I'm doing a writing degree.

It seems odd to say that, given how slack I've been with my blog. I'm training to write professionally, and yet I can't even manage to keep a blog going. Definitely something to remedy.

I am finding uni to be incredibly enlightening. Going back into a situation I thought I'd left behind years ago  is so weird. I'm 28, and I'm surrounded by people 10 years younger than me. It's surreal seeing the uni experience through the lens of an adult. Part of it, I think, is that the teachers at QUT are infinitely nicer than the ones I had at Griffith. Most of it comes from the fact I'm a far different person. I was, at times at least, scared of my Griffith lecturers and tute teachers. At times they were downright horrible.

My teachers this year have inspired me so much. They've been quick to offer advice, quick to share a joke, and quick to make me feel like this was the absolute right step to take. It's surprising to admit, but I'm going to miss them. And my tute groups. The most fabulous thing about this degree is that no one cares about ages or what clothes you're wearing, or any of the crap that seemed so important last time. They care if you can write. They care about what you want to go on to do and be. And it's meant having to be completely open and honest. 6 months in, and I know more about the direction I want to travel in than I did in years of trying to figure it out on my own.

I ended up hating Griffith with every fibre of my being. But QUT is like finding my tribe.

I made a decision at the start of the degree to be completely open and honest about my bipolar. I've gotten so tired of that little seed of doubt that comes from hiding my illness, and worrying what will happen when someone finds out. Sooner or later, all secrets come out. It's weird; a lot of my high school and Griffith friends bailed the second they heard. But being open and upfront has meant that no one really cares. It makes it easier to be able to say 'I'm sorry, but right now I'm not able to help you', and easier for people to accept that boundary.

I decided to push the envelope this semester with my writing. Instead of just writing randomly, I wrote from life. I made myself vulnerable on the page, which is terrifying when that page is getting critiqued. I've made a commitment to one idea: if I'm not terrified, I'm not doing it right. It's scary to hand something over to a group for feedback. It's scary to give feedback, especially if you have to recommend changes. It's scary to throw myself into the deep end with writing genres I've never tried before. It's scary to experiment, to offer a piece of my heart up and risk rejection, or being told it's not right. It's scary to try new things and know that it'll take heaps of practise to get the hang of the genre, and to make my work not suck. But it's what I think I need to do. I have three years, four if I do Honours, to move from where I am now. I have three years of learning, and then I'm trying to get work. I'm worried that if I play it safe, and if I stick to the areas I know, I'm limiting myself.

One of the most terrifying decisions was to write a piece that was very firmly based on real life experiences. I sat, talking to my teacher at the end of a tute, and laying it all out. I was scared that I was too vulnerable, that my family would be pissed if they ever found it, that there's something painful about offering up a piece of your heart to be graded. I told him that I was once told that I bleed from the wrist onto the page, but I was scared I'd hit an artery this time. He grinned, and he taught me an incredibly valuable lesson. All writers bleed onto the page. The great writers learn to control the blood flow, learn to control how much blood they put onto the page. Which, I know, is gross imagery. But it boils down to a really important idea. Whether you're an artist, musician or writer, you put a piece of yourself into what you create, whether you mean to or not. Accidental or deliberate, it's still gonna happen.

It means you have two choices. Number one, you can put all of yourself out there and hope for the best. But the problem with putting all of yourself onto the canvas, page, or audio file is that it's emotionally draining. You can't keep it up long term. Worse, that much emotion and self reflection can scare people off, and if there are criticisms, it's very hard to differentiate between people not liking the work and people not liking you. Number two, you can learn to decide how much of yourself goes into your work. It can be as simple as connecting with a strong emotion you felt years ago, or a story you lived through. You can learn to connect with an emotion without drowning in it, without scrawling your life story onto your creation for others to see. That's what I want to do over these three years. I want to learn to control the blood flow. And I can't do that while playing it safe.

It's going to be an interesting three years.

Today, between frantic bouts of cleaning, I'm rewriting my notes from the Rock Your World Summit, which was a recent free telesummit held by the amazing girls at Big Sparkly Life. Even though I had to carve out time I didn't have (mostly listening at 2am, when it was quiet), it was well worth it. I came away inspired, happy, and ready to take on the world.

Cut to two days later, when everything began falling to pieces. Relatives in hospital, other's at home but fading fast, others losing the battle with their illness. Other relatives getting into bad situations, all out warfare between groups, cancelled plans and hurt feelings, and a near manic episode from all the stress.

It felt, to be honest, as though the universe gave me a beautiful hint of what could be, then threw me straight back onto the garbage heap (and then promptly threw some old nappies in as well). It was heartbreaking to feel all that passion, all that life that had been coursing through me suddenly screech to a halt and vanish away, to make time and energy to help other people.

So one night, after everyone else had gone to bed, I sat down in front of some bad TV show, and cried my eyes out. This, I told myself, was not what I signed up for. I signed up for big, beautiful, wonderful life. I did not sign up for cleaning up other people's messes and being there for people who are never there for me. And yet, here I was, yet again sweeping up for someone else and telling myself to be nice to people who aren't overly nice to me.

For a while, I just sat and wallowed and felt like crap. Sometimes you just need to let yourself feel miserable for a little bit, rather than push through it and move on. Eventually, though, one of the exercises from the Summit popped into my head. Jamie Saloff mentioned it in her talk: Why Feel Like An Ugly Duckling When You're Really A Swan? She called it playing Dear Abby, and what you do is you write down the names of three people you'd love to sit down and give some advice to. Maybe you can tell them in real life (maybe you already have and they've ignored you), or maybe you can't. Either way, write down the first three names that spring to mind.

Next, you write down the advice you want to give them. Spell it all out, be as blunt or as gentle as you want. Just get it all out onto the page.

The last step is actually quite eye opening. Go back and cross out the names you wrote down, and put your own in. Read the advice as though someone is giving it to you. What can you take from it that is useful to your life right now? Not all of the information will be relevant for you. If you're giving advice to an alcoholic, for example, the alcohol based comments aren't going to look overly helpful to someone who doesn't drink. But think about the overall message rather than the specifics. Are you starting to get addicted to something else, even if it's a healthy something? Maybe you are exercising past the point it's helpful, and veering into addiction? Maybe you're the type of person who feels pressured into working unpaid overtime because you're clinging to the idea that someone needs to do it, and no one else will. If you look, there'll be something there relevant to you.

One of the messages I wrote was to a relative who gives up far too much of her time to help other relatives who don't appreciate any of it (already, I should have been seeing similarities!). They expect she'll drop everything and help. For most of it, I nodded a bit, refusing to see the similarities, and then the last sentence hit me like a tonne of bricks: for Gods sake, realise that you're worthy of appreciation and respect, because neither household gives you any of either. A very pointed reminder, that. One of the things I whine about to my bff is that I wish people would care about all the work I do for them. "I'm not asking for a parade here, just someone noticing would be nice" is a constant lament. Here I am, wishing that my loved one would realise she deserved better, and all the while I'm in the exact same trap. How can I beg her to put herself first when I don't?

Another of the things I'd written to a loved one was about letting go. That there is nobody in your life worth giving your life up for- that sometimes if you want someone badly enough, the best way to make it happen is to let go and move on. Get yourself together, make yourself a happier, healthier person, and let your sudden joy and radiance bring people into your life. Maybe it'll be that person you love, maybe by then you'll decide they aren't going to be a part of your life, but if things haven't worked, it's time to try something new. Another pointed reminder. I've had my self worth tied to my family for years. If they cancel plans, I spend hours obsessing about what I may have done wrong, or what they don't like about me. What an exhausting way to live! Maybe if I want them in my life, it's time to let go. To let go of the baggage, to let go of the hurt and the desperate wish for approval. If I used even half that wasted energy on myself, how much happier and healthier and more full of life would I be? If I stopped letting their disorganisation become my emergency, how much less stressed would I be? If I stopped cleaning up messes and feeling as though I had to do something, anything, to make their lives easier, what could I achieve in my own life?

So this week, I'm devoting my time to exploring ways of letting go. I have a few ideas so far:

• Writing grievances on toilet paper pieces and flushing them
• Writing them on pieces of paper and burning them
• Either finding a rock that you can imagine represents each issue (or writing them on a rock) and then either burying them, or throwing them into running water (a creek, stream, or even the ocean)
• blowing on a dandelion and imagining that each little seed is one of the things you've been holding on to
• a meditation exercise, where you give all of the negative energy to a higher power to be transformed into positive energy.
• a meditation exercise where you imagine all of the ties that bind you to the other person (or people) as cords of light that move from your body outwards. Imagine you can see the pulse of your energy moving from your body, into the cord, and towards the other person. Ask an Angel, or Deity, to sever the ties between you both.
• Write a letter. In it be totally, utterly honest about what's happened and how it has affected you. Be honest about your role in events, but put responsibility where it's due. Say everything you want to say, everything you think and feel, even if it sounds mean or cruel. Burn or bury the letter. Do NOT send it. If you want to send a letter, use this one as a basis, but word it more kindly.

At the end of the week, I think I'm going to pick something from the list and try it out.

As for the third piece of advice? It was to stop working so hard and remember to play. Ties in nicely, and during pauses in cleaning, I'm going to prep some art journal pages so I can play tonight and all day tomorrow. Sounds like a fair compromise to me.

Have you ever had a moment where the universe seems to grind to a halt, and stand before you like a bemused but slightly impatient best friend, tapping her foot and pointing to a path? She's beautiful, and her eyes are so sincere and so completely full of truth that for the first few steps, it doesn't even bother you that you have no idea whatsoever what you're doing. You can even ignore that it feels oh so slightly like being sent to bed by your mother.

That's what this month is turning into for me. I've had the divine 'aha' moment, began walking down the path, and then ground to a halt with the realisation I have no idea what I'm doing. I can hear her foot tapping behind me. I want to turn around, argue. I want to say I don't have the vaguest clue how to get from here to there, that I don't know how to do what she's telling me to do. I want to run (possibly shrieking) back to my safe, boring, soul wearying path, because this one?

This is, without doubt, the sort of path that millions of cartoons have taught us should be avoided at all cost. It's dark and foreboding. There are creepy trees with patterns shaped like faces, with arms that seem to reach out to catch clothing and hair, arms that seem to move without wind. There are creepy noises that stop whenever I turn around to investigate, and it makes my overactive imagination conjure up all sorts of evil just waiting to attack. The only constant sound is the tapping of an impatient foot, the occasional huff of frustration.

A wolf howls nearby, and just as I'm about to start running (screaming), there's a slap to the back of my head, Gibbs style.

"You like wolves, dork." She presses her lips tightly together, struggling not to grin. "You really are odd, aren't you?" She takes my hand, leads me back to the start of the path. When she turns us back around, the wolf is sitting there, tilting its head quizzically at us. "You like wolves, I thought you could use some company. And speaking of company, stop being rude to the trees."

"They're trying to rip my hair out!"

I'm pretty sure she's just insulted me in a language I don't even know. "All of the trees wanted to hug you, to wish you well on your trip."

"But they kept catching at my hair..."

"They're trees, love. They don't exactly get much practise moving around like that. And it's not dark and foreboding, dammit. It's easier to walk when it's cooler. Unless you want sun heating up your trip, your choice was twilight or driving rain." She sighs, the sort of long suffering sigh that only mothers ever seem able to pull off. "You're scared. I get that. But did you fall and die before you stopped? Did some horrible creature rip off a leg and beat you to death with it?"

"...No."

"Then why is it scary?"

It takes me a while to figure that one out, and I'm pretty sure she's itching to smack me upside the head again when I mumble out a reply and she makes me repeat it.

"Because I don't know if I'm ready to be that, yet. I'm not sure I know enough to make it work. I'm not sure I'm enough to make it work." She looks like she's torn between hugging me and slapping me.

"This is a path, not a teleporter. You don't need to know right now what you'll know at the end of the path; you have plenty of time to learn as you go, to find stuff out and explore on your way. And who says you need to be ready to arrive before you've even started? Didn't you study hero journeys in school? Maybe you aren't enough right this second. But through the journey, you learn what you need to learn, you grow and change and become the person you want or need to be. Wouldn't literature be dull if all the heroes went 'I'm not enough' and stayed home? How many imaginary worlds would be destroyed because the people who could save them doubted themselves? This path can't hurt you. It can grow you, it can change you, but it cannot hurt you. Only you can. If you try and run the path in an hour, you'll hurt yourself. If you spend your time walking backwards, trying to see the path you left, you'll hurt yourself. But if you throw yourself into the journey, if you embrace the chance, seek out the beauty, and believe you're right where you're meant to be, doing exactly what you're meant to be doing? What bad can come from that?"

She smiles softly. "There's one last thing you need to know."

"Oh?"

"These woods are filled with fireflies, but they're shy little things. They'll light the path but only so long as they think it's safe. If you're panicking around, thinking there's death behind every rock or tree, they'll think there is danger and stay hidden. But if you believe it's safe (it is), and ask them nicely, they'll light your path. There's magic all over, happy to help you along your way. The problem is, you are the only one who can be open enough to receive it. So open up your heart and start walking."

I am waiting for my landlord and his son (aka my bffs Dad and brother) to come grab a big, heavy armchair. The path is clear, though it's journey is right through my so called office (aka the couch and its surrounds). Until they come grab the chair, there's no point in me starting to organise the piles of stuff waiting for me.

Our art supplies are a mess. So chaotic, in fact, that every time we try and create something, we end up overwhelmed by trying to find what we need. A few more bags of stuff, and it's done. Those bags are sitting hidden in my bedroom, waiting until they can be dragged out and taken care of.

Yup, after the chair is gone.

Currently, the chair is sitting in my kitchen. No, really. Chalk up another room I can't do much with until the menfolk have been and gone. I'm impatient, waiting for the ability to get my stuff done. I've gotten focused on the me, and ignored the reality. The reality is that the son lives elsewhere, that it's a big deal for him to be back. His parents are savouring their time with him. They should savour it. And I, instead of bemoaning the loss of hours, should be savouring them. After all, life has gifted me some free time- something I've been sorely missing lately. For a while at least, all my 'should do' tasks have screeched to a halt. I physically can't do them.

Sure, I can't get photos done of my pages in progress. Sure, I can't paint or be creative. But I haven't been quietly wishing for those. I've been wishing for a break, and had I not decided to blog, I'd have never realised that I was getting my wish. I'd have sat, wasting this precious time, resenting the way my silly little plans were changed. I wonder how many wishes are granted that I never notice; how many times have I been so caught up in the frustration of changed plans and seemingly negative events that I miss the beautiful moments that come about?

For now, though, I'm going to do something I've wanted to do for days. I'm going to make myself a cup of tea, and I'm going to sit on the patio and enjoy the sunlight and birdsong. Eventually they'll come down, but until then, I'm going to savour this moment.

As I write this, there's a choir of crows outside my home, cawing and circling. When one flies low enough, near enough, I can hear the pounding of wings in motion.

Most people don't like crows, but I do. My neighbours moan at the constant chatter- we live near a school, and the littering and not putting the lid on the bin properly means that the crows know it's a sure feed. They, as well as topnotch pigeons, magpies, butcher birds and honey eaters, wander around our home and make themselves comfortable. Over the school holidays, we'll sometimes have crows carry over mummified bread pieces, dropping them into the little bird bath in our yard and leaving it to soak. I'll give them this: they're incredibly inventive. And smart enough to know how long to leave the bread so that it's soft enough to eat, but not a soggy blob.

I think animals can bring with them a lot of wisdom, if only you pay attention. There's a lot you can learn by reading about symbolism, but the best way to understand the messages they bring is to listen to where your mind or heart instinctively travels. Crows, for example, a generally thought to be symbolic of wisdom, secrets and omens. But that's not where my heart went today.

For the last few days, I've been a grump. I've been focused on the bad part of living here; the part where as soon as I go sit outside, someone comes for a chat, or where the landlord lives upstairs, is related to my flatmate, and blurs the line between 'landlord not allowed to come inspect without advance notice' and 'family member bound to drop by'. I've been worrying about how the latest federal budget changes will impact me- and they will, negatively. They'll make life even harder. There have been miscommunications and sore spots all around this week, and I find myself more and more feeling the itching need to just go somewhere. Anywhere. My mantra has been 'I hate it here'.

Today, though, the sky is an ever changing, perfect shade of blue. Each window I look out of shows a completely different shade. There are crows chattering and circling, and the sunlight is hitting the leaves of one of the trees just so, and it's beautiful. I may even see one of the blue tongued lizards wandering the cement, enjoying the warmth. If they're anything like me, the drowsy warmth will be too good an opportunity to pass up. It's that kind of day, one that's been sorely needed. A reminder that I may not always enjoy the circumstances, and the social aspect of life here, but it's still a beautiful place to be.

Crows are social creatures, though not always. They regularly wander off on their own, needing time away from the crowd. They speak to me today of needing balance- of finding a way to balance my need for peace and quiet with the realities of where I live. But they also have a knack of turning bad into good. Where we see rubbish and chaos, they see food and survival. They've found the positive in the negative, and today, so have I.

...to say I'll be gone for the next little bit.

In a few hours, I am going on a road trip, getting in touch with my inner galah and going south for the winter. For those outside Australia, we have a bird called a Galah which in some cases fly south for the winter. Winter in the Northern parts of Australia are fairly warm, so flying south is generally a silly thing to do unless you enjoy the cold. As such, galah gets used as slang for someone being silly.

My best friend and I are packing up the car, temporarily renaming it the Galah, and heading south over Easter holidays. It'll be nice- for once I'll see leaves that have changed colour, and I'll finally have a use for the scarves I buy every winter but never get a chance to wear. And if I don't get frostbite or (more realistically) a cold, I'll be back at start of term with an external hard drive full of pictures (the zoo where we're going has snow leopards. Seriously, snow leopards! Life if good) and a computer heavy with stories to share. Hopefully, I'll find some time to visit a cafe with Wifi, but if not, I'll see you all soon.

If you celebrate it, have a fantastic Easter. I hope the Bunny leaves lots of goodies for you and your loved ones. And (especially if you're enjoying/surviving school holidays) I hope the season goes smoothly and is full of love, laughter and joy.

Night all, and happy travels.