Crap Poetry #2

Warning... This poem has a "Mick" rating; may contain gratuitous crappiness and bad metering.

Sitting in a cab
waiting for the green
Christian radio blaring
makes my thoughts obscene

Sitting in a cab
driving way too fast
if that truckie breaks
we'll end right up his arse

Boondocks

boondock
US colloq. rough or isolated country. [origin: Tagalog bundock 'mountain'.]
--The Australian Oxford Dictionary


This is the view that I can see if I twist myself around to face out the window, when I am working at the 'boondocks'. I think it is the type of place that you would only see if you had a reason to come out here.


The view from where I park my car.


Sometimes this place gives me the sense of going nowhere, having been nowhere. Thought the emptiness of the past in this photo was interesting.

Lost friends

I had lunch in Circular Quay on Saturday.

How Circular Quay once looked.

How it looks now (kinda, not the best photo but I got jacked with looking for something better).

A photo I wish I could have taken... Sydney has many moods.

I met up with my bestest ever friend, who happens to have not lived in Australia for about ten years now.

I have never been one for a large group of friends... just a few very close ones. But in my adult years I seem to be developing a trend. Of my three closest friends over the last ten years, one moved to the US, one moved to the UK, and one has just moved to Perth, which, at 4000 km away from Sydney, is about as far away as you can get without actually going overseas.

My friend that I met on Saturday has made the US his home. Well, sort of. He went there to study, married, has had children, but has a career that sees the family moving around the US and Europe. No, he isn't a drug baron or anything like that. It is all perfectly legitimate.

Anyway, I haven't seen him since before I was married. He brought his girlfriend (now wife) back to Australia for a holiday just as my now-ex and I were getting serious. It was really nice to get a chance for all of us to meet, but our contact since has been sporadic. When I broke my leg last year, he suggested we stay in touch via Yahoo, as I'd be home and the time difference wouldn't be as big a problem, and so we had a chance to finally catch up again more consistently.

But I was in for a shock on Saturday. I had seen recent photos, so knew what both he and his wife looked like these days (which is pretty much the same as before... wish I could say the same!!) but when he spoke... well, this strange voice came out. The last time we had actually SPOKEN was years and years ago... and he now has quite a strong American accent, which just sounded so funny that I laughed. What? they asked. Which just made me laugh more.

It was a very pleasant afternoon. We ate lunch, watched the tourists, chatted about what we were doing with our lives, chatted about silly things, like the strange shoes people wear. I tried very hard to not fall into the 'remember whens...' because I didn't want to be rude to my friend's wife. And also, I suppose, even though it was wonderful to see them, I know that they will be leaving again in a few weeks, and then I'll have to let him go all over again.

When he left last time, it was very hard to see my closest friend leave. We met as we were both working at a pizza place, him, to support his studies... me, as a second job to support my lifestyle. We just fell into a comfortable banter, and had a common love of films, so we would go to the movies each week and watch videos till dawn. There was never a physical attraction for either of us. He was very shy around girls, and would tease me because I was going through a fairly active social stage. He helped me through some really ugly experiences, and I always knew that even if I was a complete mess, he wouldn't judge me, he'd just treat me like I was me. He seemed to have some faith in me that I was worthwhile. Don't get me wrong, he takes the mickey out of me at any opportunity, but it is never spiteful. Our friendship was what I imagine having a brother would be like.

I'm at a strange place in my life... very detached. Most of my friends have moved to new cities, to new lives. My marriage imploded. I'm no longer working for any one particular company. I've had to give up horseriding because of finances. My family has always been distant... we are there for each other if we are needed, but we can go weeks and months without speaking. So there is nothing grounding me at the moment. The things that used to define me are no longer there. It could be scary... but it also could be an opportunity for self discovery.

Rambling again... I must get some sleep.

Till next time.

I spent the day freelancing out at the boon docks today. There's a man who works there who is like the penultimate dag. Whenever he comes into a room, everyone ducks their heads and pretends to be working really hard, because once he starts talking, he simply will not leave. He is a nice enough man, a harmless nerdy type with a big dash of boring thrown in. Not an ounce of malice in him that I've been able to detect. He is about 5'8", average build in a soft way, neither attractive nor overly unattractive, basic wire rimmed glasses and hair tied back in a long lank pony tail. He is the sort of person who will very seriously take on the project of transferring all the rules of his dungeon and dragon games onto computer and then laminated cards to help with the flow of the game. He knows Hitchhikers Guide inside out and back to front. I quite possibly see a good deal of myself in his daginess.

Today he came in and picked up one of the reflective vests that was on a desk. The orange mesh type with fluero yellow on it, that warehouse workers and council workers wear to stop themselves being run over. He picks it up and looks at it, casually saying "I wonder if we stock these". "I suppose you would," I say. "Hmmmm I'll have to check," he says. "I want one for personal use".

What?????? I had a sudden flashed image of him dressed just in his vest and cowboy boots, going crazy on one of those mechanical bulls, disco lights and all. It was a very scary moment. I am a sick sick woman.

But still... I wonder what he would be using it for??

Crap Poetry #1

There's an Australian movie called Idiot Box... probably about five or six years old now. Review here. Fantastic sound track. I got the movie out again recently, and enjoyed it all over again. Highly recommend it! Anyway, one of the characters in it, Mick, is a bit of a poet, except of course, he isn't.

So, in honour of all the crap backyard poets of the world, I am starting up my own Crap Poetry movement. It will be bad. It will be pongy. It will be devoid of any value whatsoever. But with tongue firmly placed in cheek, I shall enjoy myself.

Boy Racing

Bike on a black ute
sex on four wheels
red and white fairing hint at
speed and tight turns

dark eyes flash bright
in rear mirror framed
acceleration, lane changes,
keep up if I'm game

trucks rumble, lanes blocked
frustration pent up
cut free, he speeds off
my fantasy long lost


Nothing better than a bit of a perve on the motorway on the way to work!

Distraction #1

My Middle Earth Names

Hooch, if you were a Hobbit, your name would be Alwlyan Pitcher
and if you were a (female) human, your name would be Geaven
and if you were an Elf, your name would be Hinia
and if you were a Dwarf, your name would be Brwra
and if you were an Orc, your name would be Ping
Your nearest Tavern might be called The Crippled Griffon
and your sword would be called Augatlos

An orc called Ping?? That kinda works for me. Ping Hooch. Or Hinia Hooch might be better. Elves definitely have cooler hair.

Thanks to Kitty at Tails from my Basket for the link.

Definition of boring

Reading a fellow blogger's post recently, and they commented about it being boring reading gripes about lack of money or sex. Shit, I thought to myself, that's pretty much my whole life!! And you've all heard me whinging about the sporadic nature of receiving an income in my little world of freelancing, so I thought I'd broach the other big no-no.

Sex.

Or the lack of it.

My marriage broke up over two years ago. And I've been very strong in the 'no post-break-up-sex' rule... not that there was much active temptation happening from the other party. And I will admit to a brief daliance (very brief) that was as much about breaking the link with my ex as it was about attraction to the other person involved. Not to say it wasn't good... it was. Very. Better than I remembered. And I thought I remembered pretty well. ummmmm where was I? hehe Ah yes, well there wasn't any connection with this person, beyond the immediate physical, so that was that.

So in the last two years I haven't met anyone I'd even honestly hope to go out with. And that's pretty depressing at times. But I'm realistic about these things. I am not the person I was when I was 25 and single. And for the most part, I'm thankful for that. She may have got a lot of attention when she walked into a room, but she didn't like herself very much. Now, I like myself a lot more, but I'm aware that I don't turn heads anymore. Which is freeing in some ways. I watch the way men look at my attractive friends, in an unapologetically lustful way, in the same way they'd look at a hotted up car. Or a state of the art sound system. Open desire in their faces. But what is it they are actually desiring? I find it discomforting seeing men looking at my friends like this. And I'm not sure if it is jealousy on my part, or anger that such open objectifying still goes on. Probably both.

In the last week I have had coffee with three male friends. One was the ex, as I mentioned. We are still friends, but we will never again be lovers. Another was an old workmate that I knew ten years ago. We met up again about 12 months ago in a funny way, over the Internet, when I was stuck at home with a broken leg. He is lovely, and we picked up our friendship like the ten years between had only been a week, but he is emotionally a wreck. I adore him, but I'm not attracted to him. And the final one... well, we have worked together for the last year nearly, and we swap books and music, and I think I'm like an older sister figure to him. He is five years younger than me (age isn't a factor for me), and very attractive. Romantic and always wanting to fall in love. He sees a tall beautiful european woman and he is in his own version of heaven. I adore him, and I'm attracted to him, but he will never know that. I'd hate to embarress him.

This blog isn't really going anywhere. I don't know if I want to meet anyone or not. I can't imagine anyone being attracted to me, and I'd be afraid if they were.

That blogger was right... this is pretty boring. Think I'll go to bed.

Till next time.

Another day where little was done, but it was done enjoyably.

I have worked Monday and Tuesday, at the studio I worked for the past 9 months or so... the one I was sad to leave. It was a little odd going back in there, knowing it would only be for a few days, but I had a quick catch up with some people I haven't seen for a while and enjoyed that very much.

I will be working Thursday and Friday out at the boon docks (I must find out what that actually means)... and I must also write a little about that office. It is a wealth of writing material as far as characters are concerned.

But today I had coffee (and cake, of course) with my ex, wandered around the library, checked out some CDs I'd like to buy when I have spare cash, and generally just enjoyed the winter sunshine and the lack of weekend crowds. And checked out my ever-growing list of interesting blogs. I will update my blog to reflect that growing list.

One of my kittens has developed an avocado fetish. He steals the shells and licks any remaining avocado out of it, and then tosses it about. Is avocodo bad for cats? I certainly hope not. I just cannot understand what he loves about them. I've never seen a cat interested in them before.

Eye Opener

I had to laugh this afternoon when I came back to my car after shopping. I wonder what people would think of my back seat, which had on it: McDonald's wrapper from a rushed breakfast during the week; a large camera tripod; a long riding whip, complete with plaited leather handle and 'flap'. Perhaps a dominatrix with a weight problem and an eye for self promotion??

Dry Mouthed Goldfish

Well, I survived the interview. Just. But won't hold my breath for a positive outcome. I've decided you can just never tell with these things.

I manage to get to the interview on time, in one piece. For me, this is a good start. I was in my 'grown up' outfit, not too trendy, not too corporate (well, the best a girl like me can do anyway... fashion is not my thing). Portfolio under arm. Or more accurately, in hand. Great bloody heavy thing that it is. Why is it every interview requires a flight of stairs before you get to the reception.

So I climb the stairs and puffingly announce myself to the receptionist. Sign all the obligatory security forms, and am taken to a meeting room and left with some forms to fill in.

*Warning, gratuitous whinging about to occur* Why, oh why, do I need to fill in a 6 page badly written even worsely (worsely??) set up form, with all the information that is in my resumé, the same resumé that they already have in their hot little hands?? hmmmm. So, arrive at 2:00, flaff about and fill in forms until 2:15. Then sit. And sit. Meanwhile, I'm in a glassed in meeting room right by the entrance, so every man and his proverbial dog has a bit of a gander as they come back in from lunch or whatever. I'm feeling rather uncomfortable and conspicuous, to say the least. Oh, and this compounded with the fact I haven't consumed anything today other than coffee (yep I know, big tactical error) means I'm dry mouthed and jumpy.

The HR woman turns up at 2:30. "Did you drive?" she asks. "Yes". "Great, we need to go to the other site" she says. "Oh, ok". "Follow me" she says. "Sure." Gives me a chance to subtly bung on some lip stuff to combat the dry-lip-syndrome, if nothing else. Off she screeches into the heavy four-laned traffic, as only someone who knows this road on an intimate level would do. After her I follow, heart in now-moist mouth, hoping the van careering towards me isn't going as fast as it seems to be. I'm not a nervous driver by a long shot, but that was certainly an interesting exit!

I follow her around a couple of blocks and turn up at a big old industrial estate, find parking, and go into a run down building. Up another flight of stairs... boy I'm glad I emptied out a lot of stuff from this portfolio before I came out today. Into a room that looks like it was last decorated in 1976, and in comes the Production Manager. So I have the interview with them both, which I'm actually pleased about, because it means one less interview to do.

Hmmm so how did the actual interview go? I suffered from the blathers. Blathered on too much. No idea if what I was saying was making much sense. But at least I'd stopped blushing. I'm a terrible blusher, but I got that out of the way in the first half hour when I was doing my goldfish impersonation in the original meeting room.

They asked lots of questions. I attempted to answer them. They finally asked to see my portfolio, but because the interview had gone overtime (hmmm wonder why) I had to rush through that part.

So we'll see. I'm always proud to just survive the darned things. I think the job would be challenging. The work itself is tight-deadlined, there's a language issue as most of the print floor speaks Mandarin, and I'd be expected to do a fair amount of overtime. And it is early morning starts (for me) which doesn't thrill me. I am an afternoon person. Always have been. But I'm sure I can adjust. hehe did I convince ANYONE just then? But it would be a huge learning curve for me, a good challenge, I like the clients' products, and the Production Manager seemed like a straight shooter. I was a little self conscious because when I wear heels I'm around 6', and he was probably about 5'4". But he had a good handshake, and I think that says a lot about a person.

So, we'll just have to sit back and wait.

In the meantime, I haven't been able to scratch up some work this week, so I might do some housework. Or teach myself some more InDesign. Ok ok, let's be honest, I'll be checking out blogs, going to the shops for some chocolate, checking out some emails, playing with the kittens... Procrastination, thy name is Hooch.

Interview

I have a job interview today. In three hours. I don't enjoy interviews. That's an understatement. I find nothing harder than sitting there talking about myself. But I am going along, and will let you know how it goes.

It sounds like a challenging role, leading a small studio for a print company. I actually don't have a lot of pre-press experience, and did mention this to the recruiter, who said that wasn't that important to the client. They want someone who can lead and drive the studio so the Production Manager can concentrate on other things. So for me, it would be a huge learning curve for both the pre-press knowledge, and managing people. At first I wasn't going to go for it, even though I was interested. But I spoke with my sister and some friends, asking if they thought I'd make an ok manager in their minds. They said yes (and trust me, they aren't the type to just placate me), so I started to think about it more seriously.

I do need a permanent job. I've decided it is time. It has been over 12 months since I left the evil multinational, and although I've mostly enjoyed the freelancing I've done, I have been frustrated with not being able to follow work through to its conclusion... to not be able to fully invest in something. Oh, and the inconsistent income and inability for me to get organised enough to have a 'proper' holiday is a factor as well. But it has to be the right job. I need to be learning and having new challenges. And I need to believe in what is being created. Or at least, not not believe in it. I turned down an interview for a cosmetics company when I discovered they didn't have a No Animal Testing policy. I couldn't work for them, no matter how good the money. And finally, I need to get on with the people I work with. Have some sort of relationship with them. Not a best buddies relationship, but one of mutual respect, and hopefully understanding.

I've had managers in my corporate past that treated me like I was something they would prefer to keep downwind and out of view. "She isn't really a BRAND person, is she" was the comment of one when they were discussing what to buy me for a wedding present [the irony being that that is actually a compliment in my eyes!]. Ok, I have the occassional tattoo and a pierced nose, but I'm hardly likely to devour your first born children in their beds. I don't smell and I do my job bloody well. Hmmm ok, I don't suffer fools particularly well, but hey, perhaps they could consider stopping being fools?

So anyway, I will go along to this interview. It is only round #1. The HR manager. If I get through this, then there will be a second interview with the Production Manager. Did I mention I hate interviews? Wish me luck.

Black Dog

Moving through something thick and dense -- like honey, but not sweet. Slightly salty, like the taste of skin. Pushing through with my arms, my legs, my torso, leaning into it with my shoulders, legs quivering as they try to take one more step forward.

As I drown in the oppressive weight of movement, people walk past me, through me, into my path, and I am the tanker, too slow, too heavy, to change course. They seem startled if their hand brushes mine. Slowly slowly, as they zip by. 'Yap yap yap' their voices squeak, and they do not see me. Like a mountain that moves in time so great that it is imperceptable, they skip around me.

My head turns slowly, dragged by the viscosity, the dense, dense bubble that separates me from them. Dripping, oozing, threatening to set and permanently encase me in an invisible tomb.

A family of five walks towards me, arm in arm they spread across the path, and I am left with no option, but to disappear.

The End

Her: I read them.
Him: Read what?
Her: Those emails. I'm ashamed that I did it. But I had to know...
Him: You read my emails?
Her: You said nothing was happening! You looked me right in the eye and said it. Those emails weren't 'nothing'. They were.. so graphic!
Him: Oh God...
Her: How long? How long have you and she been...
Him: We haven't!
Her: Don't bullshit me. God! How can you expect me to believe you. All this time you said it was nothing. You said it was NOTHING! ... Do you love her?
Him: Yes...
Her: I think I'm going to be sick...oh shit...how could you do this?? How long have you been LYING to me?
Him: It's been physical for about six weeks.
Her: And before that? All that time I saw it happening. All that time I warned you to be careful. You made me feel STUPID! Like a suspicious STUPID FAT COW!! How could you LIE like that?? I cannot believe this is happening!
Him: I didn't mean this to happen.
Her: But you didn't do anything to STOP it. I could see it happening. You were so fucking transparent! You stupid man. You stupid, stupid man. Do you still love me at all?
Him: Yes. Oh God yes.
Her: You love her and you love me...tell me, what have you been telling her. What does she expect from this? Where does she think you'll both be in 12 months?
Him: She thinks we'll be together.
Her: Together? And where the fuck am I supposed to be?? Do I just DISAPPEAR???
Him: I don't know. I don't know...
Her: So you think you'll be with her in a year too?
Him: I don't know...
Her: You mean you've been lying to BOTH of us?? You've been leading her on? Why should I care... I mean...God... I fucking MET HER!! You took me to parties where she was. Big fucking joke I must have been to all your little acting friends.
Him: She wanted to meet you. She said she would have liked you...
Her: Well I'm not so keen on being friends with your dirty little slut girlfriend!
Him: I didn't think you'd be upset...
Her: How could you say that? What a fucking cop out!! How did you expect me to react? Or was I supposed to just never find out? Did you think all our years together would just mean nothing? Never existed? Easy as that? I deserve better than this bullshit... You made me choose between trusting my instincts and trusting you... and I chose you. Now I can't trust anything. I don't think I can forgive that.
Do you understand what you've done? You've given away 'us'. My memories of us don't exist anymore. Everywhere we had that you've shared with her. Ripped out of my hands. How can I go to those places now? After reading all that. What you said. What you did. Here I am thinking you're exhausted from working all that overtime! You've turned me into a cliché too. Bad enough the 40 year old lusting after the 25 year old. Make yourself into a stupid cliché if you must. But I won't be a part of it!
Him: I'm... I'm so sorry. Do you want me to move out?
Her: Move out? You don't get to move out. How the fuck am I supposed to pay the rent here on my own? I cannot AFFORD IT! I don't know what we should do...
Him: I can't lose you... but I'm infatuated with her. I knew it couldn't last. But I couldn't believe it was happening. I couldn't believe she would want me. And then I couldn't get her out of my head. I couldn't think of anything else. Not you. Not consequences. Nothing.

He ended it with that woman. Six months later she was pregnant and marrying someone else. So much for their undying love.

And four months of marriage counselling left no words unsaid. I knew him, and myself, better than ever before. And I knew that the love that I felt for him was not going to be enough. That woman wasn't the reason we broke up. She was just a nasty symptom. The truth was, and it took the counselling for me to finally see it, that I would never be the most important thing to him. Not the second most important thing. I would have to wait behind his day job, his acting, his family, his friends, and those people he thought could further his ambitions. I hadn't seen it before, but now it was starkly clear. All these people got the best of him, and I wasn't prepared to stand in cue any longer.

There were no 'what ifs' in my mind the day I left our home. And there haven't been any ever since.

Two years on, and we are friends now, as best we can be. Noone knows us better than we know each other, our flaws and our weakness. He is a weak man. A selfish man. I say this with no malice. Just with acceptance. And because of this knowledge and acceptance, I know we will never be together again. For I deserve better.

Method to the Madness

Well this has been an interesting excercise. Trust me, there is method to the madness. Hope the last blog wasn't so miserable that everyone just ran off screaming. Yep, there will be one more The End and then I will be done (possibly) with that story line.

Hang in there. The chirpy Hooch will return.

The Middle

The car pulled up outside the front of a red brick block of flats. Displaced amongst the renovated federation semi-detached and terrace homes that surrounded it, this building always depressed Catherine a little. It was full of people that were, themselves, displaced. She looked down at the package in her lap, gift-wrapped. She and Ian had spent a wonderful day taking self-portraits in their living room, the light from the tall thin window streaming down onto their laughing faces. This photo was taken especially as a gift for his mother. It was Mother’s Day, and it was their second wedding anniversary.

They were taking Ian’s mother out to her favourite restaurant, A seafood restaurant down in San Souci, a bay in south Sydney. He had taken his mother to this restaurant for years. Catherine was pleased, as she adored seafood and rarely got to eat it; Ian despised its taste. It almost appeased her, seeing as she would be spending the entire day with his mother, Mrs Clarke. Mrs Clarke was how Catherine referred to Ian’s mother. She could not bring herself to be any more intimate than that.

Secretly, she did not like Mrs Clarke. Now old and pathetic, this woman had dragged her youngest child, her teenage son, into pubs so he could act as her drinking partner and help her stagger home. The boy was 14 and struggling. His older sister was a junkie. His older brothers were alcoholics. And Mrs Clarke saw none of it. To this day, in spite of the fact the sister had dragged herself away from drugs and become a rehabilitation counsellor, and the older sons were bitter and shrivelled and never called her, Mrs Clarke still denied that any of her children had problems. Catherine had once caught her sneaking sips of beer to her toddler grandchild… the child of two former drug addicts who were raising their child with so much care to not expose him to alcohol and cigarettes, with a healthy diet. In a beautiful home in the mountains. Catherine had once had a dream: a child of her own, tucked up asleep, rosy cheeked and beautiful… and then the image of Mrs Clarke, booze in one hand, cigarette in the other, leaning over the crib and ashing on the baby’s head.

Catherine had not shared her feelings about Mrs Clarke with her husband. He had overcome enough demons of his own.

She looked at him as they walked down the corridor, still hand in hand after all this time. A stolen glance at his sharp profile; dark hair, prominent brow, and the softest, most beautiful green eyes. He wasn’t the most handsome man she had ever known, but he was the only one that had ever made her feel ‘home’. With him, she was a better person.

They knocked at the door to the small flat, and after a moment, heard a low voice telling them to come in. Inside was Mrs Clarke, still dressed in her pyjamas, and obviously not ready to go. A flash of anger went through Catherine. This was so typical of this woman. Catherine forced herself to smiled as she said hello.

Actually, Mrs Clarke didn’t look well. She was slurring her words and sleepy. Ian convinced her to lie down for a while. Suddenly she was nauseous, and Catherine helped her to the bathroom and rubbed her back while she vomited. They stood like that for a while, and then Mrs Clarke said she needed to use the toilet. She was too unwell, so Catherine helped her take her pants down and sat her on the toilet. By now Catherine was really concerned. Ian was beginning to panic as well.

Catherine went into the corridor, to the public phone, and shakily dialled 000. She’d never had to do anything like this before. When they answered and put her through to the ambulance, she realised she didn’t even know the address. A neighbour snatched the phone out of her hands and began talking to the operator. Catherine wandered back into the room, reassuring both Mrs Clarke and Ian that the ambulance was on the way. It seemed surreal.

For the next three months Ian spent every night beside his mother’s hospital bed. She had experienced something that was described as a slow bleed at the base of her skull. It was unknown if she would recover. Every night Catherine would come home to an empty apartment. She and the cat would have dinner and then snuggle up on the lounge. And then she would go to bed. Ian would come in at midnight, 1am, 2am, sometimes not at all. And when he did come home, he would crawl into bed and sleep. He was exhausted, so Catherine did everything to keep his life simple. She looked after all the decisions, the bills, the shopping, and she knew not to expect him to respond to her physically, so she didn’t try to initiate sex at all. She was there when he wanted to talk. But he rarely did. He would occasionally hold her and cry, but more often he would simply slip into the cold sheets of the bed beside her, and turn away to fall asleep.

The day Ian came home and said they were transferring Mrs Clarke to Palliative Care, Catherine knew that the old woman was going to die. Soon. But she couldn’t say anything to Ian. He still hoped for the best. He was still trying to save his mother, still the teenage boy holding her up as she staggered.

But she did die. And he would be expected by his siblings to arrange the funeral, to arrange paying the bills, to arrange notifying his brothers that he hadn’t spoken to in 20 years. And Ian was the one they blamed. Because he was there, and they weren’t.

On the day of the funeral, Ian placed the photo that they had planned to give to Mrs Clarke that Mother’s Day, into her coffin. A photo of Ian and Catherine, full of light, laughter, and love.

After the funeral, Catherine and Ian would look across the table at each other. They would learn to laugh again, to talk, and they never stopped loving each other. They would hold each other in bed, quietly, talking about their respective days.

But there a distance between them now. They had each withdrawn into themselves to deal with the pain, and Catherine couldn’t find a way back again. In trying to protect him from the world, she had taken herself outside of his. In feeling guilty for the way she felt about his mother, she had locked away that part of herself so he would never see it.

To the outside world they were still a perfectly matched couple. But in quiet moments, Catherine wondered if they would ever capture the moment of that photograph again.

The beginning

A drunken comment at a farewell party, conversation that lasted the whole night and the following morning. Queasy from a hangover, but overwhelmed by the feeling that this was… special. Sleep in a spare bed, ever the gentleman.

A month passes, intense and without breathe. Skin and thoughts and fears are uncovered. Furniture is moved, and addresses changed, and a life together is planned; tentative, but with unspoken hope.

A holiday, the first, is to a small coastal town. It is winter and grey waves crash on beaches that only a few months before heaved with the sweat and shine and coconut slick of bikini clad bakers, naked before their god. But now, the cold hard sand spreads before the couple, embraced in their snug woollen love. Empty restaurants are candle-glow-flicker-warm, reflecting their faces and half-eaten meals. Hand in hand, lips to lips, they walk to the bridge and stare down at the fish fighting for their escape in the current, flowing over the tidal-submerged sand-bank.

Walking along the main street, past a dress shop, and a glance through the window. Inside, the bride is dressed in a traditional white dress, bridesmaids, barefoot and bra-strapped, surround her. The girl closest has her back to the window, exposing large floral cottontails through the unzipped dress. Completely unconscious of the conspiratorial smiles between passers-by.

Her: I’d never have a dress like that, if I were to get married. I mean, I wouldn’t be anyway. Getting married. But if I were, I’d rather wear something understated and not ‘wedding-y’ like that dress there.

Him: There’s a registry around the corner.

Her: A what?

Him: A marriage registry. Around the corner. I saw it earlier. We could…

Nervous laughter.

Her: Yeah, right. Funny lad. Ummm. Ohhhh. You were serious?

Him: A smile and a shrug.

Her: …oh. Ummm, not yet. Not never. But not yet. Is that ok?

Him: That’s ok.

He takes her hand as they walk on.

Aren't I pretty? ummmmmmm

Oh my god... I don't know if I'm horrified or cacking myself laughing!

Thanks MomLady for this. I think.


You're a Garbage Pail Kid!! You're dirty, foul,
disgusting, and wrong. But you're still funny
as hell.


What childhood toy from the 80s are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Not Even Black

On Friday night I had a huge treat planned. I had arranged to go out with a woman I used to work with. As well, she'd invited along her best friend, the best friend's sister, and the best friend's flatmate, to a little Jazz place in town. A cheap meal and band. Plus cheap booze. Sounded great to me!! I'm no longer a social-gathering-goer-outer, so this was a rare enough occurance that I had looked forward to it all week. I adore my friend. She is open and caring and spontaneous and we laugh until tears don't just roll, but stream down my face.

So the group of us went along to this little basement room; down the stairs we trundled, and before us were long trellis tables, with a bar at one end , the kitchen at the other, and the band prominently positioned roughly in the centre of the length of the room, along the wall. It was a two course meal deal. Not expensive at all. But potentially lots and lots of fun. We were seated in a good spot, and the band was fantastic! Probably in their early 20s, and although I'm not knowledgeable about jazz, I do know muso's, and these guys were tight. Really, really good players. And the singer's voice was like something warm and sweet effortlessly gliding through the air. Close your eyes and your ears thought they were in heaven. Beautiful.

Unfortunately... yes, you all knew there was an unfortunately... my friend's friends that came along were not so gracious. *insert whining voice* The music is too loud. It's too crowded. The cake isn't nice enough. And I will admit that as this whining increased, so too did my alcohol intake. I was still determined to have a good time!

Well, we left not long after 9pm. On a Friday night.

As some sort of apology for walking out of the room halfway through the band's set, I bought a copy of their CD that they sold at the door. I've played it a few times now, and still think they are really good players.

It seems we had to walk one of 'the friends' back to her work's carpark, and then we were driven to another car park for the other cars. As we were walking along I realised I was in the company of an unfortunate type of person -- the kind that has to denigrate others to boost up themselves. Every fault they could imagine about the evening was tossed around in that echoing concrete buttressed car park. And the laughing was beginning to sound like cackling to my wine-sodden ears. The absolute corker for me, though, came when one said... "Why was I paying money to see white uni students play. They weren't even black!"

Who were these people? What planet did they come from? Pretty, blonde, 25, middle-classed, and not an idea between them. Honestly, I just don't have people like this in my life, so the whole attitude to... well... everything! was a shock. I don't regard myself as the world's most positive person, but for fuck's sake girls, get a grip! If the worst thing in your day is the fact that you were disappointed with your chocolate cake, then I'd say it's be a pretty fucking good day! Mental note: Remind myself to not go out with the girls who aspire to be a "Jessica Simpson crossed with the Heathers".

Anyway, fear not -- my evening was not a complete waste.

As I was being driven home (I was told there was no way I was catching the train) I insisted they pull over as we passed my local Blues pub. I got out (amid much protesting that it looked too dangerous). And off they drove.

I had a fantastic time in that small crowd. The two guys playing were brothers who had once been a part of a top rock band in Australia during the 1980s (the Brewster Brothers from The Angels, for anyone out there that may recall their heyday). They played with just an acoustic guitar, an electric guitar, and the occassional harmonica thrown in. Smoky. Smelly. Dark. The patrons looked a little rough around the edges. And they cheered and clapped for every song. And I felt right at home.

I'll be going back to that little jazz place in town some time, but rest assured, it will not be with that same group of women. Ever. Life's simply too short.

Tarot

I recently had my tarot done. Not that I particularly believe in such things, but I had glanced at the sign advertising the readings each time I'd been out enjoying a coffee in LIttle Italy, and so decided, Why Not. It's cheaper than a session with a therapist!

I walked in and was asked to sit opposite a man who was probably in his early 30s. Tall, dark, handsome in a slighty effeminte way, with incredibly pale green eyes. Enigmatic but also slightly disturbing... something about him makes me think about the word 'clammy'.

I sat down and he asked me to pull 12 cards from the deck. It wasn't pure tarot, but a mix of egyptian cards and palmistry. He didn't ask me any questions, and we didn't speak. He simply sat there and wrote.

So... here's what he had to say:

Mother goddess instincts seem to be strong in you at the moment. Perhaps looking after the self, helping and healing self MIND [his capitalisation] body and soul. May also be focussing on food or nourishment ISSUES. The only draw back to this energy is that you may find it difficult to let go of past hurts and sadness, and being stubborn or stuck in your ways.

Hard working and very hands on about making money. Not afraid to put effort and energy into it. Also you may have inventive or creative ways of making money, i.e. out of your own creative ideas and talents.

House/home seems unsettled, vague, drifting and a bit wishy washy. May feel ungrounded and inbetween phases/places. A move seems to come up. Unsettling.

Work has a breaking free energy. May want to move on, break out. Be more independent and not putting up with people or thngs that limit or block. You must be careful of being rebellious or difficult in the process. Work seems scattered. Chaotic.

Love relationships have a slight sacrificed energy to it. Wounded. Perhaps feeling hurt. missing. longing. loss.

Spiritual growth is indicated, a lot of learning and being more intue with what you believe on a spiritual level, a soul level.

Writing idea/creativity is good. Talented.

A lot of clearing and cleansing of past. Letting go. Try not to block yourself by hanging on, especially to illusion or fantasy. You seem to be drifting backward and forward.

Travel and learning/study looks positive if done in a very independent and in charge way. You will not allow yourself to be controlled or dominated by others in this area.

Work direction very choppy, chaotic, unsettled, interesting, inventive, unpredictable. Free. Energy about it - it's not a time for feeling stable and settled. Ideas and opportunity for branching out.

Love Tarot

Card 1. Self = Queen of Rods
Card 2. World = successful, generally happy, coming full circle, completion
Card 3. Mother Goddess = Emperess (refers me back to the first paragraph of his reading)
Card 4. Male Partner = The Ex
Card 5. Transformation, letting go, clearing out, spring cleaning
Card 6. New beginnings, fresh start
Card 7. Devil = Stuck, blocked, fear.


How accurate was he? Well I'd say not bad at all. Yes my life is chaotic, and yes I have been hurt. Of course, there probably aren't many people out there that wouldn't qualify for that statement. Ultimately, it was just for a bit of fun and to put myself 'out there' a bit, open myself up for some ideas about me and my direction, from someone who doesn't have anything invested in me, in my friends or in my family.

Busy Brain

Too much stuff running around my head today for me to focus on any one subject.

Still waiting for elusive cheques, ahhh the life of freelancing.

Had a great bout of road rage the other night. Hope I blinded the stupid bitch, after she cut me off (the first time I let it go with a shrug, the second time she did it to someone right in front of me, and the third time she changed lanes for absolutely no reason, right on top of me, without checking her mirrors or headchecking... I know because I was watching, because I was expecting... trust me, she checked her mirrors when I high beamed the fuck out of them! sorry... I'm normally a very calm person).

Ummmmm surrounded by people falling in love, which should make me happy that they're happy, but just reminds me of my long term singleness. Also surrounded by people going through really messy break ups, which makes me almost apologise that my marriage split up was so civilised, but also reminds me of why perhaps my long term singlenicity isn't such a bad thing.

And I've been spending so much time reading other people's blogs I haven't been getting my head around anything coherent to say in my own. Thank god there are so many good writers out there! I promise I will have had an attitude adjustment before my next blog.

Till next time.