PANIC
Changes - David Bowie
“Tom, where’s Ms 7?”
I had gone with Ms 7 to the toilet of the Macquarie Fields’ KFC tonight at about 9.30pm on a return trip from my brother’s house. With only one cubicle I had let her go first because it seemed a little more urgent. When my turn came she had told me she was going back to daddy. I had told her to go straight over to his table and she’d grunted.
Not being able to see where she went worried me. The toilets are sectioned off from the rest of the restaurant and with the male toilets opposite the terrifying notion that someone would grab her when she left danced through my head.
I rushed but when I left the toilet I spotted Tom and Mr 10 sitting at the table and there was no sign of the little girl. Panicked I took three steps to see if she wasn’t slouched down in her seat.
Finally I called across the restaurant. My heart was pounding and my mind racing.
He looked at me and seemed a little shocked. “Um, oh, there she is.”
From behind me she raced across the restaurant. She’d hidden under a table to try and scare me when I came out. Nothing was wrong. And I found myself hugging the little girl. Lifting her up and telling her that she’d worried me.
The entire drama a few seconds but for those few seconds she was out of my sight I was scanning the restaurant frantically. I was fighting the urge to run and throw open the bathroom doors and search for her. My throat closing and the muscles in my entire body tensing.
I was imagining the kind of damage I would do to anyone who dared to lay a finger on her.
I was scared. I was really scared. But I couldn’t be angry. She’s 7 and to her it was an innocent little prank.
Once the kids had eaten we piled back in the car and Mr 10 asked if we were finally going to see Harry Potter tomorrow. During planning conversations such as this I tend to let the kids make their own decisions.
“Is Boswell coming?” Mr 10 asked. Tom said nothing for a few minutes and I kept quiet. Finally, after processing the question, he asked the kids what they wanted.
“Well, do you want Boswell to come?”
“Yes.”
The happy unison made me blush a little.
Now that I’m home alone it’s given me time to think. I’ve had time to get over the panic and the stress and a chance to really consider the experience I’ve had today.
I was given a taste of family life with Tom and I liked it.
While I know it’s not exactly an accurate picture of the day-to-day experiences I know that it doesn’t make me feel smothered and it doesn’t swallow me whole.
Maybe life isn't black and white. Maybe I don't have to choose Boswell A and Boswell B.
My life seems to be heading towards a middle ground.
Saturday, July 31, 2004
Friday, July 30, 2004
MANY THINGS
Pig - Dave Matthew's Band
Just like lovers the world over, Tom and I are wrapped in our own world. We exclude others and we plan for two
My counsellor called today. I’ve had to cancel my sessions because I’ve just been offered six weeks of work doing data entry and I can’t say no to the money on offer.
“How are things going?” she asked over the phone.
“Great. I’ve got nothing to tell you.” I said strolling down Cronulla Beach.
It was probably one of the most romantic days I’ve experienced. At 11am Tom asked if I liked fish and I said yes so he’d encouraged me into the car and after half-an-hour of driving revealed he was taking me to Cronulla.
We spent the day walking along the rock pools where Tom had selected me only the most delicate of pink shells and repeatedly held out his hand to help me across the rocks.
During the phone call Tom had discretely taken himself off and I appreciated the space.
“And the house hunting? That’s got to be stressful.” She asked.
Yes. I’m stressed. I’ve made my decision and now I’m looking to get out of here and to see my life to begin as quickly as possible. Tom stayed with me for the past six nights and tonight he had to finally go home because it’s his weekend with the kids and they can’t stay here. Oddly enough the time given to me to write has been spent, I know that this is sad but here it is, mooning over his absence.
“You know, yeah. A little. But you’ve got to go through the motions.”
We’d been in line for one property but the owner was a greedy bastard and took the highest offer. Neither Tom and I were in the mood for a bidding war and told them either they take us on our merits or take us out of the running. We lost the house but our principles are intact.
“Well, call me some time next week and tell me how you’re going.” This is the first time I’ve had a counsellor who was wanting to check up on me and I appreciated the concern.
“Yeah. Sure.”
When the conversation ended I began to consider some of the things she had asked and I wondered if she wasn’t more intuitive then I first thought. There are other things going on in my life that need some examination.
The stress of finding work aside there’s the stress of finding somewhere to live which is taking most of my time. Then there’s the stress of seeing Tom.
Trevor, while he hasn’t said anything, is uncomfortable with the presence of his cousin. I can’t say I blame him. It’s an intrusion on his life and one I know he’s uncomfortable with. That’s the advantage of being friends with someone for 17 years, you can tell what they’re thinking by the look in their eye.
I had plans to put some sort of stop to Tom’s visits out of respect for Trevor but when Tom asked if there was a problem with his visits Trevor said “don’t be stupid” painting me into an awkward corner.
If I tell Tom he can’t come around every night he’ll think it’s because I don’t want him here and I do, I miss him. So now what?
If ever you needed proof that truth is objective then here it is.
Trevor’s told Tom he’s welcome to stay here whenever he wants and that’s not his truth, it’s just his politeness. Trevor’s truth is that a couple of times a week is more than enough.
But to Tom, who has only the proof of Trevor’s comments, the truth is he’s welcome here full-time.
I want to respect the friend I’ve known for 17 years and I want to be honest with the person I’m in love with.
I’ve got conflicting truths to deal with.
Who’s truth do I choose to act on?
Pig - Dave Matthew's Band
Just like lovers the world over, Tom and I are wrapped in our own world. We exclude others and we plan for two
My counsellor called today. I’ve had to cancel my sessions because I’ve just been offered six weeks of work doing data entry and I can’t say no to the money on offer.
“How are things going?” she asked over the phone.
“Great. I’ve got nothing to tell you.” I said strolling down Cronulla Beach.
It was probably one of the most romantic days I’ve experienced. At 11am Tom asked if I liked fish and I said yes so he’d encouraged me into the car and after half-an-hour of driving revealed he was taking me to Cronulla.
We spent the day walking along the rock pools where Tom had selected me only the most delicate of pink shells and repeatedly held out his hand to help me across the rocks.
During the phone call Tom had discretely taken himself off and I appreciated the space.
“And the house hunting? That’s got to be stressful.” She asked.
Yes. I’m stressed. I’ve made my decision and now I’m looking to get out of here and to see my life to begin as quickly as possible. Tom stayed with me for the past six nights and tonight he had to finally go home because it’s his weekend with the kids and they can’t stay here. Oddly enough the time given to me to write has been spent, I know that this is sad but here it is, mooning over his absence.
“You know, yeah. A little. But you’ve got to go through the motions.”
We’d been in line for one property but the owner was a greedy bastard and took the highest offer. Neither Tom and I were in the mood for a bidding war and told them either they take us on our merits or take us out of the running. We lost the house but our principles are intact.
“Well, call me some time next week and tell me how you’re going.” This is the first time I’ve had a counsellor who was wanting to check up on me and I appreciated the concern.
“Yeah. Sure.”
When the conversation ended I began to consider some of the things she had asked and I wondered if she wasn’t more intuitive then I first thought. There are other things going on in my life that need some examination.
The stress of finding work aside there’s the stress of finding somewhere to live which is taking most of my time. Then there’s the stress of seeing Tom.
Trevor, while he hasn’t said anything, is uncomfortable with the presence of his cousin. I can’t say I blame him. It’s an intrusion on his life and one I know he’s uncomfortable with. That’s the advantage of being friends with someone for 17 years, you can tell what they’re thinking by the look in their eye.
I had plans to put some sort of stop to Tom’s visits out of respect for Trevor but when Tom asked if there was a problem with his visits Trevor said “don’t be stupid” painting me into an awkward corner.
If I tell Tom he can’t come around every night he’ll think it’s because I don’t want him here and I do, I miss him. So now what?
If ever you needed proof that truth is objective then here it is.
Trevor’s told Tom he’s welcome to stay here whenever he wants and that’s not his truth, it’s just his politeness. Trevor’s truth is that a couple of times a week is more than enough.
But to Tom, who has only the proof of Trevor’s comments, the truth is he’s welcome here full-time.
I want to respect the friend I’ve known for 17 years and I want to be honest with the person I’m in love with.
I’ve got conflicting truths to deal with.
Who’s truth do I choose to act on?
Thursday, July 29, 2004
MOVING OUT
Our House – Angie Hart
“Are you sure, I mean…” Christine began to stutter. “I just. Are you sure?”
It’s not that big a deal. The idea has been bounced around for a couple of weeks but she was stunned by the announcement.
“It’s just a tricky thing. It could be a huge mistake. Jesus Bos, why the rush?”
I reacted badly and she must have seen it written across me face. I bit my lip. Averted her gaze. Turned and walked onto the balcony.
I spent a few minutes in the silence trying to take back what I’d just said. Wishing I had delivered it differently and that I hadn’t shocked her.
Oh my God. I’m moving out.
It’s a huge step but a well thought out and logical one. I need somewhere to live and I need the room to explore my relationship with Tom. Tom needs somewhere to live and he needs the space to explore the relationship with me.
For the past couple of weeks I’ve been searching for a place but being a temp meant that potential housemates were less than confident in my ability to pay my share. I couldn’t blame them but still I can’t afford to live alone. The stress has been almost unbearable.
Tom tells a similar story. He can’t stay where he is but he doesn’t want to move in with just anyone either. He’s had those kinds of problems before and right now is looking for a place where he can trust who he’s living with.
In response to our housing dilemma Tom proposed something that at first startled me. But it was his suggestion that we look at this logically – we should move in together.
After a few minutes Christine followed me onto the balcony.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” she sighed.
“It’s just, I wasn’t expecting that reaction.”
“Look. Are you sure?” She furrowed her brow with concern.
“Yes. I am.” And after a couple of weeks of careful thought I am sure.
“Just take care of yourself, ok.” She smiled weakly.
So now I’m house hunting and if my entries are a little sporadic then it’s just that I’m busy trying to find that perfect house in the greater Parramatta region. I’m busy trying to find the balance between love, work and my other responsibilities.
And yes it’s quick. And yes I know it’s a big risk. But I have no doubts about Tom, in fact he’s the one thing I’m sure of. However after three days of scouring the region I have serious doubts about our ability to find a suitable house that isn't a broken down death trap.
Wish me luck.
Our House – Angie Hart
“Are you sure, I mean…” Christine began to stutter. “I just. Are you sure?”
It’s not that big a deal. The idea has been bounced around for a couple of weeks but she was stunned by the announcement.
“It’s just a tricky thing. It could be a huge mistake. Jesus Bos, why the rush?”
I reacted badly and she must have seen it written across me face. I bit my lip. Averted her gaze. Turned and walked onto the balcony.
I spent a few minutes in the silence trying to take back what I’d just said. Wishing I had delivered it differently and that I hadn’t shocked her.
Oh my God. I’m moving out.
It’s a huge step but a well thought out and logical one. I need somewhere to live and I need the room to explore my relationship with Tom. Tom needs somewhere to live and he needs the space to explore the relationship with me.
For the past couple of weeks I’ve been searching for a place but being a temp meant that potential housemates were less than confident in my ability to pay my share. I couldn’t blame them but still I can’t afford to live alone. The stress has been almost unbearable.
Tom tells a similar story. He can’t stay where he is but he doesn’t want to move in with just anyone either. He’s had those kinds of problems before and right now is looking for a place where he can trust who he’s living with.
In response to our housing dilemma Tom proposed something that at first startled me. But it was his suggestion that we look at this logically – we should move in together.
After a few minutes Christine followed me onto the balcony.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” she sighed.
“It’s just, I wasn’t expecting that reaction.”
“Look. Are you sure?” She furrowed her brow with concern.
“Yes. I am.” And after a couple of weeks of careful thought I am sure.
“Just take care of yourself, ok.” She smiled weakly.
So now I’m house hunting and if my entries are a little sporadic then it’s just that I’m busy trying to find that perfect house in the greater Parramatta region. I’m busy trying to find the balance between love, work and my other responsibilities.
And yes it’s quick. And yes I know it’s a big risk. But I have no doubts about Tom, in fact he’s the one thing I’m sure of. However after three days of scouring the region I have serious doubts about our ability to find a suitable house that isn't a broken down death trap.
Wish me luck.
Tuesday, July 27, 2004
PARTY TIME
Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now - The Smiths
It’s coming. I can feel it creeping ever closer and I’m not happy. I’m in denial.
But everyone around me is making sure that I am completely away of the significance of a late August date. They’re been talking about it for a year.
They’re planning parties, discussing outfits and preparing surprises to celebrate this auspicious occasion.
D-day. 30.
I’ve always had terrible birthdays. Parties where I was too sick to take part in. Dinners I planned where the meal ended in my lap. One particular birthday I managed to trip and tear the ass out of my pants.
They’ve never been good and when I turned 25 I vowed and declared that was it. No more parties, no more get togethers. What I wanted people to do for my birthday was to leave me the hell alone.
It never worked. The family or the friends always organised something and I always had a miserable time. More often than not pretending like I’d had a lot of fun to spare their feelings.
This year is the same and everyone has been pushing me to have some wild party. That’s not my style.
Trevor’s birthday is two weeks before mine and he’s been busy planning for a big cocktail party. I’m certain the party will begin with formal gowns and suits and degenerate into a drunken rabble as all good parties do. There’s music mapped out and finger food being planned.
Me, my sister-in-law came to the rescue and has suggested a foolproof plan. A small gathering involving dinner, drinks and a death. A murder mystery with a few close friends.
With so much going on in my life, 30 is beginning to seem less and less daunting.
Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now - The Smiths
It’s coming. I can feel it creeping ever closer and I’m not happy. I’m in denial.
But everyone around me is making sure that I am completely away of the significance of a late August date. They’re been talking about it for a year.
They’re planning parties, discussing outfits and preparing surprises to celebrate this auspicious occasion.
D-day. 30.
I’ve always had terrible birthdays. Parties where I was too sick to take part in. Dinners I planned where the meal ended in my lap. One particular birthday I managed to trip and tear the ass out of my pants.
They’ve never been good and when I turned 25 I vowed and declared that was it. No more parties, no more get togethers. What I wanted people to do for my birthday was to leave me the hell alone.
It never worked. The family or the friends always organised something and I always had a miserable time. More often than not pretending like I’d had a lot of fun to spare their feelings.
This year is the same and everyone has been pushing me to have some wild party. That’s not my style.
Trevor’s birthday is two weeks before mine and he’s been busy planning for a big cocktail party. I’m certain the party will begin with formal gowns and suits and degenerate into a drunken rabble as all good parties do. There’s music mapped out and finger food being planned.
Me, my sister-in-law came to the rescue and has suggested a foolproof plan. A small gathering involving dinner, drinks and a death. A murder mystery with a few close friends.
With so much going on in my life, 30 is beginning to seem less and less daunting.
Sunday, July 25, 2004
FIRSTS
As Lovers Go – Dashboard Confessionals
“You’ve found yourself a good bloke there,” my sister-in-law’s father leant towards me as we stood picking up the remnants of my nephew’s birthday party. “He’s someone you can talk to, someone who’s sincere, and that’s what you want for the rest of your life.”
I only nodded and watched Tom through the kitchen window as I dumped dirty plates into the sink.
Today was perfect. Smooth.
It was a day of firsts.
My nephew’s first birthday.
The first time Tom met my family.
The first time I told people I was in love.
The first time I laughed and it wasn’t forced.
The first time I didn’t put on a performance for my family.
The first time I didn’t “think” about how I felt and just let myself feel.
Tom makes me happier than I’ve ever been. I’m not smothered but I’m not ignored. He’s attentive without being invasive. We’re in sync without being unpredictable.
Driving home tonight he was rubbing my shoulder and we were laughing. I was driving at my less than best and he seemed calm and still beside me.
Cutting across the road I didn’t want to stop, I wanted to keep driving.
I’ve always wanted to run, I make no secret of this. When things got tough or stagnant my answer has always been to run. Today was no different. I wanted out of there, I wanted to run for my life and escape the party’s overwhelming happiness. I wanted to escape the disorientation that I always feel in crowds.
Everything’s perfect and I’m ready to take to the road to run from the overwhelming emotion of it all. And I am overwhelmed by all of this. I have been completely swept off my feet and I'm terrified I'm only setting myself up for a fall.
I've only ever had one response to this kind of fear. I want to run away.
However this time I find myself in a unique position.
For the first time I’ve found someone I want to run away with.
As Lovers Go – Dashboard Confessionals
“You’ve found yourself a good bloke there,” my sister-in-law’s father leant towards me as we stood picking up the remnants of my nephew’s birthday party. “He’s someone you can talk to, someone who’s sincere, and that’s what you want for the rest of your life.”
I only nodded and watched Tom through the kitchen window as I dumped dirty plates into the sink.
Today was perfect. Smooth.
It was a day of firsts.
My nephew’s first birthday.
The first time Tom met my family.
The first time I told people I was in love.
The first time I laughed and it wasn’t forced.
The first time I didn’t put on a performance for my family.
The first time I didn’t “think” about how I felt and just let myself feel.
Tom makes me happier than I’ve ever been. I’m not smothered but I’m not ignored. He’s attentive without being invasive. We’re in sync without being unpredictable.
Driving home tonight he was rubbing my shoulder and we were laughing. I was driving at my less than best and he seemed calm and still beside me.
Cutting across the road I didn’t want to stop, I wanted to keep driving.
I’ve always wanted to run, I make no secret of this. When things got tough or stagnant my answer has always been to run. Today was no different. I wanted out of there, I wanted to run for my life and escape the party’s overwhelming happiness. I wanted to escape the disorientation that I always feel in crowds.
Everything’s perfect and I’m ready to take to the road to run from the overwhelming emotion of it all. And I am overwhelmed by all of this. I have been completely swept off my feet and I'm terrified I'm only setting myself up for a fall.
I've only ever had one response to this kind of fear. I want to run away.
However this time I find myself in a unique position.
For the first time I’ve found someone I want to run away with.
Friday, July 23, 2004
DECLARATIONS
Closer – Nine Inch Nails
God Damn it. I’m almost 30. It shouldn’t be this difficult.
Seeing as my relationship with Tom is dashing ahead in leaps and bounds I ventured into the local Woolworths to purchase, ahem, condoms. That’s right – rubbers, prophylactics, baby barriers, Willy’s raincoat (feel free to add your own terms).
I walked the isles and picked the very few other items I had to buy first. Carefully placing potatoes, carrots, butter, almonds and shampoo into my basket.
And then I lingered, scanning the range of product I needed.
The choice was staggering.
In the past this particular area of a relationship had always been the man’s domain. I’d been more than happy to do my part in the pregnancy prevention department (needle, ouch) but that didn’t involve any kind of public declaration that I was having sex.
Now condoms that were studded, ribbed, coloured, glow in the dark and different flavours confronted me. Not only was I declaring I was having sex but I was telling people the kind of sex I liked.
There was no point in being delicate about the matter so I reached out and grabbed the first box that promised me a world of pleasure.
A shiver ran up my spine as I realised someone was behind me, reading over my shoulder. I could feel that cold creeping feeling of eyes on your back.
Suddenly the wildest thoughts ran through my head. Among them “oh my god, what if it’s my mother” or the more terrifying version “oh my god, what if it’s his mother”.
Christine, who had joined me shopping but who I was avoiding because she’s less than tactful, had crept up behind me.
“So, that’s why you’re so happy.”
Silently I wished it had been my mother or even his.
“There’s a little more to it than that.” I responded, focusing on the indiscreetly labelled blue box in my hand.
“Yeah I know. It’s good. I’m really happy for you.” It was the first time in ages I had heard Christine soften her tone with sincerity.
“Thanks. I just hate this. I’m telling everyone I’m having sex by buying condoms.”
Christine patted me on the back in a show of support and walked up to survey the deodorant while I stowed the box with my shopping and headed for the register. I was determined to maintain an appearance of casualness with the checkout operator despite the fact all I wanted to do was giggle with embarrassment like a schoolgirl.
“Hey Boswell,” Christine screamed at the top of her voice from the isle we’d just left and I knew what was coming. I knew what she was about to do.
“Why don’t you try these studded condoms, you like it rough – right?”
She smiled and I glared at her with a fixed gaze that could have cut through glass but it was no good. By the time I reached the register my casualness was shattered and any hope of deflecting the checkout operator’s judgemental glare obliterated.
I felt like an ant and scurried out of the super market as quickly as I could, vowing to never shop there again.
I’m almost 30 and I can’t even fake maturity.
Closer – Nine Inch Nails
God Damn it. I’m almost 30. It shouldn’t be this difficult.
Seeing as my relationship with Tom is dashing ahead in leaps and bounds I ventured into the local Woolworths to purchase, ahem, condoms. That’s right – rubbers, prophylactics, baby barriers, Willy’s raincoat (feel free to add your own terms).
I walked the isles and picked the very few other items I had to buy first. Carefully placing potatoes, carrots, butter, almonds and shampoo into my basket.
And then I lingered, scanning the range of product I needed.
The choice was staggering.
In the past this particular area of a relationship had always been the man’s domain. I’d been more than happy to do my part in the pregnancy prevention department (needle, ouch) but that didn’t involve any kind of public declaration that I was having sex.
Now condoms that were studded, ribbed, coloured, glow in the dark and different flavours confronted me. Not only was I declaring I was having sex but I was telling people the kind of sex I liked.
There was no point in being delicate about the matter so I reached out and grabbed the first box that promised me a world of pleasure.
A shiver ran up my spine as I realised someone was behind me, reading over my shoulder. I could feel that cold creeping feeling of eyes on your back.
Suddenly the wildest thoughts ran through my head. Among them “oh my god, what if it’s my mother” or the more terrifying version “oh my god, what if it’s his mother”.
Christine, who had joined me shopping but who I was avoiding because she’s less than tactful, had crept up behind me.
“So, that’s why you’re so happy.”
Silently I wished it had been my mother or even his.
“There’s a little more to it than that.” I responded, focusing on the indiscreetly labelled blue box in my hand.
“Yeah I know. It’s good. I’m really happy for you.” It was the first time in ages I had heard Christine soften her tone with sincerity.
“Thanks. I just hate this. I’m telling everyone I’m having sex by buying condoms.”
Christine patted me on the back in a show of support and walked up to survey the deodorant while I stowed the box with my shopping and headed for the register. I was determined to maintain an appearance of casualness with the checkout operator despite the fact all I wanted to do was giggle with embarrassment like a schoolgirl.
“Hey Boswell,” Christine screamed at the top of her voice from the isle we’d just left and I knew what was coming. I knew what she was about to do.
“Why don’t you try these studded condoms, you like it rough – right?”
She smiled and I glared at her with a fixed gaze that could have cut through glass but it was no good. By the time I reached the register my casualness was shattered and any hope of deflecting the checkout operator’s judgemental glare obliterated.
I felt like an ant and scurried out of the super market as quickly as I could, vowing to never shop there again.
I’m almost 30 and I can’t even fake maturity.
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
TOO MUCH CRAP
Help Myself – Dave Matthews Band
There’s a deep hummmmmmmmm then silence. A click. Hummmmmmmmm then silence.
The office I’m working in has a number of technical devices around me which serve no real function other than to drain power.
Hummmmmmmmm, click, silence.
A massive lava lamp sits in the corner. It’s green bulberous wax blobs floating and falling. Shaped like a mock rocket with it’s silver legs and silver point it's as big as my torso and going nowhere.
Hummmmmmmmm, click, silence.
Behind me one of those annoying uplights that blow on a piece of cloth to look like dancing flames. To me it looks like tattered washing in a spotlight.
Hummmmmmmmm, click, silence.
The offending noise that is bound to send me mad comes from a black box with a long vertical glass tube filled with water protruding from the top. Regularly some sort of filter thing (sorry I have an ignorance to its name) is squirting bubbles through the water so they can catch the light like tiny little spheres floating to the top of the tube. Lights shine through the water giving the little balls their substance.
It’s nice. All of these gadgets are nice (except that damn uplight) but what’s the point. Why?
I wonder how these things came about, how one day someone was sitting in a room and thought “you know what we need, we need a tube full of water with a light shining up it and bubbles to make our world complete” or “look at this, if I put a light under wax it heats up and floats through the water. I just have to have this in my bedroom”.
I’ve never been one for the useless. Either it had a purpose or it simple didn’t belong in my world.
Watches I didn’t wear I kept because of the sentimental attachment. I’ve got a Barbie bendy figure from McDonalds on my computer because it was picked up on a train by Mick and Milo for me and to have it here makes sense. I have a bobbing head Puss in Boots because Shrek 2 struck an emotional chord I don’t want to forget. I have a beautiful wall hanging I was given when I was my nephew’s godmother.
All of these little trinkets mean something.
But what does a lava lamp in the middle of a reception area mean? What does a tube full of bubbles mean?
I’m not someone who can stands not understanding and I asked, foolishly, why they had chosen to display this discord of technology.
“Well, it looks good,” I was told.
But to me it just looked like a waste of space, a waste of time. It looked like a museum of proof that mankind is pointlessly purchasing things because they’re told they’re trendy and all of these things essentially mean nothing.
Hummmmmmmmm, click, silence.
Seriously, it’s a strain on the sanity.
Help Myself – Dave Matthews Band
There’s a deep hummmmmmmmm then silence. A click. Hummmmmmmmm then silence.
The office I’m working in has a number of technical devices around me which serve no real function other than to drain power.
Hummmmmmmmm, click, silence.
A massive lava lamp sits in the corner. It’s green bulberous wax blobs floating and falling. Shaped like a mock rocket with it’s silver legs and silver point it's as big as my torso and going nowhere.
Hummmmmmmmm, click, silence.
Behind me one of those annoying uplights that blow on a piece of cloth to look like dancing flames. To me it looks like tattered washing in a spotlight.
Hummmmmmmmm, click, silence.
The offending noise that is bound to send me mad comes from a black box with a long vertical glass tube filled with water protruding from the top. Regularly some sort of filter thing (sorry I have an ignorance to its name) is squirting bubbles through the water so they can catch the light like tiny little spheres floating to the top of the tube. Lights shine through the water giving the little balls their substance.
It’s nice. All of these gadgets are nice (except that damn uplight) but what’s the point. Why?
I wonder how these things came about, how one day someone was sitting in a room and thought “you know what we need, we need a tube full of water with a light shining up it and bubbles to make our world complete” or “look at this, if I put a light under wax it heats up and floats through the water. I just have to have this in my bedroom”.
I’ve never been one for the useless. Either it had a purpose or it simple didn’t belong in my world.
Watches I didn’t wear I kept because of the sentimental attachment. I’ve got a Barbie bendy figure from McDonalds on my computer because it was picked up on a train by Mick and Milo for me and to have it here makes sense. I have a bobbing head Puss in Boots because Shrek 2 struck an emotional chord I don’t want to forget. I have a beautiful wall hanging I was given when I was my nephew’s godmother.
All of these little trinkets mean something.
But what does a lava lamp in the middle of a reception area mean? What does a tube full of bubbles mean?
I’m not someone who can stands not understanding and I asked, foolishly, why they had chosen to display this discord of technology.
“Well, it looks good,” I was told.
But to me it just looked like a waste of space, a waste of time. It looked like a museum of proof that mankind is pointlessly purchasing things because they’re told they’re trendy and all of these things essentially mean nothing.
Hummmmmmmmm, click, silence.
Seriously, it’s a strain on the sanity.
Tuesday, July 20, 2004
BUSY
Can't write. I'm talking to my brother. Well, not talking exactly. Having a conversation.
(my brother) ive misplaced my plastic pants says:
are you going to see I robot
Can we keep him? says:
Not right now. Possibly. I'm hanging out for Hell Boy and Ridderick
ive misplaced my plastic pants says:
Ive seen riddick
Can we keep him? says:
Any good?
ive misplaced my plastic pants says:
did you see how many weekd the storm player got suspended for
Can we keep him? says:
Like I watch football...
ive misplaced my plastic pants says:
riddick was similar to dune in parts
Can we keep him? says:
That's a good thing. Is it worth paying to see?
ive misplaced my plastic pants says:
no
ive misplaced my plastic pants says:
as for hell boy....
Can we keep him? says:
Why?
ive misplaced my plastic pants says:
sux bigtime
ive misplaced my plastic pants says:
i was dissapointed
Can we keep him? says:
All the jokes are in the trailer, right?
ive misplaced my plastic pants says:
there is one joke
ive misplaced my plastic pants says:
first date !
ive misplaced my plastic pants says:
no tounge
Can we keep him? says:
There isn't anything more to it?
ive misplaced my plastic pants says:
yeah the same joke used twice
Before messenger my brother and I didn't get the chance to speak at all. We were either wrapped up in a family event or our stileted conversations led to some misunderstanding and the rising anger would obliterate any chance of hearing what the other person was saying.
Through Messenger our chats are regular and long. This one lasted more than an hour and covered an entire spectrum of topics.
My nieces and nephew, my sister-in-law, mum and dad. We've talked a lot of crap in our time but because of the straightforward nature of the written word we've also manage to get to know each other a lot better.
ive misplaced my plastic pants says:
ok im off now... still jobs to do..
Can We Keep Him? says:
Like what?
ive misplaced my plastic pants says:
ironing....
ive misplaced my plastic pants says:
sleep
Can We Keep Him? says:
The fun never ends! Night then.
Can't write. I'm talking to my brother. Well, not talking exactly. Having a conversation.
(my brother) ive misplaced my plastic pants says:
are you going to see I robot
Can we keep him? says:
Not right now. Possibly. I'm hanging out for Hell Boy and Ridderick
ive misplaced my plastic pants says:
Ive seen riddick
Can we keep him? says:
Any good?
ive misplaced my plastic pants says:
did you see how many weekd the storm player got suspended for
Can we keep him? says:
Like I watch football...
ive misplaced my plastic pants says:
riddick was similar to dune in parts
Can we keep him? says:
That's a good thing. Is it worth paying to see?
ive misplaced my plastic pants says:
no
ive misplaced my plastic pants says:
as for hell boy....
Can we keep him? says:
Why?
ive misplaced my plastic pants says:
sux bigtime
ive misplaced my plastic pants says:
i was dissapointed
Can we keep him? says:
All the jokes are in the trailer, right?
ive misplaced my plastic pants says:
there is one joke
ive misplaced my plastic pants says:
first date !
ive misplaced my plastic pants says:
no tounge
Can we keep him? says:
There isn't anything more to it?
ive misplaced my plastic pants says:
yeah the same joke used twice
Before messenger my brother and I didn't get the chance to speak at all. We were either wrapped up in a family event or our stileted conversations led to some misunderstanding and the rising anger would obliterate any chance of hearing what the other person was saying.
Through Messenger our chats are regular and long. This one lasted more than an hour and covered an entire spectrum of topics.
My nieces and nephew, my sister-in-law, mum and dad. We've talked a lot of crap in our time but because of the straightforward nature of the written word we've also manage to get to know each other a lot better.
ive misplaced my plastic pants says:
ok im off now... still jobs to do..
Can We Keep Him? says:
Like what?
ive misplaced my plastic pants says:
ironing....
ive misplaced my plastic pants says:
sleep
Can We Keep Him? says:
The fun never ends! Night then.
Monday, July 19, 2004
OFFICE POLITICS
Say Hello Wave Goodbye – David Gray
When you first step into an office it works like this.
Two days to suss out the place and decide the environment you’ve entered into. Sometimes it can take longer, especially when you’re facing an office rife with contradiction. For example, where I am now is relaxed but ultra professional. It took longer to assess how that balance works.
Then there’s sussing out who hates you and who are your allies. It’s this that I’m finding fascinating at the moment.
One guy here absolutely hates me. He hated me from the second he set eyes on me and I haven’t the faintest idea why. We haven’t even spoken but in the eight hours that I’ve been here he has avoided me, ignored me, grunted at me and pushed me aside.
There are possibly a number of reasons for this immediate detestment.
It could be that in his eyes I am a hideous beast who should wear a paper bag over my head; perhaps he was having a fling with the woman I’m filling in for and resents my presence; maybe it’s a temp phobia, which I’m told can be quite debilitating in the corporate world; or it’s that my charm and wit remind him of an old girlfriend who stole all his CDs.
In all honesty I don’t particularly like him either. There’s just “something” about him. His mannerisms, his hair and his voice all seem to make me want to be elsewhere when he’s around.
I am uncomfortable around him, looking for any excuse to leave despite the fact I’m right in the middle of any given task. Over the cubicle wall I can hear his thick voice, dripping with accent and I try to ignore the goosebumps crawling up my neck.
There’s no real reason that I can put my finger on. Or maybe there’s a very valid one that just doesn’t have a name.
In the past when I was hit on I had turned them down, lamenting the absence of that “something”. Tom has that "something" and that's why we're together.
This mysterious “something” is a strong force. It dictates a lot of our decisions whether we are conscious of it or not. Not quite instinct and not quite logic, it taps into the flight or fight response but it’s more subtle. More play or stray I guess.
There are just some people you want to be around and some you don’t.
I, for example, want to be around Trevor but he has this friend K who annoys me. There’s no real reason. I don’t dislike him and I don’t like him. We are two very different people with very different ideas and rather than generating conflict there is just indifference. It stresses Trevor who is eager that we all get along but neither of us seem bothered – when we’re in the room together there’s no tension what-so-ever. At least none that I feel.
So this guy can’t stand me and I can’t stand him.
It stands to reason that that “something” that makes us attracted to each other can also make us repel one another.
Say Hello Wave Goodbye – David Gray
When you first step into an office it works like this.
Two days to suss out the place and decide the environment you’ve entered into. Sometimes it can take longer, especially when you’re facing an office rife with contradiction. For example, where I am now is relaxed but ultra professional. It took longer to assess how that balance works.
Then there’s sussing out who hates you and who are your allies. It’s this that I’m finding fascinating at the moment.
One guy here absolutely hates me. He hated me from the second he set eyes on me and I haven’t the faintest idea why. We haven’t even spoken but in the eight hours that I’ve been here he has avoided me, ignored me, grunted at me and pushed me aside.
There are possibly a number of reasons for this immediate detestment.
It could be that in his eyes I am a hideous beast who should wear a paper bag over my head; perhaps he was having a fling with the woman I’m filling in for and resents my presence; maybe it’s a temp phobia, which I’m told can be quite debilitating in the corporate world; or it’s that my charm and wit remind him of an old girlfriend who stole all his CDs.
In all honesty I don’t particularly like him either. There’s just “something” about him. His mannerisms, his hair and his voice all seem to make me want to be elsewhere when he’s around.
I am uncomfortable around him, looking for any excuse to leave despite the fact I’m right in the middle of any given task. Over the cubicle wall I can hear his thick voice, dripping with accent and I try to ignore the goosebumps crawling up my neck.
There’s no real reason that I can put my finger on. Or maybe there’s a very valid one that just doesn’t have a name.
In the past when I was hit on I had turned them down, lamenting the absence of that “something”. Tom has that "something" and that's why we're together.
This mysterious “something” is a strong force. It dictates a lot of our decisions whether we are conscious of it or not. Not quite instinct and not quite logic, it taps into the flight or fight response but it’s more subtle. More play or stray I guess.
There are just some people you want to be around and some you don’t.
I, for example, want to be around Trevor but he has this friend K who annoys me. There’s no real reason. I don’t dislike him and I don’t like him. We are two very different people with very different ideas and rather than generating conflict there is just indifference. It stresses Trevor who is eager that we all get along but neither of us seem bothered – when we’re in the room together there’s no tension what-so-ever. At least none that I feel.
So this guy can’t stand me and I can’t stand him.
It stands to reason that that “something” that makes us attracted to each other can also make us repel one another.
Sunday, July 18, 2004
WEDDING PLANS
Philosophy – Ben Folds Five
“What colour dress do you want me to get?”
My sister-in-law was rummaging through the party bits and pieces for my nephew’s first birthday next Saturday. She’s always thrown the best kids parties and this one is already looking like it will top all previous efforts.
With its pirate theme there is a piñata, buried treasure for the kids to find in the sandpit (I’ll be among them no doubt) and a mountain of decorations. The cake has been ordered and the thank you photos for people to take home are already prepared.
The invitation itself was a work of art with a treasure map asking participants to turn up in their best sea fearing gear and a threat of walking the plank if you didn’t RSVP by the due date.
“Huh?”
“Well if you’re going to want me to be a bridesmaid then I want to make sure you’ve chosen a colour that suits me.”
God I love my sister-in-law.
Once upon a time we just didn’t get on but over the years we’ve had a chance to get to know each other better and we’ve learnt which buttons to push and which to leave alone. As a result she always knows the right thing to say at exactly the right time.
I’ve been getting a lot of flack for the speed this relationship is developing. We’ve been together three weeks but in that time we’ve seen each other at least four days of the week. We’ve talked and talked and planned. Tom now knows more about me then all of my previous boyfriends combined simply because he’s bothered to ask.
And my family have picked up on the fact I’m babbling about Tom pretty much every hour of every day. If I had to listen to it I’d be pretty sick to death of myself by now.
“You’re funny. I think it’s a little early to be planning the wedding.”
She stopped what she was doing and stood looking at me with her hands on her hips and a smirk from ear to ear.
“Are you kidding? There’s the bridal shower to organise and the hen’s night to book. There’s nothing wrong with being prepared. God, I have to organise baby sitters and an engagement party.”
My sister-in-law must have seen that I was drowning in the joke and backed off.
“But before all that it’d be kind of nice to meet him. Why don’t you ask him to Mr 1’s birthday party and we’ll go from there.”
“Yeah, that’s probably the best place to start.”
“So ask him but it’s your decision. I’ll understand if he’s not keen to meet the whole family in one hit.”
“Ok, I’ll ask.” I stopped and turned to leave but thought better of leaving the matter there. “And no talk of weddings while he’s here. I don’t know that he’ll be able to cope with the family sense of humour on first contact.”
“Well, that’s just something he’ll have to get used to. It took me ten years but I think that I’m getting a hang of it.”
“Are you kidding? You’re a master. You actually had me going there for a while.”
My sister-in-law smiled. “I do what I can.”
“Incidentally, I’m thinking blue/grey for bridesmaids.” I added, wanting to have the last laugh at the joke that anyone outside of the family would have been slightly disturbed by.
“Good. That goes great with my eyes.” She laughed.
Philosophy – Ben Folds Five
“What colour dress do you want me to get?”
My sister-in-law was rummaging through the party bits and pieces for my nephew’s first birthday next Saturday. She’s always thrown the best kids parties and this one is already looking like it will top all previous efforts.
With its pirate theme there is a piñata, buried treasure for the kids to find in the sandpit (I’ll be among them no doubt) and a mountain of decorations. The cake has been ordered and the thank you photos for people to take home are already prepared.
The invitation itself was a work of art with a treasure map asking participants to turn up in their best sea fearing gear and a threat of walking the plank if you didn’t RSVP by the due date.
“Huh?”
“Well if you’re going to want me to be a bridesmaid then I want to make sure you’ve chosen a colour that suits me.”
God I love my sister-in-law.
Once upon a time we just didn’t get on but over the years we’ve had a chance to get to know each other better and we’ve learnt which buttons to push and which to leave alone. As a result she always knows the right thing to say at exactly the right time.
I’ve been getting a lot of flack for the speed this relationship is developing. We’ve been together three weeks but in that time we’ve seen each other at least four days of the week. We’ve talked and talked and planned. Tom now knows more about me then all of my previous boyfriends combined simply because he’s bothered to ask.
And my family have picked up on the fact I’m babbling about Tom pretty much every hour of every day. If I had to listen to it I’d be pretty sick to death of myself by now.
“You’re funny. I think it’s a little early to be planning the wedding.”
She stopped what she was doing and stood looking at me with her hands on her hips and a smirk from ear to ear.
“Are you kidding? There’s the bridal shower to organise and the hen’s night to book. There’s nothing wrong with being prepared. God, I have to organise baby sitters and an engagement party.”
My sister-in-law must have seen that I was drowning in the joke and backed off.
“But before all that it’d be kind of nice to meet him. Why don’t you ask him to Mr 1’s birthday party and we’ll go from there.”
“Yeah, that’s probably the best place to start.”
“So ask him but it’s your decision. I’ll understand if he’s not keen to meet the whole family in one hit.”
“Ok, I’ll ask.” I stopped and turned to leave but thought better of leaving the matter there. “And no talk of weddings while he’s here. I don’t know that he’ll be able to cope with the family sense of humour on first contact.”
“Well, that’s just something he’ll have to get used to. It took me ten years but I think that I’m getting a hang of it.”
“Are you kidding? You’re a master. You actually had me going there for a while.”
My sister-in-law smiled. “I do what I can.”
“Incidentally, I’m thinking blue/grey for bridesmaids.” I added, wanting to have the last laugh at the joke that anyone outside of the family would have been slightly disturbed by.
“Good. That goes great with my eyes.” She laughed.
Saturday, July 17, 2004
I LOVE SHREK
I’m On My Way – Rich Price
I ran around the apartment with only 15 minutes to spare.
“You look fine,” Trevor reassured me but I wasn’t convinced.
Of all the critics my relationship with Trevor’s cousin, who I’m calling Tom for now, today I had to face the biggest.
His kids.
Tom was married a couple of years back but the marriage didn’t last two years, still considering the duration of the relationship he had with his ex he walked away with two children.
A boy, 10, and a girl, 7.
So I was understandably a nervous wreck by the time he approached the apartments with the two children in tow. I had changed clothes three times, done my hair twice and showered unnecessarily. I hadn’t gone to this much effort when I met him!
At first the girl was silent and Tom explained this was just nerves – she was the tough nut to crack and if I could win her over Tom said then the battle was won. Apparently she didn’t talk when she was in a new place and especially not new people. Within ten minutes his two children and I were standing on the balcony.
Mr 10 was free and comfortable, happy to identify the cars below on the street. And then from the silent depths a distinctly female voice piped up. “Daddy’s car’s been covered in bird poo.”
I was cool about it. I didn’t make a big deal. But internally I was going the full dance of joy across the balcony. She’d spoken. Considering Tom had been so concerned I’d be offended by her silence “sometimes she doesn’t talk for up to an hour around a new person” I saw 10 minutes a massive breakthrough.
And from there the day flowed so smoothly that it’s hard to imagine I hadn’t known these children for years.
We went and saw Shrek 2 and I don’t think I’ve laughed that much in years. In the darkness I would cast my eyes to Tom and see we were laughing at the same jokes, we were silent at the same times. It felt so incredibly comfortable that not once did I feel I didn’t belong or that I was stepping between father and children.
Mr 10 was chatty and funny the whole day. Ms 7 seemed comfortable and by the end of the day she told me I had to come to the movies with them again in a fortnight.
I know, my writing is suffering. It’s been slipping by the wayside over the past couple of weeks and I feel guilty about that but I’m confident the focus will return.
For now I’m falling in love so cut me a little slack (and don’t tell Tom I told you, I haven’t told him yet).
I’m On My Way – Rich Price
I ran around the apartment with only 15 minutes to spare.
“You look fine,” Trevor reassured me but I wasn’t convinced.
Of all the critics my relationship with Trevor’s cousin, who I’m calling Tom for now, today I had to face the biggest.
His kids.
Tom was married a couple of years back but the marriage didn’t last two years, still considering the duration of the relationship he had with his ex he walked away with two children.
A boy, 10, and a girl, 7.
So I was understandably a nervous wreck by the time he approached the apartments with the two children in tow. I had changed clothes three times, done my hair twice and showered unnecessarily. I hadn’t gone to this much effort when I met him!
At first the girl was silent and Tom explained this was just nerves – she was the tough nut to crack and if I could win her over Tom said then the battle was won. Apparently she didn’t talk when she was in a new place and especially not new people. Within ten minutes his two children and I were standing on the balcony.
Mr 10 was free and comfortable, happy to identify the cars below on the street. And then from the silent depths a distinctly female voice piped up. “Daddy’s car’s been covered in bird poo.”
I was cool about it. I didn’t make a big deal. But internally I was going the full dance of joy across the balcony. She’d spoken. Considering Tom had been so concerned I’d be offended by her silence “sometimes she doesn’t talk for up to an hour around a new person” I saw 10 minutes a massive breakthrough.
And from there the day flowed so smoothly that it’s hard to imagine I hadn’t known these children for years.
We went and saw Shrek 2 and I don’t think I’ve laughed that much in years. In the darkness I would cast my eyes to Tom and see we were laughing at the same jokes, we were silent at the same times. It felt so incredibly comfortable that not once did I feel I didn’t belong or that I was stepping between father and children.
Mr 10 was chatty and funny the whole day. Ms 7 seemed comfortable and by the end of the day she told me I had to come to the movies with them again in a fortnight.
I know, my writing is suffering. It’s been slipping by the wayside over the past couple of weeks and I feel guilty about that but I’m confident the focus will return.
For now I’m falling in love so cut me a little slack (and don’t tell Tom I told you, I haven’t told him yet).
Friday, July 16, 2004
FEAR FACTOR.
No Thanks - Yeah Yeah Yeahs
My week is complete at possibly the most uptight assignment I’ve had yet.
“As you can probably understand,” my boss at this job is a woman in her late fifties. Her face is covered in wrinkles and she looks somewhat like a folded fan. “Since September 11 it has been essential to increase our security.”
The firm I was working for deals in drugs. It deals in all kinds of drugs including anti-depressants and animal medication to increase “product yield”.
Once I buzz someone in they are required to sign in, to show ID, to give a contact name and then be escorted into the building. These visitors are then required to be escorted out of the building by that same person.
I nod my head and agree with her even though I don’t. “It’s understandable,” I say.
But I don’t agree with her, I’m refusing to buy into the “we should all be afraid” belief that many American companies have bought into. And no, I don’t understand why people are reacting the way they are.
Still, it’s not my job to care. I am paid, quite well, not to care.
At this particular assignment I don’t have anything to do. For the past week in 20 hours – and this is the weekly tally I kept – I answered nine phone calls, dealt with seven couriers and handled nine visitors. That was it.
The company, in its panic over becoming a terrorist target, created a position that costs them no less than $70,000 a year. For four hours a day my particular shift involved doing nothing but waiting, just in case.
“So after Bali I said that’s it, this world isn’t safe. I told the big bosses that we need some serious security upgrades around here so this is the system we’ve created and this position became so much more than a receptionist.” The woman pushed her shoulders back and held her chin high, as though she was talking about something noble. “You’re in charge of our safety.”
And I smile, my nose ring removed and the suit in place, I appear the perfect corporate clone.
“You know, being a temp I didn’t understand what you did here. Now that I do I understand how necessary these security precautions are.” And the lie swims so sweetly from my tongue.
All the while I’m nauseated. I respect science. I see science as possibly the most amazing adventure one can take in the world today. But I don’t buy the pompous self-importance a number of scientists adopt at the cost of imagination and wonder that science should inspire.
There were other issues and it bothered me that the firm still tested on animals in the name of science.
The journalist in me is on the fence. I understand. Science needs data. But it doesn’t mean I want to be a part of it, no matter how small that part is.
The week’s over and it’s done. I won’t be going back.
I couldn’t stomach it.
No Thanks - Yeah Yeah Yeahs
My week is complete at possibly the most uptight assignment I’ve had yet.
“As you can probably understand,” my boss at this job is a woman in her late fifties. Her face is covered in wrinkles and she looks somewhat like a folded fan. “Since September 11 it has been essential to increase our security.”
The firm I was working for deals in drugs. It deals in all kinds of drugs including anti-depressants and animal medication to increase “product yield”.
Once I buzz someone in they are required to sign in, to show ID, to give a contact name and then be escorted into the building. These visitors are then required to be escorted out of the building by that same person.
I nod my head and agree with her even though I don’t. “It’s understandable,” I say.
But I don’t agree with her, I’m refusing to buy into the “we should all be afraid” belief that many American companies have bought into. And no, I don’t understand why people are reacting the way they are.
Still, it’s not my job to care. I am paid, quite well, not to care.
At this particular assignment I don’t have anything to do. For the past week in 20 hours – and this is the weekly tally I kept – I answered nine phone calls, dealt with seven couriers and handled nine visitors. That was it.
The company, in its panic over becoming a terrorist target, created a position that costs them no less than $70,000 a year. For four hours a day my particular shift involved doing nothing but waiting, just in case.
“So after Bali I said that’s it, this world isn’t safe. I told the big bosses that we need some serious security upgrades around here so this is the system we’ve created and this position became so much more than a receptionist.” The woman pushed her shoulders back and held her chin high, as though she was talking about something noble. “You’re in charge of our safety.”
And I smile, my nose ring removed and the suit in place, I appear the perfect corporate clone.
“You know, being a temp I didn’t understand what you did here. Now that I do I understand how necessary these security precautions are.” And the lie swims so sweetly from my tongue.
All the while I’m nauseated. I respect science. I see science as possibly the most amazing adventure one can take in the world today. But I don’t buy the pompous self-importance a number of scientists adopt at the cost of imagination and wonder that science should inspire.
There were other issues and it bothered me that the firm still tested on animals in the name of science.
The journalist in me is on the fence. I understand. Science needs data. But it doesn’t mean I want to be a part of it, no matter how small that part is.
The week’s over and it’s done. I won’t be going back.
I couldn’t stomach it.
Wednesday, July 14, 2004
A DECENT NIGHT’S SLEEP
Philosophy – Ben Folds
When I was in university we lived with two drug dealers and I dabbled. After all, I’m only human. Besides, being neighbours you got fantastic deals and I was never one to walk away from a bargain.
Today, pulling clothing from one of my old backpacks, I found a small tin. Inside a small bag of pot, nearly five years old now, and a small white pill.
I considered them. Not as options, I don’t know what the pill is and let’s face it the pot is pretty much dead. Instead, I considered them as the remnants of my past, my mementos.
The pill, a small white circle, sat in my open palm. The hard little ball a temptation.
I remember this, the moment before taking something that would wash the world away for a temporary period. At that time is was an antidote to all my ills and a way in which I could find the courage to be sociable.
I was always a coward. People on a whole intimidated me. Not that the drugs on hand made that any easier – I was either up to the point of oblivion where I didn’t relate to anyone or so down that I couldn’t relate - it really wasn’t a solution but rather my excuse for not handling any given situation.
During this time I was blessed with amazing friends who managed to see what I was up to. At regular intervals it was Boswell intervention time and they would verbally kick my ass, take my supplies and straighten me out. As a result it didn’t become a big problem.
Still, accessing the courage necessary to “mingle” always has.
After university I simply didn’t have the access to drugs and I didn’t go looking for it. Alcohol was always on hand and it was there that I found my refuge. Temporarily silencing my self-doubts and, on the nights when my insomnia became unbearable, medicating myself until sleep was inevitable.
Something’s shifted. Something’s changed and now these tools to help me sleep seem unnecessary. They seem like something from so long ago, from another life. Another me.
For the first time in months I’m actually happy. I’m content and excited and looking towards my future with excitement. I’ve got temping which is actually doing quite nicely and I’ve got Trevor’s cousin (damn I have to find him a name) to think about.
I have plans. They weren’t the ones I started with but I’m happy with the way things are turning out. I feel as though I’m finally falling into the real life I was meant to live.
This may all go away but for now I’m going to bed to sleep and enjoy the fact the beast is silent.
Still, I’ve packed my mementos away safely so I’ll never forget who I was.
Philosophy – Ben Folds
When I was in university we lived with two drug dealers and I dabbled. After all, I’m only human. Besides, being neighbours you got fantastic deals and I was never one to walk away from a bargain.
Today, pulling clothing from one of my old backpacks, I found a small tin. Inside a small bag of pot, nearly five years old now, and a small white pill.
I considered them. Not as options, I don’t know what the pill is and let’s face it the pot is pretty much dead. Instead, I considered them as the remnants of my past, my mementos.
The pill, a small white circle, sat in my open palm. The hard little ball a temptation.
I remember this, the moment before taking something that would wash the world away for a temporary period. At that time is was an antidote to all my ills and a way in which I could find the courage to be sociable.
I was always a coward. People on a whole intimidated me. Not that the drugs on hand made that any easier – I was either up to the point of oblivion where I didn’t relate to anyone or so down that I couldn’t relate - it really wasn’t a solution but rather my excuse for not handling any given situation.
During this time I was blessed with amazing friends who managed to see what I was up to. At regular intervals it was Boswell intervention time and they would verbally kick my ass, take my supplies and straighten me out. As a result it didn’t become a big problem.
Still, accessing the courage necessary to “mingle” always has.
After university I simply didn’t have the access to drugs and I didn’t go looking for it. Alcohol was always on hand and it was there that I found my refuge. Temporarily silencing my self-doubts and, on the nights when my insomnia became unbearable, medicating myself until sleep was inevitable.
Something’s shifted. Something’s changed and now these tools to help me sleep seem unnecessary. They seem like something from so long ago, from another life. Another me.
For the first time in months I’m actually happy. I’m content and excited and looking towards my future with excitement. I’ve got temping which is actually doing quite nicely and I’ve got Trevor’s cousin (damn I have to find him a name) to think about.
I have plans. They weren’t the ones I started with but I’m happy with the way things are turning out. I feel as though I’m finally falling into the real life I was meant to live.
This may all go away but for now I’m going to bed to sleep and enjoy the fact the beast is silent.
Still, I’ve packed my mementos away safely so I’ll never forget who I was.
Tuesday, July 13, 2004
RED LIGHT TO A BULL
I Love Work - Butterfingers
Damn I’m late for work.
My head is swimming after a hectic morning and I’m still pushing my way through the list of things I had to do.
I turn left and barely miss a red Toyota. I pull up onto the wrong street and cut dangerously in front of a four-wheel-drive. Neither shows any outward sign of being disturbed by my behaviour although it’s worthy of abuse.
I’m safe. I make it.
Although I know I am cutting it fine the actual danger I’m in isn’t registering until a few moments after an event. I’m already at work. I’m busy imagining the reaction of my delusions of grandeur office assistant boss.
“Fuck.” I’m talking to no one and my window is wound up but I’ve just realised what happened too late to change my decisions and not soon enough to realise it’s a problem.
Victoria Road, weaving its way behind Parramatta, is notorious for being packed with traffic but I need to make the connection to get to work on time.
I’m in the wrong lane when I recognise I should be turning right onto Victoria Road. My eyes right, my lane in the left and there’s a car comfortably pacing me in my blind spot making it impossible to move over.
And I glide.
I’m seeing the street straight ahead as a chance to do a u-turn and make my way onto Victoria Road.
What I’m not seeing is the red light.
Now it’s a 2 second gap. There are cars left and cars right and I’m skimming my way between them. A nano-second and I would have been hit but the cars glide past me. I am untouched.
And time has slowed down and I know I fucked up. I know it was my fault and that come-what-may I have no one to blame.
For that fraction of a second I am frozen. Unable to take back my decision I ease my foot off the accelerator. I close my eyes. I give myself over to whatever consequence I must face (my fate?).
On the other side of the intersection I pull my car over and cover my mouth with both hands. I am unable to just move on from that moment. But I am safe and so are all the other drivers I just foolishly endangered and it’s for them that I worry.
I fucked up and I could live with killing myself through stupidity. I could never live with killing someone else.
But I’m ok. They’re ok.
It’s not the first time I’ve made such dangerous mistakes.
I have similarly glided on black ice in Edmonton as I drove across Canada. I have veered onto the wrong side of the road while playing with the radio. I have driven on dark nights with faulty lighting and lived without indicators on my car for more than a month because I didn’t have the money to repair them.
And it’s at these times that I realise I am blessed. I am protected.
How could I think anything else?
I Love Work - Butterfingers
Damn I’m late for work.
My head is swimming after a hectic morning and I’m still pushing my way through the list of things I had to do.
I turn left and barely miss a red Toyota. I pull up onto the wrong street and cut dangerously in front of a four-wheel-drive. Neither shows any outward sign of being disturbed by my behaviour although it’s worthy of abuse.
I’m safe. I make it.
Although I know I am cutting it fine the actual danger I’m in isn’t registering until a few moments after an event. I’m already at work. I’m busy imagining the reaction of my delusions of grandeur office assistant boss.
“Fuck.” I’m talking to no one and my window is wound up but I’ve just realised what happened too late to change my decisions and not soon enough to realise it’s a problem.
Victoria Road, weaving its way behind Parramatta, is notorious for being packed with traffic but I need to make the connection to get to work on time.
I’m in the wrong lane when I recognise I should be turning right onto Victoria Road. My eyes right, my lane in the left and there’s a car comfortably pacing me in my blind spot making it impossible to move over.
And I glide.
I’m seeing the street straight ahead as a chance to do a u-turn and make my way onto Victoria Road.
What I’m not seeing is the red light.
Now it’s a 2 second gap. There are cars left and cars right and I’m skimming my way between them. A nano-second and I would have been hit but the cars glide past me. I am untouched.
And time has slowed down and I know I fucked up. I know it was my fault and that come-what-may I have no one to blame.
For that fraction of a second I am frozen. Unable to take back my decision I ease my foot off the accelerator. I close my eyes. I give myself over to whatever consequence I must face (my fate?).
On the other side of the intersection I pull my car over and cover my mouth with both hands. I am unable to just move on from that moment. But I am safe and so are all the other drivers I just foolishly endangered and it’s for them that I worry.
I fucked up and I could live with killing myself through stupidity. I could never live with killing someone else.
But I’m ok. They’re ok.
It’s not the first time I’ve made such dangerous mistakes.
I have similarly glided on black ice in Edmonton as I drove across Canada. I have veered onto the wrong side of the road while playing with the radio. I have driven on dark nights with faulty lighting and lived without indicators on my car for more than a month because I didn’t have the money to repair them.
And it’s at these times that I realise I am blessed. I am protected.
How could I think anything else?
Monday, July 12, 2004
KISSING COUSINS
Believe It Or Not - Joey Scarbury
I’ll back track a little for you.
Saturday morning Trevor’s cousin arrived at the door and I whispered quietly to him. “Look, we’ve got to get out of here. Trevor’s still asleep and I don’t want to wake him.”
I felt terrible pushing him out the door without any more of an explanation but Trevor needed the break and, quite honestly, I had to get the hell out of the apartment.
For the past two weeks Trevor’s cousin (who I will give a name eventually) and I have been spending some time together talking and it’s been, as inadequate as this word is, nice. Trevor’s cousin was nothing like I expected. He was friendly, funny and generally interested in what I had to say.
He was interested in me.
So we walked around Parramatta Westfield’s and shopped for things we didn’t need. We learned about each other through our choice of coffee and by the end of the day he was comfortable with me using different names at Starbuck’s and unfazed by the fact I activated 12 stuffed dogs to a roaring chorus of How Much is That Doggy in the Window.
Not once was I belittled or sneered at and I began to warm to him. Then we went searching for the car. Through some stroke of misfortune we had taken the wrong exit and ended up on the wrong level.
As we descended on one escalator he put his head on my shoulder. “I think we’re lost,” he said, lingering longer than the sentence required.
And my heart stopped.
I was breathless. I was hot and flustered and incapable of making an intelligent response. Instead I garbled something. My composure completely shattered.
Finally we found the car and all the while I was silent, absolutely blown away.
The night that followed is long and I’m not going to describe it. Suffice to say, I spoke deeply with everyone in the house and I finally ended up leaning with my back against Trevor’s cousin.
“I had a lot of fun today,” I beamed because it had been a truly stress-free day. I beamed because I was completely honest and completely spontaneous and the person I was with had been more than happy to let me be who I was.
In those moments I don’t remember anything that was going on around me. I could not register the movement of my friends and the world became a non-alcohol-induced blur.
He put his arms around my waist and gently kissed the back of my neck – not once but at least half a dozen times and then whispered. “So did I.”
And nothing more was said. We just stood there for a few moments until I finally spun me to face him and we kissed.
We’ve been out twice since then. All day Sunday when at the end of the day I cooked him dinner and tonight when he cooked me dinner.
I hadn’t planned for this but I'm not complaining.
Believe It Or Not - Joey Scarbury
I’ll back track a little for you.
Saturday morning Trevor’s cousin arrived at the door and I whispered quietly to him. “Look, we’ve got to get out of here. Trevor’s still asleep and I don’t want to wake him.”
I felt terrible pushing him out the door without any more of an explanation but Trevor needed the break and, quite honestly, I had to get the hell out of the apartment.
For the past two weeks Trevor’s cousin (who I will give a name eventually) and I have been spending some time together talking and it’s been, as inadequate as this word is, nice. Trevor’s cousin was nothing like I expected. He was friendly, funny and generally interested in what I had to say.
He was interested in me.
So we walked around Parramatta Westfield’s and shopped for things we didn’t need. We learned about each other through our choice of coffee and by the end of the day he was comfortable with me using different names at Starbuck’s and unfazed by the fact I activated 12 stuffed dogs to a roaring chorus of How Much is That Doggy in the Window.
Not once was I belittled or sneered at and I began to warm to him. Then we went searching for the car. Through some stroke of misfortune we had taken the wrong exit and ended up on the wrong level.
As we descended on one escalator he put his head on my shoulder. “I think we’re lost,” he said, lingering longer than the sentence required.
And my heart stopped.
I was breathless. I was hot and flustered and incapable of making an intelligent response. Instead I garbled something. My composure completely shattered.
Finally we found the car and all the while I was silent, absolutely blown away.
The night that followed is long and I’m not going to describe it. Suffice to say, I spoke deeply with everyone in the house and I finally ended up leaning with my back against Trevor’s cousin.
“I had a lot of fun today,” I beamed because it had been a truly stress-free day. I beamed because I was completely honest and completely spontaneous and the person I was with had been more than happy to let me be who I was.
In those moments I don’t remember anything that was going on around me. I could not register the movement of my friends and the world became a non-alcohol-induced blur.
He put his arms around my waist and gently kissed the back of my neck – not once but at least half a dozen times and then whispered. “So did I.”
And nothing more was said. We just stood there for a few moments until I finally spun me to face him and we kissed.
We’ve been out twice since then. All day Sunday when at the end of the day I cooked him dinner and tonight when he cooked me dinner.
I hadn’t planned for this but I'm not complaining.
Sunday, July 11, 2004
A WEEKEND TASK
This is the Day - The The
My counsellor gave me a task for the week that I have to hand in tomorrow. Unlike the tasks from school I actually found these difficult but this is something I’m serious about working on.
I have to get my shit together.
Question 1: Make a list of the things you would like to change. Be specific.
I couldn’t do it alone so Christine sat across from me with a stern look on her face. Taking it as seriously as I was.
“You need to express yourself a little better. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you get angry at the time you’re actually angry.”
I scribble down the answer.
“Oh, you’re always so damn strong. Um, you’re always the one trying to fix things.”
I scribble the second suggestion silently.
“You’re antisocial, you really need to change that.”
While I’m writing I make a couple of suggestions of my own and add them to the growing list that finally comes to a tally of more than eight points that I and my friends see as serious character flaws.
“Did you write the one about….”
Despite the fact I’m satisfied with the major points Christine continues to add to the list a million of the small things that I do. My “emotional baggage”. My mistrust. My lies.
Finally the list far exceeds the small section that has been allocated for the answer.
“You can’t forget that you chase off men.”
I didn’t need to be reminded of this, particularly not at this time.
Financially the slate has been wiped clean and I can begin to start again. But that’s not the only area where I have a clean slate. I began seeing someone this weekend and it seems that I’m being faced with the daunting prospect of having someone around.
It’s as though something twigged in the past three days and everything has begun again.
“Boswell,” Christine drew me back to the task at hand. “Men. You’re history of running away from relationships. That’s something you need to change about yourself.”
“Ok”. And I write down this as the final point of my list of things I will change.
This is the Day - The The
My counsellor gave me a task for the week that I have to hand in tomorrow. Unlike the tasks from school I actually found these difficult but this is something I’m serious about working on.
I have to get my shit together.
Question 1: Make a list of the things you would like to change. Be specific.
I couldn’t do it alone so Christine sat across from me with a stern look on her face. Taking it as seriously as I was.
“You need to express yourself a little better. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you get angry at the time you’re actually angry.”
I scribble down the answer.
“Oh, you’re always so damn strong. Um, you’re always the one trying to fix things.”
I scribble the second suggestion silently.
“You’re antisocial, you really need to change that.”
While I’m writing I make a couple of suggestions of my own and add them to the growing list that finally comes to a tally of more than eight points that I and my friends see as serious character flaws.
“Did you write the one about….”
Despite the fact I’m satisfied with the major points Christine continues to add to the list a million of the small things that I do. My “emotional baggage”. My mistrust. My lies.
Finally the list far exceeds the small section that has been allocated for the answer.
“You can’t forget that you chase off men.”
I didn’t need to be reminded of this, particularly not at this time.
Financially the slate has been wiped clean and I can begin to start again. But that’s not the only area where I have a clean slate. I began seeing someone this weekend and it seems that I’m being faced with the daunting prospect of having someone around.
It’s as though something twigged in the past three days and everything has begun again.
“Boswell,” Christine drew me back to the task at hand. “Men. You’re history of running away from relationships. That’s something you need to change about yourself.”
“Ok”. And I write down this as the final point of my list of things I will change.
Thursday, July 08, 2004
SETTING DEADLINES
Ego Tripping at the Gates of Hell – The Flaming Lips
“Seriously, you’ve been a miserable fuck of late,” Christine stretched across the lounge and answered my question.
I had foolishly asked if she’d noticed any change in my behaviour because I wanted to know how successful my act has been. Apparently, it hasn’t been effective at all.
“If it wasn’t for the fact I knew what was going on I would have kicked your ass long ago.” She added.
Tolerance, they tell me, is accepting that people are different and that they have a right to do what ever they want at any time. I’ve been tolerant. Everyone’s tolerated me. Still, I don’t want to be here and I don’t think I’ve been hiding that fact all too well. But I’m so incredibly grateful that I feel guilty saying anything about it.
“Well, can you blame me for being a miserable fuck? I mean Jesus, everything’s gone to hell and I’m working on that but it’s not exactly like anyone’s helping me and I’m pretty damn confident that no one understands.”
She’s perched herself up on one arm. “Oh, that’s right. The completely unfathomable Boswell. You’re ooh so deep that there’s no possible way anyone could have ever experienced what you’re going through. You’re so complicated.”
I hate her and her dry sarcastic tone.
“Is it possible that you’re just so wrapped up in your own little world that you can’t see everyone, and I mean everyone, has been here before?”
I wonder, If I were to punch her right now, would she misinterpreted it as anything other than frustration? I assumed so and restrained myself.
“Ok, so I’m a little wrapped in my own problems. I’m trying to figure myself out here. My entire life has fallen apart; I’m alienating someone I love because I have no where to go and now you’re all over me like a rash.”
I moped a little and huddled into the corner of the kitchen that couldn't be seen from the lounge.
“There are limits Boswell.”
“How long have I got?” my softened voice echoed out of the kitchen.
She choked back a laugh. “I’d say a couple of weeks, tops.”
“And if I can’t get my shit together?”
“Then I’ll have no choice, I’ll have to kick your ass.”
Ego Tripping at the Gates of Hell – The Flaming Lips
“Seriously, you’ve been a miserable fuck of late,” Christine stretched across the lounge and answered my question.
I had foolishly asked if she’d noticed any change in my behaviour because I wanted to know how successful my act has been. Apparently, it hasn’t been effective at all.
“If it wasn’t for the fact I knew what was going on I would have kicked your ass long ago.” She added.
Tolerance, they tell me, is accepting that people are different and that they have a right to do what ever they want at any time. I’ve been tolerant. Everyone’s tolerated me. Still, I don’t want to be here and I don’t think I’ve been hiding that fact all too well. But I’m so incredibly grateful that I feel guilty saying anything about it.
“Well, can you blame me for being a miserable fuck? I mean Jesus, everything’s gone to hell and I’m working on that but it’s not exactly like anyone’s helping me and I’m pretty damn confident that no one understands.”
She’s perched herself up on one arm. “Oh, that’s right. The completely unfathomable Boswell. You’re ooh so deep that there’s no possible way anyone could have ever experienced what you’re going through. You’re so complicated.”
I hate her and her dry sarcastic tone.
“Is it possible that you’re just so wrapped up in your own little world that you can’t see everyone, and I mean everyone, has been here before?”
I wonder, If I were to punch her right now, would she misinterpreted it as anything other than frustration? I assumed so and restrained myself.
“Ok, so I’m a little wrapped in my own problems. I’m trying to figure myself out here. My entire life has fallen apart; I’m alienating someone I love because I have no where to go and now you’re all over me like a rash.”
I moped a little and huddled into the corner of the kitchen that couldn't be seen from the lounge.
“There are limits Boswell.”
“How long have I got?” my softened voice echoed out of the kitchen.
She choked back a laugh. “I’d say a couple of weeks, tops.”
“And if I can’t get my shit together?”
“Then I’ll have no choice, I’ll have to kick your ass.”
Wednesday, July 07, 2004
TONE OF VOICE
My Oh My – David Gray.
It would be so easy to pretend like I understand myself – taking into consideration that I know that I’m confused and lost at the moment. I had always thought that I was pretty much in control of the image I was putting across.
From my experience everyone claims they have this basic understanding of themselves. But when you see yourself through someone else’s eyes you realise that the person you think you are is not what they are seeing.
I finally said something and it was surprising to discover that I haven’t been concealing my true feelings at all. In fact I’ve been pretty much broadcasting them. Unfortunately what I’ve been broadcasting hasn’t so much been how I’m feeling but rather my feeling’s bastard son.
Anger concealed is broadcast as contempt. Frustration concealed is arrogance. Loneliness concealed is bitterness. Helplessness broadcast comes across as coldness.
So now I’m wondering just how much really remains unsaid or if by not saying something I’m merely saying the wrong things.
In which case all of the transgressions I have been offended by, or rather I perceived, were largely the result of some distorted message I was sending when merely opening my mouth could have alleviated a lot of the stress and pressure.
It’s never been the comfortable for me to be honest about how I felt.
I simply believed I had to make it through this world on my own, that emotions were an unnecessary burden to bear.
For years I buried them, thinking it the best way to deal. Assuming it made me the strong one if I didn’t feel. It took until I was 27 to realise being cold and emotionless made me weak.
Not having the courage to be honest made me a coward.
I guess that’s why I’m here and not writing how I feel in a tiny book that I’ll hide under my bed.
But my words seem an inadequate vehicle for conveying my emotions. They come out wrong. What I say always seems to be the wrong tone, the wrong wording and more often than not at the wrong time.
So, will I ever be able to say what I really mean or rather will anyone be able to interpret my feeble attempts at honest communication?
I am trying.
My Oh My – David Gray.
It would be so easy to pretend like I understand myself – taking into consideration that I know that I’m confused and lost at the moment. I had always thought that I was pretty much in control of the image I was putting across.
From my experience everyone claims they have this basic understanding of themselves. But when you see yourself through someone else’s eyes you realise that the person you think you are is not what they are seeing.
I finally said something and it was surprising to discover that I haven’t been concealing my true feelings at all. In fact I’ve been pretty much broadcasting them. Unfortunately what I’ve been broadcasting hasn’t so much been how I’m feeling but rather my feeling’s bastard son.
Anger concealed is broadcast as contempt. Frustration concealed is arrogance. Loneliness concealed is bitterness. Helplessness broadcast comes across as coldness.
So now I’m wondering just how much really remains unsaid or if by not saying something I’m merely saying the wrong things.
In which case all of the transgressions I have been offended by, or rather I perceived, were largely the result of some distorted message I was sending when merely opening my mouth could have alleviated a lot of the stress and pressure.
It’s never been the comfortable for me to be honest about how I felt.
I simply believed I had to make it through this world on my own, that emotions were an unnecessary burden to bear.
For years I buried them, thinking it the best way to deal. Assuming it made me the strong one if I didn’t feel. It took until I was 27 to realise being cold and emotionless made me weak.
Not having the courage to be honest made me a coward.
I guess that’s why I’m here and not writing how I feel in a tiny book that I’ll hide under my bed.
But my words seem an inadequate vehicle for conveying my emotions. They come out wrong. What I say always seems to be the wrong tone, the wrong wording and more often than not at the wrong time.
So, will I ever be able to say what I really mean or rather will anyone be able to interpret my feeble attempts at honest communication?
I am trying.
Tuesday, July 06, 2004
DISTURBING SILENCE
Dimming of the Day – Richard and Linda Thompson
The insomnia is back.
I spent last night thinking about sleep. Lying with the madly confused sheets and pillows bundled around me. Watching the colours swirl inside my eyelids as I forced myself to keep my eyes closed for the three hours I lay there.
It should have been easy to collapse into a heap considering the stress and pressure I’m under but the things on my mind demanded attention. The things I didn’t say throughout the day haunted me like malevolent spirits.
And that’s where my problems largely lie. In the silence.
But even now I don’t know what I would say if I were given the chance just that I wanted to say something. Anything.
When that question ended, unresolved, I moved on. Of all the things I could have said, of all the transgressions and lies and frustration I was confronted with, which one to choose and which should I have let slip by?
I tossed and turned and finally at about 4am fell into a dreamless sleep.
Today was full of achievements. I had a great day at work. I am currently working with an amazing and inspiring woman. I was given the opportunity to write my first press release and work on a marketing campaign and it turned out pretty damn good.
Yet when I look back I don’t worry about all of the things I’ve said. I’m not someone who’s given to just blurting things out. Generally I tell jokes or make snide remarks that are misinterpreted or offensive but I have always prided myself on knowing when to keep my mouth shut.
I mean what I say.
That is when I say something.
Probably the most offensive thing I’ve experienced is when I am time and again treated as though I am unworthy of trust. And I wonder if I should have said something about that or are there more important battles to be fought? Is that so small a transgression that I should let it slide?
So I made my way through the day exhausted. Carrying myself as though I were wearing a wet duffle coat. Finding it hard at times to keep myself upright and not just collapse to the ground. The muscles in my neck and across my shoulders tightening until I was certain they would snap.
I wonder if the ghosts will return tonight or if I can have one night’s sleep where I’m not haunted by my silence.
Dimming of the Day – Richard and Linda Thompson
The insomnia is back.
I spent last night thinking about sleep. Lying with the madly confused sheets and pillows bundled around me. Watching the colours swirl inside my eyelids as I forced myself to keep my eyes closed for the three hours I lay there.
It should have been easy to collapse into a heap considering the stress and pressure I’m under but the things on my mind demanded attention. The things I didn’t say throughout the day haunted me like malevolent spirits.
And that’s where my problems largely lie. In the silence.
But even now I don’t know what I would say if I were given the chance just that I wanted to say something. Anything.
When that question ended, unresolved, I moved on. Of all the things I could have said, of all the transgressions and lies and frustration I was confronted with, which one to choose and which should I have let slip by?
I tossed and turned and finally at about 4am fell into a dreamless sleep.
Today was full of achievements. I had a great day at work. I am currently working with an amazing and inspiring woman. I was given the opportunity to write my first press release and work on a marketing campaign and it turned out pretty damn good.
Yet when I look back I don’t worry about all of the things I’ve said. I’m not someone who’s given to just blurting things out. Generally I tell jokes or make snide remarks that are misinterpreted or offensive but I have always prided myself on knowing when to keep my mouth shut.
I mean what I say.
That is when I say something.
Probably the most offensive thing I’ve experienced is when I am time and again treated as though I am unworthy of trust. And I wonder if I should have said something about that or are there more important battles to be fought? Is that so small a transgression that I should let it slide?
So I made my way through the day exhausted. Carrying myself as though I were wearing a wet duffle coat. Finding it hard at times to keep myself upright and not just collapse to the ground. The muscles in my neck and across my shoulders tightening until I was certain they would snap.
I wonder if the ghosts will return tonight or if I can have one night’s sleep where I’m not haunted by my silence.
Monday, July 05, 2004
EVENING STROLL
Sacred – Depeche Mode
I’ve had probably the best day for a couple of weeks.
Earlier this afternoon I acquired a new counsellor. She’s a bubbly and positive woman who smiles broadly. She’s quite a lot of the time and just listens.
“Trust me,” she smiled before I left. “It’s an exciting life you’re leading right now. Just go with it.” And I couldn’t help but smile. She’s right. All that has been going on shouldn’t be weighing me down. I can be and do anything right now. I have been frustrated and angry and generally lost and confused with so many things going on that I just haven’t been coping. But there’s nothing I can do. I have no control so I really need to let go a little.
On that note Trevor’s cousin called and asked about dropping around on Wednesday night. I needed to talk, to be distracted, and invited him around.
Together we walked the streets of Guildford. We spent an hour at the local pub bitching about the flat lemonade and watery diet coke. Scanning the pub’s crowd we laughed at the fact it was deserted bar for a few die-hard drinkers.
Then, as is often the way my life goes, as we left the bar we turned left instead of right and kept walking. We took the longest possible route home talking lightly about anything and everything along the way. And it was just nice. No tension, no stress, no ulterior motives.
Together, alone, we stopped all the pretence and showmanship and just had a relaxing evening.
I stood with him at his car for 15 minutes and the conversation grew soft.
“Look, that’s what I heard,” he looked at his feet. “Which is why I wanted to asked what you thought of me. Anyway, I’m not going to jump you. I may talk it big when I’m with the boys but really, I just think it’s nice doing this, hanging around. I really believe in getting to know someone before making any long-term judgements. I know many a good friendship ruined because of the rush to have sex.”
I didn’t respond. I was thinking and I wonder how he may have interpreted that. He stepped into his car and turned on the ignition.
“I’ll see you on Wednesday, ok?”
And I went all girly. “You know something. You’re much nicer out here, when you’re not trying to impress.”
He smiled and then pulled out, waving as he went.
Sacred – Depeche Mode
I’ve had probably the best day for a couple of weeks.
Earlier this afternoon I acquired a new counsellor. She’s a bubbly and positive woman who smiles broadly. She’s quite a lot of the time and just listens.
“Trust me,” she smiled before I left. “It’s an exciting life you’re leading right now. Just go with it.” And I couldn’t help but smile. She’s right. All that has been going on shouldn’t be weighing me down. I can be and do anything right now. I have been frustrated and angry and generally lost and confused with so many things going on that I just haven’t been coping. But there’s nothing I can do. I have no control so I really need to let go a little.
On that note Trevor’s cousin called and asked about dropping around on Wednesday night. I needed to talk, to be distracted, and invited him around.
Together we walked the streets of Guildford. We spent an hour at the local pub bitching about the flat lemonade and watery diet coke. Scanning the pub’s crowd we laughed at the fact it was deserted bar for a few die-hard drinkers.
Then, as is often the way my life goes, as we left the bar we turned left instead of right and kept walking. We took the longest possible route home talking lightly about anything and everything along the way. And it was just nice. No tension, no stress, no ulterior motives.
Together, alone, we stopped all the pretence and showmanship and just had a relaxing evening.
I stood with him at his car for 15 minutes and the conversation grew soft.
“Look, that’s what I heard,” he looked at his feet. “Which is why I wanted to asked what you thought of me. Anyway, I’m not going to jump you. I may talk it big when I’m with the boys but really, I just think it’s nice doing this, hanging around. I really believe in getting to know someone before making any long-term judgements. I know many a good friendship ruined because of the rush to have sex.”
I didn’t respond. I was thinking and I wonder how he may have interpreted that. He stepped into his car and turned on the ignition.
“I’ll see you on Wednesday, ok?”
And I went all girly. “You know something. You’re much nicer out here, when you’re not trying to impress.”
He smiled and then pulled out, waving as he went.
Saturday, July 03, 2004
HAPPY PLACE
Chills – Ben Lee
When it’s all too much I sneak from my bedroom early in the morning (or late at night however you want to look at it) and find my way to this large, seemingly abandoned, structure. Its windows are darkened and its door left slightly ajar allowing me to enter freely.
It’s warm in this space. It’s human. But there’s more to it and I walk the lengths of this half-lit room playing with what’s been left behind until I’m calmed and feeling whole again.
I can spend hours, when I have the time, skirting around this space and I come here because it reminds me of who I am. It reminds me of the person I’m trying to reclaim.
This collection of trinkets and memories reminds me how to feel.
When I first found this room I didn’t give it the attention it deserved. Instead I merely glanced around and left without a thought but the place clung to my clothes and I began to carry some of it with me through the day.
Its smell lingers in my hair. Its feel rattles through my brain and replaces my worries. Its ease loosens the muscles in the back of my neck.
I hope the owner doesn’t know I’m here but the doors I walk through creak and I’m sure my presence is felt in one way or another. I feel a little like an intruder but I mean no harm and try to leave everything where I found it.
Towards the back of this room the dust has settled on the long dark shelves and I hesitate to touch the ancient objects displayed so precisely. My concern is that they may be fragile, precious or that the stirring of the dust will make my presence felt.
Still, I can’t resist and eventually I’m rolling each item through my hands, feeling the coldness and the shape. Making the moment tangible. Trying in some way to connect with a time and place I have no personal experience of.
This room is an in-between world, a room in which time stands still and the dust can settle. It’s a place where I can think clearly.
Being here I am unravelling a puzzle, not prying into someone else’s life. I am trying to see myself in a slightly skewed mirror and trying to find a way through my own chaos.
And I’m grateful to the owner, whoever that may be, and I hope they don’t mind if I hide here from time to time.
Chills – Ben Lee
When it’s all too much I sneak from my bedroom early in the morning (or late at night however you want to look at it) and find my way to this large, seemingly abandoned, structure. Its windows are darkened and its door left slightly ajar allowing me to enter freely.
It’s warm in this space. It’s human. But there’s more to it and I walk the lengths of this half-lit room playing with what’s been left behind until I’m calmed and feeling whole again.
I can spend hours, when I have the time, skirting around this space and I come here because it reminds me of who I am. It reminds me of the person I’m trying to reclaim.
This collection of trinkets and memories reminds me how to feel.
When I first found this room I didn’t give it the attention it deserved. Instead I merely glanced around and left without a thought but the place clung to my clothes and I began to carry some of it with me through the day.
Its smell lingers in my hair. Its feel rattles through my brain and replaces my worries. Its ease loosens the muscles in the back of my neck.
I hope the owner doesn’t know I’m here but the doors I walk through creak and I’m sure my presence is felt in one way or another. I feel a little like an intruder but I mean no harm and try to leave everything where I found it.
Towards the back of this room the dust has settled on the long dark shelves and I hesitate to touch the ancient objects displayed so precisely. My concern is that they may be fragile, precious or that the stirring of the dust will make my presence felt.
Still, I can’t resist and eventually I’m rolling each item through my hands, feeling the coldness and the shape. Making the moment tangible. Trying in some way to connect with a time and place I have no personal experience of.
This room is an in-between world, a room in which time stands still and the dust can settle. It’s a place where I can think clearly.
Being here I am unravelling a puzzle, not prying into someone else’s life. I am trying to see myself in a slightly skewed mirror and trying to find a way through my own chaos.
And I’m grateful to the owner, whoever that may be, and I hope they don’t mind if I hide here from time to time.
Friday, July 02, 2004
RELATIVE DILEMMAS
Still Fighting It – Ben Folds Five
Christine leant over the balcony and looked at the street below. “So what did you blog about last night?”
I sipped quietly on my coffee wrapped in the nightmares I had last night. My dreams of flying and fire have given way to nightmares about having my fingers cut off and being given dirty shoes as a present.
It took a while to answer. “Nothing, I couldn’t be honest.”
She didn’t respond and I tried to find the thing she was looking at on the horizon.
“You’re having trouble with this, aren’t you?” She said without looking at me.
Yes. I’m having trouble and it seems so incredibly trivial. It looks as though Trevor’s cousin wants to ask me out but my love for Trevor makes it so difficult. I’ve been warned; I’ve been instructed on how to behave; I’ve been pushed in a direction I’m not particularly comfortable with.
“Kind of.”
“Why? This guy likes you. He thinks you’re amazing. I mean he couldn’t take his eyes off you all night.”
I’ve got nothing to add. I know this guy likes me. I know that he was watching me and I am ashamed to admit that I played to his attention. But when I’m in that mode I don’t like myself very much, I don’t like what I’m capable of just for a little validation. I’m also uncomfortable with the fact this guys attention is an intrusion on Trevor’s life. An intrusion he resents.
“So?” She asked after the elongated silence.
I don’t know. All my declarations about going with the flow have been thwarted by Trevor’s comments after his cousin left.
“All he needs is someone to love him and take care of him,” he’d said over drinks. I quickly departed the room, angry with myself.
I’m not capable of taking care of someone. Not right now. Right now I need someone who will take care of me. I know that’s selfish but I’m too exhausted to resurrect someone else’s shattered life.
“I don’t know,” I breathed into my coffee.
Christine patted me on the back. “You know, it’s not this hard. Be honest with yourself.”
Insert manic laughter from stress and strain here.
Still Fighting It – Ben Folds Five
Christine leant over the balcony and looked at the street below. “So what did you blog about last night?”
I sipped quietly on my coffee wrapped in the nightmares I had last night. My dreams of flying and fire have given way to nightmares about having my fingers cut off and being given dirty shoes as a present.
It took a while to answer. “Nothing, I couldn’t be honest.”
She didn’t respond and I tried to find the thing she was looking at on the horizon.
“You’re having trouble with this, aren’t you?” She said without looking at me.
Yes. I’m having trouble and it seems so incredibly trivial. It looks as though Trevor’s cousin wants to ask me out but my love for Trevor makes it so difficult. I’ve been warned; I’ve been instructed on how to behave; I’ve been pushed in a direction I’m not particularly comfortable with.
“Kind of.”
“Why? This guy likes you. He thinks you’re amazing. I mean he couldn’t take his eyes off you all night.”
I’ve got nothing to add. I know this guy likes me. I know that he was watching me and I am ashamed to admit that I played to his attention. But when I’m in that mode I don’t like myself very much, I don’t like what I’m capable of just for a little validation. I’m also uncomfortable with the fact this guys attention is an intrusion on Trevor’s life. An intrusion he resents.
“So?” She asked after the elongated silence.
I don’t know. All my declarations about going with the flow have been thwarted by Trevor’s comments after his cousin left.
“All he needs is someone to love him and take care of him,” he’d said over drinks. I quickly departed the room, angry with myself.
I’m not capable of taking care of someone. Not right now. Right now I need someone who will take care of me. I know that’s selfish but I’m too exhausted to resurrect someone else’s shattered life.
“I don’t know,” I breathed into my coffee.
Christine patted me on the back. “You know, it’s not this hard. Be honest with yourself.”
Insert manic laughter from stress and strain here.
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