At the Mamos, I slept in Lauren's beautifully refurbished blue bedroom while she shared her sister's bed.
My only companions in the room were a goldfish - unnamed - who made the loudest smacking noises, and dropped small stones back onto the bottom of the bowl with a CLANK; and a hermit crab. When I went to bed, I didn't know where Hermi was, or even what he looked like.
When I woke at five, there were scratching sounds, tiny taptaptapping, persistent and even. When I swung my feet onto the floor, the sounds stopped. But I wasn't in any shape to move quickly, and as I sat there, still, for minutes, it started again.
Hermi lives inside an almost completely smooth, rounded white shell. His uncoordinated, yet strangely rhythmic legs poke out shyly at the side, and are retracted with lightning speed when the floor creaks, or when he senses movement.
That's how I have felt for the last few days: like retracting everything tightly into a shell and hiding. Hiding from B when he is at home, hiding from sympathy from everywhere else.
Paul had the right idea on Sunday. Sandy went to bed at a sensible hour, and with a (reasonably) sensible amount of wine consumed. Paul and I finished the bottle - because it was there. And, although it may not have been due to a joke, I had the best, longest most hysterical giggle-fest I have had in ages.

Saturday: Guilt. And I fear it's going to get worse before it gets better, but by the evening we were talking again, more civilised, and even sadder.

Di's birthday was a beautiful occasion, I had just two glasses of wine and some of Zoli's fantastic seafood skewers. Misty thought all her Christmases had come at once, as she worked her way around the 40 odd guests, getting them to kick the ball.
But even at such a short remove, that house was redolent with our shared memories- ...

... this is about the fourth time I've started this entry, and I just can't finish it... I wonder when things will be shiny again, not constricted and fragile...

I could produce a litany of complaints here... about how i feel fat and useless, how i've done something to my left shoulder and right calf (really, the extra 2.5kg, really???) and I feel flat at home bla bla bla... but let's look at the good stuff today...

• a lady at work recognised my perfume and said "It takes one to know one"

• CS called and at least there was some closure

• I had lunch with Joe under the big gum tree in the garden, stuffed stupid again, but the talk was a real recharge

• I was introduced to an almost-new Lexus and while impressive, I still love my little car best

• I was given a gift of three golden globes of onions, that rolled into my arms

• I have my laptop back. The keyboard and screen feel enormous and so very comfortable.
  

Although I'm not at all in a Christmas mood, I saw a card for Ben, for his first ever Christmas and I couldn't resist. Today Andrew said: "the only thing worse than Christmas with family, is Christmas without them"

a goodnight from Paz:

But today I won't make one more Cliché
And write this poem to you.
No, no more clichés.

This poem is dedicated to those women
Whose beauty is in their charm,
In their intelligence,
In their character,
Not on their fabricated looks.

This poem is to you women,
That like a Shahrazade wake up
Everyday with a new story to tell,
A story that sings for change
That hopes for battles:
Battles for the love of the united flesh
Battles for passions aroused by a new day
Battle for the neglected rights
Or just battles to survive one more night.

Yes, to you women in a world of pain
To you, bright star in this ever-spending universe
To you, fighter of a thousand-and-one fights
To you, friend of my heart.

From now on, my head won't look down to a magazine
Rather, it will contemplate the night
And its bright stars,
And so, no more clichés.

what a grotesque thing a rose is...

Today seemed to last for several days all pushed into one. I woke at five, and managed twenty minutes of work before body pump, where an old Cannington trainer, Peter, took the class. It was hard going but excellent.
Work... full and monotonous today. Slowly the list, grew ticks and crosses and became shorter. At lunchtime Kym and I sat in the feeble sunshine, yanked around by the wind and ate salad and talked.
In the afternoon I took an hour to sort through the latest mountain of metrica, and now have my work cut out for the next few days.
Getting home at six I found it hard to drag my arse back out the door to Bunnings (second home?) to get a disc for the sander. The reality of my loudly painted bar chairs draws closer.
But I'm glad I did go - Late night live contained an interview with a schizophrenic poet... and she spoke about childhood and loss and violence and trying to find sense in the difficult times. And Phillip Adams barely had to say anything. Even over the airwaves (of his little wireless program) his goodness seeps through.

There is a hibiscus tree with its arms hanging over the fence running alongside the driveway. The sun had almost set when I drove home, and in the thick orange light the hibiscus flowers trembled, stirred lazily by the evening wind. I stopped for a moment, and rolled my window down (next car, electric windows) and breathed in with my eyes closed. Nothing is ever all bad.

There was dinner made at home, and I've a new project I want to finish by next Wednesday - that should help keep my mind busy.
If only I could sleep (cue Insomnia)... but if I wake too early again, I'll visit that beach littered with smiles and see if I can't collect a few.

...

2006

I am sitting in the bedroom in the blue house on Hampton Road, organising my birthday. The perfect rented beach house in Wilson's Prom, my perfect group of friends. It is going to be legendary.
Then the phone rings.
It is the first time I learn that not only a lover, but a friend can break your heart. Aaron wouldn't come to my birthday because his girlfriend didn't want him to. We've made half-hearted and patchy attempts to keep the friendship going, but it has petered out, and sometimes when I think of our shared times in London, I feel shooting pangs of regret.
I don't believe I ever posed a threat to Aaron's lady. They're still together and going strong, judging by the photos online.

Fast forward three years and it has happened again. With a married friend, whose relationship is over 25 years old and I would have thought, secure. But some line must have been crossed somewhere because female toes have been stepped on again. What am I doing wrong?

I have learned through my own mistakes (and they have been abundant) that jealousy will not hold anyone forever. If there is no trust, then there is no substance. Having said that, I still get jealous, and I petulantly can't (or won't) comprehend why I'm not the centre of the universe for that particular person. But to act on it, and so decisively with such finality is another thing.

I remember Sarah had a best-friend-break-up when we were in year 12, and I couldn't imagine why she was so upset. I have a much better understanding now.

Luckily, the other break-up of the past two days was much more mature, and we are moving around each other quietly, in respectful friendship. It's hard to imagine that this is the full stop I've been moving towards, I don't suppose I'll 'get it' until we live apart.

But yesterday sharing our last bottle of Windance Merlot (it would have been criminal to drink $50 wine alone) and a hunk of brie, we talked about the good days, without bitterness, and although there was a lot of leaking saltwater, it wasn't all completely sad.

How incredibly lucky am I, that life hasn't ever put me in the path of arseholes. My life is full of beautiful people, and if some of them leave then at least I can say I've known them for a time.

the uglies

i have to do it today. my head's been full of it for the past few days and i know that going along like this is dishonest.
i feel sick, and nervous and guilty.
I'm going to spend a few nights elsewhere (don't know where yet - i need to make some awkward calls) to give him space to figure stuff out. I wish i could just close my eyes and make all this ickness go away.
but margo and mum and others must be right - life's too short to be unhappy, right? Right?

a few words for Timea

Bud is moving to NZ in February. And although I knew it was coming, and I am happy, because the Gringo rocks and I trust him with my best friend's happiness, being the one left behind is so much harder. I know now, what she felt, at all those awful airport goodbyes. Meeting at random train stations all over the world, hefting backpacks over our uncontrollably laughing shoulders.

That beautiful chick has shared my whole life. The best parts - like when I got my TER score, crammed beside the fridge, scared to listen, and you came and told me, jubilant, that it was 95.85.
The worst - that Hugh was gone, but he smelled like VERY Old Spice and even in the flood of my nutty teenage tears, we could laugh. Laughter... Rafter ...

And all the times in between. My idea of bliss, is lying in your icy cold Melbourne bedroom, bed socks and flannel pj's, drinking milky tea, and falling asleep to Buffy. Or talking into the small hours when we know we should be sleeping. Just let me tell you this. Let me tell you one more thing.

I know NZ isn't far away, and I know we'll probably meet more in the next ten years than we have in the previous ten. And I will wear my I LIKE GOATS badge with pride, and think of you every day.

H-hm...

4.58

32 minutes before the alarm I woke up feeling completely rested. By 5.40 I was on the beach, attempting a runjogwalk, in beautiful, clear morning light.
The beach was littered with smiles (and millipedes, but never mind) and happy, wholesome looking people who shared genuine "good morning"s. Even the dogs looked wholesome. And I challenge anyone to see a pug barrelling down a beach, blinking in the sand he kicks up, and not laugh.

Yesterday I got stuck into one of the green bar stools I found when we were looking for apartments. Getting the layered wood smooth is proving difficult, even with a scraper (oh how I love the service at Bunnings) but I don't think I can afford to rush out and buy an electric sander just yet. I did take the legs apart though and sanded the rust off and sprayed the first layer of silver finish. They're going to look great.

I also started downloading my metrica articles which took - wait for it - four hours. I don't know what I'm doing wrong, but anyway...in the meantime, I went to the beach, dipped my toes in, decided I could go no further, and lay back with Janet Frame's short stories.

I picked up B at 1pm... he and Balazs had stayed up till 4.30 drinking palinka and all manner of other stuff I suspect. Both of them useless for the rest of the day. Balint said he really enjoyed the night, that he had missed something like this for ages. I reminded him of the previous Saturday. Oh but that was different, he said...
We attempted another trip to the beach, but the sand was blowing and stinging hard, so we came home, I finished my work and made dinner (honey glazed pork with noodles and broccolini - I rock) and by 10pm I was in dreamland.

so the week starts again. . .

Morning. Unbroken.

A drooly deep-slept night, and I awoke at 7- to birds and sharp slivers of light through the slats of the blinds.
This morning, I shift around the flat in silence (not even radio national). This morning I get to drink the whole pot of coffee. This morning, I'm making breakfast only for me.
I haven't lived alone since Southwood Lane 2003.

I should have written about the beautiful part of yesterday, which was most of the day, as soon as I got home, but I was still too full to articulate. (This may still be the case).
Then the despair came, with a phone call, and a feeling that the person I love the most in the world is drowning. I'm scared because what if the time comes when I am no longer able to help. My hatred of living in Hungary flared up again, and I wanted to be superwoman and reach out a hand and pull Mum over here, to be safe.
The mood crashed pretty comprehensively after that, and I couldn't even feign excitement at going to Balazs and Orsi's house for dinner.
Dinner turned out to be gulyas (no, really?) that neither of them had cooked before, and that Balint ended up finishing, 2 hours after we arrived. By the time we sat down to eat, I was inexplicably exhausted, and moodless.
Later on the couch, when B poured himself and Balazs palinka after palinka, I actually nodded off a couple of times, which everyone found entertaining, yet B didn't bother to ask if perhaps I wanted to leave. So I got up and told him I'd pick him up when he called me the next day, and back in my own space, happy or not, I followed the trail of breadcrumbs back onto the freeway.

And as the road curved around and the lights of Perth came into view, I felt a jolt of joy, that this view is mine now. I don't have to leave, I have come home.

Of course for the first little while, the apartment, empty, made me feel strange, but after re-checking the front door 82 times I settled in the middle of the bed, with three pillows and read until the book fell back on my face, and I turned the light off and slept.

So. Yesterday. The good bits. Saturday lady provided a kick-ass workout before I drove to Geoff's for a motorbike ride that we'd been planning for ages. I met the rats, and the cat who could rival Pista for softness. As with most cats and me, she sauntered away haughtily. Is my 'i want to squeeze you till your head pops off' aura so obvious?
And then we were on our way. The helmet I wore squeezed my face into a hamsteresque pout so when I smiled - which was the whole way - it felt like a futile effort, though photos will prove otherwise.
It was amazing. Orsi asked last night if I was scared and I realised, as with heights, if my safety is in someone else's hands, then hell no.
I'm afraid if I try to put how it felt into words it will just be a torrent of cliches so perhaps I'll leave that part, but on the way back when we passed a Holden driven by a P plater I felt a childish and happy "Ha!"
Our destination was Walyunga national park, where once parked, we walked along the Avon in the zizz of flies and the whisper of the water over the rocks.
There were wild goats, and a lazy lizard and ducks and possibly a little speedy finch. I don't know how long we sat by the water, just watching, not saying much. Because how could you not sit there, mesmerised. Just happy.
Lunch was decadent, and had an eclectic soundtrack which included Frank Sinatra, the Scorpions and Whitney Houston. At a small cafe on the west swan road, under olive trees and jacarandas decked with fairy lights, we ate hot olives bathed in garlic and citrus and olive oil, and fresh pasta and fish with caper-berry mash... and at the end, my espresso was served in a shot glass.

. . .

Saying history never repeats is like saying you can't repeat the past. Yet you can, old sport.
I've just come from a mildly soulstirring Tim Finn concert. There's a world to explore, tales to tell back on shore...
It was the most exhilerating evening with Betty. I realise there were times in my life that would have happened differently or not at all, if she hadn't been there.
The quarry ampitheatre is breathtaking. And in all its romantic beauty I didn't mind that I wasn't there with the love of my life (where the hell is he anyway?).... it was a beautiful night.
I didn't know most of the songs, but their lyricism got me, and there were moments where I caught Betty's eye dragging me back out of too much contemplation.

I live in a home with no imagination. Playfulness is frowned upon here.

Tim Finn brought back buttery high school memories. I love those songs - whose words can swing you, wheeling, desperate through the nights.
The opening guy was called Andy Bull, and if ever I get the chance, I'll go and see him again.
From a song called pretty girls:

Lonely girls, are what pretty girls become..; anyway, I don't remember the exact words...

So we drove home, after having our souls massaged, and champagne dotted like perfume behind our ears (I can't explain what that winey scent on my fingers reminded me of) talking about respect and finding that after much debate we were on exactly the same page.
Is it 22nd December yet? Freedom and wide open spaces are scratching at the outskirts of my mind ...

I can't wait for tomorrow.

You were just eighteen, grasping with both hands, holding desperate to anything that could have been. You would have believed anyone, and you read more into the slightest gesture than you should have.
A night at the Fringe bar on oxford street, and a salty naked day and night on the beach do not a relationship make. Yet you followed the line of his details down the phone-book page, with bitten nails and red-tinged hope. I'll just call and he'll come back, you thought. Solver of everything, in a world where everything really was possible.
You didn't stop to think that Darwin and a kingdom of pearls was more important, more real, than a girl in a mauve singlet standing at the Dural Village caravan park, hoping for a promise.

So, tonight was beautiful. And history probably does repeat. And for now, I am happy. And fully aware of how fortunate I am.

. . .

"And down on thirsty pastures
In torrents falls the rain.."

the rain was beautiful today. pelting is a good word - the glass panelled roof at work was alive with noise.
My day started in the fresh blue moments before dawn, when I eagerly pulled on shorts and t-shirt to go for a good challenging run...alas, from the creaking morning came thundering curtains of water.
So instead, i poured the coffee into my paul mug and settled in for a short but warming conversation with Andrew, with whom my friendship is ten years old, and whose birthday it is today.

work started with breakfast at Kailis, with Joy and the other BSD PAs, which was niceish but slightly awkward. we seem to have so little in common - polite smiles and introductions. Joy organised it though, and with the amount of effort she puts in, I'd go to anything for her sake.

The rest of the day was a blur of frantic activity. I do like it upstairs, and i like the new people I'm meeting. But other than the hour with weight watchers (less 300g since last week - maybe a gin diet's the way to go) I didn't stop all day.

My evening has been productive - dinner (oh that haloumi and grilled vegetable stack!!!!), kitchen, sorting the new bathroom shelf and going through theatre, music, ballet and opera programs and marking what I want to see. All that remains is to win lotto, and then, maaaaaybe then I can afford C reserve seats for all of them.

The mood at home was full of light for a time, but has snagged on a leaden barb, and instead now, in silence I trawl for words that glow and are warm, words i have sewn into the lining of shirts, to take out and hold up to the light now and then.
Words like consequence. And blood. And fugue. Like memory. And purpose. And beautiful.

The rain rages, the wind rattles our flimsy doors and pushes cool air against and through the fly screen. I usually don't like the cold, but tonight it feels refreshing, and cleansing. Like tomorrow will be another clean slate, speckled with hope.

home much later from work than usual, but I've had a good day - although this morning the sads were definitely on the rise. I felt paralysed by apathy again, so drove straight home from the gym and did my ironing. Is it possible for that bottle of gin to linger for three days? In any case, I long to feel healthy and clean again.
Work was particularly good today, and then this afternoon I righted a wrong I started unintentionally on saturday night. I am blessed with other peoples' patience.
The room behind me beckons - nay begs - me to come and put all those things away, while metrica work is slowly piling up...
but for now, I just want to relish the silence in the apartment, the stirring of the leaves outside and the ever-present-parrot-chatter.
tomorrow begins with the beach- the sads don't have a chance - followed by breakfast out...

are they jacaranda trees - those purple clouds of intense colour? they offer the most glorious patches of soothing shade all over the neighbourhood.

and a new species of boronia has been discovered - Charles Darwin's great grandson said so, on radio national, and while it looks a little like anorexic marijuana, it's a hugely exciting discovery, in our world of wonder.

. . .

I almost forgot. Belle de jour shucked off her anonymity today. I have followed her blog since its inception, and loved almost every word of it. I've got the books, I still check back to see if there are new entries, she writes in such a graspable, warm way.
I don't mind that she's a research scientist... it was evident the whole time that she possesses great intelligence but I'm glad she turned out to be a woman after all, this way I don't feel cheated.

shenanigans indeed

I am aging. The gin-horror-hangover I should have shaken off by the end of last night is still hanging around. I feel like I've been bashed around, and I could sleep for another 12 hours at least.

Rewind: Saturday was great. I did some Anna things, DIY heaven in Bunnings and kitchen adventures at home. Then in the evening we got a cab to the Inglewood soccer club, where a merry (very merry) mix of Hungarians were helping Matyi celebrate his birthday.
As soon as B and I walked in, a guy - unknown to us - came up and greeted us by name (surname included) and proceeded to talk to B like they had known each other for years, about programming and c++ and what have you. I found it really creepy - aided by the fact that this guy was barely standing he was so pissed.
Later, when we were sitting down with Pete and some others, creepy guy kept coming back, and i could see the colour and the fury rising in Pete's face. It really was a situation where this guy was coming back and coming back, just to get a reaction, to try and pick a fight.
I know what would have happened, if this situation was transposed to Hungary. But, credit to him, Peter got up, swore a lot, and then herded the family into the car and drove us home.
The four of us do seem to make a bloody good team, and back in Lynwood we proceeded to have the kind of night we used to, in Freo, all those years ago. Betty danced, we listened to terrible music (Pronto, Giuseppe) and great music (Pavarotti) and had too much gin but also much much laughter.
I regret of course, the aftershocks that came on Sunday, but Pete let me borrow the Subaru to drive us home (excellent power steering) - I could not have faced Transperth in that condition. We spent most of the day on the beach. I slept, got burned (it hurts to sit) and at about 9pm we went to Perth to see Static X. We were both exhausted and seriously considering not going but I'm so glad we did. They put on a rocking show. Wayne Static (I ask you what were his parents thinking?) could really work the crowd and his topless helper/barmaid was an entertaining feature.

Today- I've realised hangovers now last for two days, so I am getting older. Work is madness, but I have a walk to look forward to with Kym, at 5.
Observations and thoughts to follow when my brain breaks through the fug of two nights before...

Domestic

After pump this morning, planned the weekly menu (otherwise known as military planning to win the lard wars) and then after I dropped B at work, I (shock horror shame) turned into the carpark at Supre and thought I'd have a little look around. Also had to buy el cheapo sunglasses because I don't know where mine could be...
The range was staggering, but also alerted me to the fact that I am no longer 17, and, actually I'm glad I'm no longer 17. Really glad. Screaming-neon-leopard-print glad.
I bought a pair of sunnies and a little 'just chuck on anytime' dress and then sped out of there, towards Bunnings, and the adult world.

A note: I really really need to learn to park.

Two large canvasses, some sandpaper blocks and fire-engine red paint later, I headed to Coles. And I got a free neck and shoulder massage in the isle facing the eggs. It was a pleasant and slightly weird experience, but reminded me again how important human touch is.
Now, the apartment is awash with the smell of a Mexican chocolate tart, which has almost been ruined by my sub-standard cake tin, that doesn't seal properly, so chocolatey goodness is oozing out into the tray below. Very disappointing, but the proper cake tin at the home provedore in Freo is about 80$, so, we can eat the chocolate with a spoon and leave it at that.

My pastry is in the fridge for the lemongrass, coconut and mango tart, and I am preparing one of the new canvases. It's a good Saturday so far. I don't know how it will end, to be honest I don't really feel like going to this party tonight. But, keeping the positive Banana in the foreground, I'll just go check that chocolatey goodness...

. . .

Christmas blues

Christmas stuff is everywhere. And I have to venture out into the big bad commercial world today because we're all out of food and I also have a hankering for a trip to Bunnings.
They will be playing various and awful versions of carols or Kenny and Dolly type mixes of Christmas-themed songs.
The best Christmas I have had, since I grew up and 'real' family disintegrated (even more so now - I can't bear to think how Christmas will be this year in Kolozsvar) was the year in Busselton with Sandy, Paul and their extended family, which for those few days included us as well.
A barefoot Christmas, with wholesome food and cold beer and long hours by the calm water.

I am going to buy some dried fruit and Drambuie (and get shitfaced and forget all about Christmas) and start the process of mince pies. Including my own pastry this year I think.

I only have a tiny bit of work for the weekend, and then I'm back to the linseed oil and paint planet in the middle of the lounge room floor.
Jutka had an accident while holding Ben (he's okay, she's just endured 5 hours of surgery on her arm), and I've never heard her usually unflappable brave voice sound so small. How does one help from so far away. Mum is making soup for Jutka, it makes me quietly happy that they have each other close.

Back to Christmas, part of me wants to make a big deal out of it, some of the time. Thinking that if I bow to tradition, the nice feelings will come automatically. But most of the time I think that it would just be a day bound in tinsellated sadness.

I'm off into the sunshine (sunscreen applied) . . .

Nudge

Nudging perfection.

It has been a topsy turvy couple of days, but only in terms of work, not mood, so I'm up to four straight days of smiles and counting.
There was a sudden dump of Canon coverage that I finished in the small hours of this morning, and good job I did too, as the day turned busy and the evening was the ultimate reward.
Today was heavy and damp. Stormy, the clouds of purple flowers around West Leedy were like angry afterthoughts, grudges into summer. I went to the post office to collect the parcel Dad and Margo sent - it sounds silly, but I got such a happy thrill from seeing his unmistakeable neat handwriting. I love my Dad. I called them as soon as I was out of the shops and Margo made me think of this quote from Gatsby, where Nick is talking about those young clerks in New York "wasting the most poignant moments of night and life." I certainly didn't do that today.
Although I did spend ten minutes re-re-re-reading passages of Gatsby, making my heart ache with the beauty of it. Ah!

The beach picnic was supposed to be a team effort, but B decided he had too much python to grapple with right at the last moment. I hate to say it but resonances of Sach reared up and I drove to the beach alone and furious. It was funny I listened to Punk Rock Song really loud, and it made me feel better.
The water was pinching cold, but the air was warm and enveloping and it was beautiful to be in the ocean. There were wide clouds and tall waves and the ever-changing magic of the light.

I shared a long evening of scrumptious morsels of goodness (and skippy chocolate) and conversation and a rather spectacular light show out over Freo.
There was a dog called Byron, who could shake paws both left and right, and roll over and turn around, and a pair of sun-blessed surfers and their friends who smoked a sheesha and listened to a mix of unsavoury music.
I drove home with a big smile on my face (the V8 as CS would say), in fact it's still lodged there.

The wonder of kids eh. I'm awestruck by them. The little ones and the bigger ones as well. an utterly different universe.
And now I feel like I don't want to wash the salt and sand off my tightly pulled skin. Maybe curl up on the couch with Durrell (perhaps I'll never finish that book) in my little cloud of aerogard.

"Do you always watch for the longest day in the year and then miss it?"

Plans

This week has been good so far. Things in my head are good. I wouldn't say everything makes sense, but after the weekend I gave myself a good talking to, and I'm staying positive until I change my own circumstances, because until then there's no point complaining anyway, right? Right?
So on Monday morning Joy calls me up to ask if I want to work in her position for a while, because she's filling in in the Exec office. Sure, I say, let me just get my heartrate back to normal and remember to breathe. Okay, it's really not that exciting, but you know Banana and change.
And of course there's the issue of leaving Dave. That's why I stayed till almost seven yesterday (the water corp is not a nice place after 6) and left everything in mostly tip top shape.
I start this morning, but I really want to fit in a bit of a run, because weight watchers also starts today, and I want to set off on the right foot. I decided I needed a bit of help in the lard wars, maybe even just a reminder that I don't need to eat the 82nd roast potato. 80 would probably fill me up.
I've also decided to go back to Planet video. (wtf?). Well, as I said to B last night, these past two and a bit years of American blockbusters and not much brain activity have been bliss, for my Gareth-addled headspace, but if I don't challenge myself, I won't be producing anything of beauty or value. So there you are, Saturday, I'm going to go and get some films, and eventually ("one fine day...") I'll be writing again.
Book show yesterday: F Scott Fitzgerald's taxes. Maybe one day Ramona will do a show about me...I can supply the material after Friday when I'm going to see a tax accountant.
Tonight, I've got a sackful of Canon articles to get through (from January - thanks hungarian media company) by Thursday, but other than that, this week really is all beer and skittles. Or wine and steak.

...

Ah, I didn't go to the gym. I faffed too long at home and didn't think it was worth it, so I went to the beach instead. I had a beautiful intensive 35 minute walk, from Scarborough to Freo and back (surely not!?)... actually along City Beach and the one that comes after towards Freo... and I figure it's better than dithering on a treadmill and fidgeting with settings... and the air is wonderful, and people share smiles and say good morning. And I don't have to wait till 6am for the beach to open.
Now a forage for breakfast, we're out of milk... and then off to kickstart Wednesday!

Little. Perfect.

Jutka sent me photos of Ben today. Three portraits of tiny perfection. I wish I could see them, if just for an afternoon. Let Jutka put her feet up and talk for a while.
Everyone is having babies. Facebook is awash with friends who have multiplied.

The happy resolution is still firmly in place. Today had a few hiccups of excitement (I have too much Ipsos and Canon to work on to elaborate, but after Wednesday I may be working another role for a couple of weeks) today, and lots of beautiful sunshine.

The Blackcurrants have booked their flight to this dandy corner of the world - estimated time of vodka will be September next year. another nera era finishes :)

Full of positivity, tonight before i sat down to my small screen analysis I spent some time on the balcony, watching the light deepen the purple of the flowers in the neighbours garden, and smiling at the oblivious birds, who at that time posed no danger.
I've lived by open doors the last few days, and it feels so good not to be cold anymore.

When B came home from work we settled on the couch - it couldn't have been more than five minutes- and talked about our day and it was so great not to have any interruptions, and not be half concentrating on other things.

Tomorrow, being Tuesday will be even better than today ...

Not going to let the sads win.

Compulsive thinking rather than doing. This has to stop.
I've woken up with a new baby resolve. I had a good run at the gym (I always know it's good if I look frighteningly like an expiring tomato afterwards) and am full of positive energy again. Not going to let the sads win.
By the way, Bernard Fanning still has it in spades. His voice still resonates through my bones. Wonderful :)

soul lethargic

that's what it is. I am so unbelievably tired inside, it feels like a deadening. Pete and I had a wonderful conversation today, blinking into the sunshine on city beach. just like we used to. that man has charisma enough to sell and I love him, but fuck me he is lost. and at the same time i completely understand him. Except he externalises what he feels and I don't.
But I am unbelievably sick of the current situation. Tired of it to my marrow (so why don't I just do something about it, you ask)...
today started badly and continued in the same vein. What Pete and i talked about (among other things is this)... why, when i know, fully truly understand how lucky I am, and how I have everything really, that I need for a good life. Why can't I appreciate it? Why am I miserable? Why do I have the Tesco blues again?
And I do. I don't know if it's hormonal (and that's a whole other infuriating contraceptive story) but it's not good. And today, when the 'don't worry about the kitchen I'll do it later' story fell through once more, I could have stabbed him. At the very least I could have screamed. I resorted to making potato salad instead and looking forward to beach time, alone together.

We met Pete and Betty down there, with Emese, their housemate and we did have a lovely time. Betty and I stole a previous 20 minutes and crossed the border of rocks to the next beach and sat down to chat. The strength inside that woman amazes me.

I attempted writing today, but the panic puts such a block in my system that I managed three pages, and not much quality at all.
My skin is pinched by the sun, and I feel full up with light but it's totally squashed by being inside the little box. What really amazed me is that Peter utterly echoed my thoughts when he said he hates weekends more than weekdays. Where did we learn ungratitude?

Why do they always play sad Italian songs as the cool-down/stretch track at the end of body pump classes? With all those damn endorphins zipping around anyone would be moved to tears at the sound of bocelli. Right?
So yesterday morning started quite tearfully anyway...

Betty called as I was dropping B at work to say that she had 'things' to talk about with Pete and could we skip the shopping. Litte stones settled in my belly.
But later as I was paying for my hideous, but inexpensive sensible shoes (BLACK) she called again to say they'd come over with the scissors.
So I am a new woman after all.

We spend much of the day together, in a comfortable family way, with Pete asleep on the sofa, drooling on the pillow and Betty and I sitting on the floor, drinking a rather too sweet York shiraz and talking. I long for some girly time though, there seems so much to talk about.

At about five, I took them to the Herdsman, where the parking lady helpfully herded me in next to a Maserati. I wasn't impressed by how it looked, only by its expense and even compared to my usual low standards, I parked really badly. At home I marinated the lamb, put the little kipflers in to roast and then raced off to salute the ocean (not that kind of salute). I had only enough time to go down to the water's edge and take a few deep breaths, but it was enough in my fragile little day.

B's reaction was 'wow' when he got in the car, but later he reconsidered and said it was 'strange'. I'm hoping strange in a good way. In any case, I'm pleased with the new look.

Before dinner I had a half hour talk with Mum... Laci and Gyongyi are getting divorced. It's about time, I know that, but I hope it doesn't send Laci into an even worse place than before. Both children on both sides of my family (children meaning mum dad and siblings) are divorced. Some several times. Is it just bad choices we make?
Pete and Betty talked about the cultural differences between B and I - and I see them (and breathe them and rail against them) but I don't know what to do about it.

This morning some work, then a good yoga/taichi/pilates hour and then hopefully another day with the family by some barbecue somewhere.

...

The concert at the Hydey was on Thursday, not Friday. So we went for Tapas instead. We picked up Peter and Betty -a kiscsalad (our little family)- and went to Freo.
It was a wonderful night without conflict, and I am so happy that Betty is in my life. I think it's the best choice Pete ever made. And Peter, increasingly like a grumpy old man, he still has this - I can only describe it as power over me (and probably most of the women he comes in contact with. If anyone else was as whiney and ill tempered and generally pathetic, it would shit me to tears, with Peter I humour him. Family, right?
There was some uneven drumming and tentative salsa on the night (not from us, of course) and the waiter with the dreads (hang on, all the waiters have dreads) remembered us, and even the wine we had last time.

Betty is coming over today after B goes to work, and hopefully without Peter- to talk about the gaps and girly stuff, and to cut my hair finally. We may also go out in search of sensible shoes without glitter or shine or pink or white.

Yesterday at work was not brilliant. The 'you're only as big as your last achievement' came back to haunt me. No, didn't come back, I guess it's always hovering. And what was my last achievement? How much longer can I keep dangling the carrot (wizened now and growing long stray hairs) of my writing in front of my face? If I'm not even brave enough to spend odd hours truly alone with myself, how will I be brave enough to sit with a blank page and aim to fill it with something worthy of attention?

I don't want to be a secretary for the rest of my life, but I also don't know what it is that could make me happy in terms of a job. I really don't want to be in this place for when I turn 30 but I don't know how to jolt myself out of it. And as much as I love being here, I just feel like packing up and starting a new anonymous life somewhere else all over again. Must stop doing that. The darkness of the soul is not lighted by moving the body to another place - who said that?

So - what can I do to lift the mood? Bake, paint, avoid thought and silence. Drive. Walk. Read. Get on with it, whatever 'it' is...

How did I end up in Southwood Lane last night? It was the most vivid dream I've had in ages. Strangely, Betty and Peter and B were all there with me and we were debating whether we could all stay in the room. I remembered every detail. I even remembered landlord Rupert's exact address and the name of streets around. Highgate throbbed larger than life in my head and it's still thrumming away there, memory as alternate reality.
I don't know where the dream came from though. It's not as though I'd eaten cheese before bed. Or even been thinking about the London days excessively.
Although Rupert had crossed my mind and I had mentioned him at the Melbourne Cup lunch, and while cooking yesterday I did think about a phone call with Dan when I was in the Southwood Lane kitchen, and called him possum and felt stupid and juvenile and desperate for it. So, I don't know from whence the thoughts came, but they weren't unwelcome.

Yesterday after work I quickly stuffed some field mushrooms and then chose the mango recipes for the evening before barreling out the door to see the sunset. I learned that the sunset seemingly lasts longer when it's overcast/ cloudy because the light is reflected. And there were dolphins. And warm water. Ooh and a few trickles of lightning.
I went shopping with sandy feet and smiled in at the bead shop man, though I was good and didn't spend anything this time.

There was just one horrible horrible moment as I was pulling out of the Shell station on Cambridge when I realised the screaming sirens and flashing police lights were right behind me. I pulled over, quivering, but it wasn't me they were after. Is it December 22 yet?

The mango adventures continued, to the staccato of B's expletives from the other room - these programming languages lay their obstacles before him. Three jars of mango butter (melted sugar fucking hurts on bare skin), some chicken and mango rice-paper rolls with a zingy sweet chilli sauce (lime juice hurts on cut hands) and finally some macadamia and mango muffins (no injuries).

tonight: music at the hyde park hotel (hydey if i was a proper local), and rest.

Melbourne Cup

sans ladies and Pimms - but it was still a fantastic day, even without someone to share it with. I think my ideal Melbourne Cup date would be Craig- we could be flamboyant together, and he likes bubbly :)

Anyway, the social club at work put on an amazing lunch (the effort was amazing, the food was from downstairs) and we stood around drinking fizzy passionfruit drink and talking in small over-airconditioned groups. But the intent was there, and I won best outfit (good job too considering how much that effing fascinator cost! Should've made one, I know) and scored a movie ticket. And just as I was fantasizing about an Anna-date of old, Konrad came and gave me his free movie ticket too, so I could go with Balint. Very sweet.

By 3pm Leederville was awash with too-young girls in too-short dresses, but many were delectable to watch, stagger as the day wore off with their make-up and their heels caught in every sidewalk crack. I spent an entertaining half hour with Joe and Peter and then Joe gave me a lift home in his zippy red car, so my heels wouldn't get caught in the sidewalk cracks.

With the air sizzling, I did a fastforward cleaning of the kitchen and then leapt on the first bus coming down Cambridge. It dropped me off halfway to Scarborough, and after convincing myself that surely there wouldn't be snakes lying in wait to spring at my bare feet at this time of night, I crossed the dunes and walked along the beach, all the way back to City Beach.
If I was single, I'd spend all my time on the dog beach at north floreat, and not for the dogs.

It was a good long walk (or maybe I'm just spectacularly unfit) and the water was friendly and I just felt this amazing calm settle behind my shoulder blades. When I got to City Beach I settled somewhere in the middle, opened a bottle of coopers and settled in to watch the sunset. The work I had brought with me lay at the bottom of my bag, waiting.
And it waited all night. I did nothing for an hour or more but sit there and watch the slow majestic drift of a ship across the horizon.
That whole hour it was just me and my head, the sound of the waves and the silhouettes of people. And strangely I was happy. It was like an awake meditation. I was aware of all these thoughts I normally push away and shove behind pillows and under rugs, but it was okay.

The best thing I saw was two girls, one blond the other brown sitting side by side, cross-legged facing the sunset. They reminded me so much of Bud and I that I wrote to her "I miss you today"
Her response "I miss you a little every day".
Well, one day when we're 80 and our men have died we will, finally live together.

Off running now...

Ooooh but the most exciting news: we're going camping at Bremer Bay with the Mamos in January!!!!!!! Could this be the time I learn to surf? Or snorkel? Or anything cool to do with the sea?? :)

I was going to call this post Yesterday, because that's what I was going to write about first. And then I thought of how, at a simple word like Yesterday, Bud and I would always think of wildly opposite things. I would have the Beatles in my head and she'd start singing Gunners. Or if I rocked up at her house and said "Here I am" she'd launch into Rocket Queen, and me into UB40 just to piss her off.

So, yesterday was a gorgeous day to be Aussie. And I felt so fuzzywarm and like I belonged. I knocked together a couple of salads and marinated some meat and bought some Fat Yak and baked some muffins (blueberry and white chocolate) and when Balazs and Orsi arrived we headed down to City Beach. The barbecues were taken, and B and I almost had a tiny explosion, but it was averted by the scenery. We decided to settle close to one of the barbecues and wait. And everyone we came into contact with was unbelievably friendly and approachable and generous. We shared the table, shared the barbie, and their crazily bent spatula thingy... it reminded me again ferociously why I live here.
The muffins were all gone by this morning :)

Today I am sunburned from barely an hour in the sun at lunch, curled around Durrell and his fragrant tales of Egypt. I love him.
I called Dad today and his manic working hours worry me. He came up in conversation yesterday, about how we used to work in the garage together, and maybe I'm getting old, but sometimes I find myself missing him.

After work I waited for B to bring the car home and then I drove through the melting night to Karrinyup, to pick up my box of mangoes, procured from some guy at work for a good price. I'm thinking let a few ripen, bake a few into cakes and muffins, make some smoothies and hopefully try to preserve some as chutney, or something, but hopefully without tonnes of sugar. I am going to write to the Barefoot Kitchen Witch to get advice.

Melbourne Cup tomorrow. Frock and fascinator sorted.

...