away then back

nice to be in my bed again. was hoping for an early night, but i've been reading in the bath, speaking on the phone, sending messages, and watching divinyls videos. like this one:

my family weekend left me disappointed. i don't want to talk about master chef. or football. or raising children and how boys are boys and girls are girls. "get. me out. of here".

then melbourne. it wasn't until day 3, my final day, that i felt happy. stupid of me to think i could leave my worries in sydney. i wear them in melbourne, like all places. my epidermis.

a week of seven virgos:

the 1st is my 1 year old nephew. upon meeting him, as though for the first time (given that we're now able to communicate), he puts his arms out, wanting to be held. strange, in comparison to his sister's ongoing suspicion and avoidance of me. so we bond on the first day. he points to things and i take him to those things. he picks leaves from trees and i discourage him from eating them. we like each other. my niece suggests that maybe he thinks that i'm his dad. he pulls funny faces to make people laugh. i like how my brother calls him a peanut.

2 virgos are people i sleep with. though their beds, their apartments, their bodies are not a comfortable fit. i'm still unsatisfied. i'm still not escaping.

2 virgos are present only in their absence. voids i fill with other men who are typically virgo.

virgo 6 is a friend with whom i confide in about most of the other virgos. we talk in small cafés, on the streets, and in a cinema foyer, where we discuss the politics of the power bottom whilst eating honeycomb choc-tops. later i watch him perform on stage.

virgo 7 presents himself as cheeky text messages asking for presents, feigning jealousy, joking about our marriage. on my last day, from a park bench at the state library, i speak with him for the first time.

i'm left with fond memories of the last day. the film and our shared laughter, conversations around food, coffee, wine. a dinner under fluorescent lighting. things that speak to me in ways that my family and rural victoria cannot. reminders that i have forged another world in which i'm comfortable. to an extent.

it seems there's an everlasting tension between my 2 worlds that render me bilingual. sometimes it feels good to speak with two tongues. but sometimes you're only reminded that some people can never understand certain aspects of you. so you don't even bother trying. instead, you present the half as the whole. within one realm i cannot speak freely of the other. arguably there are more than 2 realms. at this moment i'm aware of the two, their distinctions, and how they each have the power to render me incomprehensible.

being summonsed

after yesterday's emailing with supervisors, they want a face-to-face meeting as soon as i'm back from melbourne. hmm... i don't know what to make of this. i think it could one of the following:

a) they think i'm crazy / not coping
b) one of them wants to bow out
c) they want to make sure i will show up for my review
d) they want to counsel me through 'my issues'
e) all of the above

i think i'll do some more writing and reply later. the chapter is actually coming along okay, though will not be complete by thursday. i'm having fantasies of it being beyond brilliant and making them fall over themselves, realising that i do have a sense of what i'm doing. as usual, such fantasy keeps me going.

an excerpt from my email of yesterday (about as close as i got to saying 'fuck you'):

I'm tired and in need of a break, hence the trip to Melbourne where I can be with friends and family, refresh, and gain perspective. I'm not offering this as an excuse, but sharing it because this is where my priority lies (in my health and relationships, not my thesis), and therefore this impacts upon my 'output'...

can't wait til friday, victoria, the house by the beach.

i want a divorce

i feel kind kinda knotted at the moment. caffeinated, tired (exhausted even), and wanting to cry or scream or both.

my supervisors keep wanting me to write for them. i don't write for them, i write for me. i want to tell them to fuck off.

yesterday morning, in bed, i wrote a zine. see, i'm productive. but i don't produce for them. and that's the problem. they think i'm difficult. i am difficult. but they don't like that. fuck them.

grr... i had such plans today to write, to make headway into this chapter which is thus far only a bunch of notes and thoughts churning away inside me. and this is what they want. but now they've contributed to my angst. my paralysis set off by their guilt-inducing emails.

i just composed a response and read over it several times to tone down my angst. i told them i'm tired. i wanted to say "leave me the fuck alone".

supervision and me are incompatible. i make zines. and words. and things. and none of this needs supervision. well it hasn't so far. and i don't care if it's judged to be no good. if it makes me feel good then it's good. like my writings, my friends, the things i do.

this may not make sense. bah.

108 steps of boredom

thursday and i'm tired and it's dark. just finished teaching, feeling all abuzz, workshopping my performance in my head as i climb the stairs from the quad to the library. a guy next to me grumbles: "too many stairs. 108." i'm impressed that he has counted them - the stairs i climb on most days. he tells me it's due to boredom.

it's a nice interruption to my thoughts. we part ways. i climb more stairs towards my desk. i count 43. that's 151 steps on my journey to this desk, chair, computer, headspace.

is each one a step or a stair? it seems it's a step, a stair being the entire block of steps. well that's what one dictionary tells me. and now i can't remember if he said steps or stairs. i may have misquoted. ah, technicalities. it's been an afternoon of those.

we talked about religions: islamic, christian and jewish. too much time spent on clarifying distinctions between them. and then a slightly dodgy discussion on Islamic 'veiling' practices. and then time was up before i fully redeemed the conversation. or maybe that's not my job anyway. sigh. why the fuck am i teaching this, stressing about this, reading up on this? i sometimes forget i'm just a lowly tutor. give me my money so i can go and get pissed. oh yeah, i'm supposed to be writing a thesis. all the more reason to get pissed.

and now i have 2 weeks without classes and readings and marking. 2 weeks of thesis-only, of making up for the last 3 weeks of not writing very much. it all starts tomorrow. 151 steps a day.

creation everywhere blossoms

A quote to ponder. Or rather, a quote that I like and currently ponder.

A typewriter, some paper, and a little leisure: this little world would, for example, circumscribe the site in which art can be born. But housing, clothing, housework, cooking, and an infinite number of rural, urban, family, or amical activities, the multiple forms of professional work, are also the ground on which creation everywhere blossoms. Daily life is scattered with marvels, a froth on the long rhythms of language and history that is as dazzling as that of writers and artists. Lacking proper names, all kinds of language give birth to these ephemeral celebrations that surge up, disappear, and return.

Michel de Certeau, Culture in the Plural, p142

being green

melancholic, tired, uncertain

this morning i tidied my room. i turned over the mattress, changed the sheets, put away clothes, swept the floor, re-arranged a few things. it didn't make me feel much better.

friday fatigue has taken hold. i'm down on myself for not getting enough sleep, not taking care of myself, not being organised, not managing my time more efficiently. i forever chase my own tail.

i yearn for distraction. polish guy said he'd call today, so i wait for my phone to vibrate. and i try to resist seeking happiness through him or any other. i've been wondering what paris is doing today. tempted to message him, despite my concerns. but i can't really reign in these curious thoughts. i think i just want to feel like the centre of someone's world. even for just an hour or so, to tide me over.

sarah blasko's xanadu is on high rotation these past few days. seems to capture something in how i'm feeling. a bit lost. a bit hopeful.


last night i saw cheri. not a great film, but a great story. i'm sure i'd get more from the books. lea is quite an amazing character. she seems the perfect role model for me right now. a person who accepts and deals with the economies of love, passion, ageing. at the centre of her story (and her affair) is her resilience, her inability to ever slide into the role of victim, despite her losses. rather, she buys herself an emerald ring. she asks "is there anything in the world more wonderful than a bed all to yourself?"

on this point my cinema buddy agrees. but i cannot. i obviously have some way to go before finding my inner courtesan.