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.

Today, I have issues. Not little, quirky, artistic melodrama issues. These are Godzilla issues, roaring and destroying and leaving me running about like a chook with its head cut off. I want to growl, yell, stomp and scream today.

No, really. Those kids throwing epic tantrums in the sweets isle? Were it not for major self restraint, that'd be me.

Here's the thing: today has just been a mess of being told I'm not enough. It's not enough that I'm doing everything I can to meet other people's expectations. It's not enough that I'm trying my hardest and running myself ragged in the process. It's not enough. I feel like there's a neon sign above my head flashing I AM NOT ENOUGH. I want to curl into a hole, and hide.

One of the big things I'm realising at the moment is that if you look for it, life sends you messages. It's there, whether or not it comes from a bible, a self help book, a song, or if you're me tonight, the Prom ep of Glee.

Oh yeah. You know the universe has had to work on getting a message through when your big life lesson comes from Glee.

Glee is my guilty pleasure. It's boppy. It's melodramatic and hilarious. Sue Sylvester is brilliant (as is the actress playing her, Jane Lynch). I would cheerfully by CDs by the women who play Britney and Santana. The character I love most, though, is Kurt.

Kurt (Chris Colfer) is talented beyond belief. Lordy, but his version of 'Blackbird' is my most listened to song at the moment. If Chris Colfer had a CD out? I'd buy the disk, and get it on Itunes. He is that good. And as much as I love his voice, I also love the character. Kurt is an insecure, talented kid torn between fitting in and being himself. He's also the only openly gay kid in a school that is deeply intolerant.

It was the prom episode tonight, and one in which Kurt finds himself thrilled that for once, he's not being bullied. He's happy- his boyfriend is going to prom with him, he loves his outfit, and he's convinced that finally, his peers are beginning to accept him. Until the moment he's voted Prom Queen.

All along, those people he thought were finally accepting him just found a better way to hurt him. And he stormed from the room, and there were tears and insecurities galore.

And then the universe pointed something out to me through an insecure, crazy talented, imaginary teen. He cried, and then he marched back in and accepted that crown. He decided that if he ran, he'd regret it. He decided that he'd take the good aspects and let go of the bad. He couldn't control the actions of others, but he could control his own.

Another Gibbs style smack to the head from the Universe. All of these people I'm running around trying to please? I can't control their actions. I can't make them learn about bipolar or have an open and honest discussion about their expectations, or my abilities in meeting those expectations. I can't make them happy, because what they want and what I'm able to give are vastly different things. I cant control their opinions about me, their beliefs and actions towards me. I have no say in it, nor power over it. All I can control is how I respond.

Tonight, I'm going to curl into a ball, watch TV a while, and let myself be overwhelmed and sad. Tomorrow, though, I'm gonna march into my life again, throw on a tiara and fantastic outfit, and damn well make sure I remember that I'm fabulous. More importantly, I'm gonna make sure I remember that I am MORE than enough.

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.

Over at Jamie Ridler Studios, this weeks Wishcasting Wednesday question is what do you wish to read?

My answer for this is simple: my novel, published. I have spent so long writing this story, and I would love to sit curled up on a comfy chair on a rainy day, a pot of tea at the ready, reading my own creation. I imagine the feel of the crisp pages, the small smile of delight that would come from running my fingers over the cover, tracing my name and revelling in it. My creation, my words, my story given form and freed into the world.

As I would read, I would remember. I'd grin to remember how easily one section flowed, as though I were the helpless hand to some greater power's words. I'd shake my head in recollection at just how much blood, sweat and tears went into another section, how it took over a month just to get that tiny, seemingly inconsequential piece just so. I would roll my eyes at a part that, in retrospect, seems a little cheesy, or a word I'd been so in love with at the time of writing that now fills me with a sense of chagrin. Even so, I'd love it dearly, and embrace it as dear friend.

I imagine the taste of the tea, warm and comforting but barely noticed as I read. I would probably go through multiple pots, forgetting they existed until they were cold and only then realising I was thirsty. Still, even as I know how it ends, even as I know every twist and turn as though they're the roads surrounding my home, I'd be reluctant to put the book down. I'd want to read it through the eyes of someone new, someone who is simply enjoying the story rather than picking it apart.

I imagine the odd rumble of thunder as I near the end of the story, the way I snuggle into a blanket in the cold weather, my eyes still glued to the pages. And finally, I imagine shaking myself from the stupor of a finished book, grinning to realise that I love the story all the more for one final read through.