We are never ever EVER getting back together!

Does this sound familiar…

    "I'm sorry, this just isn't doing it for me anymore."
    "You're breaking up with me?"
    "Yeah… but don't worry, we can still be friends…"

What a load of crap. I'm ashamed to admit; I've used this lie so many times and a part of me wants it to be true. I want to believe that even though I've stopped making out with you, I still find your personality interesting enough to carry on platonic relationship with you. But the truth is, I just come to realise how boring and unfulfilling I find your conversation, and it makes me wonder how I ever got desperate enough to put up with it in the first place.

The truth is don't even try to be friends with someone after a breakup. Clearly they weren't good enough for you, so why waste any more time one them. Move on before more hurt is felt. You may be the one to initiate the breakup, but that doesn't mean you don't automatically give up your feelings for them. I still stalk my exes' Facebook pages and wallow in self pity as I watch them move on, even if the last time we spoke was in 1994. They could be a whole shed's worth of tool kit and yet a part of you will always be connected emotionally to them.

I'll admit, I am still friends with one guy that I've previously dated, but he is the exception to the rule. It has taken a lot of back and forth, on again off again, are we or aren't we, to get to this point where as he so kindly stated last week "It's nice to have a friend like you who I have no romantic attraction for." It was a little ouch to hear, but the truth is he is right. I'm not interested in pursuing him and for now this friendship thing is working out, but again I stress, EXCEPTION. NOT RULE.

Honestly, let go. Don't even bother trying to make it work as friends. Don't lie to the other person and tell them you want to be friends. It's silly. Unless you're end goal is to end up back in a relationship with them, in which case don't break up with them in the first place, ya crazy!

Twitterpated (adj.)

 Let's be clear; I don't hate relationships. I see their value and they can be fun. I would hate for people to start labelling me as the Scrooge of Togetherness, and to prove it, I wanted to write some thing nice.

I love the first moments of a crush. There is something so thrilling about limerence, something intoxicating that makes us do such foolish things.

limerence |ˈlimərəns| noun Psychology

the state of being infatuated or obsessed with another person, typically experienced involuntarily and characterized by a strong desire for reciprocation of one's feelings.

It's this sensation that keeps us awake at night wondering what that person is thinking, dreaming of the first kiss, planning names for children, trawling through every post and photo on Facebook, begging the Fates that they feel the same. No matter your age, it can make you feel like everyday is Christmas Eve. It can make you forget your basic human needs like food and sleep, because, as the Beatles taught us long ago; "all you need is love."

I can't tell you the number of times I have sent messages in the middle of the night, to my best friend half a world away that follow this blueprint;

    "So we have been talking all day. I wasn't even hungry today, and even after I spent ten minutes making lunch for myself, I only got through a single rice cracker with Vegemite and cream cheese before deciding I wasn't actually hungry… I can't calm myself down enough to turn off my lights for bed, and I'm imaging scenarios of us seeing each other again… and I'm shaking like a chihuahua and my tummy is all fluttery. Paige, I think I like this guy?"
     (accompanied by pictures like this)

Then she will say something like… "oooo yay!!", I'll talk about my plans to marry him. She keeps her thoughts of my insanity to her self… and then something terrible happens. Crippling self doubt sets in;

     "Am I playing it wrong? Creepy is the only way I know how to play!"

Paige says something to calm me down, my confidence comes back up to a billion and a quick succession of texts are sent from my phone;

    "SEE HOW PERFECT IT IS! I stretched out in a sweeping motion across the bed as I said that."
    "It was very Julie Andrews esque."
    "Paige! I wish I could marry you, it would be so much easier..."
    "That should have been a comma."
    "Why am I so amped up! Damn you baby making hormones making me into some kind of woman."

It really is such a magical time of life, and I hope you enjoy every thrilling moment of it. Just remember to not take yourself too seriously or you may end up regretting all the fun you missed out on.

twitterpated (adj.) 
    1942, apparently first attested in the Walt Disney movie "Bambi" (there also was a song by that name but it was not in the studio release of the film), a past participle adjective formed from twitter + pate (n.2) "head" (cf. flutterpated, 1894).

Thumper: Why are they acting that way?
Friend Owl: Why, don't you know? They're twitterpated.
Flower, Bambi, Thumper: Twitterpated?
Friend Owl: Yes. Nearly everybody gets twitterpated in the springtime. For example: You're walking along, minding your own business. You're looking neither to the left, nor to the right, when all of a sudden you run smack into a pretty face. Woo-woo! You begin to get weak in the knees. Your head's in a whirl. And then you feel light as a feather, and before you know it, you're walking on air. And then you know what? You're knocked for a loop, and you completely lose your head!
Thumper: Gosh, that's awful.

As an end note, was I not born to pose in front of a camera?! Look at little me, knee popped, one hand on my hip the other behind my head, watch out Marilyn Monroe there is a new blonde bombshell in town. Let me also add that I was only wearing undies beneath that minnie mouse apron… what a hoochie I was.

"Let's just keep this between you and me..."

I've been thinking a lot about relationships of late, I blame the copious amount of television I consume, and I've come to some realisations;

I think the most important one is the idea that a secret relationship is never romantic.

I once dated a guy who asked me to keep it on the down low, he didn't want to hurt the feelings of his ex who sadly wasn't over the breakup. He was worried that should she find out about me and unleash a whole can of crazy jealousy my way and he didn't want to see me get hurt. Of course I was so smitten with him that I would have done anything to keep such a sensitive and caring man. So according to Facebook, we never happened.

At first the intrigue of it all was exciting and I honestly didn't think too much about it, that is until lying douche told me about a teensy indiscretion of his. You see that ex of his had been barking up his tree, and well a dog is a dog, he couldn't say no. A year or so later when she finally heard about me she felt horrible and told me all about, saying she had no idea I even existed and if she had she would never have touched him and help him do to me, the exact thing he had done to her.

My next story involves a desperate me, lonely and depressed, looking for someone to fill the void. I'm not proud of this but it happens. I wanted to feel needed and I needed to feel wanted, so I looked for companionship from someone I usually wouldn't. My search was successful... in a manner of speaking. Sadly for this poor boy, I was the one keeping the relationship a secret. I was ashamed of him, and I know that sounds terrible, but it only helps to prove my point.

My third tale involves the two of us choosing to keep the fling a secret. To this day I still avoid mentioning anything about this, and believe this one I would love to brag about. The problem was, we snuck around for two weeks not wanting our families to know because we knew it was never going to go anywhere and we didn't want them getting in our business. It gave us an excuse to never talk about our feelings or what any of it meant.

This may not sound bad and actually a little fun, but trust me if it was good and harmless, then why would I still feel guilty years later. I don't feel guilty because I lowered my standards, I feel guilty because I knew it was a bad idea and I didn't listen to myself. The worst part of it all, when it ended, and I was hurt, I didn't have anyone I could talk to about it.

In short, what I realised is this. Keeping a relationship a secret is horrible. Trust me, there is nothing romantic about this notion. If someone asks you to keep things under wraps, they are either not serious about you, disgusted by you, or trying to tap everything in a skirt.

No good will ever come of it.

FOLLIES or how I've kept my sanity these past few months.

For anyone who has asked me lately, "So what have you been up to?", let me fill you in...

I've been theatre-ing it up, and loving it. It's been so much fun meeting new people, challenging myself, and putting all of my crazy outgoing energy towards a good cause.

Please come see all of our hard work!

For tickets go to Hornsby Musical Society.

You know you want to spend a night with some showgirls? ;) (and some other people...)

The Sicko returns to the Hospital

Well the good news is this should be my last Sicko post for a while, and I'll try to keep this one short... (I can hear the groans of satisfaction) This trip was thankfully a lot shorter, only managing 27 hours.

It was a pretty routine thing, I was told to fast from midnight and show up at the hospital at 9:30. The pre surgery waiting bay was packed. Luckily my doctor was waiting for me on the other side, so I got to jump ahead of about 15 other people (suckers...) Also due to the crowds I had to walk myself into the surgery bay because all the beds were taken. It was an interesting experience, but not one I'd like to do again, I much prefer being knocked out before entering the room where they are about to cut my insides to ribbons...

I'm being dramatic, it was a really breezy operation, and I slept most of my anaesthetic off no problem. When I woke up I found all this food waiting for me. Finally I was able to make up for all the missed hospital means from the week before.

Actually truth be told, I barely touched most of that food, which ended up to be the right decision. Later that night I was FaceTiming my parents (who are currently over in Boston, thoroughly enjoying themselves without me) I felt super queasy. I could barely keep my head straight. I told them I had better go, I really didn't feel too good, and luckily I did. I just made it the four steps over to my sink before more food than I remember eating came up everywhere. I am so sorry Nurse Yannan.

More sleeping, as I was kept under puke watch. I was most scared that by hurling I had assured my self another night in the hospital. But no. After keeping down my breakfast (toast) I was told I would still be going home as scheduled.

Before I left my nurse, Yannan, had to change my dressings. She was even nice enough to take photos of me to share with you all.

As you can see, I only had 4 incisions. Through the one in my belly button the inserted a camera and a reverse vacuum hose which puffed up my stomach like a balloon. It still feels oddly squishy, and I am not afraid to admit I've been poking myself more than usual.

Over all, this hasn't been my worse recovery from an operation, it's kind of in the middle judging by pain and inconvenience, but considering that this could end some of my pain forever, how could I not have gone through with it.

Thank you again to everyone who has prayed for me, and expressed their love and concern during this last week and half, I couldn't have gotten through it all without you.

Until next time... (man that's a sinister way to end something; until next time... mwahahaha)

Resident Sicko goes to Hospital PART 4 And the winner is... GALLBLADDER!

Finally the waiting paid off! Last Thursday I was put through a gallbladder function test, which although it isn't all that difficult, it does require you to lie still for an hour at a time as they film what your gallbladder does. I'll admit, I fell asleep.

Usually this test (called a HIDA Scan) is two hours long. The first hour involves you just lying there as they use a low level nuclear power machine to watch what the gallbladder does without food to establish a baseline. The next part they give you a magic drink that activates the gallbladder so that the technician can see how it functions (releases bile to break down fats and oils). Luckily for me, I never made it to the second portion of the test, as finally an answer exhibited itself.

My gallbladder is small, abnormally small. Good, one less thing to add to the size of my tummy right? What it actually means is that at some point my gallbladder had a spack attack and died. I believe this happened back when I was in Japan on my mission. I remember being treated for terrible stomach pains, but no tests were ever done and it was assumed to have been Gastritis. Remember that mega cyst I talked about that burst nearly two years ago... well those toxins truly did a number as they got into my blood stream attacking anything and everything they came in contact with.

That means, I've probably been living with an inactive gallbladder for nearly two years, during which it has done nothing but cause pain, and now is causing damage to my liver. Sadly this also means that I need to go back to the hospital tomorrow morning to have it removed.

That said I'm in a pretty good place about it all. I know that the blessing Don gave me last Sunday has given me the strength to trust my doctors and know that they wouldn't do anything unless it was to help make me well again.

Actually, this whole experience has made me reflect back on those blessings I had from the Elders in Obihiro, Japan right before I was sent home. I was blessed that this ailment wouldn't last forever, I would be healed. I have struggled to have faith in that blessing as I haven't been healed yet. I thought it meant that I would be healed so that I could remain on my mission, and when that didn't happen, I got so angry that God wasn't fulfilling His word. Then I got angry at myself for not having the faith to be healed. I got it into my head that I wasn't good enough or worthy enough to receive that miracle. I wonder if that is why I can't get past it emotionally yet...

I know that God loves me. I know He cares about my pain. I also have learnt that He loves me enough to teach me. I may not understand those lessons, and I may not like the timeline, but that doesn't mean that He isn't preparing miracles for me. I am petrified for tomorrow, I really don't like hospitals, but I know my Heavenly Father will take care of me. I will never be left alone, that's not how His love works.

Resident Sicko goes to Hospital Part 3 Testing and Patience

Straight up anyone who has complained about hospital food should try being admitted for a digestive problem and see how they like the menu... Three words for you;

          CLEAR FLUIDS DIET

Another three words; NOT A FAN.

For the first three days of my incarceration I was feed nothing but consommé (chicken stick in hot water), jelly, and apple juice. Add to that the amount times I was 'nil by mouth' for my various tests, I was not a happy hospitaler.

That's not to say I spent the whole time moping and begrudging my lot, in fact for the first two days I was happy to comply with anything the doctors and nurses saw free to inflict, but no food and no answers makes Marley an angry boy.

I feel really bad about the way I acted on that third day, and I apologise for acting like a snarky brat, but by that point, I had been in continuous pain, I had fasted more times than a buddhist monk, and every test that was performed came back clear. There was no sign behind what was causing my pain.

I realise now that it was a miracle in itself that I was kept in the hospital for so long. I would have expected after the first test to be sent home with some pain killers and condescending smile, but for some reason I was blessed with a doctor that was just as interested in solving riddles as I am.

I'm ashamed to admit, that I used my female powers of persuasion and cried at everyone that day, and I'm sorry men, but if you stopped falling for it, we probably wouldn't play that card so often. You may think I should have held out for more, but that first breakfast was the greatest meal I have ever eaten. (I should have made an effort to make the picture nicer to look at, but honestly I'm surprised I waited long enough to photograph it. And it also bears witness to the level of boredom I reached, those blue hands in the background kept me very entertained, and provided a substitute for human contact.)


All in all, those few days spent waiting did bless me. I am terribly impatient and I needed to learn the art of watching cars pass on a freeway. I even was blessed to have my sister wash and blow dry my hair, which I very much grateful for. A hospital is not a place where one usually feels pretty, but I did that day. My spirits rose, and I know you may think I'm vain for saying that, but honestly I don't care. Any thing that helps you feel like a regular human being again is worth it. (...and the compliments I got also helped brighten my day)

Resident Sicko goes to Hospital PART 2 The Emergency Room

Now, where was I...? Oh yeah side-splitting, gut wrenching pain.

As you might have guessed, the pain was unrelenting. I barely slept at all that night, and I couldn't decide whether it hurt less lying out straight or curled up in a moaning ball. Come morning I knew I needed to get help.

By 8am I was admitted to the Emergency Room at Norwest Private Hospital. I had bemoaned hospital previously due to my distain of drips and cannulas, but because I hadn't been successful at drinking the previous day, I was severely dehydrated, and the first thing the nurses did was hook me up. Joy.

I shouldn't complain too much, the cannula meant that I could get the good stuff (morphine) in the quickest way possible, taking approximately 15 seconds to start working as it was injected straight into my blood stream.

I saw a doctor who concurred with my GP that it was most probably my gallbladder giving me a problem, and ordered an ultrasound right away. Now would be the time for me to tell you that I am awesome at hospital tests, I never fail, and this was no exception. The ultrasound did not show any problems with my gallbladder, great back to square one...

After more not so gentle prodding of my abdomen is was decided that we would focus on the stomach. Maybe I had Gastritis. I was given something to calm my stomach and stop my nausea, and don't forget more morphine... Drugs were my friend. I was also told I would be moving up to a ward to spend the night so the doctor could perform a Gastroscopy (a lovely test where they put you to sleep while they jam a camera down your throat to take photos of your stomach and bring back samples of the stomach tissue)

While I waited for a bed I was given a blessing from my brothers Don and Josh. It told me to have faith in my doctors and that at this time they would do what was necessary. I don't think anyone enjoys hospitals but they petrify me, they are a place of traumatic memories to say the least, but I knew I had to have faith, that God would protect me, and something would come of my time here.

I was taken up to twin room, and luckily scored the window bed. I was given more fluids, antibiotics through my drip, and morphine injections in my legs. Sunday night was better. I was grateful for the peaceful sleep the morphine gave me, even though that stupid drip in my arm made it hard to know what to do with my hands...

 I'm going to leave it there for the night, despite there being so much more to tell, I just don't want to bore you all in one go, better to spread the torture over a series of nights.

Until tomorrow...

 And I found this midnight morphine selfie on my phone when I woke up on Monday... 

I'm awesome.

Resident Sicko goes to the Hospital PART 1

This is a bit of long and involved story but it deserves to be told so I'll be doing it in instalments, enjoy?

I've never been what you might call healthy, throughout school it seems I spent more time at home than actually at school, and while sometimes I was guilty of over exaggerating my symptoms to get the day off, truth is, my body and I have had an on again off again type friendship. It truly was a miracle when at 21 I passed the necessary health checks required to serve a mission for my church. (In fact that is another whole epic in itself but I digress)

Serving a mission was always a dream of mine and honestly the only one I saw coming true, so you can understand just how ecstatic I was that my body was cooperating. Well, so I thought...

Three months into my mission I had a terrible pain in my lower abdomen, and doctors found a lovely 5cm cyst on my right ovary. I thought that was painful enough, but a few days later when it burst, I knew what pain really was. And it all goes downhill from here.

The toxins in that cyst spread through my body infecting everything it touched. I suffered illness after illness with barely a days break between. Anyone who is aware of the demands of a Latter-Day Saint (Mormon) Mission will understand just how demoralising it is missing a day of that uplifting work, and my sicknesses weren't just affecting me, but also the missionaries around me. I spent nearly half of my time in Japan, lying on a futon, not much use to anyone.

At this time I received some really beautiful blessings from the Elders I served with, blessing my body to overcome its ailments, that I would once again be able to do my Heavenly Father's work. That's why when it was decided that I needed to return to Australia to receive medical attention, I was devastated. Not only did I feel like I wasn't worthy of God's miracles, but the biggest dream of my life was over far too quickly. I remember walking out of customs barely able to see through my tears and I don't think I've really ever stopped crying.

The next months to a year were hard as I struggled mind, body, and spirit through trials I never saw coming. I went to doctor after doctor trying to find answers to my health conundrum but I'll talk more about that later, right now I want to focus on my most recent medical encounter.

So introduction over, I woke up early Saturday morning (I mean 5am early which for me is highly unbelievable) with a remarkably painful ache in my abdomen. Anyone aware of my usual symptoms will tell you this happens quite a lot, however this pain was localised to the upper right hand side of my abdomen, which isn't so usual. I tried to deal with it, but by 10am I couldn't take anymore. I went to my local doctor who seemed concerned, more concerned than I was, I though it might have just been wind pain.

That cyst that I talked about comes back into play now, I have a condition called PolyCystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS) which kind of means I have a lot of cysts on my ovaries that cause me pain. Now I'll admit; I don't know a lot about it, but when I told my doctor about it she seemed worried that my pain might be caused by my gallbladder, because apparently they are connected, but like I said I really don't know. Any way she told me to wait 24 hours and if the nausea and pain hadn't turned into Gastro, I needed to get myself to an Emergency Room.

And that's the advice I'm going to give you, bear with me a day, and I'll have more on this tale tomorrow...

SPOILER ALERT: I ended up in the Emergency Room.

Best Hair Advice You Will Ever Get

So I'm no expert when it comes to hair, but I do have the advantage of older sisters, one who is a pretty kick ass hairdresser, so if I were you, I'd listen to the following tip.

CONDITIONER

"But I already use conditioner, that's not news to me, Marley, you must be on crack to think no one else has ever thought to use conditioner..." Look just indulge me for a second and keep reading.

Women everywhere are spending too much time, money, and effort to replicate that just got out of bed look. For women like me who live too far from the ocean, beachy waves everyday seem like an unachievable fantasy. Not to mention how grossed out I am when I think about all of the fish poop that sea water gets in my hair. Salt water makes my hair feel dry and brittle, and when you've used as much peroxide as I have, it's only a matter of time before your hair crumbles like dried out coral.

So, what if I told that recreating those gentle beachy waves can also mean nourishing your hair and reducing split ends? I'll say it again...

CONDITIONER!

("Okay Marley we get it, but you haven't told us anything.")

Quit your whining, conditioner is the ultimate curl enhancer. Just shampoo and condition your hair like normal. If you have temperamental kinky hair like me, don't brush it when you get out of the shower, instead dry your hair off a little with a towel, knotting that bad boy up. Now that your hair is partially dry the magic can happen.

Get a small pump of conditioner out of the bottle, not too much about the size of a 10c piece should suffice for mid length hair (for longer hair start with a small amount and add more as required, but be careful as too much product can make the hair heavy and less prone to bouncy waves). Rub a thin coating of the conditioner onto your opposite palm and scrunch that hair just like you would if you were using mousse.

"But I already use mousse, why should I make the change?"

BECAUSE THIS IS A LEAVE IN TREATMENT THAT ALSO STYLES YOUR HAIR!

I told my mum I really feel like a mermaid today, mostly because of the ocean colours in my hair, but also mostly because of my sweet as beach waves.

The best thing is you don't have to go out a buy another curl enhancing product, because you already have it on your shower floor.

GIRL POWER!

As I wil probably keep reminding you, I went through a fairly normal, not that messy break-up earlier this year. And yes, like most girls, it's still one of my favourite things to talk about. It has rocked me pretty hard even though I was the one to initiate it, I still am emotionally wrapped up in this guy, and I know a part of me always will... Not because he was THE One (I don't believe in crap like that) but because as much as we try, our nature as human beings makes it near impossible to move forward. So I wallowed and indulged myself too much.

I remember talking with my ex's brother about the demise, and said the obligatory
"I'm sure eventually we will be able to friends"
Which was met by eyerolling and a pathetic 'are you seriously that naive?' stare, and in my defense, at the time, I did mean it. Of course seeing him with a new girl was not as easy for me as I expected, especially when they blatantly try to show me how happy they are by making out in front of me (and don't deny it, I'm not that dumb).I couldn't imagine anything worse than putting on a smile and pretending to be friends with him, when I clearly could care less. That said, I hate to admit I've had too many 'filling my bin with tissues', 'crying out in gut wrenching pain', 'eating too much chocolate', and 'plotting evil bitchy coversation' filled nights even though, like I said, it was my idea. Well this story will explain how all of that is history...

I was driving home from the city (which sadly takes longer than I would like) and had a good amount of solo music time ahead of me. What to choose. What to choose. OH MY GOODNESS I'VE GOT IT! One creepy side glance later and the sound of footsteps and female laughter blares through my speakers... "YO! I'LL TELL YOU WHAT I WANT, WHAT I REALLY REALLY WANT! SO TELL ME WHAT YOU WANT, WHAT YOU REALY REALLY WANT..." I'll tell you nothing turns a girl's day around faster than those two lines.

The Spice Girls, the epitome of women in the 90s, and yet their message is truly timeless. Be yourself (as loud and crazy as that might be) and have fun (any where and every where). It really put things back into perspective for me, I don't need anyone else to define my happiness and self worth for me, I can do that by myself, and if that means being cheesy and silly, SO BE IT!

After a good 40 mins of non stop 'Girl Power' I had come to the conclusion, that I am infact okay with my ex moving on with my supposed mortal enemy no matter how pretentious their raltionship may be... because they seem happy, and I KNOW I'm happy, and what I want, what I really really want is a zigazig ha!