hand games and handmades

so walking down Elizabeth today, so many things made my stomach turn ..things I always pass in the city and sometimes cringe at but have never been THAT bothered by. But it's becoming increasingly disturbing. The...the...priorities. Melbourne is lovely, it's alleys and bars and cafes and shops. It is. But it's also filled with SO much hollow consumerism, so much moneymaking and clone-becoming. Every billboard was hideous. Every conversation I overheard , empty rattle. Every shop fraught with low ploys to take your money. Every shoulder crashing into the next shoulder and not apologising. Everything made by machines and the only patches of grass completely covered in Subway-eating penguin-suiters desperate to relax. I can't explain it... but my beautiful CBD, the place I always felt so at home in, all of a sudden felt like a stranger, who was waiting to steal your wallet even though he had piles of money already. Or..not even that, because the problem was more that it was too familiar, so perhaps just someone you know and dislike because everything they say is calculated and selfish, and because you've heard their spiels so many times before and can predict the ending two words in.
Thus, re: hand games, my opinion is becoming a bit like scissors/ paper / rock. City beats (the hell out of) suburbs, but wilderness/country/anything REAL beats city. Or maybe just parts of the city. I don't know.

And as for handmades, Douglas and Hope store slayed me today, with it's tempting window display but the lack of person behind desk. If all the shops in the city were like that, filled with things the creator loved rather than things they thought would sell best, things that varied from shop to shop and things that.. or... no i don't know. Off my high horse now and onto a pile of exam papers.

like sands through the hour glass..

So in the flurry that was cleaning up and moving house, I found an old diary. I had many. My diary keeping went on for years. And most of those I never lost and have reread to my amusement a hundred times. But this one somehow fell by the wayside and instead of doing homework just now, which I did genuinely mean to do but was a struggle because am feeling physically flat as a tack, I read it cover to cover after a pensive day of virtually complete solitude. Interesting times.

It is truly bizarre...what time does. What stays with us and what doesn't. The fleeting things I mentioned thinking in Two Thousand And One that turned out to be my cornerstones of belief now, and the things I thought I'd go to the ends of the earth for then that I shudder at now. Odd. Plus there's lots to be said for the whole documenting memories thing, even when you think at the time it's so important that you'll remember... you so rarely do. Ninety percent of this diary I had no recollection of writing or of the events occurring until I read about them and it came flooding back. And then there's the perspective. The adult perspective that points out that things you thought you deserved, said by certain spoilt private school bratty boys, weren't actually your fault and the boys were jerks. Such things were clearly agonised over for weeks, pulled apart, 'why would they think that? argh.' .. such wasted time. Who cares what they think, Years-Ago-Theresa? The perspective that points out that the 'perfect' boy you 'loved' was only perfect in the sense that he reminded you of the main characters from the books and movies you were flooded with at the time, blonde, buff, popular...and boring. Looking back on it now, he really was. And having stayed in touch..I've seen his life turn out exactly how I knew it would and become a life I very briefly thought I wanted but quickly realised I didn't. 

The entry about having met the random boy who became The Long Term Relationship of six plus years cracked me up because it was so insignificant. "We're going to be amazing friends. He's incredible." was all I'd written before moving on to more important things. 

So much of this diary, unlike the ones before it and the ones that followed, really does revolve around boys, as I wandered into the world where 'early nights' were two am and I drank too much and listened to Creed

Thankfully my music tastes changed. As did my taste in the lads. The quiet, slightly strange, smart boy who sported soft cardigans and who made ridiculously large romantic gestures towards me while I was busy blindly following Blondie , was determinedly pushed into the Friend category against his will for the entire thing, and it's only in hindsight that I know in a sequel years down the track after being close friends, logic clicked inside me and things crossed over, but he had a girlfriend. THAT I remember. And then remember him leaving her. And things becoming messy. And had I heard from some futuristic robot , back in the diary days, that out of all those people he was the one I would let things get messy for, I wouldn't have believed it. 

There is the friend I thought I would never lose, and did. To a cult. There is the friend who became gay, and my description of things that now seem obvious hints but at the time I clearly failed to register.

And then there are the things that didn't change. My thoughts on books, on the world, all so similar to now. I wonder what I'll think looking back on current diaries? Will I laugh at what I thought now? Probably. Because there's definitely room to get wiser. 

Should I be lonely..?

Because I'm not. My only qualm about living solo is that it doesn't bother me much. That bothers me.

Sure, there are moments where I want to be curled up next to Damir at night, but I suspect that reflects missing him not missing company. And there are moments where company would be benificial, it's true, but they don't outnumber the glad seconds where I'm alone.  I've lived alone before, and I hated it. I liked the fact that nobody critisized what I did, but I hated the rest of it . Perhaps that's age for you? I don't know. I can't even explain what I like about it. How is it so appealing to go for twenty four hours now and then without hearing your own voice once? I have a suspicion it's the thoughts. I've missed my thoughts, in months gone by. They've been pushed out by conversations and uni and more often than not, fear. But now that the fear is fading, my own thoughts are setting up camp and living alone gives them room to build a whole damn city. 

Perhaps that's not good. I'm not saying it is. But it's interesting. I'm less bored alone than I am with other people, half the time. Alone I get to read what I want , google strange things, lie on my bed thinking, stare out the window doing nothing, create meals and build a sanctuary out of stuff that i like and stuff that is mine. What could be better? If I were in forced isolation..that would be a horse of a different colour. But I can pick up the phone or leave the house when I want to. So it's a win. Except that in the last few days.. I haven't done that often. Should I be concerned? Concerned that it's not just cold weather or a love of being able to eat dinner in underwear over the sink or playing bad music too loud that has me staying in? 

I guess not. Things seem to come in phases. Perhaps this is just the mental backlash that follows having to surround yourself with people, albeit it a select few people, to try and make it through the day. Perhaps this is me loving a return to independance. Perhaps this is me just loving learning about pointless things while I get behind on uni work. Perhaps this is just me. The solitary yin to the yang that is my love of good conversation and good friends. But it's something I didn't know and, along with how to change lightbulbs or thaw out beef, is something i've learned in just my first week solo in Rathdowne. 

xxxx

sit-athon 09

Conversation with a me of several days ago:

So who doesn't love a good 'sit down and a biscuit' , right? right.

And who doesn't love sitting on their comfy behind for twenty four hours straight? *raises hand*

Well don't knock it til you try it.

For years, I've interspersed study or video nights with wandering around, be it an epic stroll into the city or just a trip to ye olde Sev Elevs to restock the sugar high. I've exercised daily because it helped me stay sane, because it felt good, because I couldn't sit still with out it. 

But yesterday I sat down. And I didn't get up. I completed two whole assignments. Then I read. Then I ate delectable cookies. Then played scrabble. Then did more homework. Then stood briefly to make pasta. Got into bed at five thirty pm, about thirty cms away from the dent on the floor where my bum had been all day. And sat there to continue studying, pick at delicious dinner, and fall asleep at nine thirty only to stay in dream land til my alarm went off at quarter to seven. Impressive, no? Granted I did plan on going out to join perfect boyfriend when I'd finished assignment but he didn't hear phone so I didn't get dressed / leave / stand . 

This morning I woke up feeling rested for a change and planned on jogging to the park and back, but realised something. What I actually wanted to do on this sunday morning was eat the remainder of the pastry, stay in bed even longer and write this/study/be warm and lazy. It's seven am. There's piles of time for leaving house, for standing, for being normal. For now my cave is my heaven. And it truly truly is. 

In other news, anxiety levels have gone through the roof since last bread-ening. The night before last my heart quite literally raced until about three am. I got lots done, but still, it wasn't ideal. And the appetite has vanished. I've gone through a pile of chocolate simply because it's small and you don't notice it going in. Last night's effort at wholesome pasta took me two hours to force down. The cheese had well and truly coagulated by the time the last bits were finished. Such shame. It is not ok , to morph closer and closer to a stegosaurus with spines poking out my back. It is not ok, to waste the last of the pasta. No. So today.. today I will run, I will venture outside and work up an appetite and eat good meals, and most importantly, I will kick the strange creeping anxiety out of my muscles, stomach and mind and get on with things because I'm just a tad over it. 

End of serious post. I'll probably be back in five to post another. It's deliciously wet outside. Zero reason to move. Absolutely zero :D 

NB: Damir is at work, last week I showed up unannounced and am really tempted to do the same today but I'll refrain. I can't believe I still get excited to see him. That's really something :) 

pointless pasting of pompous paragraphs

I just read a few of my other entries and am shocked at their ability to stay on theme and not wander down too many darkly lit tangents. That's about to temporarily change. A more-nonsensical-than-usual stream of consciousness entry is to follow. Because I don't really know what I want to say but I want to say things. :I

Let me start off...with Canada. Which hypnotised me when I went there, and is doing so increasingly recently for some mysterious reason. You know those places that just feel like home right away? Yup. That's Canada. Is it because they speak French annnnd English? Because so many of the Canadians I know have such a healthy culture of vegetarianism, eco-friendliness and just all around good values? The homeland of Charlotte Diamond, Feist and a plentiful sack of super songters? the scenery? elks? What's not to love. 

Another thing that is impossible not to love is a boys with dark hair and dark eyes and sweet thoughts . One in particular, though. Who I can't believe has stuck around through such an annoying chunk of my life. Not only is he one of the most incredibly brilliant , interesting, hardworking, honest and quite often very silly, people I've been honoured to know, but he's also the most patient person I've ever met. Ever. When I first met him and my mind was in tangles over prior events, he waited. While I was curled in a car seat as my stomach tore in half, he waited. While I made indecisive choices at the supermarket, he waited. While I've pissed him off with countless apologies for the above, he's waited. While I've been sorting out this bizarre section of time, he's waited. Not waited tapping a foot and reminding me how great he is for doing so, but waiting with a giant warm Apple smile, wisdom and the greatest arms in the world. It sounds mushy, and this truly has amazed me. It's also kind of cool that he gets that things he's waiting through are temporary. It's like.. he.. knows me. And knows who I'm 'meant', for want of a better word, to be. How did he do that at the start when he didn't know me? :o

I simply didn't know such a person existed. And that this person also happened to be a person I happily spend most of my time with, who listens to so much of what I listen to and reads great books and is destined to leave one-of-a-kind mark on the world. I could write pages and pages about the various traits he has and the fantastical things he says and does, and you know what? I probably will, as days go by, but the point of this morsel of post was that last night I was amazed all over again as I backtracked momentarily to where I'd been a few months ago and he didn't up and leave, but stayed and , in fact, made what I wrote of as a bad night , a lovely one. Not many people can do that and I hope that he finds I do that for him some of the time. 

Next random input. <- see? i told you. snippets and illegible rants and pointless phrases. 

Orbs is having a baby. Yes, orbs. Orbs with no job, a huge alcohol problem, a girlfriend of about a month, no ability to resist flying into violent rages. Orbs. Why? How? I'm not saying that the child won't be adorable and he won't be a good father, I'm just saying... I think it's really poorly thought out and there is a substantial chance that the former will be how it is.  And yes, I know, these things happen and aren't always thought out and sometimes even turn out brilliantly,  but truly.. if there was someone less ready for parenthood.. I'd be amazed. Or is my borderline-arrogant disbelief just fueled by the fact that I personally envisage raising children who have what they need financially, who have a solid family to be there for them, who have a balanced lifestyle and who's parents aren't alcoholics? Have I just got too many older friends who happen to have just had children and are feeding them wholesome food in a comfy Carlton home, taking them to PMP and watching them grow into happy, well adjusted kiddies , and have begun to think that this is the norm, when I know it's actually not? Or .. have I just seen too many of the people close to me struggle successfully, but struggle none the less, to overcome growing up in situations like that?  I don't know. But the news made my jaw drop, that's for sure. And I'll be fascinated to see who this mini-orbs becomes.

I.. oh this really is a terrible post. I love this blog. I love that posts CAN be terrible.

And I feel like baking :I How's THAT for a pointless sentence . 

I have to do uni work, actually. So I'll need to come back. To say the many random things I want to say. Heck, there's even bunches to say about the uni work. Bother bother. The urge to do this and play scrabble and download music is so strong... but luckily, so is aforementioned desire to be in paid full time society-beneficial employment so better get to it. 

Stupid question though.. why can I only post one picture , and only post them along the top? and I wonder how I link songs... oh the fascination that is the cyberworld..

tactile treasures

it's far too nice a day for computer screens and homework. this is one of those occasions where I don't love the convenience of so much coursework being online and my writing being abismal enough to warrant typing all text. I just stood on the balcony for a delicious ten minutes, and it's so .. grounding, despite being wonderfully high off the ground:P

It's all about the senses. Did you know that the fragrance of flowers actually alters brain chemistry and boosts serotonin etc? Myeah. But I think just the noting, of these sensual things.. wakes up important parts of me.

The grit on the pavement beneath my bare feet, breeze in hair, snippets of sunshine on skin, smell of the street and the sky. Nice.

It's important in this online homework era to just BE outside, not walking anywhere or doing anything, for a while each day. Since I've started doing that I've just felt better all round. I sat in the park yesterday for three hours and just felt, watched, smelled and heard things. So much going on. Yet nothing. But. Sadly, the fact that I'm badly craving full time post grad work at this point means I want to finish uni which translates into screen time aplenty, particularly right now. So I'll go do a chunk of assignment. Then go outside. Then come back, Blog. Because you and I, we have catching up to do. 

i am cheese and wine

As in.. aged . 

And for the first time, I can feel it. 

Normally birthdays leave me feeling secretly too young. which is very different to the 'young at heart' I will always want to be.

No, being secretly too young requires recoiling in horror at bank forms you don't understand, despising heeled shoes, being hideously insecure about who you are and what you want, getting too drunk too often, the list of undesirable traits for someone now into their twenties is endless and pretty descriptive of my last decades. 

This year, however, this birthday has come just in time. September Fourteen landed on me mid-transition from the above to actual adult. And the key to this, has been realising that more than one kind of adult exists. My reluctance to become my parents got a bit confused there with reluctance to become a grown up, as it seems to with everyone. But the more 'adults' I meet and admire, the more I can happily morph into one. Adults who don't have permed ridiculous hair, who aren't dressed entirely by Myers For Women, who love their intriguing brilliant partners, who love the job they skip to where they make a real difference,  who go to gallery openings and cafes and earn money and spend money and travel and read things other than Woman's Day, who haven't accepted where they are as where they'll always be and who aren't tired and worn down by the grind of a life they hate, but instead increasingly alive thanks to the doors continually opening for them and the life they're living the way they want- something you don't get to do at any earlier age. 

Yes, similar to the prepubescent dreams of teenagerdom with  it's overflowing opportunities and cool, I'm now having the similar sensations about being in my thirties. It's quite odd. 

Like my coffee snobbery and inability to bother trekking long distances, I blame it all on the inner city. For the last few years, instead of seeing Soccer Moms trying to stay 'youthful looking' and  crying into wine about boredom and botox somewhere in Camberwell, I'm tripping over adorable toddlers who are attached to lecturers with dyed hair and Genki coats,  or being asked my opinions on a book I'm  reading in a cafe by someone twenty years older but reading the same book, or watching very organised but completely unbored couples gathering what they need at the market for nights ahead with equally unbored friends. These people are me, but smarter, more financially secure and with more exciting life experiences behind them and, key point that is often overlooked, ahead of them.

It's not the end. I'm not dead. I'm just getting started. And it's a little bit exciting. 

Know what else is? Some of this guy's stuff . 

Every few pictures there's something that jumps down my throat. I like. Also love some of the captions. "Later he told me the lawn chair only tasted ok." ..

the best laid plans of mice and men..

yup. today's plans went astray. Not unlike my intention to post a feminist rant of some discription re: the rage that had hold of me all yesterday over body image and such, rekindled by that Miller girl's 'plus sized' feature in Glamour, or whatever it was. I'm sure it'll get posted. Half of it saved as a draft before I disappeared to do things in the real world. But for now..

Today was going to be stupidly lazy. Last night I taped a swarm of semi-trash, and documentaries as well, on Damir's foxtel contraption, to get me through what was a Saturday with no plans and the anticipation of very little study motivation. The plan was to vegetate and stare at them, escape into that happy little world that such shows promote until forced out. 

Instead, I slept a solid ten hours in a nest of pillows, after reading comfortably for the first time in months as opposed to at an odd angle in my plastic chair, until my eyes burned despite the cosy gentleness of the lamp being used. Don't know whether it was the comfortableness, the tiredness, or simply the air-of-the-boyfriend that remained in the house even when he'd gone, but it was a very very peaceful eve. Woke up refreshed and in studious slow mo. In no hurry to move, so studied some and became enthralled by tales of archeology and arks, religions and relics, countries and countryside , thanks to the History channel. Someone who struggles to lie in bed even after just five hours sleep, stayed put until nearly noon, completely absorbed and relaxed. Grand. Incidently, another thing that was grand , was being allowed to stay at all :D But more about that later. More about the actual docos later, I suspect. When the ability to form sentences, better sentences, has woken up a bit more and when I've done more work etc.

Spent another chunk of the day reading in the sunshine outside, talking to the neighbour and her dog, and just generally soaking in the world. Much better than escapist tv, I must say. But rain and curiousity about things only the internet could inform me of , following on from things read and seen during the morning, forced me back inside. No hardship considering aforementioned warm light is now on again and the whole room feels like home. Spacious enough to not be cramped. Cosy enough to not be lost. I like it.

And I like Baillie St. Sitting on the steps out the front of the house and seeing skeletal trees stretching either side of me,similar houses with their little individualities, strange cloud patterns above me, people and pooches passing , the works. love. 

anyway..will come back, fix this up, write things , but for now... burning to learn more. see more. do more. 

xxx

bipolar polar bears and pastry.

So they tell me everyone is contradictions. We're all just made up of internal giant neenish tarts that alternate victorious shades. 

Well at five pm on yet another overcast day, that fact and the neenish tart I just ate have me thinking.

Contradictions, indeed. 

How can one individual be so so split in half?Truly. I am a bipolar polar bear. The DSMV might not classify me as that since what this split least effects is my mood and doesn't alter functioning and blah blah blah, but the rest of me... is jeckyll and hyde. 

Right now, I'm sprawled on my stomach unable to move. Barely raising the enthusiasm to type. So very very lazy. Other times , ridiculous energy pulses through me for no reason whatsoever. I love people. I LOVE people, I love their noses, their  eyes, the way they breathe differently to each other, the way you can tell who's who and what's what, the quirks , the commonground, all of it. But i HATE people. I hate them. I hate them en masse. Grouped and laughing at moronic things. Ripcurl wearing clones of each other.Doing NOTHING about somethings, despite their collective power. RARRR rage. I overeat. I eat trash. I live for chocolate. But I eat like a hippy, seeds and apples and brown rice stews and am nauseated at just the sight of mcdonalds.I'm patient and I can't wait.I dress up. I dress down. I work hard. I do only enough to scrape by. So. Many. Things. In one. Package. 

It baffles me to think this is going on in everyone.

It's like that suicide cat thing. Except if the side of the person rearing it's head at any given time had been a different one, the future of the whole universe may have veered off onto a different path. So many possibilities.

Make sense outside my head? Maybe not. Because right now the eerily-able-to-concentrate-mental-efforts-for-hours part of me is elsewhere, and I'm struggling with sentences . That's not an exaggeration . I think perhaps a better creative outlet would be drawing. Right now. 

That's the one thing consistent within all polar bear tart pieces. The fact that without some form of creating, or taking in creations , some form of imaginary ANYTHING, it all falls apart. Disolves. Many pieces become no pieces. It's nearly happened a few times and I swear to god those things are what saved me. It's what'll save us all.

End vague, pensive and confused transmission.

nb. the above quote and the fact that i function so much better surrounded by ..THINGS, certain things,has me motivated to clean up my work space. change my corkboard. As my essay has decided to state, places shape people. It's funny, I've tried to force myself to be surrounded by certain things, or to ... be a certain way, and it doesn't work. You end up lost and unmotivated. No time for that. Much better to float amongst things and thoughts that are really you. It  is. 

the post that wasn't

so i've been up for ages, thankyou to a very dodgy feeling on the insides, and conceded at about five am that making coffee, munching on toast and just getting on with the day would be a good approach. funny how the mind works. the second i wasn't trying to go back to sleep, but rather, doing the opposite, my eyes began to close . 

so if it's all the same to you, the blog entry that was going to precede heaps of homework and then an interview, all by ten am, has now become a teeny tiny paragraph written from under covers just prior to passing out for at least another hour. 

god bless slumber. really. it's fantastic

what's in a name?

Also, it's a liiiiiiiiiiittle amusing that the athlete at the center of the whole 'is she a he?' debarcle has a name featuring the word 'semen'.

back in black. minus the black part.

So, I really am about to study, for real. It's now four thirty. And I don't know where my ridiculous nerdy energy is right now ? Actually, I do. It's still wildly present but just being channelled in questionable ways. AKA looking up star wars trivia and reading friend's blog and various other interesting yet pointless online entities . Prime example being this sucker. 

ANYWAY.  So yes. have settled down to study after a lovely voyage here with lovely boyfriend, and all is right with the world. Well, clearly it's not, I mean... watch the news for three minutes, or listen to a certain tall chauvanistic Serbian talk for less than that, or even just note the mounds of assignments that are growing beside me, and this fact is clear BUT  anything is manageable when your insides are chilled out and warm,which is possible despite it sounding contradictory. 

Still, I suspect I'll post a fair amount today. And tomorrow. And probably this week. Whether work has gotten more boring or this has gotten more amusing I don't know. Six of one, half a dozen of the other.

Oh. What the dickens? I have a housemate home twenty four hours early. Lucky I replaced her food this morning.. 

serious contemplations on chocolate biscuits and hot pink lipstick

so as I lie here on my stomach crunching away on delectable biscuits from my delectable boyfriend, i was debating whether or not to wait for after the caffeine dose of the arvo to get down to the pointy end of the assessments for the week, but instead opted for perusing facebook photo albums and, over the top of my laptop, the grey don't-come-outside-or-exercise-at-all,-instead-read-and-savour-the-chill-that-will-soon-morph-into-blistering-heat clouds and whooshy winds. Anyhow, while rifling through the shots of friends, places, various alcoholic beverages consumed and the embarassing effects of them, i came across a handful of a dear male chum posing in the middle of a cosy melbourne alleyway and proudly pouting pink lipsticked lips. Love it. Life's too short to live by other people's rules all the time. 

 Which somehow reminded me of a conversation I had a few days ago with a someone about how with every year comes more things to take care of , do correctly, concentrate on and be careful about. True, but with that comes more and more chances to do your own thing. 

I accept that I'll have to pay mortgages and keep track of children perhaps at some point, plan out nutritious meals and manage my time according to a Serious Grown Up Job and to be honest, I can't wait. That tickles the neurotic organised me pink. It does. but SO does not giving a frick. Should my friend prance around in hot pink lipstick? Of course. Should I have chocolate biscuits for lunch, skip the bikeride I was invited on this time, and leave homework til the last minute today? for sure. Should I opt for treasuring time with a boy I love , doing what we please, instead of sorely needed vacuuming? Yes yes and yes. Such simple decisions. Happy priorities.It all balances out in the end.  People. Must. Relax. Who made all these rules? If I do what I'm meant to seventy percent of the time... I think I'll get by. Life's little. It really is. Cue that annoying "Don't worry, be happy" singing fish here.

This isn't what this post was going to be about. And the distracting patterns of shadow on the floor and unopened library book are pulling focus away from it anyway so I might as well go for now. But the point is... I'm glad it's saturday, I'm glad for biscuit feasts, I'm glad for afternoons and glad for making the wrong decisions , because so often they're actually right, as long as the right ones are made often enough.

AND. I actually have a lot to say. About real things. But now I think I have to read some of that book before I explode....

let's talk about sex, baby. let's talk about you and me, let's talk about all the good things and the bad things...and so forth.

Oh Salt N Pepa , how brilliant you were, on occasion. I remember floating along to that 'mighty good man' song most days during year ten and still remember all the lyrics. But the cause for this title, and the pausing of the post below / schizophrenically branching into something else already, is this morning's organisation and the fact that I've already done the class readings. With a large amount of focus, I might add :D including margin notes. 

But admittedly that's not just because of the perfect coffee that kicked off my day, or the determination to make it not dissolve into strangeness the way yesterday did or a fear of my quite-erratic tutor, it's simply because it was interesting. And because the issue of rape in the law is one I never fully understood. Turns out that's because nobody does. It's all so damn sketchy.

Hugely disturbing, is the whole burden of proof thing. But everybody knows that. Daytime flick after daytime flick has professed it. It's common knowledge that most rape trials end up with no guilty charge, simply because it's hard to prove, because it's her word against his, or because the woman backs down due to discomfort and what not. What I didn't quite register is it's also partly due to the amount of possible defences the man has. For example, instead of it being an issue of 'reasonably believed he had consent', quite often it's 'unreasonably believed he had consent'...which is ridiculous. That's like saying... like saying... 'he wasn't allowed to speed, all the signs said no speeding, but he thought he was, thus it's not a crime'  . What a lame-ass defence. And massively supporting the whole phallocentric idea of it being all about what he believed etc etc etc. 

Also disturbing though is the 'reasonable belief' part, though. Turns out 'reasonable belief' comes about if:      <- and this is highly difficult without brackets, by the by. but everytime I hit paste now , japanese characters flood the page. God knows why? But on with the show..

i) they're married , ...um.. what? once married the woman owes her husband / owner sex whenever he pleases ? odd. Suggestive of property much? 

ii) they've slept together in the past., .... apparently this generally results in acquittal. Since when is sleeping with someone allowing them to do what they want to you for the rest of both your lives? If anything, sometimes sleeping with people makes you less likely to ever repeat the action :I .. ugh. gross.

iii) there's no evidence that she scratched or kicked him / nobody heard screams, ...again what? Does her saying no not count? Does the fact that perhaps she was too paralysed with fear to do anything, feature no where? But above all, since WHEN was sex just a permission thing. I mean.. that the woman goes 'ok. cool. sleep with me/take me/do what you will, you have my permission'. Where is the whole two people mutually interested / loving / involved / clearly up for it thing. What kind of guy sleeps with someone who is 'behaving like a zombie, as usual' <- which was one man's defence as to why he raped his wife . If she's usually a zombie... does that not spark a few questions, Son ? I ..argh. I can't explain. It's not coming out right. But the whole 'she didn't stop me' thing seems so stupid because it's not meant to be about that. At all. And the law is just feeding that attitude in. But I spose, if you're not relying on audible screams and fingernail scrapings, what are you meant to use as 'proof' ? And where do you draw the line, in terms of what was wanted and wasn't? Is it rape then if the girl is horrified and doesn't want it to happen but is too scared to speak up so admittedly accepts out of fear of negative consequences??? 

Sigh. I guess I was raised in a happy little Disneyesque world where no 'yes' or 'no' was needed because it was clear your girlfriend WANTED to sleep with you. And I guess I'm lucky to be in a relationship where not only am I heard and nothing is 'expected' but I WANT to sleep with my boyfriend and it isn't just a price you have to pay, as the readings imply most women feel majority of the time. And where said action involves actual happiness, intimacy and the rest. 

I ... oh. out of time again. How many half posts are there in here now? too many. 

How much coffee thus far? not enough.

How many things left to ramble about? a million. 

Oh my.

ps

recently i've had a constant fascination with the fact that we can be nostalgic for places we've never been, times we never saw, people who don't exist. Humans are weird, man. Humans are weird.

I'd explain this but the inconvenient brain fog is now officially eating me alive. Housemate sick as dog in next room so the place is dead quiet, and I'm lying on my floor with zero guilt. There should be guilt, i should be doing something, but I'm not THAT behind, so the motivation just isn't there. I've never been lazier than this semester. How did i live so long without the desire to just vegetate on the carpet googling strange things like lamps made of cassettes, japanese artists , landlocked navies and pens that write underwater? I honestly couldn't sit still. Now ... I honestly couldn't move if i tried. Age? maybe. Grey skies? possibly. All i know is despite it's current dirty state, this floor is heaven. For the third consecutive day. 

so, here we are again. 

it's one thirty pm and i should be doing work but my brain is refusing for an unknown reason. it's been fed triple what a regular person needs, it's had coffee, it's had sleep, it's just mysteriously on strike. I'll give it til three and then begins the whipping.

yes, i'm typing out numbers. as several days ago i 'helped' macbook by cleaning it... and all the keys got schizophrenia and multiple personalities and whatever else their problems. still debating whether to resign to a life of copying and pasting numbers and exclamation marks and brackets or shell out the cash for a snappily dressed a-bit-too-cheery Apple geek to fix it. 

why i'm being stingy on the gold coins when it comes to this is as mysterious as today's malfunctioning noggin, though, after spending up big the last few days on many pointless things and many things that weren't pointless even though they seem pointless to the outside world.. DAMN YOU HOUSE STORE/PAPER SHOPS/CHOCOLATIERS/JB HIFI. 

So it goes. 

I also paid the extravagent fee that one pays these days for cinema adventures (when IIIIII was a boy, we walked ten miles to school and the talkies cost five cents and you got a bowl of licorice frogs and ... <- old man voice needed here, clearly ) to see the fine fellow pictured above, in action with my sister ( as in.. sister and i both saw him, not see him in action WITH my sister, that would be gross... too gross  ) .

And it got me thinking about human attraction to escapist films, why I become giddy at the site of nostalgic English smog-and-rooftops scenes and why we so badly want to delve into worlds where magic and/or protective grandfathery wizards exist. I... oh. This pre-amble took me my whole break to write, thanks to copy and pasting brackets , and now it's time to go.

I'll be back, blog. I'll be back. To fill you in on the aforementioned thoughts, on scenarios involving emotionally stunted russian-speaking neighbours, on sausage-obsessed (the edible kind, mind out of gutter please :o ... and yes, i know 'they're both edible' but seriously :I ..  ) housemates and all the other pointless factoids that my 'life' revolves around today. Note the quotation marks because since these are the insignificant and not particularly noteworthy , the title 'life', that implies some kind of progress, adventure or at least..movement, is not quite deserved. :I 

anyhow. the pathetic attempts at rain and the glorious sounds of my ipod are calling me.

xx

not drowning, waving

from inside a sea of letterist, situationist, marxist readings, as well as those against them, and all the blue links they require clicking on. no idea of my own thoughts as yet (had never even heard of these letterists prior to today) but well and truly off the essay path and treading through the bush. 

"All that was once directly lived has become mere representation. The decline of being into having, and having into merely appearing.". I like. 

a HOUSE. (said with the tone of the King in the King and I..)

Mmm. Not sure if you grew up on that movie like I did, Blog, but I could repeat it scene by scene. So to make sense, the title has to be said with Yul Brenner's tone while conceding to Buddha to "give this woman...a house" (insert "Mrs. Anna" 's joyful face here). Anyway...

Houses. They've got me thinking (well, correction the perfect coffee just ingested and the backlog of SCOTS readings when crossbred with buying toaster yesterday and talking to friend about her impending housemove has me thinking. ABOUT houses. But details schmetails).

I can't cook particularly well. I can't. It's a fact. One I want to remedy but a fact none the less (although it's all perspective I spose. I've managed to feed myself and numerous others for years, so I spose I CAN cook, but Nigella Lawson and Jamie Oliver would likely frown at the presentation etc when it came to 'plating up'. (ohhh masterchef, what have you done to my brain? (wow, it's very early for brackets inside brackets inside brackets) ) ).  And yet stores like House thrill me to pieces. Itty bitty domestic and tragically feminine pieces. My urge to nest is contrary to most other aspects of my personality, I think (irresponsibility and spontenaiety, being two that come to mind). But it's there. And drags me along on spending sprees re: jars and appliances and mugs and teapots, far too often.

If I wanted to get all oldschool psych on you, Blog, I'd suggest it was some kind of childhood of insecurities and feeling out of place, that drove me to be so thrilled everytime I migrated because it was another opportunity to make the blank ready-to-rent kitchen mine, to adorn bedrooms and living rooms with things that meant something to those dwelling there. To make cold open spaces cosy (with no talent whatsoever, don't get me wrong! I'm far from a skilled interior decorator. ). It's not even just the decoration though. The function matters also. Appliances that cook homely foods. Vacuums that clean my little world so nicely. A love of doing the dishes. It's all quite baffling. 

So is the strange fact that the other night I had a dream that , in opposition to my assumption of the future, I wasn't working, I was childrearing. Since when was that my goal? Since when did I even WANT little rugrats running around my house-with-cat-and-rug ? Gotta love the dreams that jolt you into realising you're maybe not who you thought you were. Even thinking about it in daylight it makes a large amount of sense. 

Are my twenties to blame for this? I don't know. I hope so. I hope it's that and not a sudden rush ( patriarchal society in a panic about it's downfall ? ) of subtle promotions re: women at home , that I've noted on tv, starting to get to me.  

But at the moment, I actually see no problem with that. Combining work with it would of course be idea, but am definitely recognising that little developing-psychologically children (damn you subject, damn you for infiltrating my brain irreversibly) would likely have a similar effect to toasters. Re: the home / family / nest / world .. thing. 

In the words of Alice.. curiouser and curiouser, that's for sure.

In other news though... It's sunday morning and 10am and I've already completed a fraction of the mountains of work to do today. And my ambition to make it slow, is well underway. I'm sitting here in baggy jeans and singlet by the 'fire' and have only stood up briefly thus far. It's peaceful. And interesting. And ... I don't know. I spose some might say I'm happy. Which is as disturbing as all the above. Because  a lot of this is the direct and indirect result of the Boy. Sickening as it sounds, it's not JUST his presence and all the things he says and does, that is influencing my general life attitude. But it's also things he doesn't mean to do... he actually inspires me, makes me wise, makes me productive, makes me BETTER. why? how?! WHO CAN SAY :I but I like it. And therefore fear losing it. Which is a new thing. One I'm not a fan of. 

But why dwell? 

In other other news... I watched half an hour of that incredibly shit "Meteor" movie last night, instead of the years I've spent avoiding such horrific ideas. And instead of being sickened with fear, as the phobia of apocalypse would dictate, I just laughed and changed channels. So far from the Theresa who collapsed into tears with Swan in the middle of the quad at Queens due to being told that something was currently hurtling towards earth and was due in 2 days. My my..the times they are a'changin' ... 

It's a bit scary to think I don't know where my mind will evolve to next :I but quite exciting. And turns out I have a fair bit of control over it afterall.....

Ah, life. 

lack of jam and hail to the turtles.

so... it's 10 30 on a Saturday morning and my plan had been to be juuuuust getting up now, easing into the day with some good toast, good jam, good coffee and perhaps even good company.

I've been up for hours though. Running around doing various things I promised I would and until about 10 minutes ago (when I sprawled out on this couch after switching on the fire (is that fun or disturbing to say? i can't decide which) armed with early morning chocolate fix) I could hear my heart pounding exhausted in my ears as I walked back and forth down Elizabeth St in the cold meeting this person and that person and going about general duties. Not that I don't love that. I do. But this morning was meant to be slower.

Point is though, I used to hate slow. HATE slow. Which I maintain is the reason behind my love of coffee. The faster one goes the less one thinks, basically. Plus franticness serves as good motivation when you have none. Translating into doing things better, making better choices and all around having more energy when slower, but having more of your own thoughts rather than a to-do list stapled to your edgy jumping spazzed out noggin. 

Now, though, I love slow. I love my own thoughts. I love that I love them. I love being lazy. I love that I don't need caffeine for motivation because I have enough of that on my own. Love having time. All of it. So this morning I realised how much I appreciate mornings and moments that I might have hated years ago .

And right now, being still is heaven. Even though it's not going to last. Because soon there are things to do, uni work, escapades to shops, other Saturday things. But the fact that it's fleeting just makes it all the more tasty.

Turtles have it right. They do. I'm going to follow their slow lead for the majority of my time now, I think. Living to 100 I guess they had time to learn a lot about life..

furthermore

i have figured out how to link and paste in pictures etc.

i hope this means ill add more substance to this contraption.

it may not. who can tell? 

watch this space. 

maybe.