Late to The Party

 

Dear Diary,

I am late to the party.

The woman sitting opposite me, furrowed brow, hair that could use a good cut and tissue box between us.. listens.

I tell her the story of 'that job.' The one where I felt nauseous every day, a head in a vice kind of feeling, paralysed by mental overload, unfathomable spread sheets, unable to undertake rudimentary office tasks with ease; unable to see errors in documents, incapable processing what is being said in the endless meetings and transposing those words into minutes and into columns. 

Unable to function.

Unable to pull on all my usual techniques of navigation, glide easily from the macro to the micro and distill information into salient points, unable to pull on my greatest asset - my charm, my ability to read a room within seconds and navigate incredible outcomes and events.

Swilling in disorientation, unable to apply the usual of approach of being able feel the end game on a cellular level and reach the goal effortlessly without having to say how I did it, knowing the navigation points without needing to name them.

I am late to the party.

Very late.

Failed exams again and again.

I can't spell many words.

I don't understand grammar.

I learned to write properly when I was 15.

Adapting to the right hand world in a left handed way.

I can not remember names.

I can not write down phone numbers without hearing it 3 or 4 times.

I can not contain more than one instruction when being given directions..

And I can not read large tracts of text on screens.

BUT

I have a super strength emotional intelligence and empathy that is off the charts.

I can see a suburb from a great height and know how to weave in opportunities for connection through government and organisations, without being able to say how I can do that.

I see and feel texts in shapes, particularly novels or essays.

I find creative approaches to everything, and that is everything to me.

I can cook with a finely tuned instinct, no recipes, just feeling the way the ingredients meld.

I get a strong feeling in my left hand that indicates there is flow and assurance that the desicion I am about to make is the right one.

I can distill large tracts of text into a few words.

I write creative works that are short and to the point.

The focus of all my work is on doing good work, creating connections, empowering others.

*

The woman sitting opposite me, in a small room on St Kilda Road, pushes the tissue box closer to me and asks..

Has it every occurred to you that you are probably dyslexic? 

The rush of relief comes strong and fast.

*

I'm sitting in the classroom knowing that I will fail at everything..

A sister taunts me for not being able to spell.

A workplace admonishes me for not being able to take minutes in columns and for not being able to see errors in all that I have written.

 *

I want to write I really do.

I sit opposite my writing mentor back in 2016..squirming.. I tell them, I want to write - but I can not spell and I don't understand grammar or tense. My head is bowed with shame.

You can tell a story, that's all that matters. The rest of it an editor will fix, the mentor reassures me.

*

The dictionary definition of dyslexic surely must be

To carry shame, about the things you can't spell.

*

I am late to the party.

I write some stories.

I complete a masters by research in creative writing.

I publish two books.

The anxiety thaat there may be errors in each book is nauseating.

*

I find a podcast, Lessons in Dyslexic Thinking

I listen to episode after episode as I walk for miles, stopping sometimes,  tears of relief springing when I hear famous people talk about their dyslexia.

The host describes dyslexic thinking, and astonishingly declares in every episode, that being dyslexic is a super power and employers value dyslexic traits.

*

I am 58.

I am late to the party.

I crank up the music

And rise up from the mantle of shame...

JUSTINESLESS.COM
I TEACH WRITE PERFORM STAND-UP COMEDY

WORKSHOPS BOOKINGS HERE

The Talking Booths

 

When I was a kid I used to love taking a pile of pennies and going into a phone box to call cousins and ask if I could visit them.

The smell of a phone box, like damp cardboard.

Massive phone books, the A-Z of everyone who ever was. 

An encyclopaedia of names, we were all there.

A mess of brown bubbles, where someone tried to burn a hole in the window of the phone box. 

The phone books, crumpled and curled at the edges, like a thousand hands have searched for a mam they haven't seen for years, a cousin gone missing or maybe even a child they gave away.

The phone box was a whole world , away from the elements. 

Breath hot against the mouthpiece. 

I never thought about germs that could be harboured there.

Over time phone boxes were decommissioned.

*

In Australia there is an occasional hooded booth, where you can make free calls.

I was with a friend recently, waiting for a take away, they 'dared me' to make a prank call from a phone box. 

I rang my daughter, put on a silly accent and asked if they had ordered a vindaloo curry. For a moment it was just us caught up in the silliness of the prank, oddly exhilarating. 

*

Across the world pillar box red phone booth are reconditioned, made a little larger, a tiny table, two chairs. 

A simple instruction, JUST TALK. 

The only sign required.

The phone box becoming TARDIS like in its potential.

*

I read and re read Shrill Notes by a loud woman, passages about rape jokes told in bars fuelling the greater fire.. 

The man who trolled Lindy West ended up talking to Lindy. He changed. Lindy changed. 

*

Wars rage.

The world fragments again and again.

Before another missile is fired. 

Can leaders please make their way into a phone booth.

& 

JUST TALK

.

*

Job Interview Hack

 

A federal MP once described me as

'The James Bond of Community Workers.' 

I work with stealth.

I am fearless.

I trade in connection.

I hold a multiplicity of skills and bring each to the fore as required.

I can sit with a federal minister and advocate for change.

Or teach rooming house residents stand-up comedy, giving voice to the voiceless.

Years of writing and performing stand up comedy means that I am concise and decisive, in comedy every word matters.

I flow easily between the macro and micro.

Watching an audience respond to material, how it lands, where it can go and what needs work is a skill I apply easily to the workplace.

I bring wit and wisdom.

"You do a lot," I often get told..

It makes sense to me, all of it.

Social impact, an author, a humour academic - my area of research is humour as a power construct in the wider gender-based violence lens. 

I teach stand-up comedy enabling, fearlessness, resilience & connection through comedy. 

In job interviews I have learnt to apply the hack..

Fit in Before You Stand Out.

When I teach comedy 

I apply the hack..

Stand Out Before You Fit In.

justinesless.com

 

Diary of an NDIS Worker - countless days

 Dear Diary,

The last two weeks have been impossible - have had so many cancellations that my income has dropped to crazy low levels...

This is no longer sustainable.

I am also doing stand-up comedy workshops. https://justineslesscomedyworkshops.bigcartel.com/product/comedy-crash-course_ripponlea

Not feeling funny at the moment though.

Diary of an NDIS Worker Day 146

 7 April 2025

Dear Dairy,

The thing I love most about this work is that there are no meetings, I am never at the computer screen and that the accountability is way easier than a funding agreement.

I have enough work. The energy output can be tiring at times. Shifts can get cancelled and new shifts can be added.

C is still a constant - we are working on a creative project now - which gives great insight into her personality and process.

I shop for a lady - I am the only person she sees all week. We go through her list - it matters the type of bread I buy and the size of the potatoes I bring back too her.

I cook for a woman and her two kids. The work is good.

I see a woman who has a dog, we talk about food a lot -they have tried many diets. 

I am working with a woman who is writing a book. 

Another client we do gardening together, I am jealous of how great her compost is!

Nice to be working with care, connection, compassion and no tariffs.

Dairy of an NDIS Worker Day 102

 22 February 2025

Dear Diary,

C has been so much better lately, their mobility and headspace is good.

We talk across so much terrain.. we drive to appointments in my car.
Do 'car disco' songs that we love, singing together in imperfect harmony..

I am shopping too for a new client - elderly, frail, but mentally agile. 

I see others scouring the supermarket shelves for items in a way that denotes that the food is not for them.

We talk through their list before I shop, the client - A, is meticulous in their writing and description of the items they want.

It's astonishing to me that she cooks roast dinners, heats up soups and steams vegetables. And asks me to unpack their beers.

A doesn't go out ever. 

Their vacuum cleaner is old and frail like them. I run it over the hallway and in their bedroom. 

Take them fresh tomatoes from my vine.

Each time I shop it feels like an act of service and I am oddly anxious that I may not have got the precise item they requested. 

I brought the wrong bread last week - they response was so despondent that I rushed back to the supermarket to change it. 

This shopping after all means more to them than most.

Another client D - we cook together. They aren't confident, they put them selves down. I stand next to them saying you can do this, it's ok and what they cook always looks amazing..

I'm working with another client on their memoir.
Having had amazing mentors myself I apply that skill of 'walking along side someone'.. as they traverse the massive task of getting a story down, pondering each word and polishing each sentence... in the long and treacherous road to publishing... where self belief is everything..

So I am over a hundred days into this.. and my oh my I love the work..

Trump makes more and more preposterous pronouncements ..

Let's just see what he actually does.

my website has had a makeover..I'd love you to have a peak
justinesless.com

Diary of an NDIS Worker Day 81

 2/2/2025

Dear Diary,

As the heat began to build in Melbourne I was down at the allotments with a client.

We worked hard. Weeding and preparing a new plot.

There were plenty of people there today, for a working bee. 

There was plenty of wisdom there too.

Advice was plentiful on how to clear the plot, constant reminders to rest regularly and drink lots of water.

Good gardeners are great at reusing everything.

Each plot was filled with luscious vegetables and bright pink and orange flowers.

By eleven we were done. Sweaty, but satisfied with the work over the last couple of hours.

We returned tools and wheelbarrows. Had so many conversations about vegetables, the heat and general complimentary comments to each other on the work we had all done.

I came home.

Showered.

Made a lunch using the huge haul of tomatoes and cucumbers.

I came home thinking about the great Ted Lasso quote..

Smells Like Potential.

One of the best things about the community garden was there was zero screen action, zero AI and I didn't hear anyone talk about Trump.

For more go to justinesless.com