When all else fails, over share.

 

I’m cold. It’s late. I am still suffering from the allergic reactions my face pulled after being exposed to the decade old dust disturbed by my little sister cleaning her room. So I didn’t have a polish post prepped and read of dissemination by the masses (shout to “the masses”, otherwise known as Christina, Phoebe and my relatives!).

 

It’s four degrees at the moment. Thinking is hard. So I did what anyone would do: I goggled the answer to my problem, which was questions. I searched for ten questions through Google, or more correctly, I searched for “dten questions”. And this list came up. And because I like asking the questions no one cares about, I’m going to give you the answers only I care about.

 

What are you grateful for? Right now? Polar fleece. Definitely polar fleece. And insulation.

 

What are you proudest of? I’m really proud of my pelvic floor.

 

The other night I had a dream in which I was weeing. We’ve all had those dreams. Those are the dreams where one minute you’re in a pool of tepid water or sitting on a toilet and the next instant you’ve been transported back to your bedroom, damp, confused and soaked in shame. They’re the equivalent of your brain pulling the chair from underneath you or pricking holes in your condoms – a huge fuck you from your sub conscious to your consciousness, and your mattress. Those dreams are dangerous.

 

I now know what being a grown up means. Being a grown up means having a dream you are weeing on a carpet and waking up bone dry. That’s success. Bladder control is the true mark of accomplishment.

 

Because once you master the balloon of literal piss inside you, you can master the balloons of figurative piss inside you. You can control that urge to roll your eyes at wankers. You can control your desire to throw a gym ball at unsuspecting person. You can control the voice in your head screaming at the fastfood worker who blatantly disregards the golden rule of traying up: drinks first, burgers second and fries third (it keeps your fries piing hot and it’s not that hard).

 

 

What’s been the happiest moment of your life so far? For some reason, that time I won a family pass to see The Power Puff Girls Movie premiered in the big smoke – otherwise known as Brisbane – from Girlfriend magazine came to mind. I know I’m tired, but if this is the cherry on top, my life must be a shit sundae.

 

What’s been the hardest moment of your life, and how did you get through it? Being confronted with the fact that forcing my family to drive to fucking Chermside to see a cartoon may just be my happiest moment. I’m getting through it by telling myself that I’m really knackered and therefore can’t be thinking straight. Surely I’ve had happier moments, I’m just to dog tired to think of them.

 

What are the most important lessons you’ve learned in life? If it’s flooded, forget it.

 

How would you describe yourself as a child? Were you happy? I used to come home from school, not talk to anyone, make myself some Heinz spaghetti on toast and go sit outside with magazines and milk. So I would describe myself as concerning, I guess. I think my happiness levels depended on where I was up to in finishing my purposeless carb loading – I was a spaghetti tin half empty kind of gal.

 

Who has been kindest to you? I’m going to have to go with a blanket “family” answer on this one. But before you think I’m one of those wankers with my last name tattooed across my back, let me explain a few points:

Mum saved a hunk of roast lamb and GRAVY MADE FROM PAN JUICES for more than two days for me so I could have a sandwich over the weekend.

Dad let me take the rest of their packet of sultanas home. And he loves putting those wrinkly little bastards on his morning porridge.

When my oldest sister and I go out for dinner, she pays for our main meals and lets my pay for the ice cream afterwards.

My second oldest sister bought me a chai latte today and used to assure me in high school that she would drive me to get an abortion should I ever need one.

My little sister lets me steal an odd chippie off her plate at dinner when I ask Mum not to give me any, so my svelte body can look ultra glamorous.

 

Yes, most kindness is revolved around food. But it’s painful having to share a burrito so someone offering me that privilege is very highly esteemed in my books.

 

How do you want to be remembered? There’s a picture of me in college dressed in a poncho, fringe dripping with sweat and beer, trying to squeeze a goon sack into a tiny over the should bag. I think that sums me up pretty accurately.

 

If your great great grandchildren could listen to this years from now: is there any wisdom you’d want to pass on to them? What would you want them to know? There’ll always be money in onions. I can’t say this with any certainty or authority, but I like the way it sounds.

 

If you could honor one person in your life — living or dead — by listening to their story, who would that be, what would you ask them and why? The woman who played Grandma Yetta. God bless her soul.