Saturday, October 3, 2009

Touchdown!

Wow. Still haven't slept since Thursday night.

The short story: Suzuki professional development, a Sarah Blasko concert at The Forum theatre with friends, Copocabana, Night Cat and some other place I can't remember the name of. Then a dropoff in Chaddy and back to the airport to collect hubs from his American sojourn pt.1.

Somewhere in there I decided attempting sleep was futile. However, thank you Adam for your kind loan of a horizontal surface upon which to lay my weary head and "gorgeous haircut". I hope you find a girl who wears red sinner lipstick with conviction. You deserve one who dances much better than me ;)

I have learnt that it's quite difficult to convince people you are in fact married when wearing neither engagement ring or wedding band. In fact, this absence can give rise to gentle and discreet discussion among friends, as they tactfully allude to my naked fingers and hubs' absenteeism.

When convincing a stranger, wedding photos are a useful proof of assertion unless... "That's not you! Look at the hair on that girl!" (presently a short, dark bob with a heavy blunt fringe). Sigh.
Yes, females do tend to change their hairstyle occasionally. It's this strange belief we subscribe to which causes us to seek a new color, shape, style, image, identity. Cheaper than buying a new wardrobe, a lot cheaper than plastic surgery. Many of us will even save the psychiatrist fee that week.

Our new haircut lets us pretend we're not committed to our jobs, lifestyles, partners, family - our life. Instead we can pretend a little- to be a high maintenance ice queen or a calm, composed woman of the world. And is it really pretend or a very complex double bluff? Good luck working it out.

How the hell did this post become a muse on appearance and identity?

Friday, October 2, 2009

hot springs = blissed out of brain

Today there were hot springs. Oh yes and indeedy. And they were hot.
Not so much springy, but the hotness made up for the lack of spring. There may or may not have been a little misleading advice that NEW POOLS would be open (they weren't) but luckily they weren't so overpopulated as our last visit.

Strangely, there seems to be no dress code at the springs, unlike your local pool, which will ask you to wear skintight bathing apparel so you don't drown in your XXL tee before you even get into the pool.  I suspect that today I could have worn a Snuggie. Into the pool. And no-one would have said a thing. At least not so loudly I could hear it, given the plethora of signage reminding people to talk quietly, maintain the peaceful atmosphere, etc., etc. .

Hang on. Who am I kidding. You think Australians can READ? Evidently not. Or the average Australian concept of 'quietly' differs by some decibels to mine. Or they were Americans in a cunning disguise. Oh look, there go allllll my followers. Bye-bye, have a nice life. You can remember me as that strange, quiet girl who is dreading the return of her husband from the United States of A... no, probably shouldn't write THAT - simply because he will shatter my peace and quiet. Only child much?
Mmmm. I don't play particularly well with others.

Anywho, it's late. It's been a delightful but long day. Tomorrow I'm going to six hours of lecture goodness. It'd better be good. One hour there, six hours of tedium (oh, oops, seven, there's a lunch break), two hours of nothing, dinner, Sarah Blasko gig (hurrah!). I'm taking a change of clothes with me. A change of sanity would also be a lovely thing, but I suspect the magic little black dress may have to do.

And, don't be frightened.... but there are some italics next, and we all know what that means. RUN! It's poetry! You'd better not comment! (SARCASM, people.)

Half-slumbering
she whispers love
beneath billowed sheets
damp-countenanced brave


She murmurs love
from drowsy fading
of manifold dreams 
approaching her wake


Stretched passively
unaware in frailty
his dark lashes
adrift 'neath wild brows


into such perception
into unconscious beauty
she tells her love

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Reclaiming my conscious

...that's right, subconscious, your days of string-pulling and nefarious control are over.

From herein I will embrace the dead relatives putting in their two cents, actively cleanse my aura (aura detox? I wonder...) and be fully responsible for my own actions while allowing other people to be their own baggage handlers/porters/sherpas/beast of burden.

Coffee's part of the aura detox regime, right?
Damn.
I do a lot of stuff without really thinking it through.
On one hand this is fantastic: I get lots and lots done. On the other, I suspect much of it doesn't need to be done by me. Where's the line between selfish and selfless?

The two mothers at the table opposite have selfish down to a fine art, complete with threatening, harridan monologue. One's loop of interrogation regarding wanting to go somewhere on Saturday has ME confused; I can only wonder about the child.

I can smell a coffee being made.
If it's not mine...
Phew. Nearly had to walk.
AND the if you don't... do you WANT to go? Don't touch! Don't kick the table! Come here RIGHT now! Don't make me... brigade are leaving. With their three present children and two more incipient.
Hmmm.

Handed over my engagement and wedding rings to be cleaned today. Was walking along enjoying the sunshine, thinking Gee, those rings in the window look awfully sparkly. I have sparkly! Oh, right. Not SO sparkly. But these lovely people will help me achieve superficial sparkliness! People! Clean my rings please!

Lovely girl returns after some consultation with resident jeweller to tell me some of my sparkly is attached by bare minimum of setting and I am very lucky to still have sparkliness, grubby or otherwise. We agree would be downright inconvenient to lose sparkly and I grudgingly hand over my bling for repair. I'm feeling a bit naked now.Have toyed with the idea of purchasing replacement (fake) bling but I'm sure I have a ring at home that will fit on the appropriate finger, just to keep the Omigod I've LOST my RING where the HELL is it??? panic that kicks me (complete with adrenaline rush) every fifteen seconds. Or thereabouts.

I'm a little intrigued by the last few posts... When I stick poetic junk in, people don't comment. This is either (a) unfortunate synchronicity (b) a general unwillingness to say "Hey, that's really crap!" or (c) Dunno. I'd like to find out. I am reasonably difficult to offend, so (as previously mentioned, I'm sure) CRITICISM welcome! Or discussion, if it makes you more comfortable to call it that. Four years at uni having stuff pulled apart (and every day small children pulling my last statement apart) has desenitised me remarkably well.
Over the last week or so, I've become a little hyperaware that activities are made or trashed by the people you share them with. I've been feeling like the top layer of my skin is missing, and there's really only so much I can endure before running screaming for the hills (perhaps that's why I embarked on such a massive getting-rid-of-stuff  project).

Things I have learned:

Rollerskating is more fun when accompanied by someone who will laugh at you when you fall over and then, obligingly, fall over so you can laugh at them. Attracting a pygmy fan club (that's a fan club composed of pygmies not a fan club comprised of one regular-sized person) is not essential to fun and will in fact add a little pressure to the whole activity.
This may or may not be worth it for the wave of parental gratitude that comes sloshing toward you, as many uncoordinated and overweight parents breathe a sigh of relief and surrender their skates to the teenagers that seem to run the place.

There are some things that just don't change. Shopping with your best friend is an excellent case in point. At some stage there will be depression (WHY don't these FRICKING jeans WORK), euphoria (OMIGAHHHHD! My boobs DON'T resemble two pillows fighting for supremacy of my whole body)
hallucinatory hysteria and sushi. And coffee. Oh baby, bring on that coffee. Too much fun.

Dancing is terrific fun when you have a boy to monopolize.
It's very funny when he says
"I don't know this song!"
"How is that a problem? Aren't you dancing to the beat?"
"Yeah, but I need to know what song it is so I know what character to be." (OR SOMETHING TO THAT EFFECT!!! I'm sure I'll get a caning for misquoting. Whatever. It's still very funny.)

Onto question answering!

Mysterg: I would like to know about who your childhood hero was and why?

Um.... it was probably my mother for a significant portion thereof; she homeschooled me and ran her own business. I thought she knew everything and could do everything and it came as quite a rude shock to discover it wasn't quite the case! I also thought Nigel Kennedy was pretty awesome; when my uncle gifted twelve-year-old me with a pair of cherry Doc Martens I was a very, very happy thing. I didn't remove them from my feet for the next three years (made ballet a little tricky, but whatever).

Eternally Distracted: Is there a subject that you would never blog about? If so, why?

I probably wouldn't divulge specific work-related details, because I work with children and families and I feel that those interactions are quite privileged. It's one thing to describe a lesson with a student who is not identifiable from the post, quite another to be so specific that a parent - or child - might think "Oh NO, that's ME!" So... I think that I'm happy to blog about people in such a way that THEY know who they are but others don't. Does that make sense?

Kristine: of your 100 posts, which is your favourite?

The one after I fell through the decking, because now we have new decking. No, not really! Probably the first poetry-ish post, because that's stuff that hasn't seen the light of day in a long time and the creative writing stuff is a part of my self I have not indulged.


Extranjera: Would you rather be able to eat music or breathe dancing?

I don't think of music as edible;  whether I'm playing it or listening I feel ... flow. Sometimes color or texture, but not a tangible thing I can ingest.  On good days the breathing dancing happens. So I think that would be my preference, because that is euphoric! (And the dancing is triggered by the music, so maybe that's factoring into my airflow too!)  More good days please.

Any more questions? I particularly like the existential ones.

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Get your jedi mind control on...

Which is exactly what I am attempting. However, it's late, and I seem to have lost the ability to type.
This is post 99, so if you want to ask any questions for me to answer in my 100th post, best be quick.

Followers, you can ask whatever you like.
Lurkers, you can't. Push off.
Or use something to sign in and follow and then you can ask too.

Because today has been a long and busy (and fun!) day and my toe is throbbing like a bastard (yes, bastards throb: who knew?!) you get some poetry.

You can ask questions about the poetry.

I was walking
floating toward you
conspicuously beautiful
in pink shimmering

I was bleeding
from my freakish mouth glossy
heavy inanities
until waifish

I saw your confusion
of beauty laboring to birth
adulterous lunacy
delivered in a voluptouly raised cocktail glass

I walked to you
and ceased to bleed
and you lifted
an egg 
from my mouth
and broke
the bloody yolk falling
your hands stricken
sticky albumen
and gory dark
and conjecture

I ceased pink shimmering 
am trapped in an ordinary room
ordinary peacock-people
of crimson and rose and no shimmering
no shimmering at all
they flirt - never guessing
I am pressed to their wrists
stories tightly wound about each hand
preventing them from hors d'ouevres
matt blue feathers fluttering bound

Sunday, September 27, 2009

Boyz

@ boyz the staff are unapologetically rude, or camp as a row of tents. The customers seem happy to pay for the privilege of being treated disdainfully: I imagine it's a novel experience for most of them.

This side of the peninsula is home to the dilettantes; the weekenders who "go antiquing" even though all the legitimate traders are long gone. In their wake lie frock shops and caf├ęs, a few workaday book/toy/homewares stores, and the neverending parade of "Where shall we go for (insert meal/beverage of choice)?" in designer jacket, designer jeans, designer sneakers/knee-hi boots, scarf, sunglasses and hat of choice (baseball caps are oddly popular). It's the ubiquitous don't look at me I'm a celebrity style that anyone who wishes they were anyone cultivates.

Of course, most of these morons weekenders eveaporate over Sunday afternoon, to be replaced on Monday morning by yummy mummies in gymwear pushing bugaboos and bemoaning their centimetre of regrowth (where do YOU think?).

Where oh where have the normal people gone?
But that's the problem: why be normal when you can be famous? Why behave like a nobody, venturing out without the camoflage of supersize sunnies and hat, when that gets you nowhere?

I quite like being nowhere. There's reassurance in being anonymous- for instance, I've only been waiting twenty minutes for my newly arrived hot chocolate. But now it's here, undeniably improved by my anticipation. Is this our problem? We're so accustomed to instant (and continual) gratification that our hedonism knows no bounds. More, better, different, NOW. We stuff our faces and our senses in search of that first thrill, which we could replicate if only we starved ourselves a little first. Desired, imagined, anticipated, realised.

I still haven't begun my chocolate. I've eaten one marshmellow and am assisting the other to melt. A little preliminary stirring, then some froth inhalation, I think. And finally, a sip of the real deal. Oh, delayed gratification never tasted so good. Sorry, I have to get my hot chocolate on... Or possibly get it on with my hot chocolate.

Brrrr

Supposedly it's spring, but after another chilly day of horizontal rain and blustery, cutting-to-the-bone wind, I'm once again esconced in bed not only pyjama-clad, but beneath extra blankets and wearing a huge adidas jumper. Ridiculous.

I'd love to say that today I discovered the cure for cancer, but alas, only opshop treasures were forthcoming.
I did however enjoy a sew-sew evening with the pug, crafting a red leather satchel perfectly fitted for my beloved lappy and upcycling a belt or three for shoulder straps. I even dropped a lining into the black tote!

More rain. Freezing. Not at my very happiest. Sleep solves all... If only I could get some decent quantity! Keep your questions coming!