Stop racing towards something that doesn't exist!

The one true thing I know about work is that it will never be done.  There is always more to do.  We race to Friday, the holidays, the year end as though it is some sort of finishing line.  That once the line is reached the work will be done and our lives will become magically freer, simpler, happier.  How silly of us to have such a notion!

We have discovered perpetual motion.  It is the way in which we live our lives!  Such an ingrained notion of society is very unlikely to change.  Ever!  A revolution is required, a protest, a gathering...

This is unlikely to happen.  We are too concerned with the finish line to be bothered with the greater good...

I need to do something about this but I don't know how.  I'm trapped in my employment contract, my mortgage, my commitments.  Even if I rid myself of all these things, then what is left.  Firstly I need to survive, find food and shelter and then I can imagine a new way of thinking.

I'll keep updating this post as ideas come to mind.  Let me know your ideas too.

The Path - a draft of a waking dream

The path is dark again
The trees so dense
That moonlight cannot penetrate
Nor the stars

On the dark path
I am the black panther
Stalking my prey
Longing to devour

I pounce and tear the flesh
Devouring and disemboweling
Warm blood absorbed
Into my black coat

There is no light
The trees are dense
A perfect place for me
To stalk my prey

Night after night
I slink through the jungle
I find the flesh

No light can touch me
The trees are so dense
The path is dark again

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...

Oh Melbourne, please...

Here we are. October. It's only 14 bloody degrees today!!

Today as you find the weather you will also find me a miserable creature indeed. To ease the pain/exhaustion/hormonal imbalance I thought a little expression of thought may help. 

I also need some water...just a minute.

Right.  Where do I begin?  The weather my emotions are bound to it's highs and lows, like many other good folk in this world.  With the grey skies enveloping my office today I wonder if Summer will ever return?  The last two Summers have been barely a blip on the radar.  I've had affairs with severely uninteresting men last longer than the Summers of 2011 and 2012 and it makes me very cross.  It also makes me lethargic, catty and heightens my sense of self-loathing.  I'm particularly hating on myself today.  I hate my hair, I hate my dress, I hate that pimple, I hate the constant hunger pangs, I hate the bloating, I hate the constipation*, I hate where the world is going today, I hate that I haven't fallen in love with someone for a really long time, I hate my back pain, I hate my period going on hiatus for no apparent reason**, I hate that I have to study for an exam I don't want to do for an industry I'm only working in to pay the mortgage, I hate my apartment, I hate that I'm anti-relationship, I hate my waistline, I hate changes in AML legislation, I hate the metallic taste I've had in my mouth for the last 24 hours, I hate that I only have $50 in my wallet to last me until payday, I hate my borderline alcoholism, I hate that I haven't written a post in ages, I hate that I want to smoke again***

OK that's enough hate.  On a positive note, I listened to Lisa Mitchell's new album today and I didn't hate it.  It's cute and fun and possible better than her first. A moot point, but a random thought and that would be the purpose of my blog.  I think...

What a cutie!

Although if you want to see a real cutie, see my friend's blog http://maxsstory-faith.blogspot.com.au/.  It'd be nice if you helped raise awareness of infant stroke too.

I'm tired and the weather isn't helping, nor are the random noises and building shakes that are coming from construction teams within and without this 20 year old structure on Collins Street.  The good news is that our toilets are going to be renovated next, so I'll be able to hear the banging, screeching and shouting at an even closer range!  And for someone with a small bladder and efficient kidneys who can barely leave her desk at the first urge anyway, I'm really looking forward to the dash I'll have to make to the next floor down to relieve myself! Hooray!!!

I heart sarcasm, don't you?

One day I will own this T-shirt

(and maybe be this small again?)

It's 4pm in the office and it's Friday.  Pens down and beers up people!

Jax - having a bunch of random depressed thoughts.


*I quit smoking, as a result some things quit moving.
**Not pregnant, note 'no apparent reason.'
***I haven't smoked, I just want to, to get things moving you know...

I lost two years of my life... Thanks Pfizer!

I haven't had a new idea or a silly thought to expand upon for a couple of months now. I noticed and the good folk around me noticed too. I knew why but it's something I'm reluctant to address.

You can't see them but there are long pauses between every word, every sentence. Ghosts of hard to catch thought.

From the title I hope you've inferred my reference to memory loss and pharmaceuticals. I am referring to the little blue or white or yellow pills that play with your neurotransmitters to make you feel happier. They also make you gain weight, lose libido and in my case stifle creative thought. Although all of the above do and did apply. This list is not exhaustive and I firmly believe we are all affected differently by the same meds, foods, drinks, weather etc.

I'm taking varicline xxx at the moment. Don't get me wrong, I feel fricking awesome!! I'm having the best dreams, I'm feeling good, I'm less stressed and I achieved the aim of taking these puppies. I quit smoking. Yay!

But at what price?

Who cares. I've only a month to go and I'm not as broke as I usually am.

No. There have been problems. Nausea. Fatigue. Vagueness. Anti-social behaviour (I can't be bothered going out). Alcohol problems (my constitution has weakened and I can't drink like I used to - not really bad, just annoying). The worst in my opinion is the lack of thoughts and ideas that usually swim around in my brain. I miss them. They're funny.

Call me James Brown

I feel good.

However.

I am a little empty. Silly thoughts and their expansion into blog posts have gone AWOL.

I am having several lucid dreams a night and if dreams are an indicator of anything, I missed my calling as an action script writer.

Here for a limited time only...

Upon returning to Melbourne after a recent sojourn to Malaysia (or anywhere really) I find myself longing to hurl myself into the culture of my town rather than immediately return to old habits. Old habits being those mundane things like daily life.  You know what I mean; working too late, studying too little, lazing around the house nursing a hangover from some lovely bar I drank at the night before but could never tell you where it is because I was THAT drunk! And Mondays. Never forget Mondays. Possibly where the word mundane was derived from. Let's look it up, shall we?

http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/mundane

Yep, boring to the point of being painful shit...

Enough with Mondays, let's get back to the task at hand, thrusting myself into the culture Lady Melbs has to offer yet I don't make enough time for. If I only had one more day here what would I do? Discuss.

Ah Melbourne temperamental city of culinary delights, hidden sights and dizzying heights. There is only one way to start the day and that is with the glorious hot bitter treat squeezed straight from the devil's teat, I call it my god but you may know it as COFFEE.

Coffee in Melbs is old news, we've been drinking it forever, at least since the 1950s, although there is evidence of coffee houses from the 1880s and Lygon St cafe's are still bickering over who brought the first Gaggia down under while the rest of us wonder what the hell third wave is and should we try cupping?  Flirty baristas have successfully overrun the this town but we don't mind because we love the stuff they pour into paper/ceramic/keep cups. We mostly love it because it makes us feel superior to other Australian capital cities or any where that isn't Melbourne or its surrounds, not to mention it makes us feel like we have enough cred to call ourselves a European city. We rock way harder than Sydney anyway. All they have is a bridge and extensively overpriced public transport. Ours is only moderately overpriced. We win.

Sorry. Every opportunity to bag Sydney. I take it. Don't we all?

One reason why I love Waleed Aly and hope to usurp Susan Carland someday.

Let me reheat the coffee.  You could go on a walking tour, but you are not going to get much of Melbs out of that.  If you want a decent cup of coffee, apply this rule; lots of people, a coffee menu written on a blackboard and an array of baked goods that look remarkably home-made.  Many good folk will tell you to try Pelligrini's, the last coffee I had there was burnt and revolting.  However their Italian hot chocolate, is ITALIAN HOT CHOCOLATE, bitter and brilliant!! 

Bugger this is getting long and I've rambled quite a bit about coffee.  It doesn't even take this long to get one from a crappy express espresso stall!

Where to go from here? To the market of course! There are a few markets in and around Melbourne, for sentimentality's sake I'll be recommending Queen Vic Market, it's been around since the 1870s so it should knows its stuff.  On route to the market, stop and admire the City Baths, another gorgeous building in Melbs.  I love our buildings.  I'm one of those odd people you see ambling through the streets, intermittently stopping to take photos of gardens, homes and whatever takes my fancy.  I can't explain it but it warms the cold black lump in my chest.

Ooh pretty

Stock up on bread, cheeses, fruits, cold meats, whatever tickles your fancy and is ready to eat.  Next stop is one of the gardens around the city for a picnic or what I like to call, a park party.  Please keep your wine in that brown bag, public drinking is forbidden but we do it anyway.  I like the Cartlon Gardens, it's surrounded by attractive terraces and has that lovely big old building in the middle of it.  Besides every wanker heads to the Royal Botanical Gardens, that place has been done to death!

If you are feeling lazy and can't be bothered catching a tram or walking the short distance up Victoria St, take your wine and nibbles to Flagstaff Gardens.  I like Flagstaff and I feel sorry for it, the train station there is closed on the weekends, so I wonder if many stop into the gardens on the weekend.  Shame, it's pretty and hilly and a good spot to sit and stare at clouds.

At this point, I'd like to make it known that some pictures are from Google and some are my own work.  Obviously the one above is not.  

After an afternoon wining and dining outdoors on what is a hopefully sunny day it's time to check out some laneways.  My personal favourites are;

• Meyers Place for it's entertainment value, 
• Windsor Place because I love looking upon the red pipes across the red bricks at the back of the hotel and the hidden doorways opposite,
• Corrs Lane because it leads me to Chinatown through an oddly narrow gap on Lonsdale St, and
• Heffernan Lane, or as I like to call it Confucious Alley...

 Note the parking signs are not all from the council.

We'll come back for dumplings later.  After we've been to the footy!  Farkin yeah!  Woo!  Football!

In the link to Waleed Aly's article above you may read that we are an intellectually superior city to Melbourne, that is until we get on to the topic of Aussie Rules.  We are fanatical about men running around in tight shorts groping at each other to gain control of a leather encased rubber bladder.  Why wouldn't you be?  It's a love/hate relationship you have with the game and your team, at least for me anyway.  Carlton have been breaking my heart for some time now but I'll never give them up, not for anything.  

See what I mean, we're sensible until we talk about the footy.

Off to the G for a match, that's what we'll do next!  Not that bloody Etihad/Telstra/Colonial/Whatthehellisitcallednow Stadium, that place has no soul.  The MCG does.  Enough said. 

Going to the footy is an energetic and awesome experience even if your team isn't playing.  The excitement and anticipation flows from one crowd member to another and you can't help but absorbing and releasing a truckload of passion as you munch down a pie, burn your tongue and wish you had more tomato sauce.  (I'm not saying I'm eating the pie.  I'm a pescetarian and I'll probably decline the overpriced food in favour of the overpriced beer.)  I wish I was at the footy now, I wish I could afford to be a member and go every week, I wish I had the time to go every week.  

I was going to insert some photographic evidence of the transformation from normal to nuts every footy fan goes through but all I could find were pictures of Collingwood supporters and it's not much of a change for them.

Surprisingly, no photos of mental Carlton fans.  We might be losing, but we have class.

 

I know I'm rambling quite a bit about Melbs and have written far too much about coffee.  It's the reason a blanket apology can be found at the top of the page.  I just want to record this idea before it disappears. 

After the footy, walk very slowly with tens of thousands of people back to the city or Richmond train station.  It's time for dumplings in Chinatown!!  Hooray!

I love Chinatown, the way it smells, the way you need to walk on the right side of the footpath, the food hanging in the windows of shops, the little hidden bars, the hospitality, the self service of tea.  It's freaking fantastic!  Hutong's is the best in the area but for cheap and cheerful head to Shanghai Village.  Avoid the queue and being rushed through your meal, don't go to Camy Shanghai Dumpling House.  Now I want dumplings for dinner...

 Shanghai Village and Corrs Lane.  Ahhhh

After stuffing ourselves with the goodness of Chinese cuisine we'll need a drink...

I am not going to even try and recommend where to have a drink, most places are good most of the time and sometimes they're not.  I prefer rooftop bars like the Carlton Club or open spaces like Section 8. I like the music to not be crap and I like the staff to be welcoming rather than uppity!  When I've imbibed enough I will be looking for somewhere to dance and it will likely be Yah Yahs in Smith St.  I hope a band is playing, I totally forgot to mention our live music scene.  It rocks!

That'll do pig.  That'll do. 

I'm not really here because...

Bah!

It may seem I've been silent and given up on this blog thing in the past month but in reality this is not true. I've been working on a post since 22nd June but something awful has happened! I don't like it. I'm not happy with it. I'm starting to sound like a wanker and I hate wanky bloggers!  Now I'm starting to obsess about it, I work on it in meetings and on transport and constantly want to re-write the damn thing.  All I wanted to do was write about that odd feeling you have when you return home from travelling overseas. How you see your life and city from a different perspective, how you wish to change your routine and make more time for being a tourist in your own city.  To experience your own culture rather than taking it for granted, just because it's the way things are!  Unfortunately this post indeed became far too long and all I had managed to write about was coffee.  I even started recommending places!  To be a coffee critic was not my intention, so of course I started to sound like a wanker!  However as a Melbournian I have the inherent qualities required to be an excellent coffee critic.

I'm starting to do it again, bugger it!

To get to the point and bring some semblance of flow to this rant, I didn't want a blog to be about drafting bloody posts until I think it's perfect, until I'm happy with and think it's ready to be read by you.  That's not me but it is me in a way, I like things to be just right, not a hair out of place but I'm not very good at it. I'm not a perfectionist but it's got to be perfect. Cue music...

Having this thought leads to another; the pursuit of perfection. However, as they say, nobody is perfect. Is this true? In our current state of being who we are, ourselves, aren't we then the perfect production of what our genetic makeup and/or destiny ordains us to be? Maybe not when you consider the odious beings that wander and create havoc upon our planet. Not to mention the royal stuff ups we've made 'looking after' our only home. Still I've got a crazy Mother Earth complex and I love everyone at once. Naive I know but I've got a soft spot for the souls around me.

Moving on.

Finding perfection in its way is finding happiness and we think those are states once achieved should be permanent and comfortably wrap around us like a warm blanket. In my experience that is a ridiculous notion and you should be shot for thinking otherwise! Happiness is both an elusive and easily attained state of mood but not a permanent one.

I will explain this from my perspective of 'being happy.' I've had enough experience with unhappiness and depression to question my choices, my existence and wonder why I still bother but the fleeting moments of happiness and perfection that come and go provide plenty of hope to push on through the shit. I've never known I was happy when I was happy, it's an unfamiliar state and not something easily recognised by one's self. The only way I've known I was happy was when another soul makes the comment, "you seem happy," and then like a bolt out of the blue, in a split second, you realise it's true. Your natural response without thinking is to agree and that is when you know all is well. Satisfaction achieved. For now.

Yes.  For now.  As I said it's not a permanent state, things change and they can be either small or big changes but they will change you.  For example, the weather, a small thing we have no control over.  I'm happier in summer, even when I'm broke and living on rice and cup-a-soups because it's warm.  I turn into an insane melancholic banshee in winter no matter how well my life is going because I'm cold and it makes me lonely. I don't need to tell you what the big things are, we know what they are because when they change we all become emotional train-wrecks.  The big things have taken me to the point of no emotion because I thought that was the best way to move on.  I can't be hurt because I don't feel.  I thought that was a good idea but I'm realising it's a poor attempt to wrap myself in cotton wool.  That's something I'm now trying to undo, and when I'm finished I'm sure someone will say to me, "you seem happy."

I'll finish that post about experiencing your own culture someday too.

Study Lockdown (or how I work on improving my procrastination skills)

10 sleeps...

Not until anything exciting happens, no, it's ten sleeps until my Herbal Medicine Materia Medica exam.  So like all good full time workers doing uni part time, I have put myself into what I like to call 'Study Lockdown.'  It's a time for meticulously planned study sessions, with the aim to maximise time and minimise freak outs.

Well, that's the aim, and a well written aim is halfway there, right?

I was studying now, until I read the words 'renal catarrh.' Catarrh is phlegm, it is usually expelled from the lungs via the mouth.  I don't want to know what renal catarrh is.

I mean that.  No renal catarrh discussions please.

Ah study lockdown, how do I do it?

• Study at every opportunity; the tram ride to work, my lunch break and if it's quiet, study at work too;
• Leave work right on 5 no matter what the boys have or haven't done that day;
• Ignore the state of my house and hope for no visitors who will judge the state of my bathroom (thankfully I don't have friends as fussy as I am);
• Eat microwaveable foods that do not require washing up, all dishes go into the dishwasher or the recycling bin (I don't lose weight though, I think it's the high salt content in Lean Cuisine that does it);
• No alcohol (before 9pm, I'm still human);
• Avoid social gatherings, and fail;
• Drink copious amounts of herbal teas to warm the cockles;
• No television but the radio is allowed, dancing in my finest trackies is encouraged;
• Reacquaint myself with my nicotine addiction often;
• Treat every beep from my phone with the utmost importance, except for phone calls, unless I want to speak to you, if it's important you'll call back;
• Suddenly decide to rearrange my wardrobe, bookshelves, cupboards, fridge or take up knitting again;
• Become addicted to a TV show recommended that I should be waiting until after the exam to watch (Damn you Battlestar Galactica);
• Write a blog post about life in a study lockdown.

This isn't the greatest plan, all I'm doing is reading and writing and hoping that the information finds a cosy little spot in my brain to reside and hopefully present itself at the right moment.  The right moment being during the exam, not at 3am the day after.  Waking up and screaming, "Mitrial Valve" is not a comfort to me or anyone else.

This is not an ideal situation, if I actually managed my time consistently throughout the 15 week term I wouldn't need to do this.  I would be coasting my way to the finish line.  I've started relationships that ended due to the lockdown but hey if you can't handle the fact that I have an addiction to studying and getting good grades and I don't want to see you for two weeks then it's not meant to be...

I'm going back to the books.  This is a poor post, apologies.  I'm frantic, and possibly still hungover from the weekend.

I do have one more thing to add.  It's my pre-exam mantra, "If I don't know it now, I'm never going to know it so it doesn't matter."

Being observant is not always a good thing.

Potatoes.

Think about them.  How many glorious forms can a potato take on?

• Potato salad
• Roasted
• Mashed with or without gravy
• Scallops
• Potato cakes
• Rosti
• Baked potatoes with all the toppings you desire!
• Hot chips
• Smiths chips
• Chip butties
• Fried salty goodness
• Potatoes with cheese
• Mum's home-made potato chips
• Wedges damnit!

This list is not exhaustive, I just can't think of any more but here's a link to Google;

The many things you can do with potatoes

I don't cook potatoes, I have a fear of cooking potatoes or at least something in me that puts me off bringing potatoes into my house.  I've always omitted potatoes from my Aloo Gobi recipe and my Aloo Gobi tastes great without them.

I buy my potato variants ready-to-eat, with salt, usually to cure a hangover.  So this isn't about me not eating potatoes or disliking potatoes.  Surely you must be missing a chromosome if you don't like at least one type of potato dish/side/snack. 

Potatoes are great except for the low nutritional value and high starch content.

I have a point, and eventually I'll get to it.

Right about now...

Being observant is not always a good thing because it leads to little discoveries about oneself that eventually becomes a pattern and culminates in a realisation that I have to call it quits with Mr Potato Head.

I'm ok with that, this guy is not a very attractive man.  

Unless he's wearing this...

I love it.

OK, getting back to the point.  I've noticed lately that when I've eaten potatoes, in soup, in delicious salty fried forms, mashed and roasted (this is over the past week alone) that I become affected in an uncomfortable and unattractive way.  

Kermit moves into my throat and suddenly everyone asks if I have a cold, mucous rises and has a party from oesophagus to nasopharynx, or worse, the bloating blockages that last too long for my liking.

This cannot be!  A potato intolerance, that's preposterous!  I've never heard of anything more ridiculous in the sea of food intolerances that are engulfing Western society.  

Apparently it can be, according to the GP and I have to lay off the potatoes for the next month, then I need to try them again and see what happens.

This is utter bullshit.

Not what I just wrote.  Potato intolerance is bullshit.

I can't stand heart shaped crap anyway.

I might tell you about that one day, when I figure out why I can't stand heart shaped crap.

So you see, being observant is not always a good thing.  Ignorance is bliss, uncomfortable bliss but bliss nonetheless.

If I wasn't so observant I'd probably still be eating meat and drinking milk and married to that guy.  Hmm, thankfully I do notice shit.