I'm joining. Do I have time to attend?
No.
Run off my feet with clothes and clutter cascading around my house, little waterfalls of chaos out of the drawers, on the floor, table, cupboards open, dishes unwashed.... trifle of contents in handbag... best empty it onto the floor to make sense of it... leave it there overnight and kick anything breakable out of foot's way.
Despite the busy-ness I still have a pot belly. Getting bigger it seems.
Good night.
Saturday, 21 March 2009
Thursday, 12 March 2009
my triviality renders me speechless
I've just made myself all sad. I was researching some of the Victorian bushfire tragedy, as I am working on a project about emergency housing being installed in its aftermath. Although I knew of a friend of a friend's death, I found details of how she died on February 7th. I met the warm and sweet Julie last July at a friend's cosy winter gathering. She gave me a lift home in the car there is now no remnants of.
I feel sick at the rantings and ravings I made in this blog only an hour or so ago. My triviality feels punishable. I remember Julie fondly. I remember the way she gorgeously perched on the bean bag in her soft but slim fitting boots.
It is all too tragic that she was out of town with a new love. A mature blossoming relationship. I trust her last days and hours were spent in the delight, giddiness and happiness fresh romance brings.
I am wordless.
I feel sick at the rantings and ravings I made in this blog only an hour or so ago. My triviality feels punishable. I remember Julie fondly. I remember the way she gorgeously perched on the bean bag in her soft but slim fitting boots.
It is all too tragic that she was out of town with a new love. A mature blossoming relationship. I trust her last days and hours were spent in the delight, giddiness and happiness fresh romance brings.
I am wordless.
new lows & highs
Just got off facebook so the VTL couldn't take the liberty of live chatting with me as he always does (there are plenty other reasons for getting off facebook). His backhanded invitation last facebook chat was a new low in my love-life, as was the OB's pathetic sms correspondence.
I take my logging-off from the VTL's affections as a new high. My calm curiousity in the boy-genius feels like I'm handling all these follies so much better now. The fact I need to write about it doesn't mean I'm totally well again, but definitely recovering from some kind of love sickness... or more likely lustosis. I guess it's not right to call it a sickness, it was just a silly and stupid preoccupation. This afternoon I prioritised eyebrow over leg waxing - no one's getting my pants off anytime soon!! I plan to be seduced.
There's a beautiful sunset outside. I fantasise about owning this apartment and double-glazing the windows, laying floorboards and redesigning the bathroom. My little cubbyhouse is modest and daggy, but I'm happy here. Sometimes I think it'd be nice to go to sleep or wake up cuddling a man but really, my cubbyhouse is much more comfortable for one. Somehow I am positive about moving from my present position (of being $300 short of Sunday's rent - banana costume hire chomped into it) to the destination of owning a small apartment. As of yet there is no real strategy, but there is a will and I am confident I can do it.
Once again i've overloaded my to-do list. I have many projects and plans spinning around on my lazy susan; lazy may be the operative word. I flit and flirt. I've been pondering scrapbooking, as a way of focusing and brainstorming on one project at a time. Blogging is probably another distraction. The shortcut apple/ctrl-tab is my nemesis. I hopscotch between programs and my to-do list and calendar. In fits and starts I get things done. I want to cultivate focus and concentration. But the internet and my organisational software is so tempting!! Right now I am thinking that I should email the friend who let slip about my blog and ask her to be discreet - I could quickly flick across to mail, open an email, draft a message, then flick back to this blog draft or open the TV guide. Overstimulated, overcommitted, over the mountain, under and around it all at once.
I need to calm down. Close down some programs. Have a screen-free hour or day here and there (no TV, computer or probably unnecessary use of mobile phone)... by george, I work in the screen industry! My eyes are turning beyond square - more into rhomboids. Twitter is the last thing I need to join. An iphone despite it's potential to make love to my laptop is something I should probably resist. I did my first swim in months yesterday morning. Some lazy laps transformed my day - and I wanted to do it again yesterday afternoon. Unless I rebel against my alarm clock, I plan to get back down there in the morning, even the thought of my pudgy body in the dressing room (let alone the pool) isn't putting me off. I am a mermaid, just an out-of-condition one. I just flitted off to clear some emails out of my 'sent items' - did I really need to do that straight after the mermaid thought? What is going on in my brain? Am I running two different power grids in there? Is it wired like a Saigon side-street? I'm not trying to say I'm dysfunctional, I'd just like to be more functional and true to my desires instead of swept away by technology. I don't need to be online to receive the boy-genius' email. I have better things to do, write, cook, eat and wash.
Speaking of hours in front of a screen, this film looks interesting - looks like my type of film - http://www.oftimeandthecity.com/
I take my logging-off from the VTL's affections as a new high. My calm curiousity in the boy-genius feels like I'm handling all these follies so much better now. The fact I need to write about it doesn't mean I'm totally well again, but definitely recovering from some kind of love sickness... or more likely lustosis. I guess it's not right to call it a sickness, it was just a silly and stupid preoccupation. This afternoon I prioritised eyebrow over leg waxing - no one's getting my pants off anytime soon!! I plan to be seduced.
There's a beautiful sunset outside. I fantasise about owning this apartment and double-glazing the windows, laying floorboards and redesigning the bathroom. My little cubbyhouse is modest and daggy, but I'm happy here. Sometimes I think it'd be nice to go to sleep or wake up cuddling a man but really, my cubbyhouse is much more comfortable for one. Somehow I am positive about moving from my present position (of being $300 short of Sunday's rent - banana costume hire chomped into it) to the destination of owning a small apartment. As of yet there is no real strategy, but there is a will and I am confident I can do it.
Once again i've overloaded my to-do list. I have many projects and plans spinning around on my lazy susan; lazy may be the operative word. I flit and flirt. I've been pondering scrapbooking, as a way of focusing and brainstorming on one project at a time. Blogging is probably another distraction. The shortcut apple/ctrl-tab is my nemesis. I hopscotch between programs and my to-do list and calendar. In fits and starts I get things done. I want to cultivate focus and concentration. But the internet and my organisational software is so tempting!! Right now I am thinking that I should email the friend who let slip about my blog and ask her to be discreet - I could quickly flick across to mail, open an email, draft a message, then flick back to this blog draft or open the TV guide. Overstimulated, overcommitted, over the mountain, under and around it all at once.
I need to calm down. Close down some programs. Have a screen-free hour or day here and there (no TV, computer or probably unnecessary use of mobile phone)... by george, I work in the screen industry! My eyes are turning beyond square - more into rhomboids. Twitter is the last thing I need to join. An iphone despite it's potential to make love to my laptop is something I should probably resist. I did my first swim in months yesterday morning. Some lazy laps transformed my day - and I wanted to do it again yesterday afternoon. Unless I rebel against my alarm clock, I plan to get back down there in the morning, even the thought of my pudgy body in the dressing room (let alone the pool) isn't putting me off. I am a mermaid, just an out-of-condition one. I just flitted off to clear some emails out of my 'sent items' - did I really need to do that straight after the mermaid thought? What is going on in my brain? Am I running two different power grids in there? Is it wired like a Saigon side-street? I'm not trying to say I'm dysfunctional, I'd just like to be more functional and true to my desires instead of swept away by technology. I don't need to be online to receive the boy-genius' email. I have better things to do, write, cook, eat and wash.
Speaking of hours in front of a screen, this film looks interesting - looks like my type of film - http://www.oftimeandthecity.com/
Monday, 9 March 2009
Don't Get Carried Away
Don't get carried away, he might be gay
Don't get carried away, go outside and play
Don't get carried away, wait another day
Don't get carried away, you were fine yesterday
Don't get carried away, here's a nice place to stay
Don't get carried away, try another way
Don't get carried away, dance the night away
Don't get carried away, go back to to that essay
Don't get carried away, be cool, be okay
Don't get carried away, because I'm not
Word games to flirt. Word games don't mean dirt. Email correspondence. Up and despondence. One hundred better things to do. Out of my PJs and into you.
Don't get carried away, go outside and play
Don't get carried away, wait another day
Don't get carried away, you were fine yesterday
Don't get carried away, here's a nice place to stay
Don't get carried away, try another way
Don't get carried away, dance the night away
Don't get carried away, go back to to that essay
Don't get carried away, be cool, be okay
Don't get carried away, because I'm not
Word games to flirt. Word games don't mean dirt. Email correspondence. Up and despondence. One hundred better things to do. Out of my PJs and into you.
Friday, 6 March 2009
Alter Egos & Apocalyptic Sights
I am a Bond woman trapped inside a sedentary blogger's body. I am a pro surfer as yet untried nor discovered. I am an architect trapped inside an internet stalker's mind. I have little to report - except that the boy-genius' myspace profile has been updated from "in a relationship" to "single". Haven't heard from him so I am just a sick internet puppy. His first email was so delightfully and ostensibly keen - he sent me palindromes for god's sake!!!
To be honest I've only contemplated him now and again during this busy long week. I've briefly fantasised about further tantalising emails landing in my inbox or an unexpected phone call from an unknown number. I think I'm okay. Some colleagues who I hadn't seen in a while asked me about my love life (it's an ongoing topic) and I didn't mention my precious boy-genius; isn't that something?! Guess I am learning not to publicly set myself up for failure.
I visited Kinglake this week, a site of February 7th's bushfire devastation. Engines had melted out of cars. The stench of dead animals had apparently passed. Logs and stone plant pots were still hot. What was surprising and heart-swelling was the residents' desire to stay on the land. They couldn't contemplate leaving. They wanted to care for the ravaged land like they would an injured relative. Their forward-vision was inspiring. How would I feel starting again? Losing my cubbyhouse? My beloved but useless ornaments? My diaries of memories? My childhood artwork? Yet another but perhaps futile reason to keep a blog. Saving my persona and past for a rainy day on someone else's server.
Allergies and appearance-awareness dictate that I should cut down on alcohol. Last night I bought wine for the first time in ages. Downing it tonight has delayed dinner by about 2.5hours and I still can't be bothered.
My cavewoman instincts have resurfaced. An attractive man in the supermarket, a potential single architect to spend the day with (dress appropriately), mention of another under-35 architect ("is he single? the first one wasn't"), hundreds of male faces and bodies that I pass in the street that I size up, like a dodo-bird ready to mate. No man between age 19 and 72 is safe from my sexual-assessment (other than my relatives and longtime close friends). Cavewoman I am, but living in 2009 with the literary capacity to pen a blog. The new cavewoman. A modern cavewoman who wants to pash like one of those intelligent Bond-women.
To be honest I've only contemplated him now and again during this busy long week. I've briefly fantasised about further tantalising emails landing in my inbox or an unexpected phone call from an unknown number. I think I'm okay. Some colleagues who I hadn't seen in a while asked me about my love life (it's an ongoing topic) and I didn't mention my precious boy-genius; isn't that something?! Guess I am learning not to publicly set myself up for failure.
I visited Kinglake this week, a site of February 7th's bushfire devastation. Engines had melted out of cars. The stench of dead animals had apparently passed. Logs and stone plant pots were still hot. What was surprising and heart-swelling was the residents' desire to stay on the land. They couldn't contemplate leaving. They wanted to care for the ravaged land like they would an injured relative. Their forward-vision was inspiring. How would I feel starting again? Losing my cubbyhouse? My beloved but useless ornaments? My diaries of memories? My childhood artwork? Yet another but perhaps futile reason to keep a blog. Saving my persona and past for a rainy day on someone else's server.
Allergies and appearance-awareness dictate that I should cut down on alcohol. Last night I bought wine for the first time in ages. Downing it tonight has delayed dinner by about 2.5hours and I still can't be bothered.
My cavewoman instincts have resurfaced. An attractive man in the supermarket, a potential single architect to spend the day with (dress appropriately), mention of another under-35 architect ("is he single? the first one wasn't"), hundreds of male faces and bodies that I pass in the street that I size up, like a dodo-bird ready to mate. No man between age 19 and 72 is safe from my sexual-assessment (other than my relatives and longtime close friends). Cavewoman I am, but living in 2009 with the literary capacity to pen a blog. The new cavewoman. A modern cavewoman who wants to pash like one of those intelligent Bond-women.
Sunday, 1 March 2009
Sore from Sailing
Today I am sore all over after my first sailing adventure yesterday. Conditions were less than ideal, choppy water, rather windy, we ended up with so much water in the boat it represented the bodyweight of another sailor and arguably made our sailing even more clumsy.
I loved it. We struggled with the actual 'sailing part' but we didn't capsize, came extremely close though. There is something in my nature that causes me to laugh in the face of adversity or unpleasantness in weather conditions. Back in December when I went to the wettest music festival ever, I grinned with glee as I was drenched watching a band. I laughed at the human chaos of it all and what we would look like from space; worshippers of mud.
Yesterday the sailing adventure was similar - failed attempts to tack, travelling far into the no-boating zone and ruining some open-water swimmers laps (they offered us a push), getting hit in the face by waves of cold water, getting yelled at by the instructor and accomplished teenage sailors: it all made me laugh and emit happy vibes. If only I did this in the face of unplesantness in the other parts of my life. If only I laughed when re-pondering my failed relationship with the EX. If only I laughed when feeling insecure about career opportunities and fiscal stability. If only I laughed when the giddy feeling of a crush turns to despondency and I question my lovableness and desirability. If only I laughed when I realised that I'm not looking after my physical health at all. If only I laughed when the seeds of depression start sprouting. If only I laughed, scooped pails of water out of my mind and sailed on.
Went on a little romance in my head in the last two days. The boy-genius contacted me and emailed me some palindromes for my enjoyment - how charming! Yesterday after some afternoon beers (often depressive) and catching public transport (frequently depressive) I started to tear apart the little romance in my head. I'm a love fool. He's just a friendly boy-genius with time on his hands. I'm not attractive or desirable. I took our encounter and extrapolated it into a mini-obsession. Did I do this on purpose? To me it felt like he naturally lingered in my head, I was captivated by his 'vibe' and that captivation continued long after the kahluas and hangover wore off. My preoccupation with him and sharing my excitement with friends and blog readers made me feel like I'd jinxed another man-tunity. Having to resist the urge to reply to his email immediately and consciously focus on doing an undies-priority-wash (UPW - this is an old one from the clever EX) all just makes me feel like an idiot. A love fool. Prove me wrong world. Please. I think I am ready for another relationship. Something that is as unrushed as a slow-boat to China would suit me well. But knowing me I'd probably dive off the boat and motor ahead in a dinghy. I want a man with floppy soft hair. A clever type with a solid knowledge of modern history and physics, but not a know-it-all. A man who loves nature. A man who loves cuddles. A silly man. A man that brings the best out of me. I'm ready.
I loved it. We struggled with the actual 'sailing part' but we didn't capsize, came extremely close though. There is something in my nature that causes me to laugh in the face of adversity or unpleasantness in weather conditions. Back in December when I went to the wettest music festival ever, I grinned with glee as I was drenched watching a band. I laughed at the human chaos of it all and what we would look like from space; worshippers of mud.
Yesterday the sailing adventure was similar - failed attempts to tack, travelling far into the no-boating zone and ruining some open-water swimmers laps (they offered us a push), getting hit in the face by waves of cold water, getting yelled at by the instructor and accomplished teenage sailors: it all made me laugh and emit happy vibes. If only I did this in the face of unplesantness in the other parts of my life. If only I laughed when re-pondering my failed relationship with the EX. If only I laughed when feeling insecure about career opportunities and fiscal stability. If only I laughed when the giddy feeling of a crush turns to despondency and I question my lovableness and desirability. If only I laughed when I realised that I'm not looking after my physical health at all. If only I laughed when the seeds of depression start sprouting. If only I laughed, scooped pails of water out of my mind and sailed on.
Went on a little romance in my head in the last two days. The boy-genius contacted me and emailed me some palindromes for my enjoyment - how charming! Yesterday after some afternoon beers (often depressive) and catching public transport (frequently depressive) I started to tear apart the little romance in my head. I'm a love fool. He's just a friendly boy-genius with time on his hands. I'm not attractive or desirable. I took our encounter and extrapolated it into a mini-obsession. Did I do this on purpose? To me it felt like he naturally lingered in my head, I was captivated by his 'vibe' and that captivation continued long after the kahluas and hangover wore off. My preoccupation with him and sharing my excitement with friends and blog readers made me feel like I'd jinxed another man-tunity. Having to resist the urge to reply to his email immediately and consciously focus on doing an undies-priority-wash (UPW - this is an old one from the clever EX) all just makes me feel like an idiot. A love fool. Prove me wrong world. Please. I think I am ready for another relationship. Something that is as unrushed as a slow-boat to China would suit me well. But knowing me I'd probably dive off the boat and motor ahead in a dinghy. I want a man with floppy soft hair. A clever type with a solid knowledge of modern history and physics, but not a know-it-all. A man who loves nature. A man who loves cuddles. A silly man. A man that brings the best out of me. I'm ready.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)