fire exits

I read like a tarot card, its so easy to pick out my mood and to divide up what I am really saying. But I am not alone. I think it is actually rare that people are able to conceal their real feelings. And I am generally pretty good at picking these things up. Last night was just another night, like any other night. An exhibition, some drinks and then a packed full space of people mushing and pushing and putting on their smiles and their attitudes. A sea of bodies, dancing and laughing and full of the expectations of this life... I played along, I smiled and put on my attitude and danced and laughed, but I am feeling jaded.

I saw him. He doesn't know who I am, but I know who he is. I know his history, his story. I know this because when people are in a sea of other people all mushing and pushing each other, sometimes they talk. And they gossip and they say things to get an edge. But that is not the point right now, we all already know this and I don't need to rehash this for you right now. The point is that I know what he has gone through, in a very superficial way perhaps, but it is something I have gone through. And I was fascinated. It was, if nothing else, more interesting than worrying about venue capacity versus possible exits in the case of a fire. I watched him and his interactions with the people around him. I watched him dance and flirt and smile and laugh. I saw how he dealt with the mushing and pushing. I saw a moment of release, where all the old rubbish just went away and he mushed and pushed back and he relaxed and became himself. It was revealing, and it released me. I stopped watching him, I stopped thinking about fire exits and how close I was to one. I let go myself.

Transformation. Realisation. And I danced with abandon and I mushed and pushed and I was full of the expectations of this life. I was full of dreams and possibilities, and pushed back the regrets and the bittersweet sentiments that I cherish. I started to watch me in my minds eye and I laughed, for it was far more interesting than the fire exits. I felt assured, reassured and not pressured. And then I had to leave. All the mushing and pushing, its not forever me, it was a night, just another night. I made a bacon and egg sandwich. I skimmed through a cooking magazine and went to bed, joined eventually by my babies who mushed but didn't push and who are intensely filled with the expectations of this life. And this morning, I got my daily tarot card emailed to me: The moon (now go pick that apart).

stop colding me out

Its another cold morning and everyone is worried about their toes. Its not that my toes don't count, its just that it is winter and of course they are gonna be cold. And truth be told, its not that cold. It is refreshing. Although, I admit, the way the wind was kicking up something terrible last night was nothing I would have wanted to be out and about in. But this cold is not really up to scratch (meaning it doesn't compete with NEOH winters) and as I have recently had a taste of proper snow, there is nothing here to get excited about, not even cold toes.

What is exciting is moving in to my new place in a weeks time. We all know by now that I love lists and organising them and making them so complicated I need more than one spreadsheet to accomplish the task of organisation. Then there is prioritising, and crossing completed tasks off my lists and then cross referencing them and delegation and educated decision making. Its all too wonderful. So what a move entails is a lot of list making and all related tasks. I should be in my element and I am, truly. Only, I can hardly say that list girl is on the ball. List girl is not working off a list, she has not made up complex spreadsheets, she is pretending that the move is not the scary or list deserving.

List girl is for some reason spending way too much time worried about the fact that she does not have a bread knife. This is not a train smash. This is not even cold toes in winter. No one really NEEDS a bread knife. I mean, they are nice to have and when you get to a certain point in your life, it is kind of assumed that you will own something called a bread knife, but it is not a necessity, ya know. Trouble is, I thought I was at the point in my life where I would be expected to have a bread knife. I have plenty of tableware & servingware & linens for entertaining only, so surely I should have a bread knife. But I don't. Not even an old one. I am now trying to figure out why I don't just go and buy one. Not an expensive one, mind you, just your average run of the mill Woolies brand bread knife. Its not something that will break the bank (okay, maybe it will mine), but truly, I could pay more for medication to make me sleep at night instead of worrying about silly things like bread knives.

Bread knives and cold toes aside, I am excited. I have been eagerly anticipating this move since long before it was coming. I have been waiting for this new beginning, this revolution for far too long and the idea of it all gets me giddy extreme. And perhaps this is why I am not concerned about my toes. I wish I was not concerned about bread knives and I will try my best to listen to the very good advice I received from my son this morning, "Mooooommmm, stop colding me out already!"

righter me, writer me

Get back to it everyone screams at me. Write. Just write. Just write. So alright, I have spent the past several weeks trying to come up with some sort of inspiration, with mixed success... Some things are actually just too personal. You understand. So instead, I filled myself with writers block and writers grief and self doubt and procrastination and I tried to wallow in it, but its just not there; I guess I am just no good at it. Late last week I sat down to write a short story. I could feel it - the air around the story. I could see my characters, almost smell and touch them. I felt their fear and emotions. I dove right into the icy piercing waters of weeks of writing nothing. And I typed as quick as I could, still stumbling as my brain was working faster. And then, and then... bam, I had no more oxygen and the hypothermia started to creep in and freeze up my body, fingers first. Brain, still stumbling along, I realised the story was trite. The line was not unique, my characters were shallow. The whole story was rather cold and distant, lacking in any substance or thrills. Again, I tried to wallow in that misery, to absolutely no avail.

Last night I tossed and turned, it was like drowning in the warmth of my blankets and socks. I flit over millions of tiny thoughts, as if it was just a puzzle of information I had to put together. Truly, I have plenty to analyze, the past several weeks (months, years...) have all been something of a blur and some clarity is required, just to soothe my hypothermic soul...

This morning I woke up with strange memories. I woke up in the cold, with icy frost on my car and on the grass in the garden. I woke up thinking about the one cold I experienced in Australia hundreds of years ago... It was far west Victoria, maybe even in South Australia and only a matter of about 10 days before I travelled home. It was freezing cold outside and I had a warm, bittersweet soupy feeling in my heart, that was visible on my face. I must have looked like I was waking up, the glow surrounding me, radiating out from me. People commented on how well I looked and I loved the warm feeling that was growing inside, hiding the fear of leaving that still lurked deep inside. My coffee that morning tasted like my coffee this morning, warm and sugary and just about right. That coffee's sugar came in packets. One found its way slipped into a jacket pocket, and was retrieved only weeks later, back in NEOH at a time when the bittersweet was overwhelming, all encompassing... I spent the morning thinking about what I may have accidentally slipped into a pocket this morning.

Oh, but I am not looking back. I do not need a sugar packet or cigarette wrapper or a scrap piece of paper with a note scribbled on it. I have no fear, I am fearless. I am a world of warmth in the frosty morning light. I am not drowning in icy waters. I am a writer - go check my status...