the rebel and the meeting

i have a meeting with Director in less than an hour. i didn't sleep well last night. i don't think this should be as stressful as it is. i know what i want and what i will ask for, and i feel justified in asking for it. i guess the discomfort is in not knowing the outcome. or perhaps suspecting the outcome: he's likely to defer to my supervisors and ask that i resolve things with them. but i won't do this. i'd sooner quit.

i was just reading Camus's The Rebel on the way to uni. not sure if that's a smart thing to do. but it does make me feel somewhat justified in following my gut instinct on this. it reminds me that knowing what i want (without having to fully understand or qualify this want) is enough.

one of the passages accompanying my journey:

I proclaim that I believe in nothing and that everything is absurd, but I cannot doubt the validity of my proclamation and I must at least believe in my protest. The first and only evidence that is supplied me, within the terms of the absurdist experience, is rebellion.

divorce proceedings

an email from uni today reminds me of the tasks i was meant to complete. i'm given a date. the said tasks are to meet the satisfaction of my supervisors. i doubt this is possible, so i won't try. my stomach is knotted. i feel shut down by such emails and their formal requests which contain subtle threats of eviction. and yes, there will be failure. i'm buying time, i already know this. but still, such words trigger that part of me that doesn't want to fail, even if it's for the best. and hence this tension, this stasis that sees me unable to process my next move. 12 days to go.

i should be grateful they waited until february. all i know is that i can't be in the same room as them. yes, it has come to this. once again i embody the naughty child. or the rebellious teen who just wants to say 'fuck you'. and there i am on campus, avoiding people and offices. because i'm angry, tense, scared, and extremely bitter.

i'm guilty before the trial begins.

things were better when i forgot that i was a student.

at least i got paid for the experience, and continue to do so (for now). i'm a bad investment. or a mis-managed one. either way, they lose too, which is nice. and in the next few weeks, each occasion in which i spend (their) money will contain a gentle, angry whisper of 'fuck you'. because now that i'm a grown up i have to disguise (and purchase) my rebellion.

maybe i'll stay home today and read camus.

another monday gone

there was a man installing benches in the kitchen. there's a cat asleep on the bed. the window next to my desk breathes cooler air today. it's late afternoon and i feel that today i was unproductive. though jessie and i emptied cupboards and readied the kitchen. though we talked about a project we can do in april. though i went and bought groceries. though i sent a few emails. though i confirmed a meeting about a job... i still feel like i haven't done enough.

there's a pile of books next to me to read - fuel for our project. but it's getting late and soon i have to go to petersham.

yesterday i had a coffee date. he messaged to say he'd be five minutes late. he didn't turn up. at one point there was a guy that looked like he was approaching me and then turned and walked away. he didn't look like i expected (he had facial hair unlike the photos i'd seen), but i'm never much good at recognising faces until they're up close. waiting, i keep checking my phone/clock, and i imagine (in the space of another 20 minutes of standing and waiting) a host of scenarios where that man was him. maybe he knew me from something else, maybe he got scared, maybe we have mutual friends, maybe he found me too hideous... but i shall never know because he didn't answer my messages or calls. i walked home, pissed off that i'd given this time to waiting, and to dreaming up stupid scenarios of rejection. and it really doesn't matter, yet it took some time for me to realise this. i kept saying "but this has never happened to me before".

later in the afternoon i'm swimming with essy at victoria park. after each lap we have small chats. in fragmented discussion we share small observations about the pool and its people. i like this combination of swimming and talking. my usual swimming is an indoor, silent, solitary affair. this is pleasant. as is the changing weather and the rain that falls on us.

then i walk home, assaulted by wind so lovely. i walk into it with my hair and clothing stretched and flapping behind me. i'm very much awake. i awoke from a dream of a week of intense heat. i guess i can only appreciate this wind because of last week's assault of humidity, sun, sweat, lethargy. and so maybe that discomfort was a good thing.

i buy potatoes. i cook dinner for my family.

my insatiable one

Today I return to 'the project'...

Yesterday I heard Suede’s My Insatiable One and I thought of you. I thought of us as two tall, lanky men, drinking in a small bar. And there we are walking along the cold streets of London and Paris, being wistful and carefree. We softly collide into each other as we stroll drunkenly and dreamily, without destination, talking and not talking. I look at the river.

We're wanting each other without ever going there. We're imagining futures together in the quiet of our own thoughts – oh, the places we could go. Insatiable longing, languid and warm. And your hand sweeps through your hair, putting it back in its place. And I watch and wait for you to tell another story. I want to put my arm around you, or pull you closer, or fall into you. But I just fall into your words and stories as I echo the pattern of your steps. Your feet are smaller than they should be, just like your hands which could easily fit inside mine. Your arms are crossed. My hands are in pockets. I watch you, I see the river, but everything else is nothing I see. I imagine I’ll fall into the river and drown, smiling.

I stop, I let myself go soft, and I fall to the water. Hands in pockets, I let the current take me where it will. Some days later I wake on an Australian beach. It's hot, there's wind, and my skin is bare and sticky. I sweep my hair from my face. I can see and hear everything. I vomit until I cry.

campus day

time is slow today. but it's faster than yesterday. because i'm a bit more active and a bit more social. i'm meeting friends, or just people i know, and catching up. it reminds me that i live here after all. as does sitting at my desk in the postgrad space where i blog without studying. i say hello to lots of people i know by face and not name. we smile at each other because this is familiar, because this is the start of another year in the big room on the 4th floor. the guy next to me noted that it's been a while and asked if i was away. we'd never shared more than three words before. campus is still quiet though, and only just starting to hum with life. i sat on the grass with t until it started to rain. we each summarised our previous year because it's been that long since we last sat on the grass. mostly we gave updates on theses and romances. the latter was more interesting.

earlier, j walks by the bus stop and stops to chat. i apologise for not making it to his party several months ago and for not contacting him. we talk about our travels. we went on a date once and i think he likes me. i like him too but not like that. mostly i remember his love for kate bush.

when i'm on the bus another man i went on dates with sits across from me. i bury myself in the book i'm holding and pretend not to see him. i can't remember his name. newtown is too small.

i swim, i eat a cheese sandwich, i take some paperwork to a building where the man is lovely but keeps ending every statement with my first name. i avoid certain people. i update my CV. i like that it's not stupidly hot.

not yet me

i tidied and arranged my room and stuck things to my wall. pieces of things from times i've enjoyed. i guess it's about lining my space with stuff that gives me a sense of belonging. because so far i don't. i thought i would've missed my bed but so far i'm indifferent.

my thoughts are elsewhere. i only see where i've been and not where i'm heading. i sleep to a different time zone, waking in darkness, with thoughts that prevent me from sleeping again.

my diary is empty of plans.

i know i should swim, but motivation is a struggle. i have work to do, papers to fill out, jobs to apply for, friends to see. but it's easier to drink coffee and tidy itunes.

back home

but the people here are strange. they carry themselves differently. they wear less clothes. they're more relaxed but less voracious. i eye them suspiciously.

it's a familiar space but i don't know...

and the yoghurt on my breakfast is all wrong. i want brassé yoghurt to spill over my food; a creamy wave in my morning ritual. but this margaret river stuff doesn't cut it. this should not seem important, but it does.

and there's space. boundless space. this house is a suburb, each room a new street. my room is bigger than i need it to be. so i'm emptying suitcases and bags to fill it, but it's still lacking something.

the heat is not so difficult. i can't feel it. i liked that my washing dried so quickly. and there's a pile of woolens on my floor which i'll wash and dry today. this is me in sorting mode. adjusting to this space, remembering how to fit, but also questioning if i want to.

i haven't emailed him.