feel about my students ‘reading me’…

But anyway, I deleted it and was all good and even though T had said that she thought the post was really interesting and that her peers would like to read it – because it is about school after all – I wasn’t tempted to repost deliberately ha ha. It didn’t even occur to me that anyone else had read it because T was the only one who had ‘liked’ it. Until I got back from lunch today to find an envelope under my door;

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And inside was a lovely ‘not sucky uppy at all’ (her words) letter from another one of my girls who had read the post and wanted to tell me how much she appreciated what I did for them all as Dean and stuff. I got all feely. I may have even had tears because I’m a big pussy. It was handwritten and everything. Do you know how rare it is for your average teenager to hold a pen? Let alone to know what to do with it? Pretty special guys.

It was one of a number of events that meant that Wednesday was totally worth getting out of bed for. It was in the top two of the top events – the other fantastic thing? Master Fours’ parent teacher night. His teachers LOVE his stinky little not-washed-often-enough-but-hey-it’s-good-for-his-immune-system ass. He is totally choice. Top of the class. Writing his name and studying bugs and leading enquiry. Colour me the proudest mum in town.

Add to the above a green smoothie from Kokako, a cool ass class with my year 9’s, catching up on various Deaning jobs, checking in with some of my mentees, a vigorous bootcamp session that included BOXING yay! and rediscovering a fave lippie and you can consider today a win.

160 – Positive behaviour for learning

I may have mentioned in a previous post that at school I am part of a group who are involved in the writing and implementation of a Ministry initiative being introduced at our school called PB4L – or Positive Behaviour for Learning. It has been rolled out at a number of schools over the past few years and the schools are reaping the rewards of a more settled cohort, safer and motivating learning environments and fewer serious incidents across the board. We as a whole staff had to agree to sign up for it in order to make sure there was buy-in before we could be approved for the attached funding and support. And because no two schools are the same there is no ‘one size fits all’ program so the first year or two is dedicated to actually collecting data to work with and putting in place the systems and protocols that your individual school need in response to the data.

It is really good stuff. At present I am part of a team who are going to the training days and figuring out how to involve staff in data gathering exercises, isolating areas of concern, deciding on desirable behaviour and what we want the culture of the school to look like. In working out how and when to actively teach the desired behaviours and how to put in place systems that positively reinforce the behaviour we want to see. As opposed to the more ‘traditional’ model of punishing the undesirable behaviours and issuing top-down edicts of behaviour required but with no active modelling or teaching of this expectation. Does that make sense?

In a school as diverse as ours, with a cohort that comes from all walks of life and cultural context, from all socio-economic backgrounds but mostly lower, from homes with a lot of boundaries to homes with almost none and with students who are products of vastly different environments in terms of safe and healthy relationships with adults – we are a school that needs ONE way of doing things and ONE accepted way to be at our school that is understood by everyone – Teachers and students alike.

And it all hangs off this idea that the way to achieve this utopia – this functional, safe learning environment for both students and staff – is to positively reinforce the good stuff and to pre-empt the negative with consistent, school wide conversations and taught behaviour.

We need to ask the staff what an ‘ideal student’ looks like, what an ideal learning environment looks like and what the main barriers are to achieving these ideals in our school. Then we need to show staff what they said to see if we are all on the same page. AND we need to ask students what their ideal teacher looks like. What a safe and engaging learning environment looks like – and what the current barriers to success are for them. We need to collect data to see if it backs up what everyone is saying/feeling. We might be surprised.

We need to look at our schools values and the current systems in place – we don’t want to re-invent the wheel but we might need to streamline it. And it’s a MASSIVE job but our coaches have people guiding them through, and the Ministry has an investment in the success of the program so there are checks and balances to make sure we stay on track and can measure our successes.

Man it feels positive.

So when I was thinking about what I could write tonight – because I didn’t write last night and I am trying to not miss too many nights as the cold winter nights settle in and all I want to do is hibernate…. Can I apply the same theories to my mission to heal my gut? By collecting data and making changes that pre-empt damaging behaviour? By not punishing myself when I make the wrong decisions in a moment of weakness/tiredness/contrariness. By putting systems in place that support the right decisions around food even when I am tired/pre-menstrual or just feeling bloody minded? Probably. Hmmmm.

My brain is full right now though.

126

So I’m driving home from work at 8 pm (parent teacher night) and I cross over the intersection on to Williamson Ave. As I come over the bus parked at the side of the road pulls out in front of me. Slowly. Without warning. I speak in to the silence in the car (my stereo is broken and it is literally the only thing I like about my car so that’s just not fair).  I say ‘Just pull out in front of me dude’ then after a beat ‘Fucking cunt’. I crack myself up. Even in the confines of my car – where noone can hear me – I’m a potty mouthed bitch.

Tonight in one of my interviews I said ‘Taking the piss’. I said to the PARENTS of a student ‘She is taking the piss’. Luckily I have Deaned this girl for three and a half years and the parents know I adore her, and they were not at all offended, and I apologised profusely of course, but seriously. That is not cool. Normally I am MUCH more professional I promise.

I put this down to one thing; Sugar. Yes.

I didn’t want to write this post. I told my friend at work that I hadn’t been blogging as regularly lately because I felt guilty lying by omission. That if I didn’t tell you about my big bloated sugar belly, my tingly teeth or my ridiculous sugar intake that maybe it wouldn’t exist. I am conscious that people read this stream-of-consciousness/drivel. Enough of you have been in contact to say you do, or taken the time to tell me in person, and it’s really special to hear. So I thank you from the heart of my bottom and I’m sorry.

I’m sorry because for the past four weeks I’ve been living a lie. (Duuun dun dun) Easter was too much for me and I am now spiraling in to a sugar induced grump fest. And I have been trying to find things to write about that mean I don’t have to mention the brownie crumbs on my 5 o’clock shadow and the cup of tea with real milk I am slurping all over myself. I am trying.

I got up this morning before the sun rose and took the dog for a run. My first one in WEEKS. I had boiled eggs on toast for breakfast. With butter. And Coffee. Damn. And I followed it with a GF brownie chaser. What the fuck? Ok, I can come back from that. I packed a savoury lunch of chicken curry. Right. Be good. Be positive. Stop self harming with food. This shit isn’t good for you grrl, Nourish not Punish.

Waiting for lunch I decided to walk up the road with my friend (the very one who insisted that you guys want to read about me fucking up like this because we can all relate so I am doing it). I was going to get a bottle of water because a side effect of all this shite in my diet is that I am thirsty all the time. I get to the cafe and buy ginger crunch and a coffee. Excuse me?

So for lunch I had ginger crunch and a trim flat white. And then after work for afternoon tea, the school supplied snacks – apple and cheese – dairy and high fructose. For dinner, because the non gf staff ate all of the gf food supplied I had grapes, a mandarin and gf brownie for dinner. High fructose, high fructose, sugar and dairy. The poor woman who runs our school cafe was mortified because she had made this food especially and she kept pressing this gf cake on me – what could I do? I ate the fruit and cake. Happily. Because I had an excuse.

The lovely, patient, solo parenting Dutchman made me dinner at short notice and I am now full of greens, potatoes and sausages. And sugar. My teeth are tingling, my body feels bleurgh. I am suffering but I am stuck in the cycle. So every day I will get up and every day I am going to try again. Tomorrow I am going to have green tea – if any hot drinks at all. Coffee is a gateway drink. I know the GD will read this so he won’t offer me coffee. I am going to have a smoothie for brekkie so I am not hungry and I am not going to buy anything to eat.

These are the conditions I have set for myself. For tomorrow. To start again. Again.