TMI Tuesday Reload – Bed Time

1. What time did you go to bed last night and were you alone?

My alarm goes off at 5.30am each weekday. By 6.30 I am usually on the road heading to work. Admittedly I don’t need to get to work as early as I do (7.30am) but experience has taught me the Gateway Motorway is not a place to be after around 6.45 am most days. And so I usually arrive at work before most people. Consequently I am a massive nana and am in bed by 9pm most nights. Mr Jones usually spends some time with me and then I go to sleep by myself.

2. If you could be given ANY gift what would it be?

A large modern house on an acreage block with lots of bush around it. Something like this.


3. What was the last film that really moved/disturbed/thrilled you and why?

Nothing really springs to mind. The last thing I watched that really disturbed and moved me as a production of Spring Awakening. The production is very dark and this particular one featured an on stage suicide followed by a very well thought out and haunting funeral. The over arching themes of frustrated, sexually repressed teenagers was definitely food for thought.

4. What is your favorite way to wake up and what is the first thing you do?

As I spoke about earlier my workdays start early, at this time of the year the sunrise is around 6.30 and it is cold (for Brisbane). I like to wake up just after sunrise and then enjoy the first cup of tea of the day. New York Breakfast.

5. You’ve been granted an extra hour in the day, what are you going to do?
a. Sleep more

Until it is summer and the Sun gets up at a reasonable time this is definitely an option

b. Extend a sexual interlude

Also an option at certain times.

c. Shop

Nope! Shopping is an activity to be done in as small amount of time as possible.

d. Finally fit in that workout that you usually can’t make time for

As much as my brass mistress is an integral part of my life. An extra hour in my day will not entice me more than I already am.

Bonus Random pic from the vault.

Flashback to the days when a chrome pole was my mistress

Am I OK?

It seems these last few days, well couple of weeks really, have consisted of me telling the tragic story of my current existence over and over again. Three questions are consistently asked.

  1. How is Mr Jones?
  2. How is Mr Jones’ Dad?
  3. How are you?

The answers are

  1. He seems OK but sometimes I can see he is struggling.
  2. He is existing in the plane of grief for his wife and relief that after several years of increasing carer responsibilities he can actually do some of the things he enjoys and LIVE again. For the first few days he just wanted to be quiet at home. Which caused a little concern but people seemed to forget that he doesn’t actually live alone. Three other adults live in another part of the house and he was constantly monitored. For the record he did his thing, he ate properly and he interacted with people. He doesn’t want flowers and reminders of death in his house. That is our job apparently.

How am I? It isn’t about me. How I feel is kind of irrelevant in this situation. The whole time this has been happening I have felt like a spectator. Yes I participated in emergency situations, listened while Mr Jones ranted about some of the decisions made, had opinions, some I voiced more than others, and from time to time reminded The Unicorn that whilst we may not agree with some decisions it is not our place to openly criticise them. When the inevitable happened my grief was not for the life lost but for the grief of the people I love. My son grieving the grandmother who was an integral part of his life. My daughter who was not as close but who is affected more strongly by such things. My husband who saw his mother in situations that no child should.

The people who care about me were gentle and wrapped their arms around me. They listened while I ranted about the Not Funeral and checked in with me in a way that was not obtrusive. Some travelled to share food and a drink. Some wrapped their arms from afar. For the first little while I thought I was immune but grief is a strange beast. Or maybe just the strain of holding it all together was a little too much. The Ranga fucked the life out of me on a random afternoon hook up and it flipped a switch in me. For the briefest of seconds my focus shifted inwards and suddenly I was overwhelmed. Even a perfect ocean day couldn’t banish the Black Dog. Issues that got put on the back burner while I let this situation unfold would let themselves be silent no more.

It was a necessary thing. I needed to be reminded that I have more value. That I am not everyone’s bin to dump their emotional rubbish in and that situations that other people make for themselves are their problem. For a couple of days I was very much not OK but a session with a brass pole is more healing than you can imagine. Despite the bruises. Speaking your truth quietly but firmly makes people pay attention.

I think I need to keep The Ranga on regular rotation.

The Visitor

Death is a strange visitor. Every time it comes it wears a different face and carries a different demeanour. Sometimes it comes in the night, stealthy, uninvited, unexpected. Sometimes it rides in blazing with drama and departs leaving a trail of grieving people in its wake. When Death came to my house it was neither of these. When Death came to my house it stayed for dinner, and breakfast the next day and then, like any unwelcome guest, it stayed until all of our tolerance for it was gone.

We always knew he was coming. His visit was announced many times by people who professed to know. Predicted arrivals came and went without the presence of the expected guest. We became a little blasé about his visit. When we discussed it we would remind ourselves that last Christmas and the Christmas before and even the Christmas before that the experts had told us that Death was imminent and yet we were still to experience him. Despite this we continued to listen to them, we continued to visit doctors and health professionals and hear predictions and diagnoses of the impending visit but no one could actually pin down a time. As time passed we thought we heard him knocking but when we opened the door no-one was there.

Meanwhile we watched as life ebbed away. We strove to ensure that the dignity and wishes of an ageing person were preserved. We watched a wife, a mother and a grandmother fade away from a person who was once strong and determined. Who lived life the way they chose and didn’t bow to the pressures of others. Many times we asked ourselves was this life that was ebbing away so painfully and slowly really living. Yes, she was surrounded by family and people who loved her. Yes, she was comfortable and cared for. But was she living? Days went by uneventfully. To us, to me, I couldn’t imagine living that way. Never leaving the house except to visit the doctor. Nothing to occupy my hands or my mind except the decision to have a rest or to sit in the sun for a little while longer or to take a slow shuffling walk from the doorway to the birdcage and back. A total of twenty metres. Nothing happening except getting up, existing and then struggling to sleep at night.

Eventually Death made a genuine appearance. Even as we watched his approach he dallied. Days went by as he shuffled towards his host. Taking life one handful at a time. We could see him in the sunken eyes and the voice that struggled to be understood and finally in the breath that took effort to be drawn. We had time to say goodbye. We had time to reminisce. We had time to understand and to grieve even before it was truly time to grieve. And then, when we were sleeping, Death came. Quietly, peacefully with a touch so gentle that we almost couldn’t tell he had been. Except for the absence of his host. The physical things that she had left behind.

In the morning, after the 4am phone calls to sleepy people with news we all knew was coming but were still shocked by I had a moment of clarity. I thought about the Not Life that I had witnessed. I am surrounded every day of my working life by teenagers who have their lives stretching before them in a way they cannot comprehend. They struggle to think past the next five minutes of their lives. Once I was like them. Living life as it came at me, not really thinking about where I wanted my future to end up. But now I am surrounded by people who are older. There is more than one person in my life who is expecting a visit from Death sooner rather than later. I am starting to wonder what retirement and the rest of my life will look like.

In that moment of clarity I knew I didn’t want to live the Not Life. I want to LIVE. There is so much of the world to see and things to experience. People who look at my life from the outside don’t see the woman who is often afraid. Who shies away from being truly audacious. Maybe in living just a little bit more the way that everyone looking through the peephole I give on these pages sees I have an appreciation for a completely new level of life. I hope I am brave enough.

Fading Away

About nine years ago Mr Jones’ parents came to live with us. At that time they were living completely independently but were starting to see the need to move from the other side of the country where they had no immediate family to support them when there was a health crisis, or any other kind of crisis, to the city where their children and their families lived. They elected to pay for an extension to be built on our house rather than buy a stand alone property.

At the time many people expressed concern about the arrangement. Many questions were asked. What happens when they get older and are no longer living independently? How will you keep them from intruding into your living space and being nosy parkers? Etc. I will say that the people asking those kinds of questions were probably reflecting on how THEY would behave in this situation ie that they would be the ones expecting their daughter in law to put her life on hold to care for her husband’s aging parents. Or THEY would be the ones who would insert themselves into their child’s life more than was necessary or even healthy.

Whatever people thought the arrangement worked well. The Old People kept to themselves mostly and the door linking our house with theirs was not used more than it needed to be. There were times when it was convenient for everyone. #1 Son enjoyed being able to toddle over to his grandparent’s house and chat almost every day. Grandparents were able to see major events in their grandchildren’s lives that they may not have otherwise. For everyone it was a positive.

Of course over time the predicted health decline happened. The plan to have younger, healthier relatives in close proximity paid off. The door was a way to easily call for help late at night and in the wee hours of the morning. Having someone to help meant that when one grandparent started to really decline the other was able to keep caring for them with just a little help from ‘the people next door’.

Eventually this was not enough. Death, the one great certainty of all life forms, creept ever closer. Watching someone you love die is hard. Not knowing how and when is ever harder. Watching them refuse to eat and then shrink down until they look like a tiny frail doll like version of themselves is heart breaking. Constantly worrying that they will fall, or that they will not wake up one morning takes the life out of you. Eventually we had to make the call. A health professional told us that a time would come when we could no longer be able to be the nurse and the family. That being the nurse would preclude being the family and our last moments with our loved on would be spent worrying about catheters and drips instead of saying good bye. And so we made the choice. Grandmother was place in an ambulance to travel to a hospice. She looked so small and frail. Grandfather watched her go. Unable to express his thoughts. No doubt relieved that the responsibilities of being the nurse no longer rested with him. But also lost at the thought of never seeing her in their home again.

And now we wait. Visiting daily, Sharing the news with friends and other relatives, making preliminary funeral arrangements. The question hangs in every thought; When? I don’t know. I cannot answer. For most of the day things seem to be as normal. Meals are eaten, chores are done, we go to work but our minds are often filled with the questions and the finality of death. It makes the regular life hard. All of us are a little disoriented. Confused and feeling as if we are in a fog. When death finally comes it will answer the questions but I feel the fog and struggle to go about daily life will take some time to dissipate.

Photo by micheile henderson on Unsplash

TMI Tuesday Flashback

For the longest time I participated in TMI Tuesday every week. For a time even Mr Jones got in on the action. I was a little sad when Hedone decided it was time for her to move on and TMI was no more. I am toying with idea of taking up the TMI torch but I haven’t quite decided how I want that to look or if I am capable of sustaining it. Suggestions are most welcome. In the meantime, much like Sexicillious Ash I will perhaps visit some older questions that I didn’t answer and perhaps share some more TMI goodness with you all!

Today’s TMI flashback comes from April 2011

1. Do you like to be called a slut?

Mostly yes. It is worth noting that in my mind slut is not someone who puts other people’s sexual desires above their own and basically becomes a proverbial ‘cum bucket’. That version of slut is very negative. When I think of Gemma the slut I am envisioning more of a sex goddess that is to be worshipped.

2. What is your definition of a real man or woman?

`I think the definition is the same for either gender. More of a ‘real person’. Someone who is honest and unashamed to be themselves. Confidence is one of the sexiest qualities a person can have.

3. What physical quality of a man are you most attracted to?

As I said above confidence is one of the sexiest qualities a person can have. Somehow people who are comfortable in their own skin and confident in who they are as a person have this aura about them. If we are talking purely about physical qualities I am going with tall and well put together. There is something about a man who is tall and strong enough to manhandle me that is extremely attractive.

4. Would you rather be the boss in charge or the boss’s right hand man/woman?

Being in charge is hard work! Everyone expects you to make all the decisions so that when things go wrong they can blame you. Often I find myself in situations where people are waiting for me to make a decision or give instructions. I guess I just have that in charge kind of aura. But honestly, some days I would love to have someone else make the decisions.

At least that is what I tell myself.

5. What is the first thing you ever masturbated to or with?

This is something I have never really shared with anyone. So imagine me squirming inside. When I was probably around nine or ten I heard this story somewhere about young children pleasuring themselves by rocking on their heel. What can I say ABC radio played some interesting segments in their daytime shows. So, being a curious young person that was my first experience of self pleasure.

Bonus random pic from the vault

Ready for the Weekend

Source Queensland State Library

The timespan between Easter and early May is disjointed and full of public holidays in the state where I live. Four days of Easter (Easter Monday is a public holiday in Australia) followed by ANZAC day followed by the Labour Day long weekend. This post finds me on the eve of the Labour Day weekend. I am Australian we never let the reason for a public holiday get in the way of actually doing something enjoyable with the windfall of a day off and so I will not be marching in a Labour Day parade like the one pictured above but will be enjoying some boat time with Mr Jones and some friends. Not vanilla types exactly but I am not expecting super sexy times.

Summer is pretty much gone in this part of the world so even hanging around with no pants is not really expected. On the plus side I will hopefully get to finish crocheting my mermaid tail and reading my sex robot book. This is the last long weekend in this part of the world until October so I need to make the most of it.

It is unlikely that the weather will be like this but we can hope

Week One

Photo by Niklas Ohlrogge on Unsplash

I want to write here regularly. I want to keep some kind of journal / regular posting habit. When I consider how much material I have created over the last years I really am amazed and think to myself. If I could just compile all that I would have a book. If I could just finish the multiple series I have started then I would have several books. There is this part of me that fantasises about becoming this reclusive old lady living in a private secluded house along with her “reputation” for throwing questionable parties and writing pornographic novels.

Over the two weeks I was on Easter holidays I made a conscious effort to get organised and work on posts I posted regularly. You guys all enjoyed it. I took photos and posted on Twitter. Those people (and you guys) all enjoyed that as well. I entertained fantasies of having a profitable Only Fans. Then I came back home and went back to work. For most of week 1 of term 2 I felt as if I had fallen off a cliff. After the first day I just wanted to sleep. My body ached and my mental health was low. I felt as if I had no time to do anything except drive to work and sleep. Any spare time I did have was devoted to helping other people with things that they were interested in. Of course the headspace to create a post here was gone.

For the first time in my life I have a full understanding and appreciation for therapists. Earlier in the year I took the steps to find and visit a therapist more than once. After a session on Thursday I was surprised and the difference on Friday. And so I am back up the hill, for now. More importantly I am working on changing life and living things to address work / life balance. Or rather the balance between devoting energy to my goals and the energy I devote to the goals of others.

And so here is to a week of more balance. And more blogging. Or at least edits of work I prepared earlier.

Into the Ocean

I started trying to write for this prompt sometime last week. Back when I was sitting on.a yacht in the Burrum River with nothing to do but walk on beaches and clean. Fast forward or so days and I knew what I wanted to write but there was so much every day STUFF happening. So here I am with two hours to deadline getting my thoughts on a page.

After our three day stint in the river we headed south. After two weeks on the yacht enjoying time with friends, taking #travellingboob shots and spending time with each other the time had come to make our way back to the “real world”. As happens the weather was the most perfect it could be. The water was blue, the sun was shining, and there was a gentle breeze as we stopped at one of our favourite spots. Pelican Banks is a permanent sand bar within spitting distance of K’Gari. On a good day it is one of the most picturesque spots I have visited. This day was a cracker.

After a swim in crystal clear waters and a walk on a pristine beach looking at shorebirds and greeting a very enthusiastic toy poodle we made our way back to civilisation. The water was glassy and so very very clear. Mr Jones took this shot.

I grew up far from the ocean. I always thought I was a creature of the land. In the early part of my marriage I resisted sailing as a sport and we spent a lot of time exploring the land. It took me a long time to love the ocean. But swimming in crystal clear water, looking at the creatures that live in it gives me a sense of awe and joy that I have never felt anywhere else. There is nothing better than, sunshine, naked skin and ocean.


The Teenage Parents

Photo by Ehimetalor Akhere Unuabona on Unsplash

A few things have happened in the last couple of weeks that have really underlined the topsy turvy nature of my world. As many of you know our now 20 year old daughter, The Unicorn, still lives with us. She is not your typical Young Person. I never had a sleepless night worrying about her being safe and to date haven’t had her come home in an outrageously drunken state. She is the responsible one.

I cannot say the same for Mr Jones and myself. Recently it seems as if we are the teenagers heading out to drunken parties and getting home at stupid o’clock. The Unicorn is doing her best to take it in her stride but the statement, “What the fuck mum!!” seems to come up a lot these days.

I am not sure if I should just take it in my stride or if it is a sign that I maybe need to be a little bit more responsible.

Almost but Not Quite

The weekend dawned full of promise. The forecast was good. Perfect boating weather. We rose early to get a good start on things. Picked up our friends and made our way to the harbour. I wore my new dress purchased by Mr Jones. He does have good taste.

The sun was shining and we enjoyed a leisurely sail to beautiful Moreton Island. As we dropped anchor we were treated to an excellent close up view of two sea turtles courting. It is always amazing how these creatures that seem so ungainly can move so nimbly and even gracefully in the water. Our friends were surprised at how quickly they could move when they chose to.

As we were travelling I chatted with a friend and organised a play date. I was excited. it was the first time I had planned a solo session for a while. It felt like time. As we prepared to launch kayaks to spend time paddling over the shallow sand flats in the hope of encountering sting rays and more turtles I picked up a stray broom and placed it in the front locker. The locker lid is heavy and has a relatively narrow lip. I didn’t place my toe properly, the gas strut was corroded and now the nail on my right big toe is split in half.

Yes it hurt. No I did not get to go kayaking. Or walking on the beach. Lots of sitting with my foot elevated. I took the opportunity to colour. Which apparently is great for your mental health.

When we returned to dry land I visited the local medical centre for a proper dressing a tetanus vaccination and an X-ray order. More visits to medical professionals. Not entirely happy about this. Not to worry I began preparing for my date.

Then texts took a worrying turn. My friend was being “pussy blocked” by a relative. Time ticked by, We had dinner and I could feel my mental health slipping. I called it at 8pm. I wasn’t ready to head out for a 40 minute drive and then return after midnight. As frustrating and disappointing as it was I finished the night with one of the most faithful of my friends and some last minute marking.

There is something about the love of a cat. They don’t make promises. They just love you when they are ready to fully commit. And then it is soft, purring, and transfixing.

Maybe next weekend will be better.