When I grow up...

What do you want to be when you grow up?

We aren't likely to realise it at the time but that is one helluva loaded question. When I was first asked that question, I believe my four year old self said, "a dancer." I was never flexible enough and my flat feet were two left feet. I don't think I meant it at the time. It was the first thing that popped into my head that I felt was appropriate for a little girl to say.

I really wanted to be Supergirl. It was the first film I saw at the cinema and I aspired to flight, super hearing and x-ray/heat vision. Not to mention a spectacular mane of blonde hair and wicked red boots (just like my Barbie doll).

The closest I got to this, I worked five years at Red Rooster.

I would eventually answer that age old question with suitably feminine occupations (not in my opinion nowadays) nurse or teacher.

Why not doctor, lawyer or astrophysicist?  WHY?

Actually I did toy with astrophysics when I was 14 but gave up the idea for paediatrics. I think the astrophysics idea was a quiet protest against the fascination with marine biology being tossed around by my classmates (all female) but it was probably also to do with my fascination with space, astronauts, superheroes and sci-fi. I'll watch anything sci-fi, except Event Horizon.  I made it nearly halfway through the film before my ocular phobia kicked in. You try watching that rubbish when one of your recurring childhood nightmares is about your eyes falling out and smashing into little shards of coloured glass. It's impossible.

So is watching the Exorcist when you've been brought up Catholic. Like scary Irish Catholic-Catholic. I'm over that now but I still won't watch the Exorcist.

So apart from saving the world and sick babies I decided at 15 that Veterinarian Science would be the degree for me. I went to open days, did my work experience in a vet clinic, assisted in surgery and euthanasia. The allergies were a pain but I'll still suffer itchy eyes and runny noses for fluffy cuddly kitties. Somewhere along the way I gave up that idea too. I felt I would find it hard to pick up a scalpel and cut into living flesh, even if it is for the good of the patient.

It also probably had something to do with music.  I played bass, bass clarinet and I was good, damn good.

I miss holding this instrument so much it physically pains me...

There was some unpleasantness and so I gave it up, horrified at what was going on 'behind the scenes' so to speak.

At 22 I gave away my place and set about choosing a path.  I did not choose wisely.  The HR degree did not get me a job in HR anywhere.  So rather than go back to uni and do what I really wanted to do, I settled for a switch bitch job in superannuation.  WHY?  I did it because I thought that at the ripe old age of 24 it was time to work and not study...

Oh Jax, you are a fool

Five years later I was made redundant, a week after breaking up with the boyfriend I was ridiculously in love with.  As fun as that was it was also the perfect catalyst to looking at myself and my desires.  I was about to hit the reset button.  I looked back at my uni preferences, far down the list I had submitted an application to study Chinese medicine at RMIT, after that, Naturopathy.  I've always wanted to be of use for the good of society, not the bad.

Now, four years later, I'm halfway through my degree and loitering at another crossroad. You see, there are only two subjects left I can study online. After them I must attend classes.  Problem is, I work office hours Monday to Friday with no hope of flexible hours. Damn. What do I do now?

I'm 33 years old and I'm still stuck.  What do I do next? I hate this corporate world I've lived in for the past 10 years but I'm trapped within the confines of a mortgage. Logically, it's better to have the property but if I'm not happy with my lot in life, is financial security really worth it?

One thought, might switch to the Advance Dip of Naturopathy and finish the degree later. Another, hope this writing for a community paper/website ends up somewhere. My favourite thought; re-writing Germaine Greer's 'The Female Eunuch' for the next generation, because if the devil's greatest trick is convincing people he doesn't exist, then mans greatest trick is convincing the women of the world they are equal with men.

I will not go gently into this good night.

My First Memory

What I'm about to share with you is something I have never ever ever told any one in the whole wide world ever. I'm being over-expressive because this is a really difficult experience to describe and the thought of it brings back all those feelings of dread and anguish. This is my first memory, the earliest thing I can remember and quite possibly the worst thing that has ever happened to me. Ever. 

I was somewhere between 2 and 3 years old, it was before my brother was born so it was just me and mum at home during the day. 

I was in the lounge room when I heard the rumbling rolling. The sound caught my heartbeat and sent it flying, faster and faster. The moaning started next, muffled cries of pain heralding what was coming. I could feel the vibrations through the floor and I slowly rode them to the corridor. From the bedroom, at the front of the house, a new image superimposed itself on the sunlight shining through the window and illuminating the green grass of the garden. What was it? Was it coming for me?

It was them, coming for me. 

It was a great wheel of metal and flesh. Naked, dirty bodies of men and women. I'd never seen anything like this before. They were tied to a giant wheel. The wheel of death. They were on a mission, sent by Hell or by Death, I don't know. I tore back to the lounge and threw myself into my father's chair. I curled up beneath the cushion of the seat and closed my eyes tight. I listened to the sound, the rumble ripped through the house and rolled through the glass doors, out into the backyard and away. 

I don't know why they came and went, or who for. Whatever it is has been with me ever since. In dreams that shaped me. Suffocated and defiant, yet scared and alone. Who could ever understand the fear of seeing Hell in the flesh at less than three years of age. 

I will always hope for the best but I will always fear you too. 

Resonating pain

Pain resonating.
Resonating pain.

Different day, same shit.
Back to front.
In reverse.
Finding myself again.
At the pub.
Three drinks in.
Winning?
Nup, surely not.

I can't hear anything above the sound resonating from my sacrum.
The pain's tonality and timbre hold my skull in a vice-like grip.
The clamp winds itself tighter with every pounding beat of my heart.
In rhythm, save me, kill me.
Back and forth the melody weaves it's way like a serpent through the forest of synapses and flow of electrical currents.

Resonating pain.
Pain resonating.

Religion - Poem written September 2009

Have you looked at us 
From the outside? 
Have you seen it? 
The singing, the praying, the droning? 
Do you realise 
We are drones? 
Do you appreciate the blood, the body? 
Have you ever shed a tear for Him? 
Look! Hanging there! Pain! 
What do you think of the cannibalism? 
Or do you not? Because it is just wafer and wine? 
Feel the words? Do you know what you’re saying? 
Tell me! Recite the Apostles Creed, on your own, without the drones? 
You can’t do it, but He still loves you. 
Apparently, so they say. 
But I’ll love you, anyway, just the same, just as you are. 
Human.

What is the Opposite of a God complex - Poem written December 2009

Is it a Mother Nature complex?

I don't want the power
I don't want the fame
I don't want you to know me

I want to know you
without knowing you
Nurture you
Love you

But I don't want to belong to you
I don't want you to know you have
My unconditional love

It can't be seen anyway
It lives within a hard shell

I want you to grow 
and learn 
and live without me

It's mine to give and I'll give as I choose
Yeah it's some sort of complex...

Love/Life - Poem written February 2009

Since I know you 
My heart sings 
and my mind dances 
and dreams. 

With you I know 
Who I am and 
Who I can be. 

I'm awake and 
I breathe and 
I feel. 

My life is now 
A poem 
because 
I Love.

Where He Lives - Poem written August 2009

Well, somehow, 
He still resides within my soul 
Where he longer wants to be 
And the dust has settled 
No longer a lover 
No longer a friend 
He still resides within my soul...

Untitled non-fiction unusual love story

This is a story I started writing while waiting around in Melbourne Airport in February 2008. It's an idea. An ongoing project, trying to find the guts to take it from hopeless beginnings to hopeful endings.

Chapter 1

You know how people are born and then some of them feel like they were born in the wrong shell? Like a boy who's really a girl on the inside and they spend their whole life struggling to emit their true self on the outside. Some achieve it and I guess some don't. I think I'm one of those people. Except I'm not a girl trying to be a boy of a beaten down kid trying to show the world their true genius. I think I was born a dead soul trapped in a living shell, spending my whole life I'm trying to find a reason to resuscitate my self.

"Well why don't you top yourself?" It's something you might say. I'm not a violent person, I don't like the idea of tying a noose and hanging from the nearest tree, I only know three types of knots, or dragging razors across my wrist, not to say I haven't dragged razors anywhere. Who hasn't felt like physical pain is worth it, just to take away the emotions you aren't equipped to feel? Anyone seen Secretary? 

Besides that, the thing with being dead inside is that, one, you can't be bothered, and two, you don't want to put family and friends to all that trouble and expense. Let's try to look on the bright side here; there must be a way to ignite what's inside.

So this is my story so far, but what happens next? I don't know, how does one speak to their own soul, when the soul is the reason for speaking? Is there any point trying for a happy ending? What do I do?

I like driving on and on forever and always, road beneath tyres, rolling, passing by landscapes my feet will never touch, it's a way of peace and beauty and the destination, it's always good, doesn't matter who or what is at the end, it's always good, you're always welcome.

Monday to Friday...

Why did I spend all day inside a shithole for no thanks, no break?  Not one pay rise in three years while the cost of living increases.  While my mental and physical health deteriorates at a pace I can barely keep up with.  Why am I putting up with this shit?  And how do I manage to stay so damn nice to people when all I want to do is shake them until they fall apart or make some sort of sense!  Why the fuck?  I know why, it's because I'm weak and I settled for this bullshit life.  This isn't life, this is merely existing.  Existing from hand to mouth, day to day, dumb idea to the next dumb idea.  It's a bloody idiotic way to be and I am not a bloody idiot.  I know I am smarter and better than this shit I got myself into.

No point in ranting though, I seriously need to sort this out.  To work out a plan and stick to it.  But where is the big idea I want?  I am completely stifled by my own existence.  I am baffled and confused.  I can't the light but like the naive little girl I am, I have this ridiculous hope that things will turn out ok so what do I do?  BEGIN ALREADY!

My biggest burden are my finances and the biggest debt is my little flat.  A little flat in an area I love but where I am also subjected daily to how alone I feel without another soul, whether familiar or strange, to share with.  This is the mirror that shows me how extroverted I thought I wasn't.  Does this mean I need to sell this place and start again?  Financially not a very bright decision.  I mean, hey! once you're on the ladder, stay there.  But I'm starting to think it's not worth it.  I'd much rather rent with a bunch of loonies than stay here feeling suffocated by the shackles of debt.  

I really want to go to uni and finish a degree.  I really want to play music on a stage again.  I really want a meaningless part-time job where people are competing for clients and money and ruled by greed.  A place where I am not chained to a desk in order to serve the unethical, immoral purposes of others.  I'd rather be dead.  Really.

I could try to wait it out another few months and see if that job in Darwin is the real deal.  Past performance indicates no, it will be yet another empty promise from him and I'll remain trapped in this small concrete box.  Willing to make this place my coffin.  Fighting the urge to concede.

I can't stand the thought!

Frumped Up Jax

A recent delay in imparting information that is yet to be imparted has for want of a better term 'blown up in my face.'  The conversation I had with my best friend this afternoon highlighted a few things about myself that I staunchly refuse exist because when I do so I feel as though I am putting myself up on a pedestal I don't deserve to be on.  It comes down to a few things that add up to the magical mojo I have going on at the moment.  A magic I don't want to believe I possess but now have to acknowledge that I do and maybe do something about it.

I'll go back to the start.  About a week ago a guy hit on me, quite forcibly actually and it was unwelcome.  Unwelcome because I am not attracted to him in any way whatsoever, I find him quite dull and I enjoy drinking at the pub he manages, so basically I don't want to shit where I eat.  It came as quite a shock, here I was thinking we are mates out for a drink and he's declared his intentions.  Actually, I dragged them out of him with my shock at his moves, "Whoa nelly, where did that come from?  How long has that been on your mind?"  His intentions were not honourable, like all good bastards, he just wants a good time and for me to forget the fact one of my favourite friends had a long crush on him.  

Bloody prick.  Did he ask me out?  No.  He attempted to get me drunk enough to fall into bed with him.  Can anyone say 'Date rape?'

Here's another prick...

I might have taken the above metaphor too far.  He's a nice guy who just read me wrong.  Really wrong.

At first I wasn't sure whether to tell my friend about this or not, because nothing happened and it just would upset her.  I was also afraid she would see me in a different light, as a threat to her future partners.  My best friend turned this into a torturous situation for me, she thought it was best to tell my friend about it face to face, not via phone or email.  Problem with that: my friend was flying interstate early in the week and there was no time to see her.  Things dragged out.  It became torturous when the curious nature of my bestie meant retelling my story to various strangers in order to get their opinion on the subject.  My local pub was evenly divided on the matter but one wise old man said, "To discuss the situation when you were the subject of his actions is to merely reduce it to gossip."It sounds true but I decided I should let her know at the next opportunity.  That opportunity didn't come and my best friend received inquiry as to my relationship with this publican.  She answered truthfully and that's when shit hit the fan.

I'm regularly told by my best friend that all men ignore her when I'm around, because 'they see my magical mojo and just want to stick their cock in me.'  My initial reaction, "Ewwww."  My subsequent reaction, "I don't see myself that way."  I deny this because I don't want to admit that I have some kind of power over others, over men.  Yet I'm told repeatedly that I need to set boundaries and stifle my natural personality.  I'm a naturally friendly person who likes all to feel welcome. I like to bring a positive energy into the fray.  Apparently my ways are interpreted as flirting by all around me, friends or strangers.  Can I just say one thing about all of this?  I AM BEING MYSELF DAMMIT!!!

This is me, being me.  Tuck shop lady arms, big arse, round belly, greasy hair, no make up, cider in hand for breakfast, nursing a hangover.

At first I conceded that perhaps I should alter my behaviour, try to be rude when I think I'm just being nice.  Be harsher with the people I meet.  Become repellant, dress like a frump.  I found a blog for inspiration.  http://www.manrepeller.com/ It's about looking as ugly as possible, being the ulitmate hipster, ironic frump, but this chick has a lot more money and a lot of expensive clothes, so she repels me successfully.

I started to think about this idea that I alter my behaviour cognitively and the more I thought about it, the more I rebelled it.  I came to the conclusion that altering my behaviour is essentially anti-feminist and that's not what I'm about.  I was reminded of an article by Clementine Ford I read only this afternoon.  I admire her work but agree to disagree with her on some points.  The following is a point I agree with; "Your vagina is not a car."  She's right, we shouldn't change who we are and what makes us feel comfortable in order to diminish the predatory senses of male ego.  The article takes my point a bit further, my bestie wants me to be more like her to appease the jealousy of female friends and acquaintances.  

Perhaps I should never leave the house and go out into a group situation.  Perhaps I should join a convent.  But that's not me.  I'm only going to live this life once and I want it to be as fun as it can be.  So I'm not changing who I am and I'm not going to become 'Frumped Up Jax.'

She might look something like this...