WRECKAGE
Out of the Blue – Delta Goodram

Of late I've been irrational and emotional.

Last night tearing up over the fact Tom took the doona, leaving me with the two knotted single doonas and spending the night freezing to death.

I've gone to tears over the fact he put his breakfast bowl in the sink and not on the side of the sink where I prefer it (that desire is logical ? if the sink is full of stuff then how can you use it or fill it with water?).

A week ago I went silent and sullen because he gave his ex and the kids a lift to the shops so they didn't have to walk in the rain and I sooked about it for hours. Tearing up about how incredibly unfair it was of him to stress me on a day I had specifically asked that I be given a break from stress.

I started to tear up when the children asked if they could spend Christmas Eve with us because the idea of the kids wanting to be with us was so sweet.

I burst into tears at a stop lights over a Delta Goodram song (and this event was the most disturbing for me because I wasn't crying over how horrible it was but rather how it was so beautiful and meaningful). This event disturbed me the most.

To date I haven't flown into any rages, other than to growl at him in my sleep to stop moving because he was making the bed squeak.

I'm not the faintest bit aware as to why I'm doing this. Maybe it's hormones and I'm PMSing without mercy. Maybe I'm just pushing Tom away because it's all too perfect. Maybe all the stress and strain of a learning and new job and dealing with a new relationship has caught up with me. Maybe I'm frustrated because I don't feel as though I'm moving forward.

"Maybe you're pregnant." Tom got an evil glare and he smirked at my mock anger.

"Don't say that. It's not funny." And it's not funny. Being pregnant right now would be the worst possible thing. I mean it's very unlikely, right?

I'm using birth control and so is Tom but there is always a risk.

Maybe that's why I'm so emotional. Not that I am pregnant (although I'd need to take a test to make sure of that) but that I might be. I'll admit, I'm worried about the possibility.

I should get a pregnancy test and put my mind to rest. But then there's the fear of finding out that I am pregnant. So I don't get the test so I won't know but I still think about it and worry about it.

Is not knowing and worrying about the possibility any better than taking the test and risking finding out that I am pregnant?

It'll take two minutes to put my mind at ease.

I hate tests.

ROAD TRIP PART 3

During the drive two shining moments converted what had been thought of as a stressful encounter into a triumph.

First and foremost it was the fact she was a passenger in my car and with each bump and thud I knew that not only was she physically uncomfortable but that she was in my domain, on my turf. And I took full advantage of that by playing with the stereo and driving somewhat aggressively. Ignoring her at each turn. She and I knew that she was completely at my mercy. Indebted to me in a way for without me her life would have been a lot more difficult.

She probably didn’t see it that way, but with all the trappings of being a car owner I had this one, massive, advantage over her. She doesn’t drive and never has. She has no way of knowing what a real pleasure it was to be cutting my way through Sydney. I got my chance to drive the point home by commenting on how great the road was, hitting every street bump and squealing the tyres whenever I could.

It was intentional.

When Tom told me that it was more than likely we’d be driving them home I was sullen and upset. The idea of being trapped in a car with her for an hour had driven me to tears. But then I thought if it’s got to be then let it be on my terms and I’d offered to do the driving. Taking back control of the situation.

But it was Mr 10 who deserves the real recognition for making the night an enlightening experience. As the ex babbled about a lot of things, mucking around with the kids and playing at being super-mum, she tried to threaten him.

“If you don’t quieten down then I’ll leave you with Tom and Boswell.” She said sarcastically (and I’m ashamed to admit but my stomach churned a little at the thought). The 10-year-old suddenly paid attention to her. “You mean we can live with them? We can live with daddy and Boswell and we’d see you on weekends.” I don’t think she was expecting that. “What?” She stuttered. “Oh, sorry, we’d see you every second weekend.” His tone was so excited and so hopeful that it made me a little sad. To know this little boy was excited at the prospect of leaving his mother’s care. It also made me a little proud that he’d rather be with us but that wasn’t the point.

The ex spluttered. “Nah, I’d miss you too much.” She said. “You’ve been part of my life for too many years and I’d go crazy without you.”

Mr 10 was silent and seemed a little disappointed. “You know you say that having us around drives you crazy and now you’re saying that if you didn’t have us you’d go crazy.”

Then there was silence in the car and I knew that no matter what happened from then on I’d won some sort of imagined battle. All of her posturing there was one undeniable fact – her son would rather be with Tom and myself then with her.

There was no coming back from that.

But it concerned me. As horrible as it is to admit I have no desire to adopt Tom’s children. In fact, the idea of taking them on full-time is terrifying.

Maybe it’s a girl thing but the presence of those children, who I adore and wouldn’t treat as anything other than my own, is a constant reminder that they’re not.

Nb: My computer is officially a paper weight. It threw in the towel on Friday night.

ROAD TRIP PART 2

The drive itself was, as you’d expect, equal parts discomfort and oddness.

Tom’s ex appeared to be completely unaware that we weren’t friends.

She chatted endlessly about things neither Tom nor I cared to know. As thought it were part of a grand performance to show us that her life was so much better than ours, or rather than it really was.

I can still hear her grating voice echoing through my head. Each statement and not-so-subtle dig replaying on some sort of torturous loop tape.

"So what did you think of Karla (a mutual friend of Tom and his ex’s that he recently introduced me to). Karla and I have been friends for years. I can’t believe she was so worried about telling me that you two had gone there. I mean, we’ve been friends for years, I don’t mind who she wants to strike up a new friendship with."

"Why didn’t you go down George St (I took a wrong turn)? Wouldn’t it have been quicker down George? I mean, I don’t drive but I thought George St was the way to go."

On the mobile to her drop-kick, pot smoking, ex-bikie boyfriend. "Hi honey. Did you miss me? (To us) Isn’t that sweet he missed me. (To him) So we’re just driving through Sydney at the moment and we should be home in about 45 minutes. Oh, look, there’s a homeless person sleeping there. Isn’t that sad? No, I’m talking to you (she’s talking to the boyfriend) I mean you have to be sorry for people like that. (I turned on the radio because I couldn’t concentrate with her yammering). Look, I’ll call you when we’re about five minutes so you can turn on the kettle for me because I can’t hear you. Bye."

(Five minutes from home) "We’re about five minutes away. (To us) So are you two coming in for coffee? No? That’s right, Tom likes his sleep. (To drop-kick boyfriend) I think they have to go to work tomorrow or something. No, the kids are coming in so you’ll have to put all that stuff away (no doubt his pot tools of the trade). Bye. (To us) Isn’t that sweet, he’s putting on the kettle for me so that they’ll be coffee waiting when I walk in the door."

If only I could adequately convey the tone of voice. Right now I can hear it, grating on my nerves. The loud screech that is Tom’s ex. The more contact I have with her the less threatened I feel. We are two radically different people and I don’t doubt that there’s a very good reason Tom’s with me and no longer with her.

In fact, by the end of the trip I felt sorry for her. She was struggling to prove herself to us and that was never going to happen. The ex is no longer the enemy and she’s certainly isn’t a friend. All I can grant her is indifference.

"Is she always like that?" I asked Tom when she finally spilled from my car. "Nope, it’s a performance she puts on around other people." He sighed.

It was a late night and despite the fact we were staring down the barrel of only four hours sleep neither of us could settle.

"I can still hear her Tom," I whimpered after laying staring at the ceiling for half-an-hour.

"I know. It’s terrifying isn’t it?"

CITY TRIP

Tom stood in front of my car gesturing wildly. I, defiantly, ignored the gestures, refusing to even start the engine.

"Get in the car," I mouthed at him. He waved his arms, indicating I should go back and then forward and a little to my right. "Get… in… the… car…" I mouthed the words slowly.

He was twitchy. With his ex squashed into my tiny vehicle I could see the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. As he stood there his gestures took on a comic appearance and I couldn’t be angry that he was suggesting that I didn’t know how to drive. I knew full well that he was as eager to leave as I was.

Tom slid back into the car and apologised for his over-enthusiastic gesturing. I turned over the engine, pushing it into reverse.

Tom gestured again, telling me to turn my wheel in one direction. His arms flailing about so erratically he didn’t even notice that I wasn’t moving, that I was simply sitting there staring at him in amazement.

Eventually the gesturing stopped and Tom looked at me. He put his hands into his lap. "Sorry," he dropped his head and I couldn’t help but smile.

This was going to be a long trip and the delays in finding Ms 7 had already put us both on edge.
We had travelled into the city to see Ms 7 perform with her school dance troupe at the Sydney Opera House and we’d known in advance that we’d be hit up for a lift home. Sure enough, as soon as we walked in the door, the ex told her sad tale and it was fair enough. With two small children it was a little unreasonable to expect that she wouldn’t ask for a lift when the show finished at 11pm.

But after the show, which took all-together too long, the scene was one of chaos and confusion.
We had walked from one side of the Opera House to the other to find her school’s drop-off point. For some reason his ex had no idea where she was so we were forced to play a game of elimination – visiting each school’s drop off point until we narrowed it down to hers.

And there Ms 7 stood by the side of the road with a small group of children. As the ex stood and chatted with some parents Tom, Ms 7, Mr 10 and I headed towards the car.

"See, we’ve got the perfect family here. Let’s just keep going." Tom whispered. But eventually the Ex caught up with us and here we were on level 2 of the car park trying to make our way home.

Tom fidgeting with the parking ticket after his attempts to show my how to drive.

The massive mountain of a woman, his ex, blocking my rear-view and reminding me that clearly she’s in Tom’s past.

SICKNESS

I’ve been sick. The kind of sick that glues you to the bed, or rather to the toilet seat. The illness I could handle, missing work I couldn’t. I’d been looking forward to coming into the office and adding a few new toys of the menagerie I’ve been cultivating.

Still it wasn’t much of an option.

Answering the phones is difficult when you’re vomiting up to four times an hour. Not to mention some of the more unpleasant aspects of my condition that had me housebound – namely and inability to predict when I’d need to go to the bathroom.

Sunday night was precious, as I’d cup my hands in front of my mouth trying, ineffectively, to catch the vomit as I made a mad dash from bed to bathroom. After five such panicked rushes I decided it was best to move into the kids’ room where the bed is directly opposite the bathroom.
After a day and a half without food or water I began to hallucinate.

There were forms moving across the room. Small creatures that didn’t take form but were as elusive as smoke. They would hang in a corner, only to move moments later and be clustered together in the hall. Like a swarm of small insects darting back and forth across the roof of the room.

Some time after 1am and before 3am there were voices from the kitchen. I could hear them clearly as they discussed some strange topics for the wee hours of the morning. The pair, two distinct female voices, talked about shoes and the tread on their tyres. Oddly enough they talked about Tom and I using our pseudonyms rather than our real names.

The killer of the night that had me fixated for what felt like hours was the balloon.

Two days ago the balloon had made its home in the spare room, the room that when completed will be miss 7’s. A room that is a good five metres across a kitchen to the one I slept in. But there it was, a small black globe, hovering in the door next to my sick bed.

Despite the eerieness of it all I simply didn’t have time or the inclination to be scared. I just watched it hovering there silently. I imagined that it was conscious, sentient, and that it was watching me with the same sort of morbid fascination as I was watching it.

But then I’d simply had enough of its judgemental presence so I dragged myself from bed, kicking at the black object, and headed for the bathroom.

In my right state of mind the apparitions would have kept me up all night. And as the sun rose on Monday morning I thought a little about the night of running back and forth to the bathroom.

It’s all about focus. When you have something else on your mind then all of those little things that normally stop you in your tracks simply don’t seem that important.

Which made me think, it was probably the dehydration, but are we inventing our fears to keep our minds occupied? I mean, does there always have to be something?

On Sunday night I was sick. That was my something enough and all of those other something’s that bother me of a night were put away.

I’m not sick now, or rather I’m on the mend, but I’m wondering what it will be tonight that disturbs me. What excuse will I create to stare pointlessly at the roof?

Now that I know that I can simply bat them away will I want to?

I think I thrive on disturbance.

PATH CORRECTION

It's not so much déjà vu. It just is.

I'm sitting here and I've been here before. These windows, this computer desk and the voices flowing behind me are all strangely familiar. Not just the location because, obviously, I have been here before. It's more than that.

It's the kind of déjà vu I hold out for. I don't get that tingly sensation and I don't "zone out". I just know what's about to happen.

They'll be a phone ringing at the empty desk next to me. There it is.

The woman on the other side of me will say "No, I'm sorry but you can't do that." And there it is.

A plane... And there that is.

We're sitting comfortably on the 9th floor and it's all too familiar for me. I'm doing my finances, trying to figure out how more than $500 a week isn't enough to pay my bills and save a little. Then this happens.

This is certainty.

That's the thing about certainty, it makes all of your concerns and worries dissolve as if by magic. In one flash I have put away the figures and decided that, let's face it, life is going to happen whether I worry about it or not.

The problem with certainty is that it doesn't last that long.For this moment I am certain that my life is on track. I am absolutely confident that I am where I am supposed to be, even if it's not where Iwanted to be, which means that if I don't resist it will all work out fine.

However tomorrow is another story. My insecurities and doubts begin eating away at me until my certainty is corroded.But time and time again, certainty has a way of appearing when I need it most.

Generally it's some sort of sign or flashes of déjà vu that stop me in my tracks and force me to take notice just like this one.

I'm going to sit back andlet come what may.

INNOCENT BYSTANDERS
It’s the End of the World as We Know it - REM

I didn’t know who she was but in our short time together, trapped in the small steel box from the ground to the 10th floor, I knew more than I should.

"Hi. It’s Karen Lastname. I wanted to know when I’d receive the paper work for my DA."

Obviously she was building something. She didn’t specify what during our time together but I assumed it was something important from the impatience in her voice.

"What? What do you mean it hasn’t been approved. I spoke to Bob yesterday and he said it had the go ahead."

It didn’t sound as though she was talking to a council paper pusher. It sounded all too familiar, casual and laid back. There was only a hint of the business-like tone in her straining voice.

I shifted uneasily on the spot, all too aware that I was about to be the forced witness to a mobile confrontationa.

"That’s bullshit," she struggled not to yell. "That application was put in more than six weeks ago and now you’re giving me some crap about needing more information. I was already told that it was approved."

The doors slid open silently and I fixed my eyes on the in-between floor wondering if it would look odd to jump from what was becoming an uncomfortable situation. A woman waved us off. "Sorry, I’m going down." And the doors slid closed again, trapping me with the angry developer.

Silence filled the elevator cabin and for a moment I thought the call had ended but then she exploded.

"I don’t give a damn what they say. Tell them if they don’t get to it then I’m just going to start building and they can kiss my ass."

I cringed a little, wishing I could melt into the steel and glass surrounding me. Watching, with unnatural attention, as the numbers climbed. 6th floor, 7th floor, 8th floor.

"Fine. Fine. Call me back when that’s done."

She hung up the phone and slid it into her black handbag. I felt more uncomfortable than before.

Here I was, trapped with a woman whose business I knew and who knew that I knew her business.
9th floor.

"God, you wouldn’t think it could be that hard to simply file paperwork." She sighed, half talking to me and half to herself.

Then the doors slid open and she took big paces out of the elevator. I lagged behind, not wanting our paths to cross for the sheer discomfort of being the stranger who knew more than she wanted to.

I’m all for mobile phones but until today I’d never really considered their impact on the innocent bystander.

WORKING FOR THE MAN

Voices dance around this office lightly. It's a workplace but the environment is more like a café. The room is filled with sociable sounding conversations about finances, about work schedules and about relationships. There's laughter and smiles all around. I take my place at my new desk. A corner cubicle with half-walls so I am not completely shut-off from my co-workers.

The desk features two photo frames with pictures of Tom and the kids; a small McDonald's toy bought expressly for the purpose of decorating my desk and; a collection of notes and shortcuts to make my job easier. My back is to the office and instead I face the two corner windows. The slats are half-open and through them I can see my world. Parramatta.

I can see it's a crystal clear blue sky outside and the sun is shining happily. For the first time I'm not craving to be out there. It's just as warm and relaxed in here.

Yesterday, as a "newbie", they put me through my paces. The senior members, including my buddy, took extended lunch breaks and left us to handle the calls alone. I wasn't stressed. I knew that I'd been trained well and that when the time came I could call on this training. Besides, the workload was and we had the freedom to take our time.

Instead I'm writing and looking out the window while I wait for the phone to ring. For the past couple of weeks I've been studying the information they've provided to make our jobs a lot easier. Facts and figures outlining how they handle a member's future. Now I'm confident with what I know and I'm giving my brain a little room to move beyond the confines of high finance.

A dark haze hangs on the horizon and I know that it's the pollution of a decaying world but in this frame of mind I just don't care.

As I am effortlessly dropped to the ground in the large silver elevator my co-workers talk about their shifts and how the office dynamics are changing. They talk lightly of their weekend plans and while I'm not involved, yet, I'm interested enough to listen to their plans. There's not a dark word spoken about their employer during the entire trip. It's a rare, rare place where the workers are happy enough with their jobs not to use toilets and elevators to vent their frustration.

So after three weeks I know two things about my workplace as a fact.Firstly, I love the people here. They're friendly and funny and diverse enough to keep me enthralled. Secondly, I want this job. There are five positions available and the chances of making this permanent are slim.

Still, I'm hopeful this could become my full-time workplace home.

IN MY FAVOR

"I'm going to ask my cell group to pray for you tonight."

My buddy for the past two weeks has been a vivacious 21-year-old named Beth and as part of the induction into the new company I'll be working for over the next two months we were linked at the head. The call-centre's thick black cable allowing her to listen into my conversations and ensure that I was following protocol. Surprisingly I've been enjoying the process.

This particular position has been a big learning experience. Not only the job itself which is proving an interesting challenge, but the amazing diversity of people who surround me. My buddy is a Christian and while I don't subscribe to her particularbeliefs I respect that it's something she holds onto dearly.

I respect and understand that that's her faith and I won't dismiss her as irrational just because I don't share that faith.

"Thank you, I appreciate that."

She smiled and then furrowed her brow. "You know that you're the first person to say that. Most people tell me not to bother or dismiss it as mumbo jumbo."

I can understand that. Once upon a time I would have dismissed it myself but I'm not as close-minded as I once was. Actually, that's not fair, just because you disagree doesn't make you close-minded.

Perhaps I'm simply more relaxed about the meaning of life. Accepting that there are no absolutes and that there's no single truth has taken a lot of weight from my shoulders. Since I've accepted these ideas I've realised that I can accept anything.

A man who believes in nothing with fall for anything.

This saying has always bothered me but not so much any more. It's just another belief and it only has meaning for the person who believes it.

"In all honesty, I think there's a lot of power in prayer. There's got to be something good in so many people coming together with focused good intentions."

And it's true, I do believe that focus of good will can have

My buddy smiled and thanked me but I don't know why. One's man's hard work and dedication is another man's comfortable way of life. I mean, think about all of the similarities and stop focusing on the differences and you'd be surprised how simple life is.

It's all the same just with different names.

BUSY BUSY
Philosophy – Ben Folds

It’s not Tom’s fault I haven’t been writing.

“Come on Boswell, don’t you have something else you should be doing?”

I’ve been so stressed over the past two weeks that everything is sliding. Everything. I can’t write, I can’t think and I can’t seem to stop the muscles in my back and neck from spasming. My hands are heavy on the keys and uncooperative.

To relieve the stress I’ve been wrapped in the world of Age of Empire. For some reason this game has me completely hooked and three hours can pass before I have even noticed.

So it’s off to work at 7am get home at 4.30pm and then play for an hour or two. Dinner’s cooked and suddenly it’s 7.30pm. Tom’s playing the game for a while and then at about 9.30pm we’re in bed and well on our way to sleep.

I just can’t write. There’s nothing to tell. I’ve lost my ability to see the world as I once did. Maybe it’ll come back soon but until then I feel as though I’m an empty glass.

There’s nothing in here that can’t be found somewhere else.

My diverse and exciting new job just doesn’t fill me with the awe that it would have six months ago. This is no longer a study of humanity.

Suddenly I’m part of it.

If you had asked me six months ago where I would be I would have told you – I am a successful journalist who, while sadly lacking a social life, is completely fulfilled by the vital role I play in ensuring society is given enough facts to make an educated decision.

Now the answer is completely different. Now I am a woman who’s madly in love and spending her weekends with a bustling social life. I’ve lost all drive to educate a society that doesn’t want to know the truth but is quite content to cling to it’s own beliefs regardless of the facts.

Now I simply want to cling to my own beliefs and remain oblivious to the contradictory “truths” society lives by.

Friday night Trevor’s for dinner. Saturday lunch with Michael and Milo. Saturday night it’s drinks with Christine. Today it was family obligations with Tom and I visiting my parents.

Tomorrow Tom and I are taking time for ourselves with a quite lunch somewhere.

“Boswell,” Tom hovers in the doorway. “Are you writing?”

I nod, wrapped in the words that are spilling onto the page. Wondering if it isn’t all coming back to me. Yes I’ve been busy but that’s no excuse. If I’m going to avoid losing my writing again and becoming that hollow void dressed in a suit then I have to persist.

Still, I need a little time for myself. So I’m taking a couple of days off. Just a few. After all if you’re going to write then something has to happen that’s worth writing about.

So when I return I’ll have tales to tell or at the very least I’ll have the feeling back in my hands.