Ghost is finally a real boy. He has his temporary permanent visa (yes, I know, it makes no sense, but you need a temporary permanent visa before you can get your permanent visa) granted. That means that he can stay in the country, apply for welfare, healthcare and anything else the government offers its regular citizens.

Ordinarily, you have to wait two years to get a permanent visa. They have backdated his application to the day he applied, which means that as of July next year, he can become a permanent resident. He can apply for dual citizenship, vote and do all the things an Aussie can do.

But most of all, it is a huge weight taken off our shoulders. We no longer have to worry that his visa will be revoked and he'll be sent home.

He followed me home and now 'mum' is letting me keep him.

I see hundreds of other people struggling on the news to get the precious stamp that Ghost has been given. People who are locked in detention centres and treated like criminals. I appreciate deeply just how lucky we are.

Thank you all for your good wishes while we've been waiting on this. It makes a hell of a difference knowing people are in your corner, trust me on this.

Now all he has to do is be nice to me for the next twelve months so he can stay. [grin]

Let me take a step back here. I never went to university or college. My final year of high school had been traumatic enough and I just wanted to get out into the world. I had a couple of jobs before I started in the usability industry ("What's that?" I hear you ask. "A story for another time," I reply. "Just trust me on this.") about nine years ago. I was looking for any sort of work and this usability company was looking for a receptionist. I got the job (which is also a story for another time and involves great breasts and great legs.)

I worked as their receptionist for about a year. My desktop publishing skills were pretty good, so I spent more time assisting them with their usability course material than I did answering the phone. When their full-time desktop publisher left, they offered me his job.

I did that for a bit, sometimes helping the usability consultants with their reports and documentation. Eventually, management decided that I had a talent for consulting and promoted me to consulting.

So, I've literally worked my way up from the bottom of the industry. I've been surrounded by all things usability for nine years. I love my work. But I have no formal qualifications to do it.

And that is what my former colleague decided my current client needed to know.

Now, I do not claim to have any more experience than I do. I tell people that I've been in the industry for nine years and I've been consulting full time for five of those years. I tell people that I have a background in desktop publishing, but that I have no formal qualifications. That seems to be enough for most people.

Fortunately, my client had the presence of mind to come straight to me and let me know what this idiot was up to. I guess I must pose some sort of threat to him, I don't know. But it seems pretty childish to me, and I'll know to keep an eye on him from now on. It's a small industry, like a schoolyard.

On a more pleasant childish note, I was walking to the tram stop during the week. There is a primary (elementary) school on the street corner, a busy road on one side and an eight lane main road with trams running down the middle of it on the other. While the school has a good, sturdy fence around it to keep the kids out of the traffic, they also put a basketball hoop a couple of feet away from the fence. And the fence is not very tall, so you can imagine what must happen with alarming regularity.

As I walked past the school, a miserable face poked through the fence and called to me. "Excuse me, lady. Could you please get our ball for us?"

He pointed. There was a soccer ball on the other side of the road. I saw the tram coming and knew I'd never make it if I rescued the ball, but the poor kid looked so miserable and as I stood there, his team mates surrounded him and started begging me for the ball.

Eh, fuck it, I thought. If the client complains I'm late for my meeting because I rescued a ball for a yard full of kids, they're not worth working for. I began to dodge traffic and went to get the ball.

I could suddenly hear a roar behind me. Startled, I turned around to discover the entire lunch time school yard was pressed against the fence shouting "Three cheers for the nice lady! Hip, hip, hooray!" I grinned, tossed their ball back over the fence and went to catch the next tram, waving at the kids as they shouted their thanks over the noise of the passing traffic.

I think a little childish behaviour can make your day.

P.S. I've got comments up and running again, but it won't display your previous comments. Don't worry, I've still got them all, and I'm working on getting them displaying again. Thanks for your patience!

We had a quiet dinner to celebrate at a very good local seafood restaurant. Best of all, one of my clients finally got around to paying me just before the weekend, so we indulged ourselves. I tried not to go berserk with glee as the waiter bought over fresh oysters, barbecued king prawns (nothing shrimp-like about these babies) and a steaming platter of lobster and other delights. The waiter just backed off slowly as I bounced in my seat and squeaked gleefully. He understood later when Ghost took him to one side and explained the situation (that it was our anniversary, not that I'm a complete mental case.)

The weekend turned out better than expected. It was looking tough for a while there. Double booked projects meant a working weekend and on top of that, a client had offered me a contract that I really wasn't willing to take.

This early on in the business, it's really, REALLY hard to refuse work. A little voice in the back of your head chants, "You need the money, you need the money..." and you can’t help worrying if you turn something down what the future will bring.

I knew this client. I knew the level of politics involved. I knew the excruciating hours that would be required of me. I knew that no matter how much we needed the money, I just couldn't take the gig. It would have burned me out badly at the end and I'd be no good to anyone.

The money just wasn't worth it.

Nervously, I called the client Monday morning to break the bad news. Turns out, they had rethought the position and would rather me come for a week here and there over the six month period, rather than full time work. Now that I could do.

So here I am, Monday morning, with the potential for ongoing work for this client, all the work that I needed to do on the weekend done and another year to look forward to with my beloved.

Life is good.

Even the days with horrific deadlines and the days where you're making it up as you go along are better than that.

Those are the days I question my sanity. What was I thinking, going out on my own and starting my own business? Am I trying to drive myself to bankruptcy and an early grave? How will we survive?

Then I look back at what I've achieved so far and I say to myself, "Damn, girl. You've got a pair on you. Look at what you've done!"

I know I can do this. I'm smart, I'm ballsy and I can do this. Because I said so.

"I've been terrified every day of my life but that's never stopped me from doing everything I wanted to do."--Georgia O'Keeffe