THE FUTURE
The Future - Prince
2004 is almost over and I have to admit I’ll be sorry to see it go.
This year has been good to me and I’ve got no complaints.
I’ve been through hell. I’ve had good fortune drop into my lap and lived the high life for a while. I’ve seen that all slip away and fallen into a darkness I didn’t think I’d escape.
And then I’ve seen the light. Shed the old me and found something much more fascinating.
So here I am on the cusp of a new year and I haven’t got the faintest idea what lies ahead. Right now I’m looking at the married life, I’m considering buying a house in the suburbs and having children. I’m expecting the next 12 months to be one hell of a ride.
Oddly enough with the idea of a husband and kids I’m feeling less trapped then when I had a career. Getting married doesn’t mean I have to give up who I am and it doesn’t mean that I’m stuck. For the past seven months I’ve been freer than I was when I was a career journalist.
I’ve decided to sell the unit – the last trapping of my single life. I’m selling it because I no longer need tangible proof of security. I’m selling it because I now understand that I don’t want to be holding on to things just so I feel normal. Above all I don’t need to be stressing and straining over my finances just so I can be hold on to something that I don’t really need. You could say I've outgrown it.
2005 is going to be a clean slate which sounds kind of boring. How about 2005 – the adventure begins.
Whatever you call it, tonight I’ll be drinking a toast to good friends who have stood by me through the darkest days of my life and to my new love who has opened my eyes.
And I’ll have a couple of drinks for Boswell and tOOleS too, because they’ve given me the voice I lost long ago.
Considering all I've been through in the last 12 months I have every reason in the world to celebrate 2004.
Cheers....
Friday, December 31, 2004
Thursday, December 30, 2004
SO MUCH TO DO
Two weeks ago, back when I couldn’t tell you, the hunt for a reception venue began….
When we first walked into the room it was daunting. The old federation-style house had been gutted of all rooms and while from the outside it looked like nothing more than you’re average turn of the century home, inside it was gutted and stuffed with shiny white tables and chairs.
Tom and I sat quietly on the massive sofa and waited for our "consultant", fearful that if we were to say a word it would echo through the cavernous home.
"Hi, I’m Victoria," the bubbly woman bounced into the room, her arms overflowing with photo albums and brochures about the amazing wedding packages they had to offer. She dropped the bundle on the table in front of us and then offered a tour of the facilities.
"This is the bridal room. You can use it to get ready for the ceremony and just to hang out when you need a break from the party."
The room was small but comfortable. Each wall adorned with some scenic landscape and three fluffy chairs filled the room.
"This is the main hall. As you can see all the tables have candles and each chair has it’s own cover and sash. The sashes come in white, gold or silver."
I circled the tables and imagined them filled with people. I tried to imagine my family seated around the candles and eating their meals as they celebrated my wedding. I imagined myself sitting next to Tom at the bridal table.
What was odd about this room was that I could see it all. No effort required. This was where I belonged.
"Oh, we’ve got a wedding in a couple of hours so it’s too busy to show you the kitchen," from behind the door I could hear the bang and clatter of a kitchen running on full steam. A short, ethnic woman pushed her way through the doors. In each hand a small plate and on those plates a pacel of pastry.
"Here, have these," she said proudly as she placed them on the table in front of us. I was struck by her casualness and the way in which our guide stood back and allowed her to take over the conversation.
Tom and I ate slowly. The entrée, we were told, was a spinach and cheese concoction and it took us more than 15 minutes to finally polish the plates. As we ate various staff members began appearing out of the woodwork. Finally, our MC if we take the venue, offered us a drink and chatted about how much he loved his job.
We were impressed.
As we flicked through the photo albums the dimunative kitchen woman reappeared carrying a chocolate mousse in a large glass with a hand sized chocolate heart sticking out of the top. Tom and I revelled in its velvety goodness.
Finally the time came to leave and I was eager to get moving. After only and entrée and dessert both Tom and I were bloated.
"Well, do you love us?" Victoria smiled. And yes, we loved them. Walking out of the door Victoria handed us a bottle of white wine and we thanked her several times before finally climbing into the car to escape.
This place was beautiful, but the hunt has only begun and it’s too soon to be choosing the venue without first considering our options.
Two weeks ago, back when I couldn’t tell you, the hunt for a reception venue began….
When we first walked into the room it was daunting. The old federation-style house had been gutted of all rooms and while from the outside it looked like nothing more than you’re average turn of the century home, inside it was gutted and stuffed with shiny white tables and chairs.
Tom and I sat quietly on the massive sofa and waited for our "consultant", fearful that if we were to say a word it would echo through the cavernous home.
"Hi, I’m Victoria," the bubbly woman bounced into the room, her arms overflowing with photo albums and brochures about the amazing wedding packages they had to offer. She dropped the bundle on the table in front of us and then offered a tour of the facilities.
"This is the bridal room. You can use it to get ready for the ceremony and just to hang out when you need a break from the party."
The room was small but comfortable. Each wall adorned with some scenic landscape and three fluffy chairs filled the room.
"This is the main hall. As you can see all the tables have candles and each chair has it’s own cover and sash. The sashes come in white, gold or silver."
I circled the tables and imagined them filled with people. I tried to imagine my family seated around the candles and eating their meals as they celebrated my wedding. I imagined myself sitting next to Tom at the bridal table.
What was odd about this room was that I could see it all. No effort required. This was where I belonged.
"Oh, we’ve got a wedding in a couple of hours so it’s too busy to show you the kitchen," from behind the door I could hear the bang and clatter of a kitchen running on full steam. A short, ethnic woman pushed her way through the doors. In each hand a small plate and on those plates a pacel of pastry.
"Here, have these," she said proudly as she placed them on the table in front of us. I was struck by her casualness and the way in which our guide stood back and allowed her to take over the conversation.
Tom and I ate slowly. The entrée, we were told, was a spinach and cheese concoction and it took us more than 15 minutes to finally polish the plates. As we ate various staff members began appearing out of the woodwork. Finally, our MC if we take the venue, offered us a drink and chatted about how much he loved his job.
We were impressed.
As we flicked through the photo albums the dimunative kitchen woman reappeared carrying a chocolate mousse in a large glass with a hand sized chocolate heart sticking out of the top. Tom and I revelled in its velvety goodness.
Finally the time came to leave and I was eager to get moving. After only and entrée and dessert both Tom and I were bloated.
"Well, do you love us?" Victoria smiled. And yes, we loved them. Walking out of the door Victoria handed us a bottle of white wine and we thanked her several times before finally climbing into the car to escape.
This place was beautiful, but the hunt has only begun and it’s too soon to be choosing the venue without first considering our options.
Wednesday, December 29, 2004
THE DAY
I’m late, I know, but by now you should be aware that even the best laid plans go astray.
Christmas day was a rush. The kids woke at 6am to tear apart the presents from Santa. At 9am we made a mad rush to Tom’s mum’s place where the kids tore through their new toys. Then at 10am we dropped them at their mother’s and heading West.
Tom talked about cars for the entire hour drive, pointing out paint jobs and exhaust systems. We didn’t talk about our destination. Neither of us had the stomach to face our anxieties.
It was The Day. The day that he would sit down with my father and ask That Question.
Unfortunately there would be no sitting down, instead my father refused to remain in the one room and Tom was forced to chase him around. Finally he had him cornered.
"I’d like to ask permission to marry your daughter." I could hear Tom’s voice shaking and that he was rushing to get the words out. "Well that’s pretty much up to her, isn’t it?" he huffed back and then rushed off to deliver the food and presents to my sister-in-laws.
I was so angry that I couldn’t speak. The story, I heard later, was that Tom has just chosen a particularly bad time to deliver the question because Dad and Mum had been fighting all morning and when we arrived they were almost an hour late.
Dad left mum to take a ride with us and there she sat on the back verandah blubbering, again while I spent the time packing the car and trying to burn up my anger through manual labour.
Nothing's ever going to change in the family home. Dad will alway be more interested in being on time than making time for his children and mum will always make everything that happens to everyone about her.
"Every Christmas," I hissed. "You’ve got to do this every Christmas. I’ve had it. This is the last time." And it is. Next year I refuse to spend any time with my parents alone - it's group functions or nother.
With my car packed Tom and I were silent. The car ride felt more like a funeral run then a Christmas get-together.
Neither Tom nor I had the energy to tell anyone that we were engaged. We were both stunned into silence. But I know what I would have liked to say to my father....
"I can't believe you did that. I can't believe you were so incredibly rude to Tom when all he wanted to do was the right thing. He'd been talking about it for a month, he wouldn't let me tell a soul that we were engage until he had your blessing and then you just fobbed him off. I can't believe how incredibly selfish you can be. This was important to me. Incredibly important and all you cared about was how you felt. Well fine, I hope you're happy with your principles because you've lost me."
And mum,
"Suck it up."
It’s funny. Yes you can celebrate. No you can get angry over.
But there’s no forgiving indifference.
I don’t think my relationship with my father will ever be the same. I don’t know that I can ever forget that the cold meat and presents were more important to him then I was.
I’m late, I know, but by now you should be aware that even the best laid plans go astray.
Christmas day was a rush. The kids woke at 6am to tear apart the presents from Santa. At 9am we made a mad rush to Tom’s mum’s place where the kids tore through their new toys. Then at 10am we dropped them at their mother’s and heading West.
Tom talked about cars for the entire hour drive, pointing out paint jobs and exhaust systems. We didn’t talk about our destination. Neither of us had the stomach to face our anxieties.
It was The Day. The day that he would sit down with my father and ask That Question.
Unfortunately there would be no sitting down, instead my father refused to remain in the one room and Tom was forced to chase him around. Finally he had him cornered.
"I’d like to ask permission to marry your daughter." I could hear Tom’s voice shaking and that he was rushing to get the words out. "Well that’s pretty much up to her, isn’t it?" he huffed back and then rushed off to deliver the food and presents to my sister-in-laws.
I was so angry that I couldn’t speak. The story, I heard later, was that Tom has just chosen a particularly bad time to deliver the question because Dad and Mum had been fighting all morning and when we arrived they were almost an hour late.
Dad left mum to take a ride with us and there she sat on the back verandah blubbering, again while I spent the time packing the car and trying to burn up my anger through manual labour.
Nothing's ever going to change in the family home. Dad will alway be more interested in being on time than making time for his children and mum will always make everything that happens to everyone about her.
"Every Christmas," I hissed. "You’ve got to do this every Christmas. I’ve had it. This is the last time." And it is. Next year I refuse to spend any time with my parents alone - it's group functions or nother.
With my car packed Tom and I were silent. The car ride felt more like a funeral run then a Christmas get-together.
Neither Tom nor I had the energy to tell anyone that we were engaged. We were both stunned into silence. But I know what I would have liked to say to my father....
"I can't believe you did that. I can't believe you were so incredibly rude to Tom when all he wanted to do was the right thing. He'd been talking about it for a month, he wouldn't let me tell a soul that we were engage until he had your blessing and then you just fobbed him off. I can't believe how incredibly selfish you can be. This was important to me. Incredibly important and all you cared about was how you felt. Well fine, I hope you're happy with your principles because you've lost me."
And mum,
"Suck it up."
It’s funny. Yes you can celebrate. No you can get angry over.
But there’s no forgiving indifference.
I don’t think my relationship with my father will ever be the same. I don’t know that I can ever forget that the cold meat and presents were more important to him then I was.
Monday, December 20, 2004
FOUR DAYS
This wasn’t the plan. You know that.
Ms 7 leans against me as I’m sitting on the red tartan blanket. Her bony little arms bighting into my thigh as we try to find a comfortable position watching the Carols by the Cauldron at Telstra Park. She takes my hand and loops my arm around her so that I’m cuddling her.
Mr 10 and Tom finally find their way back to the blanket and Tom hands me a pitifully weak coffee but it’s probably the best coffee I’ve had in months. The pair sit down beside us – Tom reclines and Mr 10 uses his stomach as a pillow.
Then it happens and I’m annoyed. Mr 10 and Ms 7 have to go to the toilet and for some reason I’m standing up, holding their hands and sprinting across the path. I’m annoyed because I was enjoying myself, I’m annoyed because the toilets closest to us are locked and we’re now weaving our way through the crowd. I’m holding on to the hands of two little children when I should be sitting on the blanket with Tom, waving my candle and singing Silent Night.
Finally we reach the toilet and I choose the disabled one because the idea of something evil lurking in the boys’ toilet where Mr 10 would have to go unattended was completely unappealing.
As they take their turn in the bathroom I’m given a few moments with each child alone and I’m no longer annoyed.
Mr 10 is hopping from one foot to the other because Santa’s about to arrive and he doesn’t want to miss it. Ms 7, as always, is eyeing off the food stalls and asking about the possibility of icecream.
Finally they’re done and we’re holding hands again. Ms 7 swings my arm and Mr 10 shuffles impatiently. Their difference in speed throws me out of kilter.
Their familiarity makes me smile.
They’re family.
The weekend hadn’t started out the best. The ex went off her nut when told that we couldn’t pick up the kids until later on Christmas night and the pent up anger created a heated silence in the car. But that didn’t seem so important now.
Now we were walking back towards out red tartan blanket on the grass just in front of the stage to join Tom.
And then Santa arrived and my little family was swept away by the magic of it all.
This wasn’t the plan. You know that.
Ms 7 leans against me as I’m sitting on the red tartan blanket. Her bony little arms bighting into my thigh as we try to find a comfortable position watching the Carols by the Cauldron at Telstra Park. She takes my hand and loops my arm around her so that I’m cuddling her.
Mr 10 and Tom finally find their way back to the blanket and Tom hands me a pitifully weak coffee but it’s probably the best coffee I’ve had in months. The pair sit down beside us – Tom reclines and Mr 10 uses his stomach as a pillow.
Then it happens and I’m annoyed. Mr 10 and Ms 7 have to go to the toilet and for some reason I’m standing up, holding their hands and sprinting across the path. I’m annoyed because I was enjoying myself, I’m annoyed because the toilets closest to us are locked and we’re now weaving our way through the crowd. I’m holding on to the hands of two little children when I should be sitting on the blanket with Tom, waving my candle and singing Silent Night.
Finally we reach the toilet and I choose the disabled one because the idea of something evil lurking in the boys’ toilet where Mr 10 would have to go unattended was completely unappealing.
As they take their turn in the bathroom I’m given a few moments with each child alone and I’m no longer annoyed.
Mr 10 is hopping from one foot to the other because Santa’s about to arrive and he doesn’t want to miss it. Ms 7, as always, is eyeing off the food stalls and asking about the possibility of icecream.
Finally they’re done and we’re holding hands again. Ms 7 swings my arm and Mr 10 shuffles impatiently. Their difference in speed throws me out of kilter.
Their familiarity makes me smile.
They’re family.
The weekend hadn’t started out the best. The ex went off her nut when told that we couldn’t pick up the kids until later on Christmas night and the pent up anger created a heated silence in the car. But that didn’t seem so important now.
Now we were walking back towards out red tartan blanket on the grass just in front of the stage to join Tom.
And then Santa arrived and my little family was swept away by the magic of it all.
Tuesday, December 14, 2004
FAMILY
I’m walking to the car and there they are with their back towards me.
Tom’s up against a pillar and leaning on the railing, Ms 7 beside him and Mr 10 beside her. There’s a shuffle in ranking and Mr 10, who’s spending his time in Tom’s shadow, pushes Ms 7 out of the way so he can stand beside his father.
At this moment this is my family and I couldn’t be happier.
But it doesn’t last long. These are not my kids and there’s always something that crops up to remind me.
"Mummy lets me stay up until 10 on holidays," Ms 7 volunteers from the back seat. I can’t help but frown and fight the urge to tell her that her mother is an irresponsible cow.
"Mummy broke my gun because I didn’t put my shoes away and she was angry," Mr 10 wimpers. I want to tell him that I’d be happy to smack his mother down if he asked.
It seems to be a reoccuring theme that I just can’t get control of. Everything will be perfect. The kids and I will be having a blast and then all of a sudden I realise they’re not my kids and no matter what I do they are under the influence of someone I wouldn’t trust to take care of a dog.
I hate myself at times and for the past week the beast has been crawling up my spine. I’m angry because these children have invaded my life and I didn’t get a say in the matter. I’m angry because Tom doesn’t seem to realise that if I’m not given a little space to breath then I slip into this self-contained world to avoid the pressure. I’m depressed because I haven’t been able to find a moment alone with Tom, let alone a moment alone for myself.
"Boswell?" Ms 7 spins around and spots me walking towards them. "We missed you," she squeals. And my hand’s held and I’m led to the car.
It’s so difficult keeping up my two half-lives and the beast seems to be thriving in the gulf growing between them.
I’m walking to the car and there they are with their back towards me.
Tom’s up against a pillar and leaning on the railing, Ms 7 beside him and Mr 10 beside her. There’s a shuffle in ranking and Mr 10, who’s spending his time in Tom’s shadow, pushes Ms 7 out of the way so he can stand beside his father.
At this moment this is my family and I couldn’t be happier.
But it doesn’t last long. These are not my kids and there’s always something that crops up to remind me.
"Mummy lets me stay up until 10 on holidays," Ms 7 volunteers from the back seat. I can’t help but frown and fight the urge to tell her that her mother is an irresponsible cow.
"Mummy broke my gun because I didn’t put my shoes away and she was angry," Mr 10 wimpers. I want to tell him that I’d be happy to smack his mother down if he asked.
It seems to be a reoccuring theme that I just can’t get control of. Everything will be perfect. The kids and I will be having a blast and then all of a sudden I realise they’re not my kids and no matter what I do they are under the influence of someone I wouldn’t trust to take care of a dog.
I hate myself at times and for the past week the beast has been crawling up my spine. I’m angry because these children have invaded my life and I didn’t get a say in the matter. I’m angry because Tom doesn’t seem to realise that if I’m not given a little space to breath then I slip into this self-contained world to avoid the pressure. I’m depressed because I haven’t been able to find a moment alone with Tom, let alone a moment alone for myself.
"Boswell?" Ms 7 spins around and spots me walking towards them. "We missed you," she squeals. And my hand’s held and I’m led to the car.
It’s so difficult keeping up my two half-lives and the beast seems to be thriving in the gulf growing between them.
Wednesday, December 08, 2004
MATRIX
this isn't real.
this is some sort of fantasy.
i've a man waiting at home.
two part time children.
this isn't my life.
it can't be real.
six months have passed
and here i am
it's too strange for words.
this isn't real.
this is some sort of fantasy.
i've a man waiting at home.
two part time children.
this isn't my life.
it can't be real.
six months have passed
and here i am
it's too strange for words.
Friday, December 03, 2004
AN ANNOUNCEMENT
Whenever I Say Your Name - Sting
I have an announcement to make.
But not today.
There's someone else I have to tell before I can say it here and that could be tricky. They're away for the next week, or perhaps two, so basically I'm having to keep this massive statement to myself.
It's rolling around in my head and I'd give anything to come out and say it, to make it real.
For now though, it's something I have to keep to myself.
Whenever I Say Your Name - Sting
I have an announcement to make.
But not today.
There's someone else I have to tell before I can say it here and that could be tricky. They're away for the next week, or perhaps two, so basically I'm having to keep this massive statement to myself.
It's rolling around in my head and I'd give anything to come out and say it, to make it real.
For now though, it's something I have to keep to myself.
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