Friday, October 29, 2010

the yellow t-shirt

this morning i wake in his arms in marrickville. tight embraces, chatter, some laughter and kissing. eventually we're in a nearby cafe with bad french toast and average coffee. we kiss on the platform. then i climb the stairs and walk home, wearing his yellow t-shirt. i keep seeing it, and me, in the windows i pass. the familiar and the different. a nice fit.

i should study but i won't. i play loud music and eat toast instead. i still wear the t-shirt which is somewhat tragic but pleasant. it holds me comfortably. a poor substitute for his arms but it'll do for now.

i haven't felt so comfortably held for some time. something nice is taking place. i dismiss my concerns and no longer resist the pull of this.

well, maybe not entirely.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

rules for today

one: don't get drunk on a tuesday night.

two: don't try to code data when you're sleepy and grumpy.

three: don't listen to your housemate when he says you won't need a jumper today.

four: give up on cadbury chocolate. it may be fairtrade but it's sweet and horrible.

five: catch the bus home, climb in bed, watch tv or something. and sleep.

Friday, October 22, 2010

down time

today is a day to catch my breath. i slept in. i'm on my third load of washing. i'm not yet showered. i had breakfast, and then more breakfast (for lunch). P asked if i'm enjoying the sun. nope. i'm just enjoying doing nothing.

busy doing nothing


i did walk to bourke st bakery for a loaf of bread, so got some sunshine on my brow. and i put my sheets on the washing line, where they now flap. i imagine my poor sleeping patterns have now been rinsed away.

i sent 20000 words to my supervisors and decided to scrap chapter 4 in favour of 5 big chapters. which means, draft-wise, i'm more than half way. approx 55000 words. not that i believe in counting. though just doing the sums now is a little comforting. makes me feel like this day off is deserved.

monday, in the pool, i altered the way i lift my head to inhale. i keep my head pointed forward, more downward, and the water washes over it. it feels different, and i now move faster, approaching the walls with speed. a simple gesture makes a big difference. practice, repetition, adjustment, and discovery. much like writing. and i can't help but conflate swimming with writing, yet again. these movements are in sync. writing this chapter was a struggle, but easier than the last one, easier than 4 months ago. i have more rhythm. my body falls into the words with less hesitation, less fear, and sometimes i forget that these are my efforts that push me through.

Monday, October 11, 2010

giovanni's room

i'm quite scattered today. in the interests of de-scattering i'd like to pluck some moments from the last 24 hours...

C tells me he's "pretty fucked up" and i think "aren't we all?" maybe i said it too. he tells me he's been wanting to kiss me all night at the pub. i tell him "me too". he says we shouldn't, but we do, briefly, on the footpath. he tasted like a fresh cigarette.

E tells me to go to bed when it's after 3am. he says i'll ruin my sleep patterns. he's playing the mother this time and i like it.

but i'm chatting to a new avatar. his name is A. he lives with his mum in melbourne and makes abstract art. he likes my nose. i like that he likes my nose because i too like my nose. i often wonder why more people aren't drawn to it. he has nice lips and the eyes of a scared child.

E offers me a cupcake this morning. i put a confetti mermaid in his bucket of cupcakes but he doesn't notice it.

at the cafe J photographs me when we're talking. i try to put my phobia of cameras aside, to look relaxed. i'm sure i failed, yet again. he points his lens at my fingers stroking the rim of an empty coffee glass. they turn brittle, no longer relaxed, as though they're twigs pretending to be fingers.

C calls when i'm on the bus. i'm reading a zine that reminds me of him. or my feelings about him. it's loud so i say i'll call him back.

we're in the pub and everyone around us is very drunk. i must be the most sober. C's friend is drunk yet lovely and has her first date with a girl. we share her nerves before her date arrives. when she arrives she kicks our arses in pool and before long they're making out by the jukebox. who are these people? how did i get in this scenario? but the alcohol, the situation, the pub, brings us together and makes us into a stealthy gang.

i can't help but fantasise about A taking me under his wing. it's pathetic, but it's a glimmer of something else.

i mourn my lack of connection to men. but maybe i obscure it too. for there's E offering me cupcakes and J listening softly, or with his arms around me when we say hello and goodbye. and i know that i can be close to men. but sometimes these moments fall to the background and i carve myself into a hapless victim.

but we all (E, J, A, and myself) share a distaste for the gaymes we play, as men. and i guess we're all looking for something more real than what we currently have. though maybe none of us really know what that means. but it's possible, right?

i tell J about C and how i didn't want 'a relationship' anyway. we agree that many men place much emphasis on sex, seeing it as leading to something more serious. but it may not. and it need not. yet i continually find myself in those moments of people drawing lines in sand.

"let's just be friends"

the most hurtful word here is 'just'. it's about stopping the flow and limiting us to 'just' friendship. but friendship, in its best form, is not second-rate! for me it rises above 'the relationship' always. the idea of 'just' friendship is therefore insulting. it stomps on the life i aim for - a life connected to others through beautiful moments and many and various angles of love. but for some people, love is uni-dimensional, possessive, enveloping, and in need of protection through a dismantling of all the other love that may appear to threaten it. which includes love between friends.

anyway, that's enough moralising for now. time to dry myself off and get some work done. at least until the morning, when i'll walk to uni via C's house.

we'll drink coffee, we'll talk, and it'll be his birthday. i'll pretend i'm okay. although maybe i really am okay. i'm doing alright. and yes, i feel less scattered already.

i forgot to tell J how much i'm loving the book he loaned me.

Friday, October 8, 2010

... is lying in bed at 7pm watching the sky grow dark

i was reading on the bed, my feet grew cold, my head grew tired, so i crawled under covers. a small nap. now i watch aeroplanes and listen to cars and wonder about what i should do tonight. i plan a trip to the supermarket. i realise i'm too tired to socialise. but i can eat. and maybe i can have a bath. and i can read something less taxing than this essay on foucault's theory of 'life as a work of art'.

parts of the text are in french, so i read those out loud to practice, and i try and make sense of them. i figure out some, but there's always unrecognisable words. so i refer to the square-bracketed translation, make mental notes of the new words, whilst also grappling with the ideas.

i wonder if i'll have enough years to learn french, write french, and be the academic that i'd like to be. i wonder if this is my life project, my art, my own suicide pact. Foucault says "Il faut travailler son suicide toute sa vie" [One should work on one's suicide all one's life]. and so i guess i'm busy etching the mark that i wish to leave behind, the souvenir [memory] of my existence; mon oeuvre d'art.

i think i'll make pumpkin and blue cheese pizza.