Broken Bella Donna











{January 29, 2014}   It’s all made of suck.

Blargh. I don’t know where to start?

Feeling grumpy. Dunno why because the things I’m feeling cranky about are so… typical of my position in the family, that I ought to be used to it by now. And I am. But it doesn’t stop me being upset, annoyed and run down by it.

Not sure I want to get into too much detail about it here. This blog is meant to be my release, but retelling idiot stories like this just makes me sad when I read back on it later on. I suppose it should suffice to say that, as usual, the mothership is throwing me to the wolves in order to support my sibling. For the second time I have been flung aside in her haste to secure a position for my sibling. For the second time I have been offered work and have been pushed aside – almost literally – to hear “I have another one looking for work! You should employ them!” whilst I’m left wondering… why? The sibling still has the previous ‘proper’ job I was offered but the mothership pushed me out of. Why do they need two, and I need none? Oh but it gets better. Apparently I can ‘have’ the previous job now that it looks like the sibling will secure the new one. This is according to the mothership, who hasn’t bothered to consult with the actual person who HOLDS the job first. So it looks like I’m good enough to scrub toilets, but not good enough for customer service.

Thanks. That’s good to know. I know she has a really low opinion of me, but I never like to hear her say it out loud.

And NOW one of my friends – real friends – on facebook is ignoring my messages but leaving messages on the same siblings page regarding a topic they share a common interest in. That they only share a common interest in because of me, because I offered to do my friend a favour and copy this CD that they both like. Now she’s all up in my siblings grill like she was gifted a ferrari and I’m the bloody one who organised it, but no thanks for me. God help me, I know this is childish but I’M PISSED OFF THAT MY FRIEND SEEMS SO BLOODY CHUMMY WITH MY SIBLING. The sibling that everything else in life is handed to. I private messaged my friend regarding something she’s vaguebooking about and it was sighted, ignored and then she made some comment on her page about her nearest and dearest knowing what it is. Well fuck you too. I thought we were friends, apparently I was wrong.

It’s annoying enough when things offered to me are ripped out from under me and handed to the sibling by the mothership. It’s incredibly annoying when my friends seem to like the sibling better too. And I can’t help but wonder if there’s a reason why?

Why is it every time something pisses me off, I automatically assume it’s me that’s the problem? Is it? I have no idea. I have no idea if normal people know they’re  arseholes or all the arseholes I know just assume they’re more likeable than they in fact are. And then I get to thinking about how unpleasant a person the  mothership is, and how she seems blissfully unaware that people think she’s a bit of  a bitch. And then I worry that they think *I’m* a bitch and I too am  blissfully unaware. And it all spirals out of control.

I know I’ll battle through this and get over it. I know I’m mentally strong and I am equipped with the ability to shrug this off. I know this will chip another tiny piece of my soul out, and leave it to be replaced with stone. I know all of this. But it saddens me that I have to.

Why can’t my family like me? Why don’t I have any real friends that respect and support me? Hell why don’t I even have anyone who gives a shit about this pathetic, whingy blog? I really do think I deserve to be supported, I deserve to be loved. Maybe just not in this life.

At least my four legged boychild has picked up and has a bit of his bubbly personality  back. Perhaps this is a karmic tradeoff. In which case… it’s worth it.

I was about to post this but no. I will not make this another wah wah. I will post a list… of things that are good, things that are working in my favour ATM 🙂

  • Soon I will get to meet a friends baby, and I am looking forward to tiny  baby cuddles
  • Even tho things didn’t work out with the mobile phone I just bought reasonably cheap off of a friend, I have had the opportunity to buy the phone I always wanted, cheaper than I expected brand new. And I shouldn’t have too many difficulties making my money back on the one that didn’t work out for me, fingers crossed
  • My #1 boychild seems to be feeling better and maybe wont need surgery after all. I still get to get brave to take him to the vet for a checkup tho and I hate the vets 😦
  • I completed my diploma and have the certificate to prove it!
  • I just got past a really hard level of candy crush! Ha ha! (hey we celebrate the small things!)
  • My hobby that started earning me play money late last year is still going, and still earning me a little spare cash.
  • I have my health, money in my pocket, food in  my belly and a roof over my head.
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{January 19, 2014}  

Dunno how I feel ATM. Think that blogging it out would probably make me feel better but not sure I want to think about it. I’m a thorough attendee of the “pretend it isn’t happening” school.

My old boy is getting older. And every day I am reminded that with every nightfall, I am one day closer to losing him, to having to make that decision to let him go. And I honestly don’t think I’m capable of it. And I feel ill when I go to bed because I know that it signifies the close of day – and one less to go.

He’s slowed down the last few weeks and I’m unsure if this is normal – I don’t know if this drop off should be so drastic. I think he has arthritis, but we’ve managed it for awhile without medication. I think that may have to change and that makes me sad. I hope that if we do, that perhaps this will cheer him up? And I’m unsure if he has a tooth problem – I think he might but he has no signs of pain or difficulties from it. I want to get the nerve to go to the vet about these things, and deal with them if they are an issue in order to make him happier but… I’m not even sure if any of them are making him unhappy. And I have horrible, terrible spazz attacks regarding the vet. We had a really bad ‘moment’ regarding the health of my boy some years ago, he was (tentatively) misdiagnosed with a very fatal, very painful problem. He’s still here so she was obviously very wrong but it really scarred me. I thought I was taking him in with a basic issue and came out thinking my healthy, happy middle age dog was probably going to die. So I now live in fear (literally) of having to take my kids to the vet, and always assume that every tiny thing is in fact a huge, fatal, nasty, painful and expensive problem. This coupled with the fact that the girl I lost a year ago (to the day, tomorrow) did in fact end up with a very rare, nasty cancer that was misdiagnosed by the same practice… that dragged out for 6 long, uncertain months… you can understand why I Fucking Hate Going To The Vets. And the trip to get there is nearly an hour, with a dog that doesn’t terribly like traveling. And I bloody well know that once i get there I’ll be palmed off with some lame excuse and I’ll feel like she hasn’t done her job properly, no resolution will be found and I’ll continue to think there is a big problem and we’re still not to the bottom of it. Meh. And no, there is no other options for vets in the area.

I need to be a big brave grown up and get my shit together. I’ve probably got years and years left in the old fella yet. Of course I thought that about my bitch too and at this stage in her life, she had just under two years to go and a quarter of that was hardly worth calling living.

WHY WHY WHY must I over think everything, assume the worst? Why must I read up on health problems and then apply them all to my poor unsuspecting dogs? I’m like a dog owner hypochondriac. Disaster. I either need to stop owning dogs or start owning so many that I can not develop a crazy strong bond with any particular one, making it easier to let them go.

Actually what I really need is a bloke. And I don’t even want one. But having one around gives me something else to focus on, and transfer my affections to. It would certainly be healthier for my mental health. I realised the other day that PP probably made losing my girl easier, because he gave me somewhere else to focus, something else to think about. She was relegated slightly backwards, inched a bit closer to her rightful position as loved pet, not the pedestal of ‘best thing in the world’ that my old boy is currently.

Speaking of, he keeps popping up on facebook chat. Three or four times in the last two days. I didn’t message him, fuck him. Once upon a time he would pop up repeatedly like that, either waiting for me to message him or after awhile he’d message me first. Who knows what his reasoning was, but no doubt he wont be back online again in a hurry and we’ll never know. I miss being able to message him without worrying what it would look like, or if he’d ignore it, or if he would answer and be cold and that would be worse than being ignored. In fact I left a nice message at Christmas. He viewed it and ignored it. I really do hope he got on and checked out my page to see what I’ve been up to. Cause I recently put up a profile pic that makes me look really pretty, ha ha! Cop what you’re missing, arsehole!

Life is blah blah blah ATM. No reason to be spazz but the dog issues have left me with tension. And I hate this because even if something IS wrong, I’m allowing it to colour the time spent, my spazzy tension is palpable and would be making him sad.

Relos are hanging around ATM and driving me crazy. I don’t want to be a free babysitter for kids that insist on mouthing off. Leaves me being the angry bossy one which I don’t really like being. I’d rather be liked. This is also causing tension ATM.

The mothership is taking over things that are none of her business and pushing favours extended to me towards the sister. She does this a lot, as I believe I’ve previously whinged. It’s frustrating because opportunities offered to me are funneled the sisters way, to make her life easier, to please her. She doesn’t even approve of motherships behaviour, tho she’s never made efforts to stop it. Grr. Such annoyingly toxic behaviour, bringing out annoyingly toxic reactions from I.

And – this really shits me – I let spazz attacks get the better of me the other day, and I didn’t go to something I’d been looking forward to because of it. Grr. Step backwards. I did realise though that whilst I was out of the house, I didn’t feel spazzy at all and could’ve cheerfully have attended… it wasn’t until I got home that the spazz became an issue. Why is this? Is it situational? Will it be better when I get into my own place?

On the plus side – and I must come up with some because life REALLY isn’t that negative at the present, I’m just whinging because I feel stressy about the whole dog thing – I got lots of nice positive feedback from the aforementioned profile pic on facebook, which was nice for the ego. In fact two different people used the word stunning. So that was a day improver!

Positive things:

  • That the guy in the shop wanted to employ me, even if the mothership doesn’t approve, he thinks I’m worth employing
  • Getting lovely feedback from peers on my appearance
  • The exuberance and joy a puppy brings
  • My friend is giving birth tomorrow!
  • life really isn’t that bad and I need to stfu and remember I have a roof over my head, food in my belly, an education and money in the bank and this makes me significantly better off than most.


{January 13, 2014}  

Courtesy of Post Secret.

Image

Not my secret, but it may as well be.



{January 5, 2014}   So, 2014 is here!

As I have repeatedly said to anyone and everyone – here, via email, in real life, by interpretive dance and the odd sky writing… I don’t believe in New Years Resolutions. I like to call them New Year Revolutions because it’s inevitable that most people will do an about face and change nothing by January 15.

Because of this I never make them… but I do make goals, and try and achieve them as best I can. Some might say ‘that’s the same thing!’ (it isn’t), some might say that’s the pikers way out because ‘try to achieve’ and ‘do’ are very different things (do or do not, there is no try kinda people) but I think it’s just a more realistic way of looking at it. There’s no point making hard and fast rules that most people won’t attain, because then you’re left feeling down because you didn’t get there. Leave yourself some wriggle room, I say, to learn what you can and can’t achieve, and build on those you can. Win! It isn’t an excuse to not try, but it is a chance to congratulate yourself, not berate.

Needless to say one of my goals is once again to complete My Big Project. This one goes without saying. I have reviewed the financial situation and am seriously thinking about employing someone else to get me past the step that I’m caught up in now, as it seems the person who has been helping me has lost motivation and I can’t do it alone. Once that is done it really is fairly smooth sailing (I think) to completion, but I’ve made the mistake of thinking that before…

Another reoccurring offender for me is to get fitter and tone up a little – this of course is an ongoing process and will never be ‘finished’. Which is another reason I feel it’s better as a goal as opposed to a resolution. Ideally I want to feel as fit as I used to when I had a very laborious physical job, and I want to tone up a few problem areas – if I was to lose about 6, 7 kg in the process I wouldn’t say no either! Anyway I did manage to achieve a few dietary changes last year, and I want to continue with them this year and also aim to incorporate a few exercises. This has proven to be my biggest problem – finding exercises that work, that I can do and that fit into my lifestyle. I have found two and already started, so hoping to see some improvement on that front early in 2014 – if I keep them up. I don’t have personal scales and rarely weigh myself, so I’ll be judging success of my dietary chances and efforts to tone up simply by how my clothes fit, and how I feel within myself – which to me are the best indicators. But I have to remember to focus on how I FEEL, my health… and not on what others think about me. I want to be the best me that I can be, not the one that wants to lose weight to look better to other people, to make other people envious. I want to be healthy and fit, to look after myself. I don’t want to feel bloaty and blah. I want to bounce out of bed!

I would love to put ‘conquer my spazz attacks’ onto this list, but I’m still yet to work out just how to go around doing that. I do feel that having my own kingdom to rule will help as I can incorporate calming techniques there, and I also think feeling fitter will help. I’m told exercising is good for spazz attacks, esp cardio as it expands your lung span and helps assist breathing. So with any luck if I can achieve the above, relief from spazz may follow naturally. Of course, I will continue looking into natural treatments and use them where possible, as I’ve had success there in the past.

I have a million things I’d love to list – stop worrying so much about my pets health, be easier on myself, don’t judge myself on what others think about me (primarily the mothership), stop getting so stressy about the married ex and letting him get me so worked up I have spazz attacks just thinking about social occasions where we’ll be forced to be near each other…but none of those things I can put a proper goal on – they’re in my head. They are things that I can’t achieve by setting aims, they’ll simply… happen. Or they won’t. I can’t put a time on it. They are part of a chain reaction, and I feel I have to achieve other goals before these ones will naturally fall into place.

You know what I’d like to do in 2014? Make a few blog friends.



{January 2, 2014}   Meeeeeeeeeeemories

5th October 2013 – stream of consciousness

Go with the flow

Cold hands… warm heart? Not likely. Cold heart. Cold hard bitch, just a kiss on the lips… but it wasn’t all that you needed, was it? Evidently not.

We all need a little something… some of us need a lot of something. What do I need a lot of? Hope. Where there is hope, there is always a way and if we didn’t have hope, what would we have? A lot of people sitting around waiting to die.

And who’s waiting to die? Old people and suicidal people. So what if you’re an old, suicidal person? Does it cancel itself out, two negatives make a positive? And once it becomes a positive, does it cease to cancel and you revert back to either being A) old or B) suicidal? Eroberus. I wish I knew how to spell that. Note to self: don’t use words you can’t spell, or can’t pronounce.

I’m a pretty good speller. I’m not a great pronouncer. Pronouncerer?

I glance around and I can see a million things that represent me, who I am, what I am. Ok maybe not a million. My football team and code, my favourite colour, my preference in underwear. My voluntary work, my style of clothing, my taste in books. My pets, my preference for cows. But not as pets. Or at least the sort you find inside. My abilities and my disabilities. If all these things were go be taken away though, would I cease to be me? No. So they aren’t representative of me at all, they’re merely things I choose to surround myself with. Now there’s a sobering thought.

Perhaps there is one thing in my life that is tangible, but not breathing, that truely represents me, that perhaps I would cease to be me if I lost. If I lost it in such a fashion that I could never regain it, or any of its relatives.

Damn. This post isn’t quite working out to be the literary masterpiece I had in mind.

Masterpeace.

Yeah. I like that version better.

A soul to save. A tree to hug. A child to comfort. A song to sing. A project to finish. A photo to take. A book to read. A thought to share. An idea to have. A shoulder to touch. A favour to do.

Hmm.

I’m getting closer to an answer! I just don’t know the GODDAMN QUESTION YET.



{January 2, 2014}  

20th November 2010 – the anniversary of my ex’s death after a VERY (over a decade) prolonged ‘recovery’ from an accident

Anniversary

I thought I’d be here tonight, blogging a depressing, sad blog, full of memories and regrets, and the sort of sad things you come up with on the anniversary of someone’s death. But I’m not feeling that way inclined at all.

I’m looking at a photo of you, taken a mere nine days before the accident which started the downhill slide of your life… and in it, you’re looking down the camera, you’re smiling. You’re holding your hands in front of you, in a peculiar fashion, but only I know what you were really doing. You’re smiling so hard your eyes are squinted, which is a shame as you had very handsome eyes. You’re wearing a jumper and jeans, both which we picked out one day shopping, on a break from college. And I know under that jumper is a necklace I gave you for your 18th birthday, the last birthday you were to have as a ‘normal’ person. And those hands holding the camera that took that photo, well on the left one was a ring, a blue topaz and silver ring that you bought for the owner for her 17th birthday, the last birthday she was to have as a ‘normal’ girlfriend.

And that photo is on the cover of your book, that your sister put together about your life. And that pleases me. That I could give your family the gift of a recent photo, before your accident. And that only I know all about it, our little private world, a secret, that all of the invasive procedures, all of the people who bathed you, saw your naked… they’ll never know.

If I knew then what I know now? I don’t know how different things would be?

I thought today would be hard.

I think… for some people, people who perhaps didn’t do the right thing by you all that time ago, that today is the anniversary of the day they realized how regretful they were, how sad they were to lose you before they had a chance to redeem themselves in their own eyes.

For some people, people who gave everything they could, today in the anniversary of closure.

For me, I’m the latter. Today is the anniversary of the day that I started to heal. It’s very hard to mourn someone who isn’t dead. And I spent eleven years in limbo, trying to be your girlfriend, and trying to deal with the shit that came with that. And then I was trying to be your friend, and trying to deal with the shit that came with that. And then I found myself drifting away from you… and then you drifted away from us. And once you were gone, and the chapter was ended, the book was closed – only then was I finally allowed to mourn that 18 year old boy I loved, my best friend that I lost so long ago. I was a 17 year old in a 28 year old body, sobbing for that teenage boy who lost everything. Sobbing for a teenage girl who lost everything too. And once I had a chance to do that… things felt better. Yes, I was sobbing for that 29 year old man who could’ve been anything, I was upset for the loss of him too… but he wasn’t the boy I hand fed ducks with. He wasn’t the boy I walked hand in hand with. He wasn’t the boy I kissed goodbye that night, not knowing it was the last time I’d watch him walk away. Then again I wasn’t that girl anymore, either.

Instead of just mourning your death, it was compounded. Compounded by the fact that I was mourning several deaths – of you in your present state, of you at the time of the accident, of my innocence. Of me, in a fashion. Not that I died… but part of me wilted, back then, and it is only just starting to bloom again now. And I’ve lost a lot of things I’ll never get back, lost a lot of time to learn the ‘normal’ things, lost people from my life who couldn’t wait for me, couldn’t handle it. People I will never forget.

And yes, I have regrets. I should’ve been there for you more in the last few years. I should’ve continued to support you when even half your family walked out. But I gave everything and more for a long time and it was just time to start giving back to myself. Can I forgive myself for not being there for you when you felt so victimized by life, and your situation? I can. Can you? I think you could. I hope you could.

Do I wish I was there that morning? Hell yes. If for no other reason than it would have saved us all this ongoing, dragged out process. Would you? I’m not so sure. I know you were sick of your life and I wouldn’t be surprised – nor would I blame you – if you had wanted out. To go from what you were, to where you were… I wished so many times it was me, not you. Because you had everything ahead of you, and I had little. You had so much to give and do, and I was on a crash course to no where, really.

I have all the closure I need, now. But your family… they need to know what happened. I’m not sure how I’ll feel when it’s finally decided. Do I want to know? Yes. Will the result change how I feel? I honestly do not know. I know I shouldn’t hope for manslaughter, or murder but part of me thinks if that were the case, then maybe it wouldn’t be so ‘sad’. People could feel angry, something would be done. There would be someone to blame, and they could be held accountable. Because no matter what the end result is, the simple fact is that there IS someone accountable. It’s just whether or not anything will be done to stop it happening again, is the question. And if this goes down as an accidental death, then it just seems like such an insignificant way to end such a significant chapter.

And yeah. I want certain individuals to read it and think… shit. Oh My God. I should’ve supported her. I should’ve been there instead of ignoring her pain. Which is selfish of me.

So where am I going with all this rambling?

Oh yeah. The anniversary of your death.

I would never call it a celebration… but it certainly hasn’t been as depressing as I had thought. Perhaps it will hit me, late at night when I’m tucked up in bed, perhaps I’ll sleep with tears on my cheeks again. But I’m not anticipating it. Perhaps I’ll reach out in the dark, like I have so many times before and cup my hand, close my eyes and pretend I can feel your face, run my thumb over your cheekbone. This act gave me some comfort, this time last year. But I’m not sure what it’ll represent now. Perhaps I’ll go to sleep holding a bear you gave me. But more that likely I’ll to go sleep cuddling the dog.

Why the hell don’t I feel sad?



{January 2, 2014}   Memories again

20th December 2010

does anyone remember the sunscreen song?

Chicks and Dicks of the class of ’10

If I could lecture you on only one topic, learning to shut up would be it. The long term benefits of shutting up have been proved by millions in bars NOT getting their faces smashed in, whereas the rest of my advice (see: demands) has no basis more reliable than my own wombling, demented, slightly skewed and occasionally quite amusing thought process… and I’m gonna tell you now. Whether you like it or not. You can always stop reading, you know.

Enjoy and marvel over the power and beauty of your youth; you have no idea just how powerful the beauty of your youth is until you’re a weak old person. Just kidding. I think. But trust me, in your late 20’s you’ll walk into teenie bopper shops and recall in a way you can’t grasp now how nice it was to get served, and not be treated like you’re shopping for your 13 year old daughter.

Don’t worry about the future, your superannuation will build itself and of course your children will look after you, they’d never dump you in a nursing home. Never. If you must worry, know that it’ll take ten years off of your life and at least that’ll solve the nursing home problem.

Do one thing everyday that scares you, unless you’re easily scared. Then just settle for one thing every month. Or every six months. Or however often it is you can afford the medical bills.

Belch.

Don’t be reckless with other people’s books, and don’t put up with
people who are reckless with yours. Book manglers are bastards and shouldn’t be allowed to borrow books.

Don’t wear g-strings.

Don’t waste your time on being competitive; sometimes you’re ahead, sometimes you’re behind…the race is long, and in the end, you’re pretty unfit.

Remember the compliments you receive, forget the insults; and if you must remember the insults don’t forget your rose coloured glasses, that’ll take the edge off of them. And don’t forget to conveniently forget what REALLY happened, and adapt the story to make you look cooler.  

Keep your tax shit for seven years, throw away anything incriminating, especially photos from the eighties. Mullets are not cool. On anyone.

Fart.

Don’t be too freaked out if you don’t know what you want to do with your life… the most interesting taxi drivers and burger flippers I know didn’t know at 22 what they wanted to do with their lives, some of the most hideous 40 year old hookers I know still don’t. Have you ever noticed the rich people always knew?

Never trust someone who says their favourite vegetable is peas.

Be kind to your hair, you’ll miss it when you join the Comb Over Brigade.

Maybe you’ll marry a seventy plus year old millionaire and sob unrealistically at his funeral six months later, maybe you won’t, maybe you’ll give birth to Michael Jackson’s lovechild, maybe you wont. Maybe you’ll trip down the isle to an Elvis impersonator, and have a quickie divorce in 6 hours or maybe you’ll throw your back out doing the limbo at your 60th wedding anniversary. But not to the millionaire.

Whatever you do, don’t congratulate yourself too much because in Australia, that’s tall poppy syndrome and we’ll kick your arse from here to Wangaratta.

People will say some things about you that you don’t like. Sometimes it’s true, sometimes it’s not. Sometimes it will be something you should take on board and deal with, sometimes it’s irrelevant. Learn the difference and learn what is important. And then slap them.

Enjoy your body, hell let others enjoy it too, I have it on good authority that shit pays well. It IS the greatest instrument you’ll ever own and just as soon as I work out how to talk out my arse, you’ll really appreciate that too.

Dance. Just keep it on the floor, and your clothes on and you’ll even be able to do it in public.

Read. Directions were only designed to be a loose guide. Porno mags were not designed to be a loose guide, or any other sort of guide.

Get to know your parents, especially if they’re rich and intend to write a will. Be nice to your siblings, especially if they’re younger – they’ll probably organise which home you end up in. You can’t choose those bastards so you may as well learn to like them.

Understand that friends come and go, and realise that this says a lot about you. If you weren’t such a twat they’d probably stay.

Work hard to learn about other cultures and all that shit, because the older you get, the more you realise that knowing a variety of people means you have a larger selection of people to do shit for you, whilst you sit around mingling.

Try living in New York City once, but leave before you actually get on the plane to go. Live in Northern California once, but leave before anyone tries to blame you for the Governator.

Scratch.

Accept certain inalienable truths; Carlton will win another premiership, text speak isn’t going away, and you will get old; and when you do get old you’ll remember that when you were young, Carlton sucked and were wooden spooners, people actually included vowels in what they were writing, and you knew the difference between laying in bed and sitting on the toilet.

Try to make sure you’re on the toilet.

Don’t expect anyone else to support you. Maybe mummy and daddy are moneyed, maybe you married the ugly old rich guy; but realise that people aren’t as dumb as they used to be, and they can tie all that money up so you end up being 45 and on an allowance like a spotty 13 year old.

Don’t fuck around with your hair. It just makes you look like you should be pumping up the tyres on your house. If you’re going to get something done, let a professional do it.

Be careful whose advice you buy, and when someone tries to give it to you treat it like you would any other useless freebies – bin. Pronto. Advice is a useful tool for telling someone what you THINK they should do, but wording it like they have a choice. That’s called diplomacy.

But trust me on shutting up…



{January 2, 2014}   Memories…

Re reading an old blog, one I abandoned because someone I knew in real life was reading it. I wrote some really good stuff. I like it so much, I’m going to repost some entries here, so I can remember them from time to time and smile.

2nd May 2011

Random thoughts

Why must life be full of such complicated people? One I can deal with, but multiple?

Discussing strange things with a friend. Reminds me of a memory that floats up from time to time, to settle on the upper echelons of my brain, to tease me with things that could have been, had life worked out differently…

There I was, sitting upright on my single bed, staring at the small tv parked in my bedroom. You dropped in to see me with ten minutes left to run of the movie – since it was so close to the end I told you to sit put, and let me finish and then we could hang out. We had that kind of friendship – no problems. Who cares? Things will wait, it wasn’t rude of me, we were happy to just be.

The room was gloomy as I had the blind pulled against the mid afternoon sun – my tv sat right in front of the window. How OH&S inappropriate.

I was rapt in this movie… I can’t remember what it was, but it was something old, like The Maltese Falcon, or something with Marilyn Monroe – I was heavily into old movies at the time. They captivated me in a way that modern movies simply can’t. Either way, I was completely absorbed in that fashion that inspires people to stare at what they’re viewing, with that look of faint… surprise? Excitement? Awe? Yes I suspect awe is closest. You sat on my desk chair at my desk, which was level with me – more or less – and about 2 metres away. You had the chair turned halfway between me and the TV.

With  minutes to go, for reasons I can’t remember I abruptly turned my head towards you – I suppose I sensed that you were no longer looking at the TV. You were watching me, and in the split second our eyes met in the dusky light of my bedroom, before you glanced up at my wall like you were looking at the poster of my favourite rock band at the time, with a smile and an embaressed little soft cough of a laugh…  the look in your eyes is one I will never forget. It was the same look you had when I woke that one time, and found you watching me as I slept. Only that time you smiled, and didn’t break eye contact.

It’s that look that prevents me from moving too far away from the memory of you.

Because you were looking at me like I was the only thing in the world. Like I was perfect. Like you would do anything to stay there, with me, forever.

Love, without lust, without shackles, without expectations: just pure and unadulterated.



et cetera