A Terrible Story of Grief, Inappropriate Laughter, and Sophie Mirabella

By now most of you will have seen the footage of Simon Sheikh collapsing at the Q&A desk as Sophie Mirabella looks on in disgust. (If not, you will find it here.) By now, many of you will have judged Sophie Mirabella and expressed your own disgust at her reaction.

Well, I watched the footage yesterday, four separate times, and I'm not proud at all of my reaction, either.

Because do you know what I did when I watched the video?

I laughed. Every single time.

I didn't laugh because I found it funny. It's not funny. I have fainted, and it's the most horrible feeling. I've also been on television several times, and the idea of fainting on live TV is absolutely horrendous. I laughed because that's what I always do when I'm nervous or feeling uncomfortable. I can't help it. It's an instinctive reaction.

Before you judge me, let me reassure you - I'm not one of those people who stand by and do nothing when someone needs assistance. I have called for an ambulance on three different occasions when I've seen strangers in trouble. I've assisted elderly people who've fallen in the street. I've helped get kids out of an overturned car (truly - I'm starting to sound like Tom Cruise here). But I also have a terrible problem with inappropriate reactions.

Take, for example, a memorial service for my late sister. She was a psychologist of some repute, and my parents set up a university scholarship in her honor after she died. At the ceremony to mark the establishment of the scholarship, I became completely distracted by the minor twitching of the eye of one of the speakers. Sitting in the very front row of the university hall, I began to laugh uncontrollably. It was a matter of months since my sister's death, the speech was deeply moving, and I was laughing myself stupid. My shoulders shook and tears began to leak from my eyes.

Matters rapidly became worse. The woman sitting behind me assumed (naturally) that I was grief stricken and crying, and laid a hand soothingly on my shoulder. This did me in. I was overcome with guilt, which made me even more uncomfortable, which made me laugh even more. I considered leaving the room but didn't want to disrespect the speaker even further. So I grabbed a handful of tissues, buried my face in them, and conntinued to heave until the proceedings drew to a close.

So the moral of the story is this: don't judge people on their reactions to emotive situations. It doesn't mean they're bad or unfeeling, it just means they're uncomfortable and human.

And if you ever see me laughing in a sad situation, do not lay your kind hand on my shoulder. Just pass me the tissues and let me be.

Guilt And The Nap Trap

Today I was given a very precious gift.

Time.

Pinkela is away on camp, and my (beautiful, kind, generous) mother agreed to pick up Little Man and Boo for me so that I could have the whole afternoon to myself. An empty house.

Bliss.

Things have been pretty crazy recently. I've edited my first book for the UK release, edited my second book for it's Aussie release, written three regular columns, and taken on a new writing project, as well as several other bits and pieces that have flown in at different times.

Oh, and I've looked after my three children, their father, the house we live in, the finances, the bills, the laundry, the shopping, our social lives, and pretty much everything else.

I. Am. Exhausted.

I need a break, desperately. And whilst a real break isn't coming for a while, I realised that today was the first day without a deadline looming, and that I could afford to take a few hours off.

I'd been up at 5.45am to get Pinkela to camp and the others to school, then had a meeting with my publishers. I got home at 11.30am and realised: This is it. This is my chance to relax. Do it.

But I pretty much had forgotten how.

I wandered around the house for a while, occasionally tidying, or wiping a surface with a cloth. And then I sat down on the couch and thought, What now?

I didn't know. It felt.... odd. Discordant. Where was my computer?

I watched an episode of Modern Family and then one of Sex And The City (the Modern Family I hadn't seen, the SATC I'd seen around 17 times), both in slight agitation. I was enjoying the shows, but something was wrong.

I didn't feel relaxed enough.

I decided to try to nap. I went upstairs and lay on the bed.

I couldn't sleep.

I COULDN'T SLEEP!

What was happening to me? I fall asleep the second my head hits the pillow! I fall asleep BEFORE my head hits the pillow! I fall asleep at my desk with Boo yelling in my ear and my laptop grinding a dent in my forehead.

WHAT WAS HAPPENING TO ME?

The answer, people, was guilt. Guilt was what was happening to me. Guilt for taking an afternoon off. Guilt for doing nothing. Guilt for stopping.

Guilt is bad. Guilt is a useless, stupid emotion. I shouldn't feel guilty for taking time off. I shouldn't feel guilty for stopping. I deserve some relaxation and I deserve to stop and enjoy my life. And I deserve a nap, god damnit, even if my tick-tick-ticking brain won't pause for a moment and let me.

So from now on, I'm having a rostered afternoon off every fortnight. It's going in my diary. I'm going to watch TV and lay in bed and roast marshmallows and eat bonbons (okay, so I may have lied about the marshmallow part).

Life is short and guilt is stupid and Sex And The City is on endless rerun on pay TV. And I am going to learn to enjoy it.