Frazzled…

I wonder what the non-stressed people are doing right now.

What if I Just Kept Walking?

I could go on a holiday.  But I could stay away.

I would leave my guide behind, scratching his head saying, “that’s a crazy guy, that guy”.

There’s be loose pebbles on the ground. There’s be snow on the side of the road, occasionally a local would go by on a motorbike not looking at me twice.

I’d ignore the frantic emails of my mother.

I’d stare at the clouds as they passed behind the mountain, I’d watch as the hours clicked by.  Me, sitting still.

I’d get to a new country, confident in my ability to get through, not knowing how I arrived.

What if I just kept walking?

Ebbs and Flows

I just had the strongest outpouring of emotion and I almost feel like there is more there, and just like that the feeling is gone.  I often do this.  I have such an explosion of thought, love, anger, sadness and romance that I simply must share it with someone.  But who?

That is what my blogs used to be for.  They covered that bond for me. That’s all gone since That Thing I Did. I want to blog but I can’t or don’t.  Or I have the idea and then I put it in the bank for later but later never comes.

My grandma died on Sunday morning.  It wasn’t a surprise, but we knew it was coming.  I saw her on Tuesday night and I desperately wanted to write about what it was like to see her in that state.  Everyone around her so terrified, upset and confused.  She was more at peace than I have ever seen her.  I had the immediate though to write down what I felt like at that moment.

I didn’t write it though.  I thought I could hold onto that emotion forever and just bring it out when I had the opportunity to write/blog about it.  But I canb’t hold onto it.  Allegedly that’s a Sagitarrius thing.  We are very fiery individuals.  Leaping from one emotion to the next.  Find it hard to hold a grudge.

The outpouring tonight wasn’t about her, although those emotions may have got me started.  They were something else, the words just came so clearly and quickly I just want to share them with the world.  I know now that that’s not always in my (or even others’) best interests so it will go unblogged.  But I hope I can get back to that stage where I can share those deep thoughts, feelings and emotions for strangers to witness.

Smell The Beach

OHHHHH ! It smells like it outside. Only outside the backdoor. I haven’t been out of the front door, so I don’t know if the smell is there too. But it is definitely at the backdoor.

I had a dream about that place the other day. Not just any dream, but a morning dream. One of the – dreaming while you wake up and you try to go back to sleep to continue the dream – type things.

Literally, the half-second after you step out my backdoor, you can smell the beachside town that my family would go to every year in late November. I could feel the warm humid air against my face and I knew exactly where I was. Standing on the road, barefoot a stone’s throw from the beach. I was staring at a sand dune with some coarse yet fine sand sticking to the sides of my legs and the top of my feet. The smell made the memory so real I almost booked myself onto a plane to go there for the weekend.

And seeing as I don’t have any plans for the weekend, that might not be such a bad idea.

 

Thanks to annettepiperjewellery.blogspot.com (but this is actually the beach)

Wall, That’s a Change

It’s been about six years.  Probably longer.

Six years since I lived in a place where I wallpapered my room with photos of my friends and adventures.  Actually, back then there weren’t even that many adventures. 

I used to have them everywhere.  The floor would also have a pile of photos that had fallen off the walls in the heat; I would have posters in various states of (dis)repair.   Newspaper clippings, headlines, album covers and flags and those free postcards that you can pickup from cool record stores or bookshops.

I can’t think why I stopped?  Perhaps I moved house and I was scared of ripping the paint in the new place, or I felt that the environment didn’t warrant it. 

When living with my ex-girlfiend, if it didn’t have a frame, then it didn’t go on the wall.  That was the rule.  I don’t know whose rule, but I knew it existed.  That’s not even to go into the question of “why would you want to put up photos of people [read girls] I’ve never met?” [cross arms, furrow eyebrows, raise voice]. 

Ten minutes last night.  A wad of blu-tac. A consistent pattern. BOOM! I have a room in which it looks like someone lives!  It’s a remarkable transformation.  Suddenly some of the most important experiences and people in my life, even if they were some time ago are back, and I love it. 

I can remember the when, what and why of each of them.  The Boatcruise, the Ball, the Bazza and Shazza party when I was very nearly very charming, a Buck’s party, the Wedding (carrying on from the Buck’s).  The far East, my brother, Buddha.   A storm blowing over my parent’s home, the tree I climbed as a child and a photo of my family when my grandfather and uncle were still alive and my grandmother knew who I was.

Maybe this place won’t be too bad after all. 

www.public-domain-image.com

Free Upgrade!

I’m giving you a free upgrade!

CONGRATULATIONS!  That’s a move from “you’re an arsehole but I can tolerate living with you” to “GO FUCK YOURSELF”.  You know what?  As far as upgrades go, on paper it does not look bad.  In fact, it looks like you started off pretty badly in the first place.  But in all seriousness, what it means is that you have broken the camel’s back – you have dropped at least 5 estimations in my book.

And the camel is not happy about it.  At all.

Probably, what has happened really isn’t that big a deal, and in the morning I will wake up and not think about it again.

But when I left the house, I looked at that piece of mail for someone that lived here before time began.  A person who none of us know in person, but know by name.  The mail that continues to spray our mailbox despite our best efforts to stop it.  I looked at it and thought, “you probably better re-address that or throw it in the bin, because whatzisname is gonna get cranky about it sitting there, and while you are thinking about it, you need to find a spot to put that newspaper away”.

Here’s the thing though.  That newspaper is the weekend newspaper.  And what if the other housemate wants to read it before the weekend is over?  Or what happens is Mrs John Harolld O’mailitude comes to collect their mail? Hey? HEY?!?  Would that be such a big fucking deal?

Now, because I looked at the mail and the newspaper and had that thought, because I knew exactly where is was when I left the house, I know that when I came back it was not in the same place. I know that the paper on top is the same part of the paper that was on top before.  Only now, it is in a different part of the living room.  A “cleaner” part.  And the mail is no longer on the edge of the table, but in the middle of the table.  You moved it!  From the edge of the table, to the middle of the table!  The middle!  perfectly in the middle.

So I’m sorry, but you, and your perfect OCD house, can just go and upgrade yourselves to a “go fuck yourself” while I start to looking for somewhere else to live.

Happy with Melancholy

I once told a friend that she needed to get over her shit, because it only seemed that she was happy if she was miserable.  The string of bad boys that came knocking on her college door, the stuff she was putting up with from her parents, her weekly trips back to Hometown; these complaints and burdens became eventually too tiresome and I opened my mouth.  She stopped talking to me after that.

It seems however that I either learnt a great deal from this friend. Or nothing at all. For it seems the only constant of late has been Melancholy.  She herself a curious creature, not quite sad, but most certainly not content.

There can be times of pure Bliss where sheer joy of the moment means the good passes without acknowledgement, like an eagle riding high through the clouds, never concerned for a moment when it might need to come back to earth.  There moments where conceded (or conceited) Apathy looks down on the world and its minions from a lonely and angry island, unscalable to the wily-est of foes.

Unlike the others, Melancholy knows her place. From her spot, it’s as if everything can be seen, the ultimate defensive position with 360 degree views.  She can look back on the past and remember the good without blocking out the bad. This does have the disadvantage of knowing the opportunities lost, and the memory that went with them.  She is the home to which I seem to return.

Maybe I’m just happy with Melancholy too.

http://www.pbase.com/veruschka/

Skin

He reached up with his hand. Caressing the side of her face, his fingers tucked a loose strand of hair over her ear.  The skin of her cheek against the skin of his hand.  His palm squished her cheek into an odd shape, the tear running across the heel of his palm, onto his wrist. She looked up, pleading with her eyes as his hand slid back, fingers behind her inclined neck and his thumb almost hooked over her ear.

He kissed the side of her cheek; partly air and partly skin.  She held on to that moment as long as she could. She took in his smell with the touch of his cheek without pushing herself closer, his very presence was locked with her at that moment in time.

He pulled away, his hands dropping to his sides.  He looked her in the eye and said “I’ve made a terrible mistake”. He turned, and walked out the door.

http://blog.myromancestory.com

Marry Me?

Would you do it?  Would you seriously consider it?

I love you with all my heart. With every fibre of my being.  We are great together.  We don’t need to be together all the time, but I know that when we are everything is OK.  But will it be OK 2, 3,5, 10, 20 years in the future?  You know, after 10 years, just the idea of sex with another man might be the hottest thing in the world.  The sex itself might be even better than that.  Or worse, what if it was more than just the sex?

I want to have your babies. I want to bring them up and share their life with you. Can you just imagine, for a second how amazing that could be?  We would have little versions of us running around. They would remember our visits to the park and Sunday picnics and football games like I remember them with my parents.  They would love and respect us as their parents.  The people that gave them everything they know.

But what happens if that all falls apart? What happens if we just become another one of those horrible statistics that crop up in the news every time a famous couple get divorced? What if we have to subject our children to bouncing between houses and the eternal struggle of two sets of parents?

Will you be my person? And we could sit on park benches and watch sunsets.  The sick, sad romanticism of it is what makes me mention it right now. We could create a memory that no one but us would know. We could make out on top of a hill with horses grazing nearby, or try to keep warm in a bus shelter in the rain. We can run through the snow to a jacuzzi or giggle at the shadows on the ceiling.

I so want you to be the person that does that with me forever, but is it possible? Can people really do that?

bloodonthemoon5

Image courtesy of bloodonthemoon5 – http://bloodonthemoon5.deviantart.com/art/Love-me-82411880

Music

Work is epically stressful right now.  Seriously, just walking into the place is almost enough to give the most pacifistic (it’s a word, I looked it up!), placatory and untroubled gentlemen a raging and pounding aneurysm.  Everyone in that place needs a 2 week break.  Just to not see each other for 14 days.  To not hear that horrible air-conditioner and stare at those blary screens for just a few days would be a god-send.

But tonight I found the cure.  I went to see a musical. Mary Poppins in all its Supercalifragic glory.  Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious was actually so fantastically choreographed that it left everyone so excited and happy that the next scene’s departure of Mary Poppins didn’t seem so awesome and sad.  I got goosebumps from Feed the Birds, as the song took on a new meaning for me; meaning that had been lost in every one of the approximate 51.5 times I have watched the Julie Andrews and Dick van Dyke movie.  I was on a  high from the tap-dancing chimney-sweeps and blown away by the colourful, creative and wonderfully technical set design.

The music relieved all sense of urgency.  It stopped me thinking about the stuff I am worried about.  For almost 3 hours I was caught up in the story of the Banks family and Cherry Tree Lane.  I forgot that I have a presentation to give tomorrow that I thought was next week.  I forgot that I haven’t been to visit my grandmother since my grandfather died and I forgot why I was worried about spending the money on going at all in the first place.

Go.  Please go.  If you don’t live in Melbourne, fly here from wherever you are in the world to go.  Best foot forward!  Spit, spot!