sunny skies and calmer seas

It's fairly amazing to note that in the midst of a storm, sitting in the deceptively calm eye, I completely failed to notice my surroundings and the houses and cows and whatnot that were flying about in a bit of a dangerous manner. 

Now I'm sitting in metaphorical good weather and it's very very different. I ... oh. bother. My computer is about to die. But this is being published anyway. to remind me to finish it. 

Speaking of finishing, I need a Mary Poppins bag of hot chocolate. they end far too quickly , regardless of what size the cup is..

So it's a sunny Saturday..

(but actually quite a chilly one, and I'm sitting in front of the heater at the moment, but that's beside the point ..& the alliteration . )

..and what better thing to do than write pointless drivel down as I wait for my timetable to come online, toast my spine on the heater, and watch my adorable boyfriend who has similar problems to me with throwing things out, sort through a Box of Crap and try to weed out what is REALLY needed. Both the blog and the sorting are very Saturday morning activities, so... how awesome are we :I

The Box Of Crap sorting is actually quite similar to what I've been doing the last few days, metaphorically :/ . Going through my brain and chucking out bits and pieces and compulsions and habits and ideals and whatnot,that probably aren't needed, metaphorically sweeping and sticking a little Ambipurr airfreshener in there, and filling it with things that fit my lifestyle (or intended lifestyle) better. Satisfying.

I... oh. I was planning on writing quite a lot, and have run out of time (hope that's not something that happens repeatedly once term starts in 2 days.. ) . I'll be back. 

In other news though, the box-sorting boyfriend, who I quite literally adore, is being thrown to the parents for the second time tomorrow. Should I be worried? Normally I am. Nervous that they won't like him or vice versa, nervous in general. But oddly... not the case. Because I know that they DO like him (how could anybody not?) , what an odd sensation... 

erreroeorrroror.

No , the above title is not random keyboard mashing. It's the actual exact sound I made falling out of bed this morning. 

After almost a week of being a relatively zen bundle of energy, this Friday morning, the world is a bit heavy... crushing my skull, making it hard to open eyes, and making even breathing a bit of an effort. Ick. It's 8:43 but feels much too much like 3am. I could blame the high levels of activity in recent days (both nocturnal wanderings and daytime treks and runs and misadventures) but they're probably neutralised by hours of wintery reading and lying around and puzzle-doing. So instead I'll glare towards gluten, after being told to eat it again afterall, for several weeks and 'observe'. Nothing happened for a while but I officially feel pretty crap now. Still, the crusty sourdough bread and delicious cookies and such are worth it, so since it seems to be an accumulated effect.. I'll just opt for minimum amounts but not complete avoidance. Everybody wins. But pasta yesterday was probably a fail. Still, thanks to the invention of caffeine and nurofen... worth every bite. 

In other news, things are quite splendid. Suprisingly I haven't had as much time in the holidays to murder as I predicted. Friends run into work shifts which run into finishing books which run into other friends which run into music shows which run into family birthdays and all in all it's flying by, despite the lack of the boyfriend I've been missing but can apparently survive without, contrary to very unfeminist expectations before he dropped off the reception radar for over a week (possibly a good thing to remember).  

Uni is sorted, life is sorted, all is well. What an odd thing to post. Unfortunately, the world is NOT well, and a voyage into the news this morning screamed that from all directions but I've actually taken up too much time already and am now late. LATE, during the HOLIDAYS? there's meant to be no such thing. So it goes.

Random insert #1: My hair is shorter. And uneven. I got the dead ends (aka 50% of it) trimmed,, finally. Then decided to attack it with scissors while bored. Interesting...

Random insert #2: Being terrible at domesticity hasn't reduced my passion for it. I am ridiculously excited by mugs, jars, pots, pans, cooking, cleaning, and all things related. I spent 2.5 hours in a store for such things yesterday. (but bought nothing! budgeting success! Finally. This whole week has been, in fact. Just another ' factor adding to the overall ' Oh wow, I CAN do this' feeling that has happily followed me for a while now. 

Random insert #3: So glad Melbourne has Carly back

Operation AGE, stage 1.

So... a few things have happened to me and it's only 9:30. 

Firstly and fairly irrelevantly , I noticed my teeth are ever so slightly  shade shifting. And whilst for this I'd like to cite coffee and thus, indirectly, masses of productivity etc etc etc, we all know it's more likely to be due to an increase in red wine consumption. Indicating perhaps it's time for a bit of a lifestyle springclean.

Secondly, some little kid's Mum called me "Ma'am" and "the lady" as I waited for my  espresso at the vic market. Of course, this has happened before, and I'm aware it's something some people dread (although it could be worse; I have a friend who is constantly referred to with such terms but is in fact male..) as it heralds the inertia of the ageing process BUT ..not me. I revelled in it, after years of being carded from bars while holding my own passport, or hearing the all too familiar "You're HOW OLD?" or questions regarding my 'older' boyfriends (in this case, 2 years younger than me, if my horrific maths calculations are correct). nd while I plan never EVER to completely 'grow up' ( I don't think I could lose things like having to do assignments lying stomach-down on the floor in mismatched socks rather than at a desk, or watching cartoons or being coaxable into virtually anything provided a small amount of chocolate is involved) , and while it's clear I've 'grown up' significantly internally ( the recent presence of functional relationships, more vegetables, university credits and what not) , the truth is that in realms other than hospitality, writing or retail, a 24 year old who apparently appears to be in her early teens is suspiciously unhireable. And since the world keeps telling me I need a 'real job' and I've paid allllll this money towards education, something's gotta give.

But where to start? 

This morning, in the split second as  my espresso was passed over the counter and the little kid, simultaneously, started crying about how badly he wanted cake for breakfast (don't we all? ) , it occured to me that my boots might be magic. Not in a Wizard of Oz 'home sweet home' way but more a 'propel me rapidly through time' way. When wearing boots not beat up old converse, the 'ma'am' titles occur more frequently. So it's in the clothing, is it? ( and no, don't suggest layering expensive foundation and blacking out my eyes because it's uncomfortable, and besides.. I don't know how. ) . What a pity, then, that sensible 20-something attire is generally miles too large for those with small frames and too often comes in drab dreary colours and with a frustratingly nosy salesperson attached. 

There must be some kind of compromise? there must be. Today, I shall explore that. In the name of my future via financial power (handy for the kids I have decided I would not necissarily vomit apon giving birth to. That's internal ageing too, right ? ) , I will investigate. 

And probably return to pointlessly write about today's news, meetings with Swan and other trash. But that, like the mismatched socks, its just unfightable. 

Oh and yes, I realise if this is the worst thing happening to me personally at the moment, then I'm doing ok!! Which is surprising but kind of swell.  It also leaves more time to try to rectify the things that AREN'T ok and aren't happening to me personally. 

zzzz

I am a whole new kind of sleepy. Can't believe it's 6:34, GOOD GOD, Woman! Wake up! 

...or don't. I mean, who makes these rules? I'm going to take a nap :I 

9am Tuesday in any era at all

So first off, let me say it's a good thing my room is so icy that I can't lie warmly in bed while typing because my arms just get too cold, and that my bed is hideously spikey and there's no real way to sit underneath the light without getting a cramped neck, because if any of these wasn't the case I might lie in bed reading and writing for days . I want to. So much. But it's that uncomfortable here, and at the strangely positioned desk, that to do that I'd at least have to open the curtains, get dressed and head to the busy bustle of the library with their heating and cosy chairs. In fact I might. But it's not the same.

One of the great things about solitude, is how you become the designer of the tiny space that is your world. I mean... I choose what mediums are filtered in, what music is playing, what billboards aren't visible, what glaring lights can't permeate my curtains or bedlight dimness. While doing a puzzle on the floor to Miles Davis, who's to know where or when I am? While eating eggs and reading a book written years ago, any country and any decade could be just outside my window.If it weren't for the brandname products lying around and the fact that a list of fairly modern to-dos keeps involuntarily running through my head, I'd say I could be in any era I chose right about now. But that's the case in so many situations. History really does repeat itself. Or rather, human beings seem to be the same, and just things around them changes.

This morning I was reading (well, re-reading. But I mustn't have been paying attention the first time because I remember nothing except liking it) the Great Gatsby and have only just now successfully put it down (mainly because I really need to shower and head out to the real world. Although during the holidays there's not that much compulsion to do that. So my plan is to do it much less often. ) because it's writing amazes me, both it's descriptions and the fact that the descriptions , while dated, match things I've seen and thought years later. I guess that's the appeal of a lot of books. This morning I was reading a section about a party of the richest, the 'classy', refined, affected people gathering at the house of someone they didn't even know to float around and talk to people they'd forget, flatter women they hated on their dresses, down fancy snacks and cocktails until conversation became slurring and people dressed expensively passed out in the grass or crashed their cars on the way home, while arguing with cheating husbands and planning to sleep the whole next day then repeat the process. Actually, my description sounds sort of damning, it's not at all. I've spent a lot of time at parties like that, met more people than I'll ever remember, lived through chunks of time where night was all there was because days were hangovers in between events that blurred together anyway. Labelled people with names like "Owl face" or "Green Shorts" to keep track of them through the evening, knowing I'd never see them again, watched things degrade until expensive schooling was lost in sentences that made no sense. And it's wonderful, and hilarious, and easy.  3am seems early and usually there's a warm summer breeze blowing the whole time. The thing is though ... it doesn't stay enough. Parties where you meet people you'll never see again but where the conversations teach you things, or parties involving fewer or more real people, continue, but the epic anonymous drunken bashes have been phased out. There's a very clear difference. I... ok. I could harp on for a long time. Clearly. But the point of putting the book down was to make myself get up (I'm really not tired, just warmer here. Made coffee and toast and then any need to leave sheets dissolved after that) . Perhaps I'll just melt into my little cabin and stay here forever. Or perhaps I'll trap things in my head, sort of like an oxygen diving tank, and head out into the world and continue seeing it this way(what I could argue was a rational way untainted by all the things that bombard you out there these days). Or perhaps I'll just leave and hope that when I come back I can think clearly again rather than about the matters of 'importance' outside my door.

nothing particular to say

because im not thinking anything. let alone anything deep. it's a little strange. 

my mind is sort of like snow right now. not the pee-ed in kind. not even the dirty kind. just..blank. and hard to tell where everything is underneath it but it doesn't matter because you know it's not gone it's just buried!! 

AND. I have changed my mind about Russel Brandt. Or however he likes to spell his name. Saw him on some late night show last night (and the guy from Two Ronnies. One of the Ronnies, that is. Interesting. Did you know he never tells his wife of 60 years he loves her, because they find it too embarassing , so they have this code they've had since they started dating, where every letter is signed with ACR or something , 'ambrosia  something rice' , because his wife 'loves' it. Funny. ) and bottom line is he was pretty amusing. Ashton Kutcher on the other hand, was not. Well he was, but not to his credit. Americans who take everything the interviewer says as serious crack me up... 

Anyway. time to work..