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.