not much happening

haven't written anything for a while so thought I might as well write something now. Sunday afternoon. Is nice in here with the back door open and the green summery garden outside. Is actually a warm day for once.

Just cleaned the bathroom and now so, so, so tired. No idea why. Worked at the market yesturday, but only for four hours. Went out to dinner at a thai place with T and L. T and I were going to go to A's party, but then when the time came to get going neither of us couldn't be bothered. So I just came home and watched a terrible movie on tv until about 12, then went to bed...

Not much exciting happening. With all the stuff in Thailand L isn't going to go anymore. R and M are already over there but I think they should be right to get home; it should have all died down by the time they want to. T spoke to M and they didn't even know it was happening apparently, not much news where they are.

L and I might do a road trip up to Canberra from Sydney. Could be fun. Was going to go visit my Mum but that's prob not happening now, so going to Canberra to check out national gallery and library etc seems like a good alternative. Still have to find someone to look after Mr Ted while I'm away, but my new flatmate S is looking like a good possibility... She moved in last week and so far seems to be really cool... fingers crossed. She was a bit indescisive about moving here originally and I'm worried she'll change her mind. Its so nice to have someone a bit human and normal around the place to talk to. J was just a bit strange really, but I hear she's happy in her place out in Kingston which is nice...

Going to a gig of T's this afternoon which I can almost really not be bothered to go to, but I think I will. He looked kind of dissapointed last night when I said I wouldn't go because of N being there... N, T's bandmate, a couple weeks ago professed his undying love to me and as I don't return his affections, since then I've been avoiding him... I'm still not sure if I should go to this thing, but I already said that I would so... guess I will.

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something I wrote a few days ago

“You seem sad.”

The stilted awkwardness, the borrowed artificiality of that statement almost makes me laugh. Yet, as I turn it over in my mind, it becomes like the hardened burnt sugar surface of a crème brulee; crack it with the corner of a tea spoon and it opens up to the coffee below, dark, unsugared, as yet unknown. The hard surface tips from side to side, slowly becoming emersed in the hot dark liquid. Yes. Sadness. Could be.

A coffee date with a friend. The soft, dark green, blur of the surrounding hills glimpsed through the deepening blue of the afternoon, light. But we’re inside, in the careful artifice of a café flippantly called Rain Check Lounge. Wooden tables, chairs carved in neurotic curves like the arching legs of Siamese cats. Dark green jungle plants and a fake wooden pillar complimented by the mosaic tiles on the wall, intended to denote some kind of I don’t know what, ‘Middle Eastern Thing’: an eroticised orientalism that seems almost politically incorrect in its careless, cardboard-cut-out reference to a thousand-year-old, deeply spiritual, culture.

“So what have you been up to lately?”

Time, stretching endlessly over the cleaned and dusted surfaces of my house, the whine of the vacuum cleaner fading into silence punctuated by the heavy tick of the clock, inevitable as a ticket inspector. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Books piled on the kitchen table. Dickens, Gaskell, Hardy.

Mostly I’ve been earnestly navigating the long stretches of Victorian sentimentalism embedded in such novels. Those words upon words, that lengthy exposition, building like dark, yet strangely luminous clouds; an ominous backdrop to their suspenseful and dramatic narratives. And pausing from reading, as I sometimes do, to look up at my surroundings, I think what a fitting background to these stories is Hobart itself. The utilitarianness of my small 19^th century worker’s cottage amongst all those dark blurring hills. Hills that seem to both loom over threateningly, and also cringe away into the landscape. And the straight, practical lines of this cottage that once contained a multiplicity of small dramas; of lives and deaths enacted under its low, sloping roof. Factory workers, labourers, dockyard workers. Clerks, seamstresses, shopkeepers. Aspiring middle class with expectations rising like the steam from the horse dung that would have piled the dusty, earthen streets outside. So I turn pages and read, and look up to dream about these things, as well as those blank unfriendly surfaces of hills, at that time perhaps dotted with hacked and stunted trees, and the moving specks of the colonial invaders and their reluctant convict labourers.

But now, in the café, with its carefully ambient electronic muzak filling the spaces between our stilted conversation, I shrug. What is there to say? “Um… Reading?”

I think of my small, pink granite garden where the lawn has recently received a ragged crew cut. It’s a bit like my life at the moment. Razed and muddied. Most of my friends, whose lives had punctuated mine in brief or sustained spurts, have gone away. Thailand. Cambodia. Broome. France. I get small pockets of information from one of them on facebook; got lost in Chiang Mai and found myself again… So hot here, can’t believe it…But the others, nothing yet. A kind of blank-page of silence where I can only imagine what they might be doing, where they might be; those stinging white beaches of Broome, its turquoise impossibility of ocean. The cultural and industrial clutter of modern Paris; the black grime of air-pollution a thin veneer over its surprising familiarity, a place re-discovered in its original and often dreamed-over form. Or so I’ve heard, anyway. Really, I know very little about Paris.

Sometimes I imagine myself staging my own disappearance. But my way of taking off is usually permanent. Ditch this one horse town. My mind forms a picture of the orderly, red-dirt streets of some hot, half-empty, northern town. Mango trees raining soft, rotting, fruit. Weathered locals leaning over wire fences that guard straggling lawns. Sprinklers pulsing out water in choking patterns of brilliant light. A small dusty house to rent. A job in a supermarket, perhaps. I could do that. It wouldn’t be so bad. The beeps and hums of the computers, the silky opaqueness of plastic bags, the doleful local accent blurring into my thoughts via the loudspeaker; price check register 5, price check… And outside, the reflective bitchumen streets sending white patches of heat into my eyes, burning into my brain, erasing the past. The bliss of forgetfulness, of nothingness. Of lack of identity. No more doctor’s waiting rooms and brisk secretaries or research assistants.  No more friends with pitying looks, no more fathers with anxious, cash-transfer, affection. No more pills each morning and prescriptions to renew. No more strangling vines of plastic tubing from that stifling clattering oxygen machine.

Is it possible to do that? To leave your life and self behind? To start somewhere else?

In the café, the wooden table taps hollowly under my fingers. The coffee arrives. Not crème brulee, just plain old cappuccino. I stir in the foam, and dip my spoon, bring it to my tongue; taste. And there’s that sweetness of chocolate, mingling unexpectedly with the dark, bitter, coffee. Tears almost come to my eyes. I take small polite sips of sugary coffee, thinking that this kind of moment won’t come again soon enough.

“I’m not sad,” I laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m just…” But outside, the blue has deepened to indigo and the glowing red traffic lights of the crossing blink and blur into each other. Red. Yellow. Then green, and car engines are rumbling and revving, noseing homewards, their pale headlights glinting round circles of brilliant light into my eyes. I blink. 

And I look across the table at E, with a kind of weariness that is an effort to disguise. Her earnestness, her glance that collides with mine and then skips away, avoiding anything too lengthy, too awkward. But, You seem sad. Had been an attempt of sorts to climb over this rambling thicket between us, this sharp razor wire of social rules.

I sigh and glance quickly at my bag that contains the latest novel. The latest distraction. Mary Barton, by Elizabeth Gaskell. My lumbering, often interrupted reading is lurching towards its suspense-ridden, and what I’m sure will be an absolutely earth-shattering conclusion. If I can just get through the next half hour, I think. I shrug, smile at this person sitting across from me, try to bring my mind into focus. Her life. “So how was hockey practice?” I ask.

I can pretend, but I can’t really focus. Its as if all the images are circling me at once. The huddled hills of Hobart. Sun drenched beaches. Wide, empty, red-dirt streets.

I’m left with a strange sense of the present closing in on the future. Like the inorexible trample of civilisation in early Hobart, or the seasonal shedding of fruit from tropical trees. The inevitability of friends going away, or even moving, leaving nothing but the blank outline of themselves in the empty air. A slow moving current of change that brings, each day, a steady narrowing, a drawing of life to a finer and finer point.

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sunday

Sunday today. I'm listening to the lovely Nina Nastasia, her dark, dreamy, second album. I once said that if I had to pick an album to die to, it would be this one. I remember M was there and he looked rather alarmed and said, "I'll remember that." Thought I might cark it, poor guy. Lucky for him we broke up.

Tired now after a sudden burst of energy; swept all the dirt off back porch, the dry grass from the pathway. Did some weeding, planted a geranium I bought at the market yesterday. I came inside and washed the dishes, wiped the benches and attacked the spiders in the corners of the ceiling and then swept the floor. Still though, this house needs a really good clean. It could perhaps be beyond my capabilities though. I wonder if I would qualify for that government funded cleaning service? I suspect so, but they might think it a little odd since I have flatmates who are perfectly healthy.

Actually, my flatmate with the dog is moving out, which I can't say I'm too upset about. But I do hope her next house goes better. Plus I feel bad because the place she found won't take her dog. She's pretty upset about having to give her away, but not upset enough to keep looking for another place.

But I'm looking forward to getting someone else; if we can find someone good, that is. I've had great times in share houses, you just have to live with the right people.

I remember once my flatmate in melbourne, S, said that the process of looking for a flatmate was like having a social life without having to make any effort at all. And those few times we had to look for someone were kind of like that; We sat around and dranks cups of tea with them and asked intrusive, personal questions that you normally wouldn't get away with. Pretty funny. We put ads up in the healthfood shop, and in the local bookstore. Vego, non-smoker, animal-lover. You could get any kind of person you wanted. There were other ads in the shops for satan worshipers, christians, vegans, hippies, wicca members, law students, you name it. We got so many people coming that we'd have to take notes to remember who they all were. Sometimes as a joke, after they'd gone, we'd try to give them a rating out of ten. Silly. And we actually got pretty sick of these interviews after a while, if I recall.

It's not like that in Hobart though. You put ads up at uni, at the art school, and you have to buy an ad for the paper which costs about $25. Then you get a thin trickle of people, they come in dribs and drabs. And its difficult, from that thin trickle, to find those few individuals who you just automatically click with, who have a similar outlook on life... So I don't know how this will go.

Had a scare with Mr Ted over the weekend. He had the most discusting diarrohea and vomiting and was getting all quiet and hunched over, and dehydrated-looking so I took him down to the vet and they put him on a drip. $425 later! Ouch! But I'm glad he's ok. I was getting a bit worried there for a while. The vet said something amusing, she asked if I'd ever noticed that Teddy was a bit "vague". Well, I had, but I always just took it as further proof that he is, somehow, my actual biological child ( ; Makes no sense, I know. But I always kind of thought, "Oh he's a bit spaced out. He gets that from me". But apparently he may have a touch of dementia! Poor Ted.

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what I have learned to do on facebook

It's decided. My cat is a musical genius.

I've observed this myself: his scratching at the door in perfect timing to a swift little piano sonata that tinkles and trills from my cd player. scratch, scratch, scratch/scratch-scratch. And then, a heartbeat after it's dramatic ending of clashing, scissoring, chords and scales, he gazes balefully at me in the split-second's silence and loudly meows. Perfect finale`.

A few semesters at the Conservatorium to puff out his repertoire, then off to a brilliant career on the world's orchestral stage...

Ok, ok, I'll stop being silly.

Went to a friend’s engagement party on the weekend that was a really lovely, laid-back, sort of occasion. Food and drinks in the sunny afternoon on their rural property... Miniature horses and one had a foal! Very cute. Made me think of Bailey's donklets of-course.

My sister called last night and we talked for a while. We get along really well over the phone for some reason; it’s only in real life that we have problems. But mostly its pretty good and I really enjoy having a good gossip with her. The only problem now is that she always calls me when she's on this long train-ride on the way home from visiting our friend Z who has just had a baby. Last time I talked to my mother I confessed that I was completely and utterly consumed with a weird kind of jealousy of Z having a baby, and couldn't even stand to hear about her, or this baby. As we know, I can never have little brats, and if I could, I probably wouldn't be able to run around fast enough after them anyway.

My mother was great, she said something that really helped; "I don't think that having a baby makes you a deeper kind of person."

See, I have this idea somehow that you can't ever really be a proper adult without having children and all that stuff that goes with it... I don't know why I think that. It's very strange. Although I can think of many, many, books that I've read that portray women having a babies as going through some kind of solemn rite of passage, a sort of spiritual experience. So I guess subconsciously I tended to think that I was always going to miss out on this huge thing...

Anyway, despite my mother's wonderful advice, I still can't handle hearing anything about this baby. And when I was on facebook last time I saw a photo of my father holding this baby and I thought, 'Wow, that should be my baby he's holding.' And oh dear, then there I was, crying  over a silly facebook photo.

I probably should try to get over it, especially since my sister said on the phone, "Oh its great, when you come up to Sydney you'll be able to meet Z's baby." I was like... "Hmmm, great..." Then I changed the subject. Changing the subject has become something I'm really good at these days. I don't think people even notice. As for facebook... there's this wonderful little function that you can click on that says "tell me less about this person". If you click on it you never have to hear about them again. So now I don't have to hear Z's constant (and somewhat sickening) 'baby updates' and look at all of those millions of photos she and her family put up. Good, isn't it?

And yes, I'm turning into a bitter old spinster, who lavishes affection only on her cats... Kind of interesting actually, in some ways I've always felt like I was headed for that particular cliché`... Weird how things work out.

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solutions and thoughts

My solution to this blue lips thing has led me to post a link on facebook. It seemed like the best way to inform a large ammount of people. And pretty much every one I know is my freind on facebook, and even some who I really can't remember who they are... ( ;

Thanks so much for all replies, they were so helpful. They actually made me think that maybe what I said to A wasn't such a wacko thing to say after all... Perhaps it was just a bit rude of her to comment in the first place... On the other hand, she didn't really know so maybe she just thought I really was wearing purple lipstick.

But I am sick of people making similar kinds of comments. I do long for the day when I won't care any more what people think of me... Don't know if it will ever come though! ( ;

I spent ages looking for the right website to post. (Very unfortunately, I couldn't put this one up because I really don't want my freinds reading this diary!) Finally I found one that didn't make PH sound completely dire and my life like too much of a living hell. I certainly don't want people to feel sorry for me, I just want them to not look at me strangely.

Today I'm off to an engagement party of a freind out on their farm. Should be fun. Spent part of yesterday frantically getting engagement present, card etc. We were all a bit disorganised and it had only occured to us a few days ago that we should get something... These days people are getting married later and later, and less often. So I think we're all a bit out of step with traditions surrounding these things! But we got some good stuff and I picked out an incredibly tacky card as a joke, but perhaps I'll nip down to the shop and get a different one... Might be an idea...

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The silly thing I did

Went to the Lark and had a drink with M and T this afternoon, then after we walked over to the art school, to see the grad show, free wine and food etc. From the Lark, the art school is a completely flat walk across some jetties built over the water. It's nice down there, the flat water like a mirror of the sky and boats and buildings and cars. It was raining a bit, and getting slightly dark. The water was grey like the heavy dark clouds, and beginning to be spattered with rain. Not really cold, but the occasional shivering gust of wind; the kind that makes you pull your coat tighter and walk a little faster.

Walking faster is problematic, of course. Although its completely flat, I still get out of breath on the way. I slow down, hope people remember and slow down with me. If not I just walk at my own pace and let them leave me behind. I understand if they want to get out of the rain, I don't really care... This time though, we were walking over there and we met A, coming from another direction. I don't know A very well, have talked to her at a few parties. She's a good freind of K's, but not of mine. And probably won't ever be now... She took one look at me and said, "Are you really cold or just wearing purple lipstick?"

Now, I'm very, very, self concious about how I look and I fucking hate that I turn blue after walking about 25 metres. It really pisses me off and I hate being reminded of how weird I look. And I think there's a bit of fear under there, too. Fear about the fact that I'm turning blue in the first place. I really just hate the thought of it. However, I don't know why I did what I did. I could easily have laughed it off, said, "Ha ha, yeah I love purple lipstick" and that would have been fine. But alas, no... I let this very vague, displaced anger take over. And complete frustration at my life and its fucking awfulness. I looked her straight in the eye and said, "No actually I have a heart condition and some other things wrong and I don't get enough oxygen and I've been walking too fast and THAT is why my lips are blue."

A split second afterwards I regreted it. Her face fell. She took a step back. I though, oh shit, I didn't intend to be so full on about it...

After she'd gone, I said, "Shit. Shit. Why, why did I just say that? What the hell is wrong with me?"

Mary said something like, "well you were just being honest about it." But honesty... I'm not so sure that was what was going on.

The grad show is through the whole of the art school, a large echo-ey building with mezzanine levels and large wooden beams jutting like tree branches from the forests of brickwork and wire mesh. High ceilings, squeaky linoleum floors like in high school. Grey metal lockers, corners and weird corridors and little rooms everywhere. And tonight, people everywhere, some who I recognised, many who i didn't. Paintings, sound art, sculpture. Sensory overload, big time. "God I really need a drink" I muttered. Tragically the powers that be were withholding all alcahol until after the speeches...  Sobor and still feeling guilty, I walked around, looking at art and making silly jokes with the others to show that I'd completly forgotten that little 'incident' and that I really didn't care. But in my head, I was analyzing what I'd said, trying to get to the core of it... I wasn't buying this honesty thing. There's honesty, and then there's a behaviour which I can't really define, but in my head I usually call it, "putting stuff on other people." ie, why did I feel the need to shout to world about my problems? Am I trying to get attention or something? Or do I feel angry and I want to punish normal, healthy, people??

In conclusion... I think probably I do feel pretty angry at healthy people. I can think of many times in the past when similar feelings of resentment have come up... It all feels very unfair. And in that moment, as well, I was really just sick of the whole thing. Totally sick of people telling me I look blue, which happens quite often.

After a while I managed to forget what I'd done and laugh and talk with people and (finally!) drink a bit of wine... I had a nice time hanging out with M and MP, MP usually being someone I'm a bit wary of. So that was good. I did see A later, and I tried to make a joke about it but she looked rather askance at me so I might just have to let this one go...

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an 'interesting' method for coping with change

A few years ago, to console myself over having to quit my job, I took the unexpected step of learning to play the ukulele.

My former life was receding rapidly, it was like something seen in the rear vision mirror of a car; small, moving further and further away. One turn in the road and it would be gone.

It had been enormously hard to quit my job. Felt like amputating a limb. But kind of slowly, in parts; it was agonizing. The day I arrived at work, the day after whatever doctor’s appointment where they finally convinced me to quit. Arriving at work, this cold knowledge inside, contained. I went about the ordinary business of the morning, all the time these little thoughts trickling in underneath; I have to quit, I have to tell them… Oh God, but I didn’t want to. I really didn’t. No-one knew. No-one suspected a thing. But one sentence would end that. A few words would have such a big, real, impact. Would separate time, divide it off into Before and After. How could that be?

This loss of my former self, former qualified, employed, useful, self. And not just that, the people there, who I spent so much time with they felt like family. At night, I cried about it, alone in my room, in the dark where no-one could see. It was a process, I told myself. I had to move through it. But it was Summer in Hobart, and the long, hot weeks stretched before me like the dry pale-green lawn in the large backyard of our house. Nothing to do. Life over. I sat out on the back steps and drank beer. I sat in the kitchen and drank beer. I sat around talked about everything and nothing with my flatmates. I hung out with S, and discovered that two bored and lonely people are not always a good combination. The rest of my life pressed up against me with glazed, empty, eyes. Colorless. Or what was left of my life. From what my doctor had said, I might not have a lot of it left… Had I wasted it? Was I wasting it? But what else could I do? Not like I could go out and climb a mountain or anything. I had tried, I had tried to do something with my life and it hadn’t, it just hadn’t worked. It hadn’t been the right thing. Bitter, bitter, tears. Wasted, wasted time. I raged in my room, stalked up and down, threw things, shouted at the walls. I kept all of this from everyone. It was summer. We were supposed to be happy, chilled out. Everything's cool, man. Just gotta find something to do, right?

Right. So in the end, I took up the ukulele, to stop myself from going completely crazy. I soon became as obsessed with memorizing chords as I had previously been with my job…  It wasn’t a bad thing to do. Silly. Fun. I had a friend who was quite good at it who gave me lessons and printed me chord sheets. I rediscovered singing, learned all my favourites songs on it. Would sit on the floor of my room and pluck its strings one by one, listening to its vibrations filling the air with buttery yellow sound. I would close my eyes and listen to it, and then to the stillness in the air as it died out. To the quiet breathing of the house. Perhaps silence and stillness and nothing to do weren’t so awful after all. I joined a group who practiced together at a north Hobart pub every Monday afternoon. That was pretty fun. The people there were all older, but I really got along well with them. We did some cool stuff together; a concert, a radio show. We sucked royally, of course, but we didn’t care.

Then… Then I started uni I guess. Or I may have already started. L convinced me to apply one afternoon, over the internet, when we were hanging out in our kitchen. I thought, “What else have I got to do?” And then I guess when it started in march, I got into it, found stuff I was interested in, discovered the painful, yet satisfying process of essay writing. I moved to Sayer Cres and stopped going to the north hobart thing because I had to catch two buses there and back. Then I decided I wanted to play something more serious… Enter guitar, which I struggle with, but seems to at least hold scope for some kind of musical future in the far off distance. Hmmm, well, i I keep practicing that is. ( ;

And so ended my love affair with the humble ukulele. But I’m very glad that I had it when I did…  

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feeling duped

Went to a party on Saturday night and had a great time. Drank a whole bottle of red wine, which is unusual for me. Had a terrible hangover the next day of course, but no weird ph symptoms which is nice. Today was really hot. Well, hot for Tassie, which according to a weather website was actually only 25 degrees. Sunday I had not one, but three coffee dates. Ha. Went to breakfast with T and M, then we met L at Onba. M and I went to chickenfeed, which is this rediculous and awful chain of stores down here, known locally as 'the feed'. A sort of bargain two dollar shop where everything is cheap, made in china. Not very ethical. But always fun to look around it. I bought a packet of flower seeds, a tin of fancy cat food for Mr Teddington, and a bucket. Fun, fun. Ha. M bought some equally exciting stuff. Then had coffee with N and S and it was after THAT that the trouble started. S went home, and N and I went up to my place so she could get her motorbike helmet. And she starts giving me this incredibly awful, long, horrible lecture about my driving. Really terrible. I thought she hadn't given me a lesson for ages because she was busy. Turns out she thinks I'm a crap driver and can't take critisism and she didn't want to do it anymore. Not until I 'address my issues'... Ha. I must say, its very insulting being psychoanalysed by your freinds. Especially when they might be right. She is definitely right about somet things. But all that considered, I am still hurt and offended and I feel humiliated and lied to as well. I don't think I will ever be able to trust her again. She seems to think I have this terrible problem with taking instructions from people, but I don't think that's true. I've had driving lessons from other people and its always been fine. But for some reason, with her, its always difficult. For sure, its mostly my problem; my stupid insecurities, but I do think its also the way that she talks to people generally. Well, people in my position who she is so magnanamous to help. She is a great one for vollunteer work and altruism. But along with it she is bloody patronising and condescending there's no doubt about it. Altruism benefits both the recipient and the giver. I'm just going to get lessons through someone else. Man, I'm pissed off. Mostly I just feel humiliated about the times when she said my driving was fine and apparently it was terrible.

Oh dear. Sorry about this entry. Have been feeling awful since sunday night, but starting to pull myself back together now.  Haven't talked to N since. What will I say? 'I don't think we can be freinds any more'? Very likely. This stupid thing has made me realise that its such a big thing, to place trust in a person. They can really screw you over big time. And vice versa, of course. I do have to acknowledge that. Takes two, and all.

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rambling stuff

Just a quick post today as its almost 11 am and I really should be at uni studying...

Not much happening. Just studying all day. Last night I went to the Ally for a bit, but only had one drink and came home at nine or something as supposed to be in study mode! Was disapointed last night because M R and F were up at M's house but I couldn't get there as its up a hill. Was thinking about maybe making the effort; ie, walk walk walk. Stop. Catch my breath. Walk walk. Stop. Etc. It's not the worst thing to have to do. I think i've somehow got it stuck in my head that M's house is way up a big hill and its impossible to get to, but its probably not that bad. I was already at the AC, which is at least a third of the hill... But didn't because wasn't sure how long they would stay there for. How bad would it be to make all that effort and then have them go, "we're going to the republic bar now." Great. Thanks guys.

The Ally Cat was fun, L and P were there, MP came by; MP I'm never sure if I really like her much. She's ok, but for some reason she has this really patronising manner that seems to grate on me a bit. Erg. Anyway. All pretty boring. Been feeling kind of bored with study and that my life is pretty empty lately. Most of my freinds are going away over the break so god knows what I'll do all summer... I keep having terrible jealousy issues over stupid things like great jobs  and careers that all my freinds from high school seem to have all of a sudden. What the hell is my career path? I'm so tired all the time, I don't have the energy to have a career. It sucks. I'm still doing first year uni, which they all did years ago. Maybe I'll try to get some kind of job... It's always tricky figuring out how much of my crap life is due to having a disease that makes me tired, and how much is due to being lazy and unmotivated... When I talk to Jan and David at the PH research centre, sometimes I mention getting a job or something and they always say, "Maybe just do some vollunteer work", as if even a part time job would be too much. But I don't think it would be... Vollunteer work is great, but its not the same. There's not that feeling of being indespensible, competent, and all that stuff. And some extra money wouldn't go astray. Although I'm actually pretty happy with what I have in life. My life is (relatively) simple and I've found if you don't put yourself in the way of an expensive life-style then you don't want one anyway. But I've started to think about the future: Its like a little old woman tugging at my sleeve, saying, "what the fuck are you doing with your life?"... So money. Maybe a property one day if prices improve (and who knows what will happen there) or a car, or travel... Something more than round and round, rent week to rent week. Food and petrol and clothes.... Sigh.

Oh dear. What a boring entry. Sorry everyone.

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study and other stuff

Hello, Hello! It seems like a long time since I've written. I don't know if it is or not.

Felt quite dragged down by fatigue this week. Today a bit better. I had a coffee with Sonja and Ken after markets and then got a lift home. This freind of theirs came up and sat with us for a while, then Ken asked me if I wanted him to go bring the van down for me and the freind said, "Why can't you walk up there?" Being my stupid self, I was about to say jokingly, "Oh, I'm just really, really, lazy." But Sonja got in first and said, "She has a dodgy ticker." Ah. A dodgy ticker. Such an easy, casual way of explaining it. Never occured to me. Saying "pulmonary hypertension" just makes people say,"WTF?" and saying 'heart condition' makes me feel sort of fragile and flaky. But 'dodgy ticker'- well. It sounds kind of tough- ie, even the grizzled, tattooed, leader of a bikie gang might grudgingly admit to having a 'dodgy ticker'...

Ha. Will use that phrase from now on. Love Aussie slang sometimes.

I have an exam next saturday. Horrible, horrible. I am not, in any way, prepared for it. Will have to work really hard this week and really don't want to. Tonight I got home and tried to make myself study but felt too tired and just watched TV instead then came on here... I've been reading ppl's posts. (Jenn's made me cry, by the way!)

What else has been happening? Have been having a very minor 'brush with fame' on facebook. I created one of their silly 'groups' for a band I like, mostly as a joke with a freind who likes them as well- but then all of a sudden I got a message from an actual member of this band saying 'thanks so much for your support but could you put a more recent pic up?'. Wow! Communication with one of the Goddesses of Folk! So cool. ( ; I went to check this group and it has about 45 members now! Love it...

Am going to a 'writers conversation' thing tomorrow at uni with M. Kate Grenville and someone very interesting whose name completely escapes me just now... But is about people's differering versions of history. Should be great. THEN I will come home and study... Maybe! ( ;

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