The Queen of Dunces

This is why I don't deserve a gall bladder:

I have just attended a "party" (staff morning tea).  I meant to bring my own cakes to this party for my own purposes - cakes baked without butter, dairy or gluten, and therefore quite safe for consumption.

I forgot to bring my stuff, so instead I ate what was there.  I had a shortbread biscuit (Moron!  Those things a full of butter!), an apple teacake thing (Covered in cream, you idiot!) and a mini pavlova (More cream?  What is wrong with you?).

Any single one of these things is probably enough to trigger unpleasantness with my gall bladder in it's current state - and I ate all three.

Because something in my head said "oh, go on, you haven't had anything nice for a while and it is a party after all", and somehow that counted more than the other voice in my head that said "your gall bladder hates you, and it hates all of this stuff, and it will have its revenge".

I am, indeed, the Queen of the Dunces.

And, of course, now that I've actually eaten that crap and know that pain awaits me, I'm smart enough to know I should have made better choices.  Not smart enough to actually make those choices, just smart enough to know that I should have.

My project for this year:  make better choices.

How galling...

So, my gall bladder decided to make a point during my vacation in New Zealand.

I believe the point it wanted to make was something along the lines of:  "you don't deserve a gall bladder."

At least, that's what my doctors have decided the outcome should be.

I currently still have a gall bladder (and also a 2.3cm gall stone in an awkward position), but I suspect this situation will be changed by the end of February.

I've been waiting for a date for surgery from the public hospital, and here at the office we were taking bets as to whether it would be in the middle of O-Week or during the week I'm presenting a paper in a conference in Sydney.

Sure enough, they phoned me today and proudly offered me the day I'm on a plane heading down to a four day conference.  They're going to get back to me with another date.

I'm hedging my bets, though, and seeing what the private system can offer me.  I'll pick whoever can give me the least obnoxious time to have strangers do strange things to my body while I'm unconscious.

I'm not thrilled about having the operation.  I've always felt one's innards should remain "in".  Everything in the body does something, I'm sure of it.  Plus, all of the other bits in the body are kind of expecting it to be there.  I don't feel comfortable saying "oh, it's just a gall bladder - people get those removed all the time!"

Oh, well.  It's my own fault for being a fat white chick for most of my life.

Looking for Quakers in all the wrong places

I think I've previously written about Quakers (or the Religious Society of Friends) in at least one of my blogs.

Some time ago I read a memoir written by a Quaker that was all about the life lessons he'd learnt growing up in that faith community.

I liked what I read, so I borrowed books about Quakerism from my library.  These books were all old, and contained writings from various Quaker preachers, adherents and philosophers over the past few hundred years - up to about the 1920s.

I didn't read anywhere near enough to become an expert on the subject, but I read enough to realise that I liked this version of Christianity.

I grew up in a Pentecostal denomination that I found too intense, confining and (let's face it) delusional.  I came to Anglicanism because I (perhaps ironically) found it was a simpler, cleaner version of Christianity than the one I grew up with.

Yeah, I know, it's supposed to work the other way:  Flee the crusty old Church with it's crusty old liturgy and find freedom in the Pentecostal movement.

There's no pretensions in the Anglican Church.  They know they weren't founded by some prophet who knew the One Right Way to fulfil the will of God.  They're just jobbing Christians, getting on with it.  There's something beautiful about that.

It's what I needed them to be in order to give my own Christian faith a shot in the arm.

But the Quakers offered something else.  Something I found highly attractive - enforced simplicity.

Take away all of the guff that surrounds Christianity and focus on the very basics.  Be still and listen.  Look for the best in each other, try to do what's right.  Simplicity.  Equality.  Charity.  Integrity.  Peace.

This was a version of Christianity I really wanted to connect with.  It seemed like a great way to really get to the heart of what Christianity is all about:  Following the example of Christ and learning from his teachings as you try to build a closer relationship with God.

The first Quaker service I ever attended was a great experience.  I really enjoyed it.  After the service itself there was a "bull session" of sorts where we mulled over one of the Advices and Queries that specifically asked what role Christ played in our lives.

The second Quaker service made it clear that Christ doesn't play a big role in the lives of many Quakers in Australia.  It seems today's Quakers are so fond of diversity that believing in Christ is optional.  In fact, there seemed to be a sense that Christianity makes people uncomfortable, so it's downplayed as much as possible.  That first service I attended was something of an anomaly.

Look up the websites of the major Quaker organisations in Australia, New Zealand and the UK and see how long it takes you to find a reference to Christianity.  The fact that the RSoF is a Christian denomination is hardly shouted from the rooftops.

The "elder" of the Meeting I attended even said she often feels a bit funny attending inter-denominational Church gatherings, because Quakers aren't really part of the Church any more.

Christ-centered Quakers are, apparently, a particular interest group within the movement.  In fact, in other parts of the world they seem to be a new movement in themselves.

Which makes me wonder where someone like me goes?

I'm looking for the dirt basic Quaker faith that Rufus Jones wrote about in the 1920s.  I'm not interested in something that has shifted away from it's own foundations.  I'm also not interested in something that's trying to revive a revivalist movement.  Even if I was, I can only work within a limited geographical area.

I just want to find the Quakers of old.

Potentially brilliant idea: People lockers

Okay, this one is either going to earn someone a million dollars (probably not me), or just be one of the silliest things I've ever thought of in my life.  Or, someone else is already doing it and I'm just late to the party:

Lockers for people.

You know how you can go to various public places and "rent" a locker for your bags, so they can be safely stored while you go off and do sundry things unencumbered by your goods and chattels?

What it if was possible to rent a locker the size of a narrow single bed, so you could lock yourself away for a nap?

I'm not talking about a pod hotel, or any of that sort of thing.  This won't have any "amenities".  Just a bed - more or less in a cupboard - and about as much head-clearance as you'd get on the bottom bunk of a set of bunk beds.

Singapore's Pod Hotel

Kind of like the really budget level rooms you can find in the Pod Hotel in Singapore, but not actually a hotel.  And way downmarket.  You'd find these things attached to gyms and train stations, or on university campuses.  Or in the same sorts of places you'd find laundromats.

I see it as being something so basic that it wouldn't even involve sheets.  The mattress would be covered in some sort of vinyl that could be easily wiped clean by an attendant.  You can bring your own sleeping bag/liner and travel pillow if you want niceties, or rent something from the attendant.

This isn't for a proper overnight stay, either.  This is for that siesta-type sleep.  You'd hire the locker for half an hour or an hour, lock yourself in the cupboard for a short kip, then use the nearby public "washroom" to freshen up before going back to work or tackling the afternoon's classes.

I've often felt that buildings need nap rooms.

Sometimes you just really need to crash for twenty minutes or so in order to keep functioning somewhat coherently during the day, but there's nowhere really to do that.

In Southern Europe, everyone goes home for two hours at lunchtime in order to get that mid-day snooze into the system, but those of us who were colonised by Britain only get about an hour or so for lunch - and with commute times and what have you, that isn't enough time to get home, let alone eat lunch and catch a nap.

But, if these little nap pods existed, it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to just have a sleeping bag at your desk and hire a locker for your nap break.

The Box

So, yesterday I fell in love with a plywood box.

You know how sometimes you walk into a shop, pick something up, and never want to put it down again?  But then you have to leave the shop eventually so you end up buying it - even if it's ridiculously overpriced?

Yeah.

I had that moment yesterday with a plywood box.

I walked into Arties Music shop to see if they had any travel ukuleles, and walked out with an overpriced wooden box.

They didn't have any travel ukes, by the way.

Not that it matters, I can't afford one after buying the box.

It is a lovely box, though.  So nice to hold.  And it's so much fun to play with.  It's a bit hard trying to explain to normal people that you're a bit tired because you were up late playing with a wooden box, but that's life.

Derby!

So, I went to watch a roller derby match on the weekend.

I loved it.

Not in the "I have to join a roller derby team right this minute!" kind of way, but in the "hey, this sport is a bucket of fun to watch and I should watch it more often!" kind of way.

Now, it is entirely possible that I can discover a new sport without completely obsessing about it for the next few months but, you know, my record isn't good.

Fair warning, and all.

Two plans

My problem is that I have two plans (possibly three).  They cannot occur at the same time in the same universe.  I can't decide between the two of them, and spend most of my days favouring one or the other, but never fully settling on either of them.


Plan Number 1:  Buy an investment property on the Sunshine Coast

I would particularly like a townhouse or something, but with my budget I'll settle for a unit.  The idea is to rent it out while I'm not living/working in the area, and use the rent to help pay off the mortgage while I use the fact that it's an investment property to get any repairs and maintenance as a tax write-off.

Eventually, I'd be looking to get a job in the area and move down into the place I already have while I think about whether or not I want to trade up for a real house or something.

Good plan, eh?


Plan Number 2:  Buy a house in Brownsville and fix it up

With my budget, I'd have to buy a fixer-upper, but still - you can get a whole house in the 'Ville for less than it would cost to buy a unit on the Sunshine Coast.

I'd make it presentable, then rent out the rooms to international students (they're usually only here for 6 months to a year, so if we don't get along all that well I don't have to wait long before they leave).  The rent from the students would to towards paying off the mortgage and I'll probably end up paying that off much more quickly than I would a more expensive unit down south.

Good plan, eh?


The trouble with Plan Number 1

It's, like, totally far away.  I wouldn't be able to keep as good an eye on the place as I would if I actually lived there, and I'd have to ask my family in the region if they could take care of it for me, which is a bit burdensome for them.

Plus, I wouldn't be able to live it it for some time.  It would technically be my "first home", so I'd never qualify for any of the "first home buyers" grants or things in the future, but you don't qualify for them anyway if you don't live in the place - they don't count for investment properties.

I'd be forever putting myself out of contention for any "first home" related stuff, and I wouldn't even get the joy of living in my first home.

So, not the best plan.


The trouble with Plan Number 2

While it would be really nice to stop living with my family for a while (I never intended to stay so long when I came back from Tasmania), it does seem a bit silly to have the three of us each living on our own.

At the moment, I'm the "back up" for my mother and uncle.  If either of them need someone to take care of things while they're away or otherwise occupied, I'm there to do it.  If I get my own place, that will just make multiple houses to worry about during holidays and such.

Plus, I'd be pouring money into a fixer-upper that I could be saving up towards a bigger deposit on a better property later.

And I want to move down south eventually, anyway.  Staying in the 'Ville isn't my long-term plan, and I want to shift everyone down to the South-East Corner so they can be closer to the rest of their brothers and sisters.

So, not the best plan.


So, what's Plan Number 3?

To wait a bit, save up some more money for a deposit and see what everything looks like a year from now.


The trouble with Plan Number 3

"Waiting" has a strange habit of turning into "stagnating".  It's really easy to slide into "no plan at all".