How do you know when you're in an abusive relationship

Does it make you feel bad about yourself? Do you feel like you're not appreciated, that there is no consideration for the things you do? Does the other person put you down constantly and do they attempt to undermine you at every step, no matter what you do or how well you do it? Abuse is not only about someone raising a hand and hitting you, it often starts with the above.

In my TV days I did several pieces about violence against women, I've also written on the subject over the years. Abuse is about control. It is not about love, or commitment or even the other person/s being evil. It is about having dominion over another person to the point where they suffer for the inflictor to feel superior. While physical abuse is repugnant mental abuse is just as bad. In fact, as I've been told by many abused women, it's worse when your mind is f******, bodies heal, it's harder to fix your mind.

But here's what, chances are if you were being abused in a relationship you or someone who loved you might be moved to do something about it. Not everybody gets away but at least there is the possibility that you will get help. If the signs above are about abuse I have to wonder. I see more and more people at work heading off for EAP because that's how they feel all the time. And I think, why would you want to stay in a situation that makes you feel bad all the time? Because many of us do. We settle for crap on the job when we probably wouldn't in our personal lives. Think about it. And remember, life is too damn short and work does not die or get ill, people do.

Night off

Jane Austen wrote, "It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife." Well that may or may not hold true today but I still think it's a damn good opening line. I don't really know any single men of fortune so inquires are on hold until I find one. Last evening I was fortunate enough to spend some time having dinner with a friend whom I sometimes work with. He's a pretty intelligent dude and we're in the same business so we talk shop or not as the case might be when he's in town.

I'm a little envious because he's done what I can only dream about. He's published three novels and is working on a fourth, they're psychological thrillers, quite dark. We have a good natter when we get together, last night we discovered that we like Nevil Shute novels. They're largely out of print but a good read, if somewhat dry. Do you know how fabulous it was to sit around and talk books, drink wine and just enjoy the lime without the hassle? It was a good night, I had fun and went home to dog and grouch. All that communing made me realise how much I miss that sort of contact.

Knowing when to stop

Originally today's blog started off as an oration on my devotion to work, but that's just plain boring. We all acknowledge that I'm a workaholic and I need to get over it. Moving right along.

Should I talk about cake like the one ordered for Mark's birthday. It is literally death by chocolate and he'd better damn well appreciate it and not give me lip about not eating cake for lent. Nah, that might get me into trouble with the cake nazis so scratch that topic.

Lets' see, what should I be writing about that will not give me acid indigestion, a headache or make me want to go bang someone into the ground? Running out of topics here. So I figure, if I have nothing positive to say I need to not say anything, for my own sake. Practicing for the zen existence now. Off I go to meditate, breathe, chant and be one with the universe. Ah, calm, peace....

Um, meditating here...I wonder if I could squeeze in a cranberry facial this week. Stop, clear my mind of frivolities. Right, meditate....should I clear out my closet tonight when I get home...oops, mind wandering again. Have to get Sean to finish that design. Okay, clearly this is not successful. Oh dear. Taking suggestions as to how to de-stress and become one people.

Good humour

E-mail forwards, what did we do before we had unlimited access to people and all we had to do was type a bunch of addresses into the To: line? I'll tell you what, nothing. Unless you were one of those annoying people who painstakingly copied stuff and them put it in an envelope and mailed it to everyone you knew. Now, it seems every time I go to my &%%$£* mailbox there are ten legitimate work e-mails, four messages from friends making sure I'm still alive and a hundred ****** forwards touting everything from how bad soya is for you to huge power point things that piss the IT department off.

Okay, I'm as guilty as anybody else of forwarding "forwards". Some of them are kind of cute, like the one with the pictures of men as bon bons...and thank you friend who shall remain nameless for that one, it certainly made my day! But that aside, I get a trifle tetchy at the religious ones, the chain letters tick me off - why should I bombard everyone else with spam spreading bad luck. Most of us can do that all by ourselves without help. The aforementioned IT department is constantly sending us e-mails begging that we utilise our work mail for work. And yes, some people copy my private e-mail as well so I get it in both places. Thanks. Just what I need. Two loads of spam.

Then I get a gem that makes me smile and grudgingly admit that not all forwards are bad. Like the one sent a week ago, the title line was, "As I mature". For a moment my finger hovered over the delete key. I really could not stand the thought of yet another soppy Maya Angelou words of wisdom yadda, yadda. But this one redeemed itself. There were lots of pearls of wisdom in there but these two are my favourite (this week):

" I've learned that no matter how much I care, some people are just assholes"
" I've learned that you shouldn't compare yourself to others -they are more screwed up than you think".

Oh yes, for those of you avidly following the great weight loss, diva body thing...ack, ack, gah! This was much easier when I was 28! Do you know how hard it is to get fat to go away when it has firmly cemented to your upper thighs and lower stomach? BLOODY HARD! I'm getting my money's worth out of the elliptical walker but it sure ain't pretty. And if one more person mentions cake, that would be Muse and Blue, I will come over there and...leave the rest to your imagination.

Sometime Sunday

Let me preface by saying that generally, I never used to be an avid reader of bodice ripper type novels. Oh occasionally I'd indulge in some brain rotting as stress relief. I read a lot, it's a life long habit that has saved my sanity on more than one occasion. It's always a mixed bag, I like different genres and like the way I listen to music, my tastes are many and varied. Sunday mornings used to be go to the beach, watch the waves and read my book. Sun, sand, sea, cooling breezes, Caribbean idyll.

These days I'm lucky if I can pry my eyelids apart at the crack of dawn to take the hound out for his constitutional. He's pretty insistent and he'll dig you out of the sheets until he gets your attention, so bleary eyed, drooling and PJed I drag outside until the wretched animal is done before scurrying back to pull the sheets over my head, maybe even a pillow, curl up against the man and go back to sleep. For as long as possible. Don't call me before 10:00 am, I will not answer the phone. Even the hound has learnt not to disturb my repose at his peril.

Unfortunately Sunday mornings have become chore days. Alas, my attempts to transform the flat into oasis of calm and light from its usual state of tip is usually in vain. With no help from man or hound, they will move remote or tail out of the ravening keel of vacum cleaner but that's about it. Meals served tv side are even more welcome. It's a never ending battle to get Casa Coffeewallah to heel but I try. That is before slipping off to my cool cotton sheets, blue walls and billowing white linen curtains. The hound usually embraces martyrdom at this stage of the game. He usually sighs before draping himself across the bottom of the bed, strategically placed to get as much fan benefits as possible. After all, he's the one with the fur coat right.

I read in bed until I drift off. Sunday's are still about doing nothing, watching movies, reading and communing with hound, or at least I try for the fleeting moments that are allowed me. I think everybody is entitled to downtime and I relish mine as much as possible. Must be off, valuable sleep time being encroached on!

TGIF

You know that feeling you get when you know it's time to stop and go home. Well, I have it. I've been reading the same damn paragraph for the last hour. I've also been playing a set of back in times on the iTunes player. It's Friday. I spent last weekend working, long hours. And then all this week. Ms I'm not a morning person had an early morning meeting WITHOUT COFFEE!!!!!! Oh horror, that was hard. I'm surprised I made the contributions that I did, my boss was reasonably pleased so it must have been okay.

Right, that does it! I am packing up the titanium machine, bunging it into the bag and heading off for the red car. After I finish bopping around my office to Barry White much to the despair of the cleaning staff. But I like Barry White, he of the sexy voice. That man's voice is pure sex. Hmm.

Oh gad. I just remembered I made one of those crazy bets with my best friend. I now have to fit into my one piece swim suit and regain my 28 year old body in a month. Before I go on vacation. OH GOOOOOODDD, I must have been out of my head last night. Okay, suck it up or in as the case might be. Girding the loins now. Will keep you posted on the progress.

Hffff

I love mango chow. As a kid, living in the "country" I used to spend my every waking moment up some fruit tree or other. In mango season we literally lived on mango chow, we always used to have a bowl going. Not hard, we had eight julie mango trees in the yard to go with two plum trees and some oranges. Some time during the day someone would find an enamel bowl, break up cloves of garlic and raid the herb patch for chives, shadon beni, thyme, pepper and whatever else we felt like throwing in. It would all be ground up by hand using my great-grandma's river stone "mortar and pestle". We'd peel and thinly slice the mangoes, toss it all up in the bowl which was then left in the sun to "cure" for a couple of hours and then go to work on it.

Granny was filled with despair because we ate so many half ripened mangoes that we ate very little else. I will not tell you what it did to our digestive systems, suffice to say it was not pretty. But we all did it. My uncles (bane of my existence), my cousins, my brothers and me, we were chow makers and chow eaters. It was fabulous, the juice dripping down your hand as you sucked up the little slices, every mouthful imbued with taste, each bite exquisite torture. Ears not burning? More pepper needed! You had to be careful not to rub your face at all lest the skin be scorched off.

Admittedly mangoes were not the only things we turned into chow, we used plums, cucumber, orange, pomeracs, pommecythere's, whatever fruit that would be enhanced by the addition of pepper and seasoning was dutifully "chowed". Interestingly enough, when I was growing up, way, way back in the dark ages of the 70's and 80's, if you ate things like doubles, chow, sada roti and the like you must have been from the country. All the "bouge" kids looked down their nose at you. Funny, they're the ones I usually see lining up at the downtown doubles man. We who know what real doubles taste like laugh.

Occasionally while traipsing around POS I wash up at Lal's preserves and avail myself of the chow there. Largely because I can't be bothered to go in search of fruit myself. Lal's is okay, a pale representation of my youth. I still think my uncle's make the best chow and smile to myself as I look at all the city folks in their suits lining up, I just have to go home and put in my request. Hmm, that sounds like a plan, I might even be able to talk my uncle into a curry duck as well.....

To paraphrase

Be the change you that want to see in the world - Ghandi. This goes out on most of my e-mails as part of my signature. It's a truism that I have tried to live for most of my life. Of course, it's easy to be smug and think you know it all and that your answers are the correct ones. To be sure they are not. But change is a moveable feast and so we plod on until we get it right or we change ourselves.

Some days I think that I would greatly benefit from bright red cape and tights, Wonder Woman bracelets too but alas, I don't think I'm really super hero material. For one thing I can't even get my hair to behave far less squeeze myself into bustier and tights. I might dream about it, but otherwise I plod along and try to do the best that I can in my civvies with varying degrees of success. So if perchance you pass by the office and see a red-haired woman twirling and chanting, "by the power of Isis" do not run screaming and call the funny farm. It's just me trying to channel my inner superhero...without the costuming!