Obama-vox’s Neighborhood

i never thought of myself as secretive. but i suppose that there is quite a bit of myself, my life, my thoughts that i rarely, if ever, talk about. on the other hand, all the stuff that i'm reluctant to verbalise will usually end up on paper at some point. i'm not sure what makes the stories different when they are written. but they are. quite often it is more difficult to write than speak. it is harder to lie on paper, harder to obfuscate, impossible to increase the speed or lower the volume. i still hide in ambiguity and generalisations. but if i'm thinking it, inevitably i'll be writing it. i forget sometimes that people, who know me or not, read this. it just doesn't seem important to the act of writing whether or not it will ever be read. so many journals sit on my bookshelves filled with scribblings not dissimilar to my musings in here. they aren't secret. i've never felt the desire to prohibit intrusion into my writing. nor have i ever made any effort to share. actually, i have probably made a mild effort not to share. is not sharing and hiding the same thing? maybe. i've never been much good at sharing anything really. not my toys, my thoughts, my life, my feelings... must be the only- child in me!

weird though. there have been moments when i've poured out intimate stories to complete strangers and yet kept banal but important tales from close friends. i've never understood that impulse in me. it has something to do with travel. in random places or on dull journeys i'm inclined to talk about anything and everything. there was once a man on a train who i sat beside for many thousands of kilometers who knows more about my deepest desires than anyone else alive. i talked and listened as hours and hours rolled by. know all about him too... all bar his name. we skipped the intro and conclusion but covered just about everything in between. everything we could remember anyway. i'm sure that for every memory i can recall there are twice as many forgotten or ignored. the facts retained intrigue me. why those particular details of a haphazard encounter have stayed with me. i still remember the story of how he lost his virginity, how much he feared he would make a poor father, that his first bicycle and then his first car were both yellow and that the only movie he had ever cried in was "Fried Green Tomatoes". are those details about a person's life important? or is it more important that i recognise his face and be able to recite his name?

that was all a very long time ago. oddly i don't think i've really changed all that much. my whole life i bounce through different phases of me. onetime confident and outgoing, next introspective and insecure. solitary then social. passionate then plain and dull. still the same old me. alternately more or less enthusiastic about the world around me. while some crave love and approval i mostly just like to be left alone to be myself. i've never really understood what it is to feel lonely. keeping my own company has never been an intrusion. to be loved but not need love. it is the needy who always want more than they have. maybe because they have none, give none, believe everything but understand nothing. i've always felt pretty content with what i have wherever my life has been at. i bitch and complain. get angry and frustrated. wallow in sadness and grief. but these are all moments not perpetual states of being. and for each of those moments there are opposing instances where i feel amazingly blessed. the impromptu arrival of a bunch of flowers. a compliment that is sincere and true. the spark of friendship ignited. when help given is gratefully recieved. the sound of a champagne cork popping and the subsequent chink of cheap glasses touching. listening to the organ as sun shines through stained glass.

anyway, i should be asleep right now. i feel shitty and sick. my toes are cold because i'm too lazy to get up and retrive my ugg boots from the bathroom where i left them when i was running late for work last night. all this contemplation is intruding on the very important routine of daily life. thinking can really be the most annoying habit. it is sure to be a massive weekend at work. my lifestyle at the moment is most accurately defined as that of a binger. (is that a word?) i binge work, binge sleep, binge excercise, binge socialise... and then repeat the whole cycle all over again. maybe not the healthiest way to live but... well c'est la vie. at least everything pretty much balances out au fin du compte. i did the sleeping last weekend, the working is currently mid phase, there is a little bit of binge drinking to be done soonish, currently addicted to white choc kitkats which contributes slightly (complemented by the cakes and donuts from work and a KFC fetish at the moment) to the eating binge... excercise - well haven't had a bout of that in a while but i still have my membership at the pool as a memento of that little phase. i even watch tv in binge sessions. i'll buy an entire tv series and watch it then not turn the tv on again for another month or two. i wonder what this says about me. don't plan on delving too deeply into that. not sure i'd be too impressed with the answers i'd find. my eyes are itching and my nose is running. drugs would help but i'm reluctant to swap pjs for street clothes to hunt some down. plus if i make the effort to go all the way to the pharmacy i may as well keep my doctors appointment to. i was gonna wag that particular rendezvous. i hate visiting the doc. i hate being sick too. the battle of fears. this war will be won by the side that lets me snuggle under my doona i think. not such a complex gal after all.       

i found a quilt that i began stitching together many, many years ago. it was folded up very neatly and hidden in the side pocket of an old suitcase. i remember when i began to sew it. a gift for a child that was never born. i've picked up the pieces a few times since... added bits and bobs. i sew by hand. mostly when i get sick i find the quilt to be something of a comfort. so i've started sewing it together again. went out and bought some more mish mash bits of fabric. i will finish it this time around. and maybe i'll keep it. don't think i could part with the memories after all this time. plus, it will always be tinged with a touch of sadness. the tragedy of a life that was never meant to be. it wouldn't feel right to send that sadness on as a gift. not that the reciever need ever know the story... but i would know and that is enough. so much time, so many stitches, so many memories, so very sad. i wonder if my teardrops left a stain. it's interesting how bits of cloth can mean so much. 

Quilt

there is always more to it. it's meant to be just sex. no entanglements, no emotions, no relationship. is it really possible to have relations without developing some kind of relationship? no. there will always be more to it. not much more. definitely not love. but you know him. maybe you can't answer all the big questions about his life: his mother's name, his first crush, his favourite ice-cream or who he voted for. it's not always the big questions that mean the most. the tiny details that combine to define our lives. his address. he drinks wine. his radio is tuned to a country station. his sheets are heavy and expensive. he wears briefs not boxers. his closet is tidy. his shoes aren't that clean. he always answers his mother's phone calls. he sometimes murmurs fearfully in his sleep. he's not looking for a relationship... but then he says 'please stay'. no strings. not even just friends. strangers who slept together again and again and then... then it became a relationship and that was the end. 

i don't want to be involved. i don't want to be part of something. i don't want to be loved by someone i don't love in return. of course all of these things are not really avoidable. they happen. without will or encouragement. involvement is an innocuous consequense of living. only upon breaking the ties do i realise how entangled lives can become without any effort at all. maybe it could have been love. it should have just been sex. short, sweet and simple. just three letters. have to watch out for those singe syllable words.

sex without love. easily attainable. sex without any emotional involvement at all. once, sure. twice, maybe. then... personalities emerge, friendship, relationship, expectation... by design it is not supposed to be simple. but for the moment the simple life is what i'd hope for. a + b = c. logical next step celibacy? not an appealing solution to the question i hadn't dared fully ask. maybe there isn't an answer. maybe the process of muddling through the choices and experiences isn't something that needs resolution. the romantic in me believes that love is the answer. but i know that sometimes love just adds to the confusion. if i'd loved him i probably would've ended it sooner. if i'd liked him i probably would've been kinder. if only we could have confined the relationship to that nice little three letter word... 

I am testing the new application for posting to various blogs (including Vox) from an iPhone.  Provided by Typepad as a web application called Blog It.

sick, sore, miserable, grumpy... so over it. i've had a horrid virus or something for the past few days which i thought would have passed by now so i might get at least a little enjoyment out of my weekend. one of the rare occasions that i actually have the damn weekend off work and i'm quarantined in my bedroom feeling manky. sucks. such is life i suppose. i don't ever remember feeling this shit before. funny how easily one forgets the pain of various maladies. the past few days have felt like a slow motion replay of symptoms developing and devouring me. yuck. i'm ready to regain my life. even walking down to the shop for a paper this morning was an ordeal. forgot to buy toilet paper... instead of venturing back outside i rummaged through the pantry for some paper towel. desperate times call for desperate measures. i'm a disappointment even by my own mediocre standards today.

almost run out of food though so i'm gonna have to venture out on a supply run at some point. can't expect to get well with the nutrients derived from two minute noodles and muesli... that's all that is left and even the pathetic appetite that i have demands a bit more sustenance than that. i've been sipping blood orange juice for the past few days - that stuff is supposed to be filled with good shit. hasn't exactly worked a charm but i guess it may not have the miraculous powers i need.

anyhow, i think i'm gonna put fresh sheets on my bed, shower and climb into some fresh pjs and then hibernate for another dozen hours... hopefully when i reemerge from my slumber my body will have regained it's normal levels of function and energy (not that they are amazingly high anyway)... good night.

there was a time when the only death i was aware of was old people who quietly passed away in their sleep. great grandparents, neighbours, locals... it seems like something that used to happen but doesn't anymore. maybe i just know fewer old folks these days. maybe i'm more aware of all the other ways to die. younger. stranger. sadder. dying of old age doesn't seem like a terrible thing at all. you are born. you live. you die. i feel no desire to live forever. just for a little while. to do some stuff. after all is done then death is fine. so when an old lady dies in her sleep after living a full and long life i can't cry. i'm not sad at all. better to die than to live longer and suffer pain or illness or incapacitation. no disease had eaten away her life. no dramatic or terrifying ending. just one last breath. where there was once life now there is none. in a strange way i think i'm jealous of her happy ending. i've watched others succumb to disease. seen the pain caused by unexpected and inexplicable accidents. then there are others who grow old but do not die. they gradually lose life but do not die. all of those situations make me unbearably sad. the pain. the hopelessness. the powerlessness. death is so often accompanied by great suffering. so it is bizzarely comforting to hear the news that she passed away peacefully at home. resting in peace. it makes sense. the final goodnight.

it was like a little jaunt back in time. the faces hadn't really changed all that much. the personalities were still much as i'd left them ten years ago with a few more stories to tell. we'd all learnt a bit from life along the way but not that it mattered. weird. can't really compare a school reunion to any other event i've ever attended. a little reminiscing. a little drinking. a little dancing. a little bitching. just like last decade really. we were all much more confident in ourselves though. i loved that. no one had really changed much but everyone seemed happy to be who they are. or maybe they just did a good job pretending for the weekend. either way - good effort really. i spent quite a bit of the weekend just sitting there wondering at how all of us managed to make it back to rocky again. to still be alive. to still be smiling. something to be in awe of. lives have drifted all over the place but we all decided that it was worth travelling back in time for the weekend. didn't talk much about where i've been or what i've done. didn't ask many of the questions that don't really matter anyway. i didn't much care what people were up to. i figure if i don't already know maye it doesn't matter much anyway. i love seeing pictures of peoples kids, husbands, travels... all that stuff but all that stuff needn't be said face to face. instead we mostly just celebrated. not sure what exactly but it was fun to let loose and act like a teenager again. just a little visit into the world of being sixteen again. not such a bad way to spend a weekend. probably wont happen again anytime soon. maybe next year or next decade. no rush. cherish the memories.

I received a Nintendo Wii today as a late Father's Day present from my wife and son.  With the sports game package included.   (I guess that is how it always comes?)  Anyhow, I am enjoying it.

school reunion. so excited. it seemed like a non-event a few weeks ago. i wasn't really sure if i could be bothered. but now with only one sleep (and it seems i'm too wired to sleep) to go i can't wait. so many faces from the distant past that i'm so looking forward too seeing again! now is bed time and i have stuff to do tonight before work... so if i don't sleep now i'll be wrecked tomorrow... but i'm wide awake. i think it used to be like this on christmas eve when i was just a wee gal. same weird little grin hanging around. feel a bit foolish but the excitement wont be quelled. kinda snuck up on me too. i didn't actually realise until late last week that it was THIS weekend. only got around to packing (stuffing) all my shit into a bag this morning. not at all sure what i'm gonna wear... surprised that i acutally care about what to wear. don't care enough to get organised but there's a little pang of 'what's everyone gonna think of me' hangin' round inside there somewhere.

sleep has beenextremely evasive this week. unlike me really. next week. i can sleep tonnes next week. in between work. just sleep and work. that's all i've planned for next week. hopefully all goes according to plan. unlikely but you never know.

i was ready to throw it all in at work the other day. sick of all the bullshit and sick of the feeling that i was being used, screwed. it was just a bunch of petty stuff... the same shit that has pissed me off for yonks and yonks. mostly i ignore it and it all fades away. but occasionally it gets to me and i'm ready to just walk away. then on the very day that i was quite seriously contemplating moving on... i get a gift. one of the regulars who in his spare time is a bit of an amateur jeweller made me a sweet little ring with a frog (following a previous conversation 'bout frogs)... i was surprised and so pleased. good to feel appreciated. that's what it's all about really - the customers. that's the bit i like about my job. not the only bit i like but it's getting to the point where the likeable bits are thin on the ground. all the rest of the unecessary bullshit should just go away. not so simple but nice dream. anyhow, that little froggy put a smile on my face and turned my mind around... for a while at least. i like the customers and i like the solitude of the graveyard shift. initially i thought that i would probably slacken off a bit since i would be all alone and have no pressure to do much of anything. as it turns out i probably work more constantly and productively in the wee hours of the morning than i ever did during the day. mind you i do most of the same stuff that i did on dayshift... somehow all the jobs that i created for myself on dayshift are still mine even though i changed shifts. all of those little things - the stuff that lisa used to insist upon at csb - that no=one else notices or cares about. keeping things shiny, polished, organised, attractive. it's all well and good to serve a nice cuppa but it the place is a shambles who'd wanna eat there? does it really matter that napkins are folded neatly, that the straw dispenser doesn't have greasy fingerprints all over it, that the display signs are clean, that the sugar bowl is full, that the coffee machines are polished, that the marble benches are dusted?? sometimes i wonder if all the miniscule details really make a difference. but the filth that accumulates shits me so of course i  have to do something about it. it's just what i do. i shouldn't question it really. i wonder though if it is too much to expect others to consider these tasks important too. or am i just being anal? mmm probably. ok. really do need to get some sleep. gonna be useless on my shift tonight. if i'm too excited to sleep damn sure i'll be too distracted to work. shouldn't be too much to do anyway. that's the plan. good night.  

can't sleep. can't dream. can't stop thinking about dying. a simple action seems so complicated. it's only complicated by the lives that keep on living. by the grieving. those left behind. those left alive. so why am i so preoccupied by the dead today?

flowers at the headstone. it has no meaning for me. i never visit their graves. don't want to be reminded of the permenance of their departure. a bit of rock on some lush green grass doesn't reflect any part of their life - only their death. i'll rummage through photographs, listen to music, close my eyes and imagine them as they were.... but a cemetary commemerates death not life. It was the life of the person i loved not their death. 

does grief really dull with time? it changes. becomes less insistent. we become more tolerant of it's presence but it's still there. not dull. not brilliant. just there in the margins of the day to day. still there. just there. i don't think about the grief anymore. but i still remember the people, the lives. not so much the death. i can't recall the funerals, the eulogys, the epitaph or even how many tears were shed. but i can still see the smile, smell the cologne, the feel of arms around my body, the sound of laughter... all of the absurd, hilarious, sentimental moments that made those people special to me. their death is like the fineprint that comes the end. the bit i never read. the boring bit. might be important. might just be more bullshit. we all die. there is always a catch.

mourn in black. cry, howl, blame, drown in pain. it hurts as if the hurt will never go away. one day, one year, four decades... still feel the absence that caused such pain. but along the way there have been other deaths, others who have left and are missed. not less not more. they just aren't there anymore. but grief isn't cumulative. nor does experience make it easier. it just is. intense. persistent. sometimes spontaneous. aggressive then meek. overwhelmingly dramatic then temporarily dormant. return ticket booked. date TBA.