Notebook piecemeal

I’m still feeling like the proverbial bitch in heat, so perhaps we should just skip over that to thoughts a little less base.

(I am rather disappointed that even my good mate Rex has now been sullied by one of those Hilton types. Blerk.)

There’s no order to this, no pattern, just bits taken verbatim from the notebooks I carry about.

Observation #1
Placing the familiar tip into her mouth, favouring the right side of her lips to control the angle of the projecting cigarette as she uses both hands to light it; one hand sparking the lighter with a thumb, the other protecting the flame from possible breezes. She leans a little into the flame and draws back, the smoke filling her now well-practiced lungs.

Tap, tap, tap, the spent ash is tipped off the end; something to do with her hands as her mind wanders. A satisfying sharp exhale and the cycle repeats, the cigarette shrinking, until just the stub is left, flattened on the tiled floor.

Unmentionables #1
The words aren’t going to stop. My head swells with them. My tongue remains still.

How I wish I could touch you, a hand on the arm would suffice, except it wouldn’t, and the motivation would be suspect.

How I wish I was the younger thinner me, but still, you’d be desirable. And I, I would be the untouchable.

Observation #2
Mother and daughter side by side, seated on the grass in the crowded park. The young girl, about six, eats her sandwich and watches with interest the office workers walking about looking for a spot to eat their lunch. The mother, chubby, middleaged, stares at the lawn in front of her outstretched legs. Her face is a blank, her chews are slow and automatic. She has disappeared into her own place for a few peaceful moments, having conversations, experiences, that we can only guess at. Absentmindedly, she slowly waves away the congregating flies from her lunch, until her daughter speaks to her and she literally snaps back into the present, her face animated, her focus fully on her child.

But where had she been?

Unspoken Conversations #1
It’s going to get ugly, Father. There will be sadness. Perhaps. Certainly for me. And you might believe this is fuelled by anger, by malice, but trust me, there is nothing so hot running in my emotions, in my blood.

I am cold. I am hard. This you could well accuse of me, but it would just demonstrate, yet again, tragically again and again, how little you know me. If I appear cold and hard, well, they were just illusions I learnt to help protect me from your thoughtlessness. And that word could not be more accurate when it comes to you… the lack of thought you gave us. You say you have changed, that the past should be forgotten and we should move on.

The ‘me’ of a decade ago would have complied, would have quashed down even further any sense of anger; anything to ensure something, something from you. You made us scramble for any snippet of attention. If I could hate you, I would hate you for that. For the fact that the way you made us feel unlovable has made it near impossible to believe someone could ever see something worthwhile in us. You say to forget the past. I say I cannot when I am reminded every day of how hard I struggle against believing I am worthless.

I may have done my best to settle the demons that thinking about you stir, but I see the raw emotion that overwhelms my sister, my little sister, and that fury to protect her rises up again. She still hopes, where I have given up. She still wants something from you that I honestly don’t believe you are capable of comprehending, let alone feeling.

You might think you did your best, but I doubt, deep down, that you believe that. You walked the easy road, the road of least effort; a chameleon in life, you morph yourself into whatever you think the woman in your life wants you to be. What a shame you never bothered to walk bravely and be honest with the girls who would grow into women without you ever making an effort to know them.

If I was ever to ask anything of you, and I won’t because I know it is pointless, but how I wish you could have lived your life bravely, facing up to the consequences of your actions. Rather than leaving your daughters believing there was a chance of love from you, when there was no hope.

Post Conversation Thoughts #1
Had an interesting conversation online regarding changing one's self, or at least, one’s habits, to meet new people and make new friendships. But is that alone going to be enough? I find that, regardless how many people are around me, I withdraw. The only way I ever seem to become acquainted with people is through a work environment, and even then it has to be forced upon me and can take six months for me to even get to the point of an informal chat.

Most people aren’t going to wait around six months to see if I’m worth getting to know or not.

Was I always like this? Not really. Although never hugely outgoing (or not since starting school, I was a gregarious toddler, I’m told), I certainly had a circle of friends and a social life. I seem to have really started to withdraw after I married. It must have been difficult for him to deal with –- I would become more and more afraid to meet new people and do things, so I sent him out alone. The end result isn’t really hard to see coming.

In fact, I did the same thing with Anthony, my first (only other) serious boyfriend. What is it about me that seems to self-smother in that situation, that loses all sense of self worth in a relationship? How awful must it be for them to start off with someone they think of as special and to end up with a lump who can’t leave the house, let alone meet people, without a panic attack. What the hell causes this?

And is it going to happen all over again should I ever, miracle of miracles, start seeing someone again?

Unmentionables #2
I spent the week working at a studio where I once spent a lot of time. I worked at the desk of a young man who I don’t know particularly well, not beyond a hello, but who I am very attracted to, on a purely physical basis. He is beautiful, and has a lovely laid back self-confidence without the ego that you might expect from someone so visually striking.

So I spent the week at his desk, working on his computer, a week desperately resisting the urge to open that drawer, to open that file, to take a peek, to learn something secret, to steal a little piece of his privacy and bundle it away as my own. My own little piece of him. My hand would hover the cursor over his private folder… just a quick sequence of clicks away could be any manner of treasure. And in that drawer, who knows what might have been forgotten up at the back in his hurry to pack for his trip away.

But I resisted. My desire was countered by my respect for his privacy. It was a close call though.

Must be that time of month.

I'm sure that if I was to look back over my writing I would find a cycle. Of course, I'm too lazy to actually do that, but never let that hold me back from running with a well honed assumption.

Again I am overwhelmed (overwhelmed, underwhelmed... what about just a whelm?) with what probably amounts to nothing more than a biological imperative that makes me want to have sex sex sex. It catches me while I'm standing in a queue, when I'm sitting doing my work, when I'm riding home on the train. Matter'a'fact, I could do with one right now...

And let's not beat about the bush (although that may be my only option). We are not talking about flowers in the hair, walking hand in hand, romantic dinner "making love". The images that fill me head are purely sweaty, pounding, dirty fucking. Nothing delicate about how I'm feeling today.

Guess all any of us can do is hang on until the ride is over.

My first non-car-owning week, and it feels just the same as it did before really.

I had a very quiet week... only worked 2 days, which was nice. It gave me a few days to sort out things with the car and to just chill a bit. Between working and family stuff, I hadn't really had a day to myself for quite a few weeks, so I enjoyed just hanging. Another mess up with our cheques so we freelancers weren't paid, which put a crimp in a few plans, but no point stressing. I've just juggled things to happen later.

The weekend was equally quiet. I took my sister out to dinner on Friday night, to celebrate her good news, workwise. And afterwards we went and watched a variety of local artists perform in an Elliott Smith tribute, which I particularly enjoyed, as I love his music.

Saturday I did my usual walk to the guitar shop for my lesson. It takes me about half an hour... 25 minutes, but I walk pretty slowly. I'm sure once my fitness improves so will the time. It was warm and humid on Saturday so I was rather flushed and sweaty when I walked in... lucky I know I don't have a chance with Cute Music Shop Man (CMSM) otherwise I'd worry that I wasn't making a good impression. But as I don't have a chance, impressions don't really matter I guess. And before anyone out there argues that I'm putting myself down and hey I might have a shot -- I've seen the way his eyes light up when the pretty girls come in to put up their band posters in the shop windows. His eyes certainly don't do that when I walk in. But he is very nice and chatty, and it is nice to talk to someone who is happy to talk about things beyond the superficial. Of course, that just makes him more attractive in my eyes. Enough blathering about CMSM.

I didn't get a chance to chat with CMSM on Saturday anyway, as just as I was finishing my lesson, and thinking about stopping for a bit, he said "hey, your friend just walked in". My friend? My ex. Who had met me in the shop the week before so we could have lunch and a catch up. Bugger. I mean, nice to see him, but not the impression I want to give, that the ex is always hanging around. Because he isn't. He was there to show his mate a guitar he is keen on. He'd completely forgotten I'd be there at around the same time.

It was odd meeting this friend too. They've known each other for years. They met when they acted together. But this was the time the ex was having the affair, so all his friends from that particular time in his life, from that play, all would think of him and her as the couple. I made a point of never meeting those friends because I already felt humiliated about what had happened, let alone meeting all these people who envied M. because he'd managed to snag this beautiful woman, tall, fair, long dark hair, and eyes that hinted at her Chinese grandmother. She really was stunning. I know, I got to watch them act together on stage, knowing full well what was going on between them. Yep, sucker for punishment or what.

But annnnnnyway, that's all in the past, and M. and I can joke now about being the evil Ex's and whatnot, which might seem in bad taste to others but rather amuses us. And this friend seemed nice enough for the 20 minutes or so we walked about and chatted. And then I took myself off to lunch and spent the afternoon people-watching and listening to the new Tex Don and Charlie CD. Mmmmm Tex's voice really does do it for me.

And today I practiced guitar on the steel string until my fingers threatened rebellion and then my sister came over and we did our grocery shopping. Not too exciting. At one point during the afternoon, while I was waiting for the washing machine to finish its spin cycle, I lay down in the backyard and looked up at the sky, through the leaves of the big old gum that's in the corner of my yard. Birds were hopping about feeding and fluttering from branch to branch, working out pecking orders it seemed. And the breeze teased the leaves, the branches creaked, the sky was an intense blue almost creating a silhouette, the grass smelt clean under the blanket, and I couldn't think of single place I would rather have been in that very moment. And then the desire to roll over and casually rest my arm across the stomach of a smiling caring man was palpable.

But instead I got up and hung out my laundry.

What huddles closer than a family deserted? What binds more closely than a common rejection?
Maybe not at first.
At first it was the ricocheting of atoms suddenly loosed of their ties; hot and dangerous we bounced off each other, turning on each other our hurt, our anger, lashing out, drawing emotional blood to dull the coarse tears that burned inwardly.
But in our adulthood we have found that our blood is common, our hurt is common, our laughter is common, and our anger is common. We are family. We are bonded. We are for each other what noone else is for us. We share far more than we might have ever believed, and our differences simply add colour to our views of the world.
And once a family rebonds after a trauma that has changed them so fundamentally… how can they open their hearts to embrace the very thing that tore away their childhood moorings in the first place?
Maybe some can. But I cannot.

deja vu?

I could simply copy and paste the last post. Not quite so tired, but still so very busy that I'm not doing much else with myself than working (and spending... gone on a little shoe frenzy).

Car news... I shall shortly have no car.

I have made the decision. The car goes.

It was going to cost me a small fortune to get all the bits and pieces needed for rego... I thought about it, and once I added in fuel and insurance... well, over $100 a week just for the luxury of having a car parked out the front didn't make much sense.

I've been thinking of ways I can improve my fitness in my day to day life, and this seems like a sensible first step (excuse the pun). Walking. I'm in the middle of great public transport. I can borrow my sister's car, or hire one, if I need. So... the car goes. And it feels so liberating!

The car was bought when I was still married. My biological clock ticked for about a fortnight... just enough time to buy a replacement for the car the then-husband wrote off. So the car was bought with the idea of putting a family in it. Unfortunately the tick tick slowed, and stopped, but the car was to stay. That car lived through a lot. An accident (fortunately then-husband wasn't hurt). The monotony of driving him to and from work. Wonderful scenic driving holidays down the south coast. Silences as then-husband grudgingly picked me up from the station. Intimate whispers as he stole off with his girlfriend to perform who knows what in the back seat. Raised voices and sobbing tears as it drove us to Brisbane. A quiet assuredness as it drove me back home, alone.

But I rarely drive it these days... to my guitar lesson because I'm lazy, and to the shops, but neither trip warrants a car. It it time for us to part company.

I feel the potential of a whole new chapter before me.

Fuck I'm tired.

Not long home from work, a day spent not moving from in front of the computer. Oh, one toilet break and two trips to make coffee. Lunch? Nup. Dinner? Nup. At least my headphones worked today. (Yesterday had the potential to be known as the Pyrmont-Massacre... I need my music for basic sanity.)

So I've staggered home, thrown something decidely unappetising down my gullet, painfully, as my right tonsil has decided to go beserk, creating a charmingly painful ear-ache over the last 2 days. Noice. Oh, and my right ankle (the one full of metal) has decided to protest its lack of movement during the day by puffing up to look like one of those disgusting 1960s elephant foot umbrella stands. Mmmmmm. Attractive.

Actually,. for all the whinging, I'm feeling pretty good. Tired, which is a nice change for me at this hour.

Car goes in for a major service and pink slip tomorrow. Fingers crossed it won't be horrendously expensive. (The fact that I have to cross my fingers means I'm going to pay through the nose.) But if it isn't too expensive, I shall be buying myself and my sister tickets to 2006's Big Day Out. I missed out on tickets this year. And it sounds like a great line up. The White Stripes, Iggi Pop, and my idea of aural sex, Kings of Leon. Woohoo. That dirty southern guitar sound goes straight to my hips... in the best of ways.

a dig in the ribs

I was standing in a queue at the supermarket the other day. I quite enjoy supermarkets. Something about them tend to make me a little silly. It's like an overcompensation for the potential shittiness I could develop being in a place full of people who seemingly have no fucking idea WHAT they are there for... but I digress.

I was standing in the queue, with a small basket of things for the checkout. Ahead of me was a man, probably in his early 40s, trim, with quite a nice bottom. That was what I noticed first. A good bum in jeans. His hair was salt&pepper grey but his skin was tanned and smooth. He was perhaps a little too cleanly shaven for my tastes... not a hair out of place. But still, attractive. I glanced down at the shopping he was unpacking for the checkout-chap. Deoderant. Rollon. Cottonbuds. He was obviously very keen on personal hygiene. There were a few other odds and ends. I got the distinct impression he was planning a night out. He had a certain fragility about him that I can't name, but on seeing his groceries I would guarantee he was separated.

And then I saw the clincher. A large box of condoms. Of the "for her pleasure" ribbed ribbed and more ribbed variety.

My stomach clenched. It flipped. I felt the familiar sensation. A giggle. It was flipping about like a landed fish, threatening to break free. I bit my lip, hard, and looked at the magazine rack.

There was nothing funny to be laughing at, but something about the vulnerability of this man and the hope and anticipation all wrapped up in crimson packaging with a smooth plastic seal caught me off guard.

The repressed giggle threatened to push past my diaphram (yeah yeah inopportune choice of words) and into my windpipe. It was beginning to feel like more than a giggle. It threatened to be a guffaw.

Now, I am all in favour of people buying condoms. The more, the merrier. I recall with great fondness my first condom buying shopping trip post-marriage breakup. It was a rite of passage. (The fact that most are slowly decaying in a bottom drawer shall not be mentioned.)

I don't know what it was that made me revert to a teenager, but it was irrepressable. I bit my lip 'til I thought it would bleed, and still the corners of my mouth twitched, threatening to betray the immature *nudge nudge wink wink say no more*.

The moment he packed away his things and I could move down to pay for my items was a huge relief, although I probably frightened the checkout guy with the huge "Joker-esque" grin that finally had broken free on my face.

Of course, the joke's on me. He got laid. I just got the giggles.

Technology is amazing. Until it doesn't work. And then it's shit. This week, it has been shit. Internet up and down like a groom's draws (I thought that was a reasonable equivalent to the bride's nightie). And an ISP who shrug their shoulders and say "Idunno". Thanks mate.

So... I might be posting soon... or I might not. At the very least I shall upgrade my modem to one the techheads approve of. They change a setting and I have to buy new hardware. Again, thanks mate.

But I'm not complaining. It's a long weekend. Any thing's possibile. Woohoo!