Monday, July 04, 2011

Just when you thought it was safe...

Given that our little village has suffered another two large quakes that have caused yet more destruction, drama and danger I'm taking a bollocks approach to life these days and it's doing me the world of good. Some people pass this predilection off as Tourette's but that's dishonest, and I always tell the truth. Most of the time.

Friend in street: How are you doing Sach?
Me: Fuckity fuck fuck. Bollocks.

Telecom about the unpaid bill: Are you the person responsible for this Telecom account?
Me: Fuckity fuck fuck
Telecom machine: I'm sorry I didn't understand you.
Me: That's cos you don't speak fuckity fuck fuck bollocks.

Child living in my house who looks like my husband and came from my womb: When will we be allowed out of your sight?
Me: Bloody, bloody, bloody (a harmless adjective denoting the presence of blood) ..let me think about it...fuckity fuck fuck....never.

Don't mistake my approach to be born from frustration. I've got nothing to complain about. My house is rock solid, my businesses trucking along nicely for the most part and while the children's school has been overrun by hoardes from the nearest neighbourhood we're happy to share. Sharing is caring.

There are, however, just a few things that would make my life just a teensy bit easier and anyone who can fix these is guaranteed to not be o.t.c.c.l should we all still be alive this Xmas.

1) If you own New World supermarket please stop using the telly to ask for my feedback on how you can improve my New World supermarket. I DON'T HAVE A NW SUPERMARKET ANYMORE!! You demolished mine after the earthquake. I have since tried 6 other supermarkets and they are all, without exception, fuckity fuck fuck bollocks.

2) If you are the mayor, please rebuild my community centre, recently demolished, so I can help the local theatre group put on the end of year cabaret. It's what I do from July-Dec every year since I moved here 12 years ago. It's what I do. Not DID Mr Mayor, it's what I DO. I get up, play tennis, do yoga and spend every July-Dec preparing for the show.

3) If you play tennis with me, stop aiming the ball at the myriad of cracks, craters, moon bumps and broken bits that now cover our local courts. It's not very sporting. I know your end is damaged too but this blog isn't about you is it? It's about me. So stop it. And put a bit more in the honesty box. $150k to fix the courts isn't right at the top of most insurers must pay now lists.

4) If you are near me at yoga I'm sorry. I'm fatter now. There it is. I take up more room in the room. Suggestions for how to fix this must be painless, not impact on my preference for tasty food, and must not limit the medicinal tipple I take three of four times a day or when needed, whichever is more frequent.

5) Living in quakesville is an exercise in high wire walking. Some days life is peachy. The sun shines, the children bathe and widdle without needing a permanent sentry stationed just outside the unlocked door, and the traffic canters along in both directions. On other days the crawling cars wave in resignation at the stop/go man and the 400 shipping containers that now border our village are ominous portents of impending doom. The weekly mental flip flop from stay to go, fine to fucked, calm to chaos is exhausting.

For those living in the red zone it's more human canonball than high wire. Forcibly expelled from homes,schools and communities with little hope of returning within a generation. There are opportunities, no doubt, silver linings and fresh starts. There is grief. Raw, gut-wrenching anguish at saying goodbye to the life you knew, and none of it on your own terms. For most, there will be both.

It's entirely possible to be full of hope for the future, committed to rebuilding Christchurch and yet be overcome with emotion at the sight of so many of our landmark buildings and community venues destroyed.

The heart of the Sumner Community Centre is her people not her bricks and beams. But when the digger ripped it apart last week as I began the slow journey to work, I wept. Big ugly wet salty tears rolling uncontrollably down my face. I surrendered and let go of all the shock and pent up stress that comes from being on constant alert. And then, after a time, I rolled down the window, yelled fuckity fuck fuck bollocks at the world, wiped my nose and calmly drove away.