Inspirational Quotes - Should Be Illegal...

I opened Facebook this morning and was immediately told to rise, grind and chase my dreams.

It was 7.14am.

I hadn’t even found my glasses; and although I have great vision... I can't read anything on my iPhone without them!

Apparently, while I was lying in bed wondering whether I could be bothered getting up, thousands of highly motivated people had already meditated, exercised, written in their gratitude journals, drunk three litres of water and built a small business from their kitchen table.

Good for them.

I made coffee.

Then another post appeared: “You have the same number of hours in the day as Beyoncé.”

No, I bloody don’t.

Beyoncé has assistants, chefs, drivers, stylists and people whose entire job is probably to locate her missing phone. I have a cat sitting on something I need and a robot vacuum that regularly sends me distress messages about water or being clogged!

We need rules. Nobody should be allowed to post anything about “winning the morning” until the rest of us have had caffeine and confirmed that our knees still work. Personally, I don't think they should ever be allowed... They should all be rounded up and shot... (extreme I know)

And anyone using the phrase “Your only limit is you” should be required to spend one afternoon dealing with Centrelink, an insurance company and a self-serve checkout.

Sometimes your limit isn’t you.

Sometimes your limit is being placed on hold for 173 minutes while a recorded voice tells you that your call is important.

Now that’s inspirational.

I'm Testing Something...

Hello world!  This is me testing the Microsoft recorder. It records your voice instead of having to key this whole thing out, which is really cool.

Oh, it did it! I said: "new line" and it made a new paragraph!

I might leave this up all the time now. I'll just have to think about what I'm going to say... and say it.

Bloody hell, my phone is listening too; typing all the words. Stop listening! 

Self-Serve Checkouts Should Pay Superannuation

I have decided I am no longer using a self-serve checkout unless the supermarket puts me on the payroll.

I arrive as a customer, but within seconds I’ve been promoted to cashier, bagging assistant, security officer and unpaid investigator of unexpected items in the bagging area.

There is no unexpected item. It’s a bloody avocado.

Then the machine freezes and flashes a light above my head, alerting the entire supermarket that I may be attempting to steal 37 cents worth of coriander. A teenager eventually wanders over, scans a magic card and releases me back into society.

Meanwhile, an employee watches twelve screens showing close-ups of everyone’s hands. Apparently, Woolworths now has better surveillance than the Pentagon, yet it still can’t tell the difference between a bread roll and organised crime.

And after I’ve scanned everything, found the barcode on the roast chicken, entered my own fruit, supplied my own bags and paid an amount roughly equal to a small mortgage repayment, the machine has the audacity to ask:

“Would you like a receipt?”

Yes. I’d also like a payslip, annual leave and recognition for prior learning.

If supermarkets want us to work there, fine. But I expect penalty rates on Sundays, ten percent off my groceries and a little name badge.

Carol — Employee of the Month. Or maybe the damned year!

Bring Back Shame... Please.

I know we spent decades telling people not to be ashamed of themselves, and that was probably very kind and progressive of us.

But I think we may have overcorrected.

Nobody is ashamed of anything anymore.

People film themselves crying in supermarket car parks. They announce their “personal journey” because they stopped eating bread for four days. They share photographs of surgical wounds, marital arguments and the contents of their children’s nappies.

Nothing is private. Nothing is embarrassing. Nothing is too stupid to upload.

Years ago, if you behaved like an idiot in public, you went home and hoped nobody had noticed. Now you go home, edit the footage, add dramatic music and upload it in three parts.

“Part Two coming tomorrow!”

No. Please don’t.

Shame used to perform a useful social function. It stopped people from singing loudly in cafés, giving medical advice despite working in real estate, and describing themselves as “public figures” because 312 people followed them on TikTok. Don't get me started in "influencers"

It kept your personal business personal.

Now, every bowl you dish up is a podcast.

We don’t need the brutal, soul-destroying shame of the olden days. I’m not suggesting we ring a bell and parade people through town.

I’m only suggesting a tiny amount.

Just enough to make someone pause before posting a photograph of themselves attached to a drip with the caption, “Don’t ask.”

Because you know perfectly well, we’re going to ask.

That’s why you bloody posted it.

Your Trauma Is Not a Free Pass to Be an Arsehole

Apparently, once you’ve had a difficult childhood, a toxic relationship, an unpleasant divorce or a mother who didn’t hug you enough, or cut the crusts off your peanut butter sandwich, you are no longer responsible for anything you do for the rest of your natural life.

You can lie, manipulate, scream at people, destroy relationships and generally behave like an absolute arsehole—and the moment somebody objects, you simply announce that you have trauma.

Conversation over.

Now, I’m not saying trauma isn’t real. Of course it is. Most people have been damaged by something. Some far more than others. Life has a remarkable ability to run over you, reverse, and then come back for another go. Hell. I should know! 29 brain operations and counting and 3 ex-husbands!

But trauma may explain why you behave badly. It doesn’t give you permission to keep doing it.

At some point, you have to stop handing your childhood the steering wheel. You’re an adult now. If you know your behaviour hurts people, then it becomes your responsibility to do something about it. Get help. Learn better habits. Apologise without adding, “But you made me…”

Because that isn’t an apology. That’s just blame wearing a little apology hat.

We seem to have confused understanding someone with excusing them. You can understand why a dog bites and still not let it loose in a childcare centre. Yet with people, we are expected to tolerate almost anything once a sufficiently tragic backstory has been produced.

Everyone has a backstory.

The person you’re treating badly probably has one too.

Trauma deserves compassion. It deserves patience, support and proper treatment. But it does not entitle anyone to spend the rest of their life creating trauma for everybody else.

Eventually, you have to take responsibility for the person you have become.

Even if it isn’t entirely your fault that you became them.