Not not

The week that was

Dear diary,

The past couple of weeks have had me completely descend into anxiety about Seren’s lack of talking. I’ve gone quite quickly from being confident that he’ll get there soon to freaking out. This happened because I started reading things online, of course. He is booked in for a council run speech class next week, but then I realised I’d double booked that with a Zoom meeting for my exhibition - Simon to the rescue - he can take him. Not that I had any great experiences with council run anything in his newborn days, but we can always branch out if it seems sub par. I am a walking talking Ms Rachel at the moment with my narration (which I’ve always done, to a fault - in the early days I would keep doing it out loud to myself when he wasn’t even with me) singing, reading, etc. Again, things we’ve always done, but now on steroids. I am a woman on a mission.

I am very sensitive to other people’s opinions on him and his talking. Multiple times I’ve mentioned it in conversation and someone then launches into a tale of how early their child spoke and that’s it ACTUALLY annoying because they just don’t shut up. I know they’re trying to be kind. But it’s one of those times that you keep your child’s genius to yourself. If you’re not a professional, just tell me that he’s smart and capable and that he’ll talk when he’s ready. Oh and mention the fact that Einstein only started talking when he was 3, that’s a good one. Because I do know all of that is true. I just really need reassurance and positivity. Not that I can control how people react or what they say, I guess. Ha. I read online somewhere to stop saying to yourself that he’s “NOT talking” and focus on the ways that he does communicate, and to just work on expanding them into verbal communication. The NOT is a negative. He’s not NOT communicating. He actually communicates quite effectively. And I translate maybe a little too readily!

At least next week we’ll see a professional, see what they think, and go from there. Nothing more can be done right now at this exact instant while he’s in bed sleeping. I could go in and whisper narrate his sleep? No, that’s too much.

I had a busy social week last week, not that I have many friends, but I happened to see a couple of them. They graciously understood my need to get home freakishly early (we still have a 4.30am riser and I’m actually not sure what was worse, that period of Seren not going to bed or Seren getting up at 4.30am? Choose your poison) I’m tired, and had a freak out moment the other day about how soon September is, and how I genuinely don’t know how I’m going to pull this exhibition off in that time. I have a lot of help, but even so, every day I feel like there aren’t enough hours in the day (..and there are also too many hours in the day, what with it starting at 4.30am.) I used to have so much time to experiment, to mull, to painstakingly construct the perfect playlist to listen to to create the perfect artwork. It’s just not like that anymore. It’s get in and get out. I’ve been working on one specific playlist for 6 months and it still only has 6 songs. I whittle out an hour here or there where I can be by myself in the studio. Seren’s nap time is sacred not for rest but for work. And make sure to minus 3 days from 7 for my part time job. I have hat hair from all the different hats I wear on a daily basis. Oh no it’s just greasy from never having time to wash it. And I still haven’t filed last year’s tax return. Is there an accountant who will do it for me with absolutely no input from me whatsoever? An attractive proposal I’m sure.

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A post script - I filed my last year’s tax return at 7am on Wednesday (It really wasn’t so bad) and washed my hair. This morning we were up at 4am. Mum has Seren today, though, which is a godsend. Simon is interstate for work until late tonight. I’ve made some progress with collating collage images I want to use for my exhibition. Onwards.

Bailey Nelson kindly treated me to an outing last week - to get my eyes tested haha. Turns out I don’t need eye glasses so I chose some new sunglasses instead. (Gifted/Ad)

My three new personalities.

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Wishlist:

I don’t want or need, and lest I mention cannot afford this JW Anderson frog clutch but it deserves some appreciation. If you just won Tattslotto you can buy it here.

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Watching/Listening:

This is a Widow’s Bay fan newsletter now. Episode 4 was one of the best episodes of TV I’ve seen in ages. It was magnificent - a snail’s pace reveal into like the scariest scene ever, the constant uncanny, the actors - especially Kate O’Flynn. It’s impeccable. It’s probably equal with Pluribus as my favourite recent TV Show.

In a bit of a rut with music at the moment.

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Ins/Outs:

In: Sleeping.

Out: I feel like I say this as an ‘out’ every second week but.. we went to the local pub briefly the other day to meet my Nanna and they had like TV screens advertising their specials which is pretty normal. But they had AI produced ‘images’ of all the specials? And like I feel like that’s actually exploitative in that people would order based on an image - particularly if you’re elderly and maybe don’t have the best eyesight and see if from a distance or something? And like people, again, particularly elderly people wouldn’t maybe click that it was AI and I just feel like that’s super gross?

There was no disclaimer that it was not a real image of the food. What you order isn’t going to look how it looks in the AI image. Should there be a law that you should at least have a visible disclaimer if you’re advertising something using AI imagery? It’s the wild west with this technology at the moment and I hate it. And Depop is becoming more and more flooded with AI images of fake people wearing fake clothes like I’ve mentioned in the past and I genuinely don’t understand the appeal. Personally I would never buy something, food or otherwise, if it’s being advertised with an AI image. Lucky no one is making me I guess. Old woman yells at cloud again.

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Inside a book/magazine from my collection:

This is the second half of Women’s Weekly, October 1976.

That is the worst hobby horse I’ve ever seen.

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Best wishes,

Minna