That's using your legs.

The other day I walked around 20km to prove something. I'm sure everyone's done something like that at one point.

It was 6am the morning after a party. I woke up before everyone else, confused, wearing drag makeup and one of the host's shirts. For some reason I decided I'd go for a walk, but first checked that what I was wearing was appropraite attire for the outside world.

On the other lounge was a couple, that were somewhat awake and sucking face. After recieving a positive response to my query, I began to walk, after working out where I was and admiring the scenery for a while.

I walked to the end of the street and saw an enormous green road sign. It exclaimed that the next country town was only 10km away. I accepted the challenge.

My reasons, in order of importance, were:

1. I am hungry and/or thirsty
2. I want to prove that I have done interesting things in my life
3. I want something to write about for my next blog post

So off I went, with the cold air pushing me forward, or back, I can't remember. My first stop was what I thought was a bus stop and turned out to be a mailbox shelter. I didn't know people built shelters around their mailboxes, but then again I was in the middle of nowhere. I laid down for a while, and let my thoughts wander to the strangest of places. Memories popped up that had no relevance to anything - like the time someone nearly emptied half a cup of coffee onto my foot. I wasn't sure if that was a real event, part of a dream, or something I'd put in a story, but it was in there. For some reason.

I got up after a while and trekked on, stopping twice more to send a text from a public phone and ask if I was heading in the right direction. I was, apparently, heading in the right direction towards the SMALL LITTLE VILLAGE. The old man I asked used a tautology to made sure I knew I was headed towards a "Small, little village" for some reason. Probably because I didn't look like the type that would, or should, venture outside the walls of suburbia. I was perfectly aware of where I was headed, and soldiered on until I reached a service station that appeared to have it's share of conflicts.

I was offerred a job as I walked in, cautiously avoiding the mopped parts of the floor. "I don't live around here" was my attempt to shut down conversation with the strange man. I bought an apple cider and payed for it on my card. To my disbelief, I think I actually typed in my Pin right the first time round. I don't think this has happenned since, and I live in constant fear of what happens after three incorrect Pin entries.

I went on to buy vegetable chips and make my way home. It was much hotter this time around and I laid down on various occassions. An old man offered to give me a lift, but I declined, thinking it was a bad idea to hitchhike. I regretted that decision up until the time a kind lady pulled over to offer me a lift. I accepted this time. She drove very quickly back to where I was staying, and I stumbled back as if nothing had happenned.

Bobs.

A few days back I was in one of those teenage depression spirals, where there seems to be no meaning to life and no purpose to it. That all vanished when I set foot in the town of Bellingen for the local Readers & Writers Festival. Writing is normally a lonely, depressing craft, but now I was in a town full of writers, many of them published authors.

Never had there been so many eyebags reaching such southerly extents in the one place. Masses of middle-aged women packed the local coffee shops, struggling to determine which of the four women with thin, black-rimmed glasses and a sophisticated bob was their companion. There was squinting, and sipping, and shouting, and bitching, and laughing, and learning, and countless late comers to every session.

So much coffee was consumed over the two days of the festival that on two separate occassions, people actually attempted to barge into my toilet cubicle before I even had the chance to display the engaged sign.

But it wasn't all coffee and perversion. There were, as one would hope, actually panels of people from the realm of writing, discussing everything from Telling Refugee's stories to the internet. I really pity the panel that had to encompass all there is to know about the great sea of information that is the internet in just an hour. But they managed, barely, and I discovered that there is hope for queer writers on the internet, something I've been worried about ever since I started this blog.

I also met up with Alex Neill, one of my inspirations, who worked with me at last years festival to polish a piece of short fiction. And then I added another person to my list of inspirational writers; Alice Pung. I haven't yet read her work, something I'm not proud of and probably shouldn't put on the internet, but I intend to.

Quickie

Boys: Well, I've now declared myself as a bisexual, so the title's a little redundant. I wouldn't say I'm lonely; just single and surrounded by couples. Seriously. There are three affectionate couples in my presence most of the time. In fact I recently had one of them over. They spent most of the time making out, I spent it playing Age of Empires.

Bitches: There's a noticeable lack of bitches at the moment. There are however a lot of women, and the love triangles are amazing. I'm of course part of one, but on the giving end, not the recieving. And of course I just managed to make unrequited love look like anal sex.

HSC: Well, I'm doing well at school. Most of my teachers are partly happy with me. The main problems are punctuality, being bothered, and losing the very Eastern Eurpoean accent I seem to have when speaking in French.

Jorge