I feel somewhat like I’m leading a double life. There’s the “external” me who goes through the day to day routines of life, work, home, family in a reasonably “normal” way. To the casual outside observer I’m probably my usual self. I still manage to read with my gorgeous son in the evenings, I still manage to do something resembling work during the day and I even manage to watch Oz Idol and place my tips in the online tipping competition on a regular basis. But inside I feel hollow, a shell and I’m starting to fear I won’t regain my joie de viere (I’m sure this is horribly wrong and I apologise in advance to any French speakers and especially to JB who is gnashing her teeth as she reads this).

Yes, I realize this is pathetic, self-involved hand-wringing of the worst kind but I can not pull myself out of this dreadful state. It’s almost like I’ve been attacked by termites, they have eaten my foundations, my “soul”, my “me” and have left a façade which to all the world looks like the real deal. These termites are the adoption process and right now I wouldn’t recommend it to my worst enemy (of course the last sane part of my addled brain is yelling “she’s wrong, don’t listen to this crazy woman… it’s all worth it, the pain goes away, she’ll be singing a different tune soon…”).

But enough (for now) of these dark ramblings from the dark recesses of mind… Here’s an update from the real world…

Last Friday night we enjoyed the St Lucy’s Fundraising Ball. St Lucy’s is a special school for children with disabilities and our dear friend’s daughter attends. Each year they put on an extravaganza of monumental proportions in order to raise big bucks for various projects (this year it was a new playground and for the record they raised $120,000). Apart from it being on a Friday night (Friday not being a great night for me… tired, cranky… well, more than the usual) I managed to pull myself together, slap on some make up and away we went. It was generally a fun night. A great “party” band even had me up on the dance floor. The food was generally OK and there was a good atmosphere in the room.

However, a few points need to be made. There were two types of woman who stood out for me. There were the wealthy older corporate wives who had obviously had enough plastic surgery to make Michael Jackson envious. They looked like someone was dragging them backwards by their hair at all times, they couldn’t show an emotion to save their life and their eyebrows were only marginally lower than their hairline – very peculiar. Then there were the mums who obviously don’t get out much but relish any excuse. I am talking about average mums (like me)… not gorgeous but not ugly, normal bodies of various types… dressed up like they were going to the Academy Awards. Backless, strapless, gold lame… you name it, it was there and it didn’t look good. Now I’m not suggesting everyone needs to turn up in a [very nice, I must say] $39.95 Target skirt but surely there is some sort of happy medium. For *&#$’s sake – saggy boobs and bellies just don’t look good in strapless, figure-hugging red sequins.

Since Will was at mum’s until Sunday morning we did our favourite thing and hit the cinema on Saturday morning. We saw a sweet little Oz movie called “The Oyster Farmer”. We had wanted to see it because it was filmed around Brooklyn and Mooney Mooney on the Hawkesbury River where Jason’s uncle has a house and where we’ve spent a fair bit of time. It’s only about 20 minutes drive from us but it could be on another planet. Beautiful! It was one of those rare “little” movies which just told a “little” story about some “little” people but it was really well done, with a great script and very nice performances. If I had to make a criticism it would be of the overly explicit sex scene which really didn’t add anything to the film and must have been very uncomfortable for the poor young actors to film (sex on a rickety old jetty – ooh, the splinters in the bum don’t bear thinking about!).

We returned home to watch the Swans win (yet again… grand final here we come… I hope… oh please let us win against West Coast on Friday… I may cry…) against the hapless Hawthorn. Then we got stuck into some serious finger food preparation as we were expecting a few friends that night for a serious round of the new Trivial Pursuit Pop Culture DVD Edition which Jason got for his birthday. It was a great night marred only by the fact that Gianni (my partner) and I didn’t win – it was those stupid cricket questions that got us… damn you cricket, you stupid, stupid, useless sport!!!

Sunday morning Jason went off to golf and I tidied up. Then mum brought Will over and boy, were we glad to see him and he us. Great big bear hugs all around. Then mum and I hit the 50s Fair. “What is the 50s Fair?” I hear you ask. There is a house in nearby Wahroonga which is called the Rose Seidler House. It was designed and built by the famous Sydney architect Harry Seidler for his parents in 1948 and completed in 1950. It is a classic example of minimalist 50s architecture and, while surprisingly small, is quite stunning with its extreme use of glass walls to capture the beauty of the surrounding bushland. It is now owned by the National Trust who each year put on a 50s Fair. There were bands playing 50s music and lots of stalls selling clothes, shoes, handbags, household goods, buttons, fabrics, anything and everything from that era. What I loved were all the people who obviously had embraced the 50s subculture as a way of life and dressed head to toe in immaculate 50s gear. The women were stunning. I have to say it was a very feminine period in terms of style and I love it. We spent a fun couple of hours wandering around, checking out the stalls, touring the house and “enjoying” a dubious, 50s hotdog.

So now it’s Tuesday night. Still no news and I fear another night of teeth grinding will leave me with permanent dental problems (what’s the number of your dentist Kath?).

Oh, I must make a small retraction. Last night I finished Janet Evanovich’s “Ten Big Ones” which I think may have got a prematurely unfavourable review from me earlier. Look, it’s no Pulitzer Prize winner but it did get bloody funny and there is a classic scene where our heroine Stephanie, her sidekick Lula and their friend Connie are trying to “torture” a gang member in order to extract some information. One of the funniest things I’d read in ages. Had me giggling uncontrollably for ages, much to Jason’s disgust.