It's 7:30pm. I'm sitting on my bed, which isn't made, listening to the sound of rain and researching Olives.
It has suddenly occurred to me that I am very mild. I'm the type of person that has nothing but butter on their toast, and doesn't like the toast to be too well-toasted. One time, I nearly ran over someone at a zebra crossing. They gave me a foul look and I almost cried. I felt like running out of the car and onto the road, while screaming "I'M A PERFECTLY RESPECTABLE PERSON I WAS JUST ABSENT MINDED I'M SO SORRY PLEASE DON'T JUDGE ME".
So there we have it. I'm a perfectly respectable person, who is also absent-minded, and currently listening to the sound of rain while researching olives. I think I'm a lot more mild than Mild Salsa, and possibly on par, in mildness, with Lightly Sparkling Mineral Water.
Although, that stuff is thrilling in my opinion. I accidentally bought a bottle of super-organic local sparkling mineral water instead of the no frills boring water normal shops sell. I didn't seem to think anything of it when I heard the cashier say "sparkling", but when the water hit my tongue, boy did I feel the sparkling!
So I was overwhelmed the first time I had Sparkling Mineral Water. OVERWHELMED. Mind you, it was Surprise Sparkling Mineral Water. And while surprises are romantic in theory, in practice they're usually awful. Surprise Sex is uncomfortable and crosses some lines, Surprise Dates fuck with your timetable and put your whole day out of whack, Surprise Surcharges do nothing but piss you off.
Surprises can be fun, sometimes. Once I bit into a quiche and swore I tasted wine. I enjoy quiche and I very much enjoy wine, so naturally this event embodied the fabled pleasant surprise. After a lot of screaming and glee I discovered that the source of the surprise wine flavouring was the olives embedded within the quiche. And at that point I decided to pursue an interest in and love for olives, because, in my own absurd words, "THEY TASTE LIKE WINE!"
And we're back to olives. Move over Rome, all roads now lead to Olives.
I find it really fucking odd when people say something is olive-coloured. Olives start off a shade of green, and then become a purple-ish black when they're ripe... or may be when they've rotted. Anyway, I have never met anyone with green or "purplish" skin, so I understand the term, "olive-skin".
This annoys me as much as the term "redhead". The term "redhead" refers to a person with orange hair, not red hair. And their head is certainly not red either.
The list goes on. When people tell me about the "miserable weather" outside, I always wish to inform them that "The weather is rainy; you are miserable". I don't know why people feel the need to drag the weather down when they're feeling bad. There is absolutely nothing wrong with a rainy day, or a cloudy day. Just because you're annoyed that the washing won't dry for a week now thanks to this constant rain, doesn't give you the right to drag the weather down with you in your parade of self-pity in some twisted attempt at pathetic fallacy.
There are some things I like, as unusual as that might sound given that all I've down so far is ramble about bothersome circumstances and my sarcastic approach to them. I like olives, as I've already mentioned, twice. I actually like the rain, as detrimental as it is to my attempts to wash things. I like the company of good friends. I like when boys make me giggle.
I'm actually super excited to be moving house. I am only moving a few streets away, but this will be the first house I have ever lived in without my family. It has a nice backyard and plenty of space for herbs and vegetables, so naturally I'm excited.
I think that just about sums up the extent of my mildness. The fact that I am excited by the prospect of growing herbs and vegetables (and fruits!); more than I seem to be excited about moving in with a best friend.
I think it's time to go. So I will, go that is. And so I leave you bewildered and annoyed by the pointless crap I just discussed, with myself. Enjoy some olives.
Sunday, 27 April 2014
Saturday, 12 April 2014
Note to future self
Dear Future Self,
Well done on still being alive. I'm assuming you must have started sleeping or eating properly, or taking so much crack that it has somehow preserved your body in an eternal state of fucked. I really hope you don't take crack.
I hope you're happy in whatever you're doing. Because I know you will be doing something, and you will be doing it at 100 kilometres an hour, and giving it every ounce of yourself, because that is in your blood. I assume you're probably having sporadic breakdowns adjusting with constant changes and obstacles. You'll get over them. The shit times will pass and there is always friends/drinking/music/nature/crack. But again I hope you don't resort to taking crack. That shit is expensive and you're meant to be saving up to go somewhere sometime.
I hope you've learnt to see the good in everything, and to appreciate things a little more. I hope you're at least a tiny bit less narcissistic, and that you've stopped being so terrible with money. I really wonder about things. Do you still have an undercut? What colour is your hair? Are you seeing anyone? Have you left your hometown yet?
It's the strangest thing that I (that is me, who I am right this second) will never be able to know the answers to these questions. Even though I will be the one who decides their answers, I won't really be me any more when they have an answer. This is too deep and illogical for me to articulate in my haphazard writing style. So I'll do something completely unoriginal and use an example from a play I recently did some backstage for.
The play was called "Quartet" - and yes it had four characters and yes it was about music. The four characters were all great opera singers in their time, but now find themselves in an upmarket nursing home devoid of artistic stimulation, or stimulation of any description. Like any good work of art, the play is not simply about music, or about being old people in a nursing home; it's two most obvious themes. The play is about the very concept of art, the pains and joys of living and aging, and lastly the invisibility and inevitability of change.
Three of the musicians in the home decide that they should like to perform the "Rigoletto" at a concert held annually by the home in celebration of the birthday of Giuseppe Verdi. This is particularly interesting as the three musicians recorded the song together along with Jean Horton years ago in the prime of their operatic careers. However, when they suggest that Jean should need to join them and render them the complete quartet again, she refuses.
For the majority of the play's opening it appears that Jean's refusal is solely due to stubbornness, and as such the rest of the quartet are angered with her for what they perceive to be selfishness. However, later in the play she reveals the truth.
You'll have to forgive me because I don't have a copy of Quartet and can't find it anywhere online, so I have no actual quotes to use here. But the big reveal Jean makes is that thirty years ago, when she abruptly ended her operatic career and stopped singing, it wasn't a choice she made. It was assumed by the other members of the Quartet and any strange members of the public interested in the personal lives of Opera singers that she ended her career to focus solely on being a wife and mother, as it was after the birth of her daughter that it happenned. However, she reveals to the rest of her Quartet that after the birth of her daughter, she tried to sing for a much coveted role, but simply couldn't. She tried and tried, but alas no sound would come out. And so she had no choice but to end her career as an opera singer.
While the other members of the Quartet lament Jean's loss of her own ability to sing, Jean herself laments something much darker - the loss of herself. She claims that "the Jean Horton that was" was brilliant and "shone bright in the firmament", but that she is literally a different person now, who just happens to inhabit the same body as "the Jean Horton that was".
The concept initially appears to be nothing more than a hyperbolic statement used to heighten the significance of the loss of Jean's vocal ability. However, as it is explored and expanded upon within the confines of the play, the audience come to realise that the statement Jean is making is not an exaggeration, but a profound philosophical statement.
The concept is essentially that we change throughout our lives - moving from role to role, from place to place, changing things as small as hairstyles or as large as professions and goals. We lose friends and make new ones, end relationships and start new ones. As we journey through our lives, aspects of our personality change, and we ourselves change too. The underlying claim made by Jean Horton in Quartet is that we literally become different people throughout our lives as we change.
The concept is terrifying yet thought-provoking. If I look back on my own life, while I do feel as though aspects have remained the same in my life - such as the fact that I still live in my hometown - almost as many things have changed.
At five, I could not properly or completely articulate myself. The concept of sexuality or intellect were hardly present in my mind - I did not consider the notions of sex, or of intellect.
At twelve, I was articulate. Not yet fully developed, but articulate. At this point, I began to notice I was same-sex attracted - but denied acknowledgement of this due to my beliefs. My intellect was certainly developed, but again, not yet to it's full extent. I enjoyed study, and learning.
At eighteen, I am able to well articulate myself. I enjoy intellectual stimulation, and have now fully accepted my homosexual inclination.
It is clear that at these three ages, I was and am drastically different. Almost no remnants of my five year old self remain. In light of this, I am left to consider. Do we literally become different people throughout our life? Does my former self no longer exist in any form, or does he remain at least partially?
I am not apologetic for bombarding you, my future self, with all of this. Above all, I hope you always think. I hope you wonder, and search for answers, and question, and explore. Change is inevitable, and though so much changes, I hope this remains.
I do hope you don't do crack.
George.
Well done on still being alive. I'm assuming you must have started sleeping or eating properly, or taking so much crack that it has somehow preserved your body in an eternal state of fucked. I really hope you don't take crack.
I hope you're happy in whatever you're doing. Because I know you will be doing something, and you will be doing it at 100 kilometres an hour, and giving it every ounce of yourself, because that is in your blood. I assume you're probably having sporadic breakdowns adjusting with constant changes and obstacles. You'll get over them. The shit times will pass and there is always friends/drinking/music/nature/crack. But again I hope you don't resort to taking crack. That shit is expensive and you're meant to be saving up to go somewhere sometime.
I hope you've learnt to see the good in everything, and to appreciate things a little more. I hope you're at least a tiny bit less narcissistic, and that you've stopped being so terrible with money. I really wonder about things. Do you still have an undercut? What colour is your hair? Are you seeing anyone? Have you left your hometown yet?
It's the strangest thing that I (that is me, who I am right this second) will never be able to know the answers to these questions. Even though I will be the one who decides their answers, I won't really be me any more when they have an answer. This is too deep and illogical for me to articulate in my haphazard writing style. So I'll do something completely unoriginal and use an example from a play I recently did some backstage for.
The play was called "Quartet" - and yes it had four characters and yes it was about music. The four characters were all great opera singers in their time, but now find themselves in an upmarket nursing home devoid of artistic stimulation, or stimulation of any description. Like any good work of art, the play is not simply about music, or about being old people in a nursing home; it's two most obvious themes. The play is about the very concept of art, the pains and joys of living and aging, and lastly the invisibility and inevitability of change.
Three of the musicians in the home decide that they should like to perform the "Rigoletto" at a concert held annually by the home in celebration of the birthday of Giuseppe Verdi. This is particularly interesting as the three musicians recorded the song together along with Jean Horton years ago in the prime of their operatic careers. However, when they suggest that Jean should need to join them and render them the complete quartet again, she refuses.
For the majority of the play's opening it appears that Jean's refusal is solely due to stubbornness, and as such the rest of the quartet are angered with her for what they perceive to be selfishness. However, later in the play she reveals the truth.
You'll have to forgive me because I don't have a copy of Quartet and can't find it anywhere online, so I have no actual quotes to use here. But the big reveal Jean makes is that thirty years ago, when she abruptly ended her operatic career and stopped singing, it wasn't a choice she made. It was assumed by the other members of the Quartet and any strange members of the public interested in the personal lives of Opera singers that she ended her career to focus solely on being a wife and mother, as it was after the birth of her daughter that it happenned. However, she reveals to the rest of her Quartet that after the birth of her daughter, she tried to sing for a much coveted role, but simply couldn't. She tried and tried, but alas no sound would come out. And so she had no choice but to end her career as an opera singer.
While the other members of the Quartet lament Jean's loss of her own ability to sing, Jean herself laments something much darker - the loss of herself. She claims that "the Jean Horton that was" was brilliant and "shone bright in the firmament", but that she is literally a different person now, who just happens to inhabit the same body as "the Jean Horton that was".
The concept initially appears to be nothing more than a hyperbolic statement used to heighten the significance of the loss of Jean's vocal ability. However, as it is explored and expanded upon within the confines of the play, the audience come to realise that the statement Jean is making is not an exaggeration, but a profound philosophical statement.
The concept is essentially that we change throughout our lives - moving from role to role, from place to place, changing things as small as hairstyles or as large as professions and goals. We lose friends and make new ones, end relationships and start new ones. As we journey through our lives, aspects of our personality change, and we ourselves change too. The underlying claim made by Jean Horton in Quartet is that we literally become different people throughout our lives as we change.
The concept is terrifying yet thought-provoking. If I look back on my own life, while I do feel as though aspects have remained the same in my life - such as the fact that I still live in my hometown - almost as many things have changed.
At five, I could not properly or completely articulate myself. The concept of sexuality or intellect were hardly present in my mind - I did not consider the notions of sex, or of intellect.
At twelve, I was articulate. Not yet fully developed, but articulate. At this point, I began to notice I was same-sex attracted - but denied acknowledgement of this due to my beliefs. My intellect was certainly developed, but again, not yet to it's full extent. I enjoyed study, and learning.
At eighteen, I am able to well articulate myself. I enjoy intellectual stimulation, and have now fully accepted my homosexual inclination.
It is clear that at these three ages, I was and am drastically different. Almost no remnants of my five year old self remain. In light of this, I am left to consider. Do we literally become different people throughout our life? Does my former self no longer exist in any form, or does he remain at least partially?
I am not apologetic for bombarding you, my future self, with all of this. Above all, I hope you always think. I hope you wonder, and search for answers, and question, and explore. Change is inevitable, and though so much changes, I hope this remains.
I do hope you don't do crack.
George.
Wednesday, 9 April 2014
One must always leave a trail
Sitting in front of me is a packet of loose leaf Organic Lemon Myrtle Tea. It's expiry date is on my 21st birthday. Next to that is some random notes I took at a work meeting, brown eyeshadow, a gloriously large cup of coffee and a CD player.
Last night an old friend of mine returned home from his mysterious and somewhat prolonged adventure to Gulgong. As is almost necessary for people aged under 21, we had a party. On a Tuesday night.
I had work on Tuesday, and I have work today soon actually. I was planning to just meet them for dinner beforehand, extend my regards and then fuck off home again. Of course I turned up so late to dinner that I actually missed the dinner part, and arrived precisely when everyone was leaving.
Despite having said I would not, under any circumstances, attend a party on a Tuesday night, I did precisely that. I deliberately remained sober so that I could drive home at any point. But then I found myself amongst a group of close friends, in the dark, in the distance, getting in touch with Mary Jane.
I thought it would be best to wait a while before driving home, being then rendered completely off of my tits. So then I found myself lying on a trampoline, gazing at the cloudy night sky, slightly disillusioned by the lack of any visible stars. I remained stationary for a very fucking long time. Groups of people came and went; I remember lively discussions happenning around me that I was apparently physical unable to contribute to. Lola and I made nonsense at each other, understanding each other as intrinsically as babies.
I eventually made my way indoors. At the start of the night, my hair had been perfectly (or rather imperfectly) styled. I had pinned most of it back in an elegant style - something bohemian and a little bit flapper - and arranged tarragon flowers somewhat haphazardly in my hair.
The flowers from my hair, along with most of the bobby pins, laid on the trampoline and across the property, as I laid on a red lounge covered in cushions and everybody's things. There wasn't really any space to lie down but I think I made it work. Of course I then fell swiftly asleep in amongst all the things, blissfully unaware of how ridicudously high and absolutely freezing I was.
At 5:40 this morning I awoke startled and completely disoriented. The sun had begun to rise, which for some reason beckoned me to the bathroom. I grabbed most of my things (one must always leave a trail behind when they leave), and ran to the car, which for some reason I parked really far up the street. And then I headed home in a hurry, despite the fact I didn't (and don't) have to be at work until nine o'clock. I hope.
Last night an old friend of mine returned home from his mysterious and somewhat prolonged adventure to Gulgong. As is almost necessary for people aged under 21, we had a party. On a Tuesday night.
I had work on Tuesday, and I have work today soon actually. I was planning to just meet them for dinner beforehand, extend my regards and then fuck off home again. Of course I turned up so late to dinner that I actually missed the dinner part, and arrived precisely when everyone was leaving.
Despite having said I would not, under any circumstances, attend a party on a Tuesday night, I did precisely that. I deliberately remained sober so that I could drive home at any point. But then I found myself amongst a group of close friends, in the dark, in the distance, getting in touch with Mary Jane.
I thought it would be best to wait a while before driving home, being then rendered completely off of my tits. So then I found myself lying on a trampoline, gazing at the cloudy night sky, slightly disillusioned by the lack of any visible stars. I remained stationary for a very fucking long time. Groups of people came and went; I remember lively discussions happenning around me that I was apparently physical unable to contribute to. Lola and I made nonsense at each other, understanding each other as intrinsically as babies.
I eventually made my way indoors. At the start of the night, my hair had been perfectly (or rather imperfectly) styled. I had pinned most of it back in an elegant style - something bohemian and a little bit flapper - and arranged tarragon flowers somewhat haphazardly in my hair.
The flowers from my hair, along with most of the bobby pins, laid on the trampoline and across the property, as I laid on a red lounge covered in cushions and everybody's things. There wasn't really any space to lie down but I think I made it work. Of course I then fell swiftly asleep in amongst all the things, blissfully unaware of how ridicudously high and absolutely freezing I was.
At 5:40 this morning I awoke startled and completely disoriented. The sun had begun to rise, which for some reason beckoned me to the bathroom. I grabbed most of my things (one must always leave a trail behind when they leave), and ran to the car, which for some reason I parked really far up the street. And then I headed home in a hurry, despite the fact I didn't (and don't) have to be at work until nine o'clock. I hope.
Sunday, 23 March 2014
I don't want a boyfriend I just want a life
Last night I saw a lot of people I hadn't seen in a very long time, and met a few new people. It was the eighteenth birthday of old friend of mine who left town earlier this year to go to uni.
I looked around at the sea of faces. Smiling faces. And then a comment was made about how "It's so amazing how everyone has a boyfriend now". I looked around again at all my friends, boyfriends hanging off each of them. Everyone looked so happy, and as though no matter how shit things were or would become, they had someone else to share it all with; someone to fall back on; or someone to cry to.
I downed Moscato with force and couldn't help but think I'd somehow pulled the short straw. My friends had either moved away to start uni or stayed in town to finish school - and despite their student-induced-poverty and constant greivances about having to study, they were all happy.
I downed Moscato with force and couldn't help but think I'd somehow pulled the short straw. My friends had either moved away to start uni or stayed in town to finish school - and despite their student-induced-poverty and constant greivances about having to study, they were all happy.
The birthday girl's mother asked me how my love life was going. I didn't snap, and I didn't snap anyone's necks. I answered truthfully, "Nothing's really happenning". She began gathering pity, so I continued. "I was with someone at the end of last year, but he was a bit manic, so I decided I'd rather be alone. I'm so busy and I work so much I hardly notice".
The last part of my response was partly true. I was with someone, and I did call it off. But he wasn't manic, he was just wrong for me, and I'm too stubborn to make things work out with someone I don't even like much. And while I am busy and always working, it doesn't mean I don't notice there's no one there.
I keep finding myself in tears whenever I'm physically alone somewhere. I'm unhappy. I thought stepping straight out of school and into a full-time job would be worth it. But the truth is, no amount of money is worth more than my happiness. I earn a pittance, work horrific hours, and have nothing to show for it.
It's not that I want a boyfriend. It's just that I want to have a life to live, and something or someone to call my own. I don't want to be the "workaholic" who "can't come". I want too be the life of the party - like I used to be. I want to be brimming with energy and creativity, ideas and things to say.
I feel like I've pulled the short straw and nobody else seems to care. I'm losing my friends and even myself, for minimum wage. Sometimes, you have to back out of something. You have to walk away and close a door.
It's not that I want a boyfriend. It's just that I want to have a life to live, and something or someone to call my own. I don't want to be the "workaholic" who "can't come". I want too be the life of the party - like I used to be. I want to be brimming with energy and creativity, ideas and things to say.
I feel like I've pulled the short straw and nobody else seems to care. I'm losing my friends and even myself, for minimum wage. Sometimes, you have to back out of something. You have to walk away and close a door.
I'm at a turning point right now where it'll either get worse or it'll get better. And if it gets worse, I'll quit my job and leave. There's no shame in doing what you have to to look after yourself.
Be kind to yourself.
Be kind to yourself.
Sunday, 16 March 2014
Big Picture Shit
It's nearly St. Patricks Day, and my room and life are still a mess. I moved in at Christmas, and figured I would have got everything sorted by now.
At the end of last year, I practically walked out my final exam and into a full-time job. I thought the transition from student to full-time worker would be easy. I had five days off at Christmas, and of course, being my usual ridiculously-driven-to-succeed self, I decided it would be a good idea to move into my brother's house over those five days.
We all spent Christmas Day at my brothers house, sitting around the table and getting profoundly drunk on our chosen drinks. If I remember correctly I think I was slightly late to the family lunch because I was madly packing my belongings at my old house to bring over with me. Christmas Eve was the last night I ever slept at the house I had called home through senior high school, and Christmas Day was probably the last time I wasn't "busy" or "working", and one of the last times I've actually spent quality time with my mother.
The five days I thought would last forever disappeared in a heartbeat, as did my mother and her caravan. Suddenly I was working all the time, and saying "I can't" to everyone and everything, all the while watching my mother disappear with her husband and caravan into the distance.
I made a lot of unspoken promises to myself and I don't know that I've kept any of them. I kept vowing that I would take the time to properly move in to my new house and new life; to organise my things and my life, to unpack every box and to really settle into whatever this chapter of my life would be. I foolishly said that I wouldn't let things change, that work wouldn't get in the way of maintaining friendships, and that I would still do the things I'd always done.
Some things are difficult to understand until they are actually lived. My parents always told me that after high school, everything and everyone sort of fell away, and moved away, and that everything changes. I laughed at them, thinking yeah well maybe that happens to some people but not us.
Yeah well It happenned to us.
I think the worst thing is not that my friends are all slowly but surely moving away, changing, or drifting away from my newly workaholic self. The worst thing about this chapter of my life is not that things are changing, but that I feel like I am changing, in ways that I don't want to change. The mask I put on for work seems difficult to take off, and I seem to be pushing everyone and everything else away from me as a standard reflex. I think I've always been a fairly independent person, but now it just feels like I'm stubborn. I nearly got into a relationship at the end of last year, but then ran. I was terrified of being with someone, of opening up to them, if there was a chance that it wasn't right, or that it could end.
I don't know how or when it happenned, but my need to succeed has suddenly sky-rocketed, and driven me to avoid failure like bad coffee. I don't seem to start things - relationships, new friendships, hobbies, random little projects - as much any more if I can see them coming to a probable end.
I guess the great thing about changing is that it happens constantly... so I can always change again? I have this weird motivational phrase I like to tell everyone that has quite the opposite effect, that "you can do pretty much anything, it's just hard". I guess that applies to changing. I have this crazy dream of living and working in Europe in the near future, but it's not really crazy at all. I just need to tough it out through four years of uni and become qualified*, deal with working on the side and sacrificing things so that I can save money for my dream. It's not an impossible dream to fulfill, and it's not just plausible either. It's very possible, it'll just be hard.
I know they say the best things in life are free, but some pretty damn good things require hard work, study, and sacrifice. I will make it to Europe, and maybe (and quite probably) stay longer than I intend. There are just certain things I have to do to get there. Anything's possible, it's just hard. Hard but rewarding.
*I'm planning to study French and Linguistics/Sociology (undecided) at university next year
At the end of last year, I practically walked out my final exam and into a full-time job. I thought the transition from student to full-time worker would be easy. I had five days off at Christmas, and of course, being my usual ridiculously-driven-to-succeed self, I decided it would be a good idea to move into my brother's house over those five days.
We all spent Christmas Day at my brothers house, sitting around the table and getting profoundly drunk on our chosen drinks. If I remember correctly I think I was slightly late to the family lunch because I was madly packing my belongings at my old house to bring over with me. Christmas Eve was the last night I ever slept at the house I had called home through senior high school, and Christmas Day was probably the last time I wasn't "busy" or "working", and one of the last times I've actually spent quality time with my mother.
The five days I thought would last forever disappeared in a heartbeat, as did my mother and her caravan. Suddenly I was working all the time, and saying "I can't" to everyone and everything, all the while watching my mother disappear with her husband and caravan into the distance.
I made a lot of unspoken promises to myself and I don't know that I've kept any of them. I kept vowing that I would take the time to properly move in to my new house and new life; to organise my things and my life, to unpack every box and to really settle into whatever this chapter of my life would be. I foolishly said that I wouldn't let things change, that work wouldn't get in the way of maintaining friendships, and that I would still do the things I'd always done.
Some things are difficult to understand until they are actually lived. My parents always told me that after high school, everything and everyone sort of fell away, and moved away, and that everything changes. I laughed at them, thinking yeah well maybe that happens to some people but not us.
Yeah well It happenned to us.
I think the worst thing is not that my friends are all slowly but surely moving away, changing, or drifting away from my newly workaholic self. The worst thing about this chapter of my life is not that things are changing, but that I feel like I am changing, in ways that I don't want to change. The mask I put on for work seems difficult to take off, and I seem to be pushing everyone and everything else away from me as a standard reflex. I think I've always been a fairly independent person, but now it just feels like I'm stubborn. I nearly got into a relationship at the end of last year, but then ran. I was terrified of being with someone, of opening up to them, if there was a chance that it wasn't right, or that it could end.
I don't know how or when it happenned, but my need to succeed has suddenly sky-rocketed, and driven me to avoid failure like bad coffee. I don't seem to start things - relationships, new friendships, hobbies, random little projects - as much any more if I can see them coming to a probable end.
I guess the great thing about changing is that it happens constantly... so I can always change again? I have this weird motivational phrase I like to tell everyone that has quite the opposite effect, that "you can do pretty much anything, it's just hard". I guess that applies to changing. I have this crazy dream of living and working in Europe in the near future, but it's not really crazy at all. I just need to tough it out through four years of uni and become qualified*, deal with working on the side and sacrificing things so that I can save money for my dream. It's not an impossible dream to fulfill, and it's not just plausible either. It's very possible, it'll just be hard.
I know they say the best things in life are free, but some pretty damn good things require hard work, study, and sacrifice. I will make it to Europe, and maybe (and quite probably) stay longer than I intend. There are just certain things I have to do to get there. Anything's possible, it's just hard. Hard but rewarding.
*I'm planning to study French and Linguistics/Sociology (undecided) at university next year
Sunday, 9 March 2014
And then everyone left, and I got a job
It has been a fucking long time since I last posted on here. I guess I'd better quickly fill in whoever's unfortunate enough to be reading this on what's been happenning.
November: Well, the HSC finally came to a profoundly anti-climactic end when I finished my last ever high school exam. It had been Society and Culture, I believe. We drove off into the bush immediately afterwards for our much cheaper, earthier version of the notorious schoolies.
November: Well, the HSC finally came to a profoundly anti-climactic end when I finished my last ever high school exam. It had been Society and Culture, I believe. We drove off into the bush immediately afterwards for our much cheaper, earthier version of the notorious schoolies.
Our version of schoolies didn't go for very long. It actually just consisted of camping by a river, drinking, smoking, and swimming. At one point we all journeyed across the river, away from our campsite, for a bit of a wildly unnecessary bush bramble. We left one of the girls behind at the campsite because she was asleep and is one of those people that you just don't wake up. The interesting thing was that this particular friend of ours was terrified of lizards, and exceptionally large goannas had been circling our campsite for most of the morning. We figured leaving a girl who was terrified of lizards alone with a bunch of large lizards was a perfectly dandy idea, because, you know, she was asleep. For some reason, none of us took into account the wild notion that people often wake up after they've been sleeping for a while.
We all eventually returned to the campsite, slightly sun burnt and incredibly exhausted, to find that our friend had mysteriously vanished. We gazed up the hill and discovered that she had not, in fact, completely disappeared. Rather, she had merely teleported herself into her car, a place where she would be physically protected from the goannas that, upon waking up, she had discovered were circlcing the tent.
Somehow, we all convinced the goannas that the three of us were remarkably fearsome and, as such, they should vacate the premisis. Getting our friend to leave her car and return to the campsite - now completely but probably only temporarily devoid of goannas - was a much more difficult task.
Somehow, we all convinced the goannas that the three of us were remarkably fearsome and, as such, they should vacate the premisis. Getting our friend to leave her car and return to the campsite - now completely but probably only temporarily devoid of goannas - was a much more difficult task.
After two nights of camping, I returned home. In the same day, I attended a job interview for a job I would later recieve and officially signed out of high school. Straight out of the exam hall and into the work force. For the next week or so I entertained an old and dear friend who was in the process of moving from Dubbo to Cairns, and decided to visit in the mean time. When we weren't drinking, being emotional, catching up or wandering the streets in a thoroughly existential search for meaning/something to do, I was attending training sessions for the job I would soon begin.
Suddenly, I found myself bidding farewell to my friend at the local airport, crying, next to another crying friend. Before I knew it I had started the job, which was to be a strange cross between Barrista, Till Person, Waiter, and Wholesale Delivery Boy. But for the first month, all I did was help move the entire business from one venue to another. That was quite the induction.
Suddenly, I found myself bidding farewell to my friend at the local airport, crying, next to another crying friend. Before I knew it I had started the job, which was to be a strange cross between Barrista, Till Person, Waiter, and Wholesale Delivery Boy. But for the first month, all I did was help move the entire business from one venue to another. That was quite the induction.
December: My workplace officially opened, and I was introduced to two new friends I would be seeing a lot of in the future; "Overtime" and "Wages".
Christmas came and we all sat out the back of my brother's house. I managed to move my entire life from one house to another in five days. There were gifts and deep conversations about things that happenned before I was born with people I never knew. There was beer, and wine, and pavlova. I managed to move my entire life from one house to another in five days.
The new year came in while I was on the toilet. The Dixie Chicks Greatest Hits played in the background as I heard Lola and her boyfriend shriek about the New Year. I rushed out, washed my hands, and changed the music to "Midnight Radio" - a glorious song from off-broadway musical "Hedwig & The Angry Inch" that I'd always wanted to play at midnight. We drank wine and peppermint tea, played scrabble and nibbled on chocolate before spooning in my double bed.
Christmas came and we all sat out the back of my brother's house. I managed to move my entire life from one house to another in five days. There were gifts and deep conversations about things that happenned before I was born with people I never knew. There was beer, and wine, and pavlova. I managed to move my entire life from one house to another in five days.
The new year came in while I was on the toilet. The Dixie Chicks Greatest Hits played in the background as I heard Lola and her boyfriend shriek about the New Year. I rushed out, washed my hands, and changed the music to "Midnight Radio" - a glorious song from off-broadway musical "Hedwig & The Angry Inch" that I'd always wanted to play at midnight. We drank wine and peppermint tea, played scrabble and nibbled on chocolate before spooning in my double bed.
January: My new years resolution was really just to be healthy. But somehow January ended up as a month of alcoholism, parties, take-away and not sleeping enough. I went to work, saw my friends, got drunk and that was about it.
I was (of course) working when my mum and her husband left town in their caravan to travel around the country. I came home and suddenly realised that I now had to do my own washing and cooking.
Two of my closest friends turned eighteen in January. Both are from New Zealand and neither seemed very fussed about their coming of age. I owe one of them a pub crawl.
February: I'm not sure if anything remarkable happenned in February. I worked, a lot, but decided to start looking after myself at home. I re-entered the kitchen I had evacuated when the HSC hit, and learnt when to add red wine and what works in a quiche. The answers were "always" and "everything".
I ventured to Sydney in late February to celebrate a friend's 18th/go out clubbing/get out of the fucking small town I hadn't left since October. I took myself to Arq and then Bondi, where I snuck into the backpackers and intended to stay until sunrise. It became very freezing very quickly, and so at 5 in the morning I gave up, picked myself up off the grass and caught a bus back to where I was staying.
I spent a lot of that weekend on busses. I snuck a bottle of wine into the East Hills Hotel, caught up with a friend I hadn't seen since school ended at Coogee, and had a few drinks, Thai Food, and a go at the Pokies with my mum at Beverly Hills.
I was (of course) working when my mum and her husband left town in their caravan to travel around the country. I came home and suddenly realised that I now had to do my own washing and cooking.
Two of my closest friends turned eighteen in January. Both are from New Zealand and neither seemed very fussed about their coming of age. I owe one of them a pub crawl.
February: I'm not sure if anything remarkable happenned in February. I worked, a lot, but decided to start looking after myself at home. I re-entered the kitchen I had evacuated when the HSC hit, and learnt when to add red wine and what works in a quiche. The answers were "always" and "everything".
I ventured to Sydney in late February to celebrate a friend's 18th/go out clubbing/get out of the fucking small town I hadn't left since October. I took myself to Arq and then Bondi, where I snuck into the backpackers and intended to stay until sunrise. It became very freezing very quickly, and so at 5 in the morning I gave up, picked myself up off the grass and caught a bus back to where I was staying.
I spent a lot of that weekend on busses. I snuck a bottle of wine into the East Hills Hotel, caught up with a friend I hadn't seen since school ended at Coogee, and had a few drinks, Thai Food, and a go at the Pokies with my mum at Beverly Hills.
I sat at the airport terminal for two hours until my plane finally arrived at 7am on a Monday morning. I read Frankie for an hour, then we were there. I got off, went home, showered, ironed my uniform and headed to work.
And that about sums things up. I'm no longer a student, or a child. Working to pay my own way, rent and bills is thrilling and terrifying. At the moment I'm a bit under the weather, and for the first time, am really missing mummy.
Saturday, 19 October 2013
Birth of a teenager
Well shit. It' 12:26 in the afternoon and I just woke up.
I was sortof hoping this day wouldn't come. When I was small, I used to look on in disgust at my brother's teenage lifestyle. The drinking, the going out, the incredibly odd food choices and the lingering smell. More than anything I think what repulsed me was the hours he kept. He would go to bed sometime after two - in the morning! - and arise sometime after lunch the next day. For some reason, this was completely unacceptable to my pious ten year old self.
The smell is something I remember vividly. He, and all his things, and all his friends had this vivid smell. It was the smell of apathy. The smell of frequently going unwashed for days at a time. The smell of mess, of disorder, of chaos. The smell of freedom.
When my brother moved out and stopped being a teenager, I never thought I'd come into contact with the smell again.
Today, I woke up around lunch time after going to sleep sometime after two. And I realised...
I now have my own smell.
It's official. I'm a dirty, rotten, teenage dirtbag. Most people enter this phase some time in their early teens, perhaps thirteen or fifteen. But of course of entered it after my eighteenth birthday. I'm somewhat renowned for being late. Late to catch onto trends, late to class, late to get togethers that I organise....
Most of the bands I've recently gotten into were in the height of their fame a few decades ago. Bear in mind that I wasn't even alive a few decades ago.
I'm not sure what it is that makes me so late all the time. Perhaps it's the fact that I generally take too long to do anything. Or maybe the fact that in over eighteen years I still haven't quite grasped the art of time management.
Generally, I catch onto trends after they've gone full circle. They've been discovered, shared, and then disowned by hipsters as "too mainstream", and then disappeared into the abyss of obscurity. After about a decade, they are nostalgically revived, and after another twenty to fifty years they're back in fashion as "vintage" or "retro".
It's usually sometime after the trend has disappeared into the abyss of obscurity that I finally jump on the bandwagon. In fact, more often than not the trend may have been through two or more revivals and again disappeared into obscurity, before I jump onto the bandwagon.
It's safe to say that I'm late when it comes to jumping on bandwagons. I'm late for busses too. Somehow I never miss long distance trains or planes though.
I was sortof hoping this day wouldn't come. When I was small, I used to look on in disgust at my brother's teenage lifestyle. The drinking, the going out, the incredibly odd food choices and the lingering smell. More than anything I think what repulsed me was the hours he kept. He would go to bed sometime after two - in the morning! - and arise sometime after lunch the next day. For some reason, this was completely unacceptable to my pious ten year old self.
The smell is something I remember vividly. He, and all his things, and all his friends had this vivid smell. It was the smell of apathy. The smell of frequently going unwashed for days at a time. The smell of mess, of disorder, of chaos. The smell of freedom.
When my brother moved out and stopped being a teenager, I never thought I'd come into contact with the smell again.
Today, I woke up around lunch time after going to sleep sometime after two. And I realised...
I now have my own smell.
It's official. I'm a dirty, rotten, teenage dirtbag. Most people enter this phase some time in their early teens, perhaps thirteen or fifteen. But of course of entered it after my eighteenth birthday. I'm somewhat renowned for being late. Late to catch onto trends, late to class, late to get togethers that I organise....
Most of the bands I've recently gotten into were in the height of their fame a few decades ago. Bear in mind that I wasn't even alive a few decades ago.
I'm not sure what it is that makes me so late all the time. Perhaps it's the fact that I generally take too long to do anything. Or maybe the fact that in over eighteen years I still haven't quite grasped the art of time management.
Generally, I catch onto trends after they've gone full circle. They've been discovered, shared, and then disowned by hipsters as "too mainstream", and then disappeared into the abyss of obscurity. After about a decade, they are nostalgically revived, and after another twenty to fifty years they're back in fashion as "vintage" or "retro".
It's usually sometime after the trend has disappeared into the abyss of obscurity that I finally jump on the bandwagon. In fact, more often than not the trend may have been through two or more revivals and again disappeared into obscurity, before I jump onto the bandwagon.
It's safe to say that I'm late when it comes to jumping on bandwagons. I'm late for busses too. Somehow I never miss long distance trains or planes though.
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