broadway tormenting centre
the shopping centre has been tormenting me.
i seem to have enough money to breathe at the moment, and i need stuff. i’m not always sure what stuff i need, but there’s never anything in the house to pick up and eat, my clothes are all inappropriate for certain occasions, my boots are falling apart severely and everything on my walls feels crumpled and tired.
the shopping centre is supposed to be the easy way to fix all this. get new things to replace the old; shiny, ready made, in a choice of colours and sizes. with that many clothes shops, shoe shops, food shops and everything shops, surely you can find what you’re looking for. and on sale. the price tags proclaim how cheap everything is, but the things that really are cheap really aren’t exciting, furthermore they’re definitely not what i need. things that i may need, or even want in any serious way, aren’t actually cheap.
this year, bright colours and wild patterns on all the women’s wear are luring me in. long elegant dresses – at least they look good on the models. what a shock, they’re making things i’d wear. if i found one of those dresses for $5 in an op shop i’d cheer. but there are hundreds and hundreds of them, and they’re not $5. it’s probably good they’re well out of my pricerange, for if i contemplated buying one i’d suffer immediate choice paralysis.
retro feel is an illusion as they’re brand new but i’m still being drawn into fashion. it’s happened once or twice before in my life. people start reacting differently to what i wear. i’m happy being right out of fashion, that distance says a little about who i am, identifies interesting people and makes people smile on the street. it’s disconcerting to be accepted, unnoticed.
textbook disappointment
every textbook i use is worse than the last. it gives me an appreciation of the first one, which gave me such trouble last semester. i’m using it for two more subjects at the moment, so i can compare it to all the others. i suspect though, that the book itself is variable, and that chapter five will still be incomprehensible.
back to school
north sydney girls’ is having a reunion. one of the people i’d actually like to see is still on the can’t-be-found list. another is dead. a third is in germany. still i’m going to go, mostly because i’m curious. it’s a month and a half away, on october 21, at a bowls club, where it seems we’ll actually be bowling. in north sydney. i’m certainly a little apprehensive, i don’t know if i’ll recognise many people, and from what i’ve heard, the baby count will be higher than i’m prepared for. even more than that, many people seem to be attached to big recognisable companies, probably in jobs with important sounding titles but boring descriptions. meaningless jobs. Good Jobs. it was a selective school, on the north shore. girls can do anything. but what do you really want?
what will i be expected to tell people? i’m certainly not in a big fancy well paid career with a phd, a house, a husband and a kid. i expect some people will be, and despite that sounding like my idea of hell, i’ll probably have to justify my life, fill up uncomfortable pauses and talk too much about myself to explain to people who had never realised that the choices i’ve made are available – let alone worthwhile. i’ll also probably have to lie; it will come down to ‘but that’s good/ok if you’re happy’. am i happy?
maybe it won’t be too intimidating. after all, there probably won’t be so many people there – they’ll all be at the second reunion, in london!
delicious roast veggie and garlic smells are wafting up from the kitchen below my room. it’s been going on all day, thanks to manic dumpstering and cooking for the flare convergence. it’s been very difficult to concentrate on shear stress and the efficiency of bolted joints, but i’m getting somewhere, thanks largely to ella fitzgerald and not many people being online.
love
four years since someone last told me they love me, and since i used the word myself.
until today.
it’s very beautiful, and only the slightest bit terrifying.
day
yesterday i had two classes, an interview where my prospective boss didn’t show up, opening up bike club because the person who was meant to didn’t show up, a badly organised meeting which was very friendly but didn’t really make my life easier as i had hoped, the first poly meeting, which i had been looking forward to but noone turned up to except the three of us, a six hour discussion, which was not quite as honest as i thought, with my partner’s partner when the middle link went home, then some nice three way trauma to top it off.
i’m not imagining it, my life really is a problem.
dreams
a few months ago, i dreamt that i died. it was the most powerful and realistic dream that i could remember ever having, and it spooked me for months. i can’t remember the precise feeling anymore. i was thinking of turning over and making myself more comfortable, but moving would be all too difficult, considering i only had seconds left to worry about it anyway. it wasn’t against my will, it was necessary, it was just the way it was. i was resigned. i wondered what it would really be like, would i feel anything? when would my consciousness stop? it would stop, there would be nothing. i couldn’t change anything now. i wouldn’t have to worry about it but others would. it was a bit like the time i was convinced to go on a fairly tame pirate ship style ride, when i was working in england. i got in and i couldn’t get out of it, and had to actively think that it was ok, i’d get through. the first couple of swings were blank fear, then i figured out how to breathe in the right places and prepare for each swing. i didn’t enjoy it, but i got through. i would get through this too. it would be scary but then it would be over. i stopped breathing. at the point i died, i woke up with a massive rush of adrenaline that didn’t quite dissipate all day. my friend told me that facing death makes me stronger, as fear of death is the big one that limits many people. maybe she’s right, it feels a little like i came to terms with it.
last night i had a worse one, or rather, it came with a feeling i couldn’t come to terms with; a physical feeling of overwhelming loss. i had to get out of some scary white institution, with meela i believe. it involved breaking and getting through a small window on what seemed like the set of a play, travelling at night and crossing a border, don’t know which one. if i went i couldn’t come back, it was permanent exile, but i didn’t really have another choice, i had to go. the institution where i couldn’t stay, or the unknown. i had an old envelope which i wrote the name of a bus company on before i realised it was dangerous. evidence. my father was there, i couldn’t say anything but we knew it was goodbye. he pointed to a random phone number i had on the envelope, and said ‘contact me there.’ i had to go. it was black outside.
agendas
more and more ambiguity. no sooner do i untangle one thread, than i find another knot.
hidden agendas and being emailled an agenda before a chat. i don’t know which is the more confusing.
meanwhile, my friends are amused and interested to hear updates on my life which has taken on the proportions of a soapie, and have offered much good, thought provoking and helpful advice. i’m very grateful!
when i am with the people involved or talking about it, it’s real. when i’m alone in my head, it’s all a story.
winter
spring is officially here.
maybe it really was the weather that prevented everyone from keeping their commitments all winter. i realise that this is the first winter i’ve stuck around for in a while – the last three saw me over on the other side of the world, in summer again. funny, when i don’t mind the cold, or at least not as much as the heat..
that may make things understandable, and maybe i should give in and hibernate myself a little, but it still doesn’t keep the rent coming in for that sustainable queer space. it’s not very sustainable if it can’t last the winter.
