How's this for logic. For pretty much years I'm on my own and pretty ok about it. The occassional bout of skin hunger, but nothing dramatic. As soon as there's a prospect of actually going on a date of some description, I get all soppy eyed and lonely and feel like I'm gonna be alone for the rest of my life. What's with that? I sorta understand why men get so frustrated with the contrariness of women, because I'm rather confused myself.

Someone (an Australian, that much I know) fell over my blog while doing a search for "SEX PODDY COWS".

Please tell me that was an animal husbandry question. About farming.

Please??...

Introduction to an as yet undetermined story line

Jessie opened the envelope and a jumble of photographs tumbled out. Square images from a box brownie, black and white. A white-blonde head stood out in all the images, staring seriously at her. From the sandpit. From the blanket spread on the lawn. From the unfathomably high back of a thoroughbred horse. The same small face. The same hint of a frown.

That same frown was on Jessie's face as she turned over the envelope, trying to guess at who might have sent it. Any hints from the handwriting. It all seemed unfamiliar.

A photo drifted to the table top. Smaller than the others, it had been caught behind the photo she was holding. All the others were familiar, like old memories, forgotten, and now suddenly sharply brought back. From an old long-lost family album. A lifetime ago.

This small photo caught her by surprise though. It was in a small white card frame, oval, with small blue and pink flowers softly printed around the edge. A new born baby slept in the frame, a small fist curled up by the face. No hair, the skin was smooth and fair. The child's mouth was slightly pursed, as though pondering a question that didn't yet have an answer. However, it was the nose that was most recognisable. Unlike the snub noses that you would expect of a newborn, this nose seemed mature and formed. It gave the child's face a sense of agelessness. Jessie unconsciously lifted her fingertips to her own nose. There was no mistaking it. But who had held on to this photo, one she never even knew existed, for the past 35 years?

Jessie knew the story of her birth. She was her parent's first child. Born in the Mater Miseracordiae, when the nuns still had draconian rule, her father waited outside in the car park while her mother was ushered onto a trolley bed and wheeled into a corridor to wait for a room. As a nurse, her mother had no misconceptions of the realities of childbirth, but nothing prepared her for the lack of control, and the fear.

Left on her own in a corridor, Jessie's mother held on, willing a stop to the labour that had progressed far more quickly than the nuns had anticipated. The subsequent birth was difficult; forceps and stitches, and a lingering sense of betrayal that hardened her mother's mouth.
But as Jessie looked down on the tiny photo of herself, she saw no trace of the trauma she had gone through to make it into the world.

All she saw was perfection.

I thought I had some of my issues done and dusted... only to have them come and bite me on the arse yesterday.

Isn't it great when that happens.

What's that pain in my butt. Oh look, it's an issue. Now how did that get out here. I'm sure I hid it in the back of my wardrobe somewhere.

*Puts on my best Crocodile Hunter voice* Crikey. He's a big one. We'll have to be pretty careful to not let him too close. Awwwwwww Crikey. He's bit me on the arse!!

My father's in town. Like the circus. Full of bright lights and glitz and promise. But all too soon, it's just another wasteland, with rubbish and muddy tyre marks as the only evidence he was around.

I think I'll skip the circus this time around. I've seen all the acts before.

Bits and Bobs

Hmmm. Was stuck in bed for all the wrong reasons for the last few days or so. Migraine. Bastard things. Crawled out Sunday but still a little fuzzy. Not that this was a bad one. The nausea knocked me around more than the actual headache. Only counting on one hand the number of times I wanted to snap my own neck this time around. I'm pretty lucky though... I rarely get them these days. In fact, it has probably been a couple of years since I had one that actually timed itself so I missed a day of work.

It took me a little while to figure out why, while I was head down on the couch, there seemed to be hordes of children running around the streets, when normally scarcely a footstep is heard from the little dears (God forbid they should set aside the X Box or Nintendo or whatever the latest game fad is, and play in the open air!). Unless the pay-off is sweets. I don't know when we Australians began to take part in the Halloween celebration, but there were little family groups wandering the streets dressed in their witches outfits. It did seem very odd. And sort of pathetic.

Normally I wouldn't even think about Halloween, but this year I have to say that 31 October has some significance.

Firstly, it is the last day for our Tax Returns. Yep, mine will be late. I could go to an agent, but this is my tenacious (read "stubborn") side coming through. I will do the bloody thing myself. Normally it’s a breeze, but due to the freelancing this year, it is a little more complicated. Ah well.

The other significance is that a year ago on Halloween’s, my cat Billie was hit by a car and killed. He was my special connection, a clown and a comforter. And occasionally an assassin – I still have scars from his impromptu attacks on my arms. We adopted him when we were first married, and he was a constant for me throughout many difficult times. Even with a house full of wonderful cats, I still miss him. He is buried in the yard, where it is cool and shady. With lots of plants to peer through. As we called him then, the Grey Ghost.

Suppose I had better get on. Serious matters at hand, such as just how many Schedules am I going to have to fill in to go with my Tax Return this year. Seem to have been downloading them for hours. Blerk. Mutter mutter mutter