Vietnam - Part 2

1. DIRT TOWN
I don’t think I’ve ever been so filthy in my entire life. Not only was I sweaty and covered in sunscreen most of the time but everything in the atmosphere stuck to my skin or hair. The main towns stank like a rancid combination of rotting anything and everything and pollution. I stank like rotting and was covered in dirt the whole time I was there. I got fed up with showering and getting dirty again so I took some time off showering. This proved to be a worthy exercise as my own sweat smelt better than most towns.

2. FOOD HYGIENE STANDARDS
I mentioned in my earlier post that I got pretty (seriously) sick. It started when I was in Dalat and didn’t end until 2 weeks later after a couple of days in Epworth Eastern in Box Hill. I don’t like talking much about it but I’ll tell you this- I spent my nine hour stopover in Kuala Lumpur locked in a disabled toilet alternating between vomiting and sitting on the toilet crying, terrified that I was too sick to be allowed to fly home. I had bloated to the point that I looked like I was either 6 months pregnant or carrying six kilos of heroin. I wanted someone to pat my hair, give me some painkillers and magically get me home. This moment will probably also appear on my worst list of 2009 if I can be bothered writing one.

3. DANCING WITH THE RATS
This post could be about Na Trang overall really. Na Trang is how I imagine Thailand would be. It was full of prostitutes, dirty old men, steak restaurants and rats. Gross. At night, we went to a bar called the Sailing Club and got drunk and leered at old men with their hired (and much younger) lady friends. Once the dancefloor kicked off we spent our evenings dancing to shitty music and leaping over the rats that would occasionally cross the floor from behind the bar to the toilets. At first I was horrified, and then I was drunk and thought it was funny. I woke up the next morning and was horrified again. I didn’t take a single photo in Na Trang and I have no regrets about this.

4. BEGGARS
Oh man, this is going to sound incredibly insensitive but the begging and relentless poverty really got me down. As soon as you left your hotel room it started and it didn’t stop until you shut your hotel room door that evening. I understand that it’s a third world country and that getting ahead is next to impossible due to their government being the way it is (I’m not going to get started here). I just found that it really mentally wore me down. Seeing such extreme poverty made my heart break. Being chased by a man with no legs for money made my brain break.

5. THERE’S ALWAYS ONE...
I’ve only been on one tour so far but I suspect there is a slightly mentally unwell, recently separated person on each tour. Lucky me, she was my roomie for the entire fucking tour. From day one, I knew she was crazy. I often get accosted by the crazy so I’m pretty confident in my crazy sensing abilities. She would ignore me for two days, then get drunk and try and kiss me. Then she’d try and be my bestie, then get drunk and go missing for a 15 hour period, then ignore me again. Then she’d cry, tell me she was jealous of me and then ignore me again. It was weird, and 18 days of it really started to piss me off and scare me a little. Let’s just say that after her last bender, I was too afraid to sleep in the same room as her. I ended up getting my own room for a couple of nights just to have a break from her. Thankfully, I never have to see her again but her crazy, maniacal and anxiety laden laugh is etched into my brain forever.

Vietnam Part 1

So, I should probably post some stuff about my holiday. I had an alright time. I got pretty sick and came home to spend four days in hospital which has tainted my travel experience a bit but I did a lot of awesome stuff. Here is a best and worst list (which are terribly hip around this time of year) of some stuff I saw and some stuff that happened.

BEST

1. WATER BUFFALO
I fell utterly in love with these creatures. Every time I saw one my heart skipped a beat, I got clammy hands and wanted to squeal. I had to stop myself from running up to one and throwing my arms around its neck. They were always just hanging out in giant puddles of mud with ducks as bodyguards watching the world go by. Whilst roaming rural Vietnam I was chased by one in the dark when I was a bit tipsy and I still love them. 2.

TOFU
I had my own private three week tofu festival. I ate it raw, scrambled, deep fried, steamed, made to look like little sea creatures and in desert. It was awesome. It may have been my love of tofu that resulted in the hospital visit but I do not regret the tofu festival. Not for a moment. Highlights were “tofu dressed as little shrimp”, tofu curry baguettes, and tofu with tomato sauce which is more of a Napoli sauce then “dead horse”. I love you tofu… I love you Vietnam for what you do with it.

3. ELEPHANTS
I met an elephant and he tried to get into my pants. True story! We went to an elephant park that was like a sanctuary for these giant cheeky creatures. I had brought them some fruit as a present on my way there. I hung out with the elephant for a bit and fed him all the fruit I had. He started searching me for more food and opened my courier bag, sniffed my hair and then tried to get his trunk into my shorts. Too cute.

4. TEMPLES & MONKS
Whenever we visited a temple, I ate like a Queen. On my Birthday we went to a temple that was about 5km inland from China Beach and near Hoi An. We climbed 440 stairs to what I think was the most beautiful view I’ve ever seen. At the top of the stairs we met a tiny monk who had some vegan cake which he gave me. He then gave me some to take home with me (it was appreciated on the 10 hour train ride let me tell you!). Every single time I went to a temple I didn’t want to leave. I just wanted to help in the garden, nap in the grass and just appreciate what was around me.

5. DALAT
We spent some time in Dalat which is on top of a mountain. The weather was a cool 18 degrees, the people were indifferent (unlike everywhere else where everyone wanted to touch my pale skin) and the architecture was very French. There was a vegetarian market full of mock meat, lovely coffee, fresh vegetables and you needed to sleep under a duvet at night (which made me terribly homesick). Whilst around Dalat we had a look at a minority village, saw the palace of the last king and walked around lover’s lake which was terribly romantic. It felt a bit like Paris meets Carlton North to be honest. No wonder I loved it there.

Worst List to come shortly.

smug tram bug.

I leave for Vietnam in about a week. To be honest, I've been a bit blase about the whole thing. I knew it was coming up but hadn't put too much thought into it. Yesterday, I started packing and writing some lists and I got a little excited.

This morning whilst standing at the tram stop in the miserable cold and rain I checked the weather in Hanoi... It's currently a sunny 27 degrees and suddenly it hit me. I got so excited that my heart skipped a beat.

The whole tram trip I had a smug grin on my face, knowing that I am only 7 days away from t-shirt weather.

cmx

I’ve done all the dumb things…

I’ve done some really dumb things today. “How dumb?” I hear you say! “How is this different from any other day full of you doing dumb things?” I hear others ask! Well… So dumb I don’t think I can even really explain it here. It’s long winded and would show far too much of my irrational, jealous, insecure side which is just not fit for the internets (or sane people). What has surprised me today was my willingness to put my hand up and say “Hi! I know I fucked up and I am so very sorry. I’ll be in the corner alternating between beating myself up and scoffing my vegan humble pie(s). Come visit me. I’m the one wearing the dunce hat!”

Normally, I would seek justification for my stupid action. I would say “yeah I was kind of wrong but…” and find some thing somewhere in the universe (moon cycles, sleep deprivation, watching twin peaks too close to bedtime) to explain my utter crappiness. It doesn’t necessarily make me feel better, it doesn’t really sort the dumb thing out and I don’t like that I am kinda good at finding these excuses and justifying them…

Today, I just shot my hand straight the in the air and admitted that I was being terrible. And irrational. And out of line. That I was behaving like a twit, but I couldn’t stop (not becuase it felt SO good let me tell you!), and that I was genuinely sorry for it. I am still mortified and terribly embarrassed by my behaviour, and I still wish today had never happened. I plan to go home, make myself a cup of tea and stick my head under my duvet until the morning but I know it’s not the end of the world. I don’t anticipate that things are going to be great for a couple of days, I do however think that they will be okay after I’ve had my fill of pie.

munch munch

cmx

Hey Ladies!

hope to see you there.

cmx

cherry balls.

This morning I detected a faint whiff of cherry blossoms on my way to work and when I popped out for a coffee I got hollered at by a bunch of boys in a commodore offering me some kind of ride. Spring is coming my friends… I can feel it in the air and boys can feel it in their loins. Good times ahead!

feeding the rich

This morning I was talking to a guy I work with about when I used to work at a bar in the city (he worked at the same bar about 3 years before I did). I was fresh eighteen at the time and would work from 3:00pm until 3:00am on Fridays and Saturdays. I’d finish work, have some drinks with my pals and head home on the 6:13am train back to my ma’s house in the hills. I didn’t care about the hours, I didn’t care about the lack of sleep and food I’d endure over those three days and I didn’t care that I looked like a walking corpse come Sunday evening… what worried me the most was the train ride home.

One morning, I was on the train, I’d grabbed a breakfast McValue meal from McDonalds and was reading on the train. I’d only eaten half of my McMuffin, had a nibble on the hash brown and put it all back in the bag next to me in case I got a bit peckish later on. Don’t judge… it’s a long ride to Boronia my friends.

A man in an obviously expensive suit was sitting opposite me. It was quite clear that he had hit the town straight after work and was only now on his way home. His tie was loosened to one side and he still had his briefcase with him. He alternated his drunken stares between me and my half eaten bag of McDonalds for about 3 stops. We pulled into Richmond Station and he lept up, snatched my bag of half eaten McDonalds, laughed maniacally and ran off the train. I sat there in shock for a second and looked out the window to see a man in a suit that would have cost more than a month of my wage chow down on my half chewed hash brown.

Two weeks later I moved to a place in Fitzroy.

hey mum!

I exchanged the skinny bitch series you got me for the Lonely Planet guide to Vietnam and The Outsiders and I'm not sorry.

cmx

something is not right with me.

there was an incredibly handsome, charming and funny man sitting on my couch and flirting with me for two hours and it took my incredibly stoned housemate to point it out to me... what is wrong with me at the moment?


i'm listening to too much wilco. that's what it must be. oh wilco. i love you too.

cmx

Q&A

Question: What do all of the following things have in common?

1. The noise from the construction site across the road from my office.
2. Vampires.
3. Public transport.
4. Vaccum cleaners.
5. the cafe near my house shut at 4:00pm.
6. Straws.
7. Miscommunication.
8. Mosquitos.

A. They all suck.

cmx

sweet six pack.

Yesterday morning I found myself at the pool. I did my laps and felt satisfied. I'd managed to do something productive before someone or something came along and fucked my day up. After lapping, I'd hopped out of the pool and was drying myself off. A tall man walked towards me with a smile on his face, I checked frantically to make sure I was still in my swimmers (thankfully, yes. everything was still in it's place) and looked him straight in the eye with what must have been a very puzzled look on my face. He said to me "Oh whoa! That is an awesome scar! From far away it looks like you have a sweet six pack." and walked off.

skinny bitch snippet #1

My mum is amazing... mentally unwell but means well. When she found out that boyfriend and I had split she ran down to the nearest Borders and got me what she thought were a couple of books that would help me through it. This is in line with my usual post break up behaviour but I have a tendancy to walk past SELF HELP and straight to Sociology... Mum didn't make it that far and as a result I am a proud owner of Skinny Bitch, Skinny Bitch in the Kitch (the matching cookbook) and Skinny Bitchin' (some kind of fucked up journal).

I have picked up Skinny Bitch and started reading it only becuase I have finished all of the books that have been lying around my bed and I was starting to get desperate for distraction while waiting for peacal to lend me the latest Twilight novel. The book is so afwul it makes me want to vomit everytime I pick it up. It is so stupid that it actually hurts my brain to read it and I told a girl on the tram who was reading it to "throw it out the window! It'll be the best thing you ever did!"

The idea behind this book is that it's a "no nonsense, tough-love guide for savvy girls who want to stop eating crap and start looking fabulous" and it's written by two former Ford Models. Oh yes... I'm sure the two incredibly beautiful and concerningly skinny bitches on the back know all about being overweight and having crap skin and having a love/ hate relationship with sugar like I do. Errrgh.. Makes me seven kinds of mad really. I know how hard it is to lose weight. I have the pictures to prove it and these girls are making it sound like a click of the fingers to change your attitude about food and exercise and SHAZAM! you can be a skinny bitchin' ex ford model alien looking creature.

This is my favourite:

"Don't smoke. Don't even try some pathetic excuses such as , "but if I quit smoking, I'll gain weight." No one wants to hear it. Cigarettes are for losers. They are so totally 1989 and uncool. Smokings out. Give it up."

Oh yes... because it's so simple to give up smoking you vacuous bitches. Just like that. You say it and it's done. Excuse me while I rip my own head off and ram thirty cigarettes into the gaping hole and light them all at once.

It's kind of what your book makes me want to do. more to come as I can stomach it.

cmx

my kind of pornography

http://cuteandcuter.tumblr.com/page/1

holy crap. i don't know whether to coo or cream myself.

cmx

i should be so lucky...

i suppose it's lucky i'm quite fond of cats.

cmx

alice and the gentle gardener

I had an appointment with my lovely Surgeon a couple of weeks ago... He has been my surgeon and to a certain point, my friend for the best part of a decade. When at 16, everyone around me assumed that I had an eating disorder (that had somehow managed to cause my morbid obesity- go figure.) or a psychological issue with food he believed what I was saying and made it his mission to find out why my body was failing me.

I see him once a year if I’m well and we catch up over a pot of tea. He is almost manic in the way he jumps from topic to topic, but there is something incredibly serene about him. He laughs a lot, he asks a lot of questions, and pats my mother gently on the hand. He dresses like a gardener, which I find incredibly appropriate given I consider him the caretaker of my insides. He removes the cobwebs and vines that grow inside of me. He repairs or removes the plants that aren’t doing so well and sews me up again. He gives me and my garden a chance to grow.

This year I went in with the big questions. Two big questions and the response I got to both has been lingering about half a pace behind me ever since. The first answer was “Yes. You will need more surgery, and probably more after that- you may end up with a feeding tube later in life. Your fear is not an unreasonable one but we will do our best.” The second was “No, I don’t think it would be in your best interest to have children. You could but I would not advise it. Your body simply can’t handle the pressure of pregnancy. Your digestive system is not strong enough. Your scar is too restrictive.“

I wasn’t planning on having children in the next five years. Absolutely not. But when my biological clock started to tick and I started to ache for the pitter patter of tiny feet I wanted to know I had the option. And it seems that I don’t. As much as he tends to my garden- its beds are to remain infertile. There is a sadness to this I am yet to be able to describe fully. It’s small and heavy and sits to the left of my chest. I’m still processing the news and adjusting accordingly. When I told my grandfather the news through tears and tea his sensible and old school response was “well, maybe next time he is in there he could rip all those parts out too- you know, save you the worry.” It’s certainly an option I’m not prepared to entertain but I can see his point.

It’s a strange new world I’m living in at the moment. I feel a bit like Alice in wonderland because of the enormous amount of change that has occurred in my life over the last month or so... not just this news. I don’t know if I will ever process the fact that I cannot have children fully but I’m surprising myself everyday with my strength and adaptability. It feels like every time I get my footing something else happens that causes me to crouch to the ground for a moment- but I get back up and keep chasing the white rabbit through the garden.

damn you. you're right.

argh. someone found me out.

As described below.

You have a heart of gold. Gold, though, has a high melting point. It takes a lot of heat to soften your emotional stance. Your purity and consistency is sometimes mistaken for indifference.

i couldn't have said it better myself.

cmx

to PDA or not to PDA...

I’m on Doctor’s orders not to ride my bike for a bit until things get better. I’m sneaking it across the park and up to peacal’s but I know (and the doctor knows) I’m not well enough to battle it to work. The humiliation of walking my bike up a hill I know I can manage when I am well is a bit much for me, and so would be the heaving and vomiting and fainting in public business. I don’t know how long it will take until I am better but until I get the all clear, it’s the tram for me. And oh, how I hate the tram.

The tram is awful. It’s 20 minutes of hell being hit in the side of the head with a bag whilst stuck underneath a business man’s arm with some creepy man smiling and making eye contact with me. And, lucky me, I get to pay for the privilege. People smell, do strange things, are rude and often a little too affectionate with their loved one – which was the case this morning.

I was stuck between an overly affectionate couple and an angry IT guy who was quite obviously unhappy with life. This couple were in that “bubble of love and happiness” which means that you only have eyes, ears and spatial awareness for your beloved. As most of you know, up until very recently I was in one of those bubbles known as a relationship so this was a bit of a sore point for me at seven thirty this morning. I will however point out in my defence that I have never been a big fan of the public display of affection unless I am a) drunk or b) on the dancefloor.

I (only just) tolerated the happy couple. I gritted my teeth, I rolled my eyes and tried to busy myself with my book. Angry IT guy was not as tolerable this morning. He confronted the love birds loudly by saying “Hey! You know what? It’s seven thirty in the morning and we are all stuck on a packed tram. How about showing us all a little respect and keeping your tongues in your respective mouths? Public transport is hard enough without your public displays of affection!” He then pointed to me and said “This poor girl looks like she is about to vomit! Give us all a break.”

Love birds were far too shocked to retaliate, and quite obviously felt uncomfortable with declaring their adoration for each other for the rest of their trip. I, could do very little to prevent myself from showing my very own PDA for angry IT guy.

cmx

old dog = better at old tricks

It's taken a couple of months of talking myself back into it but last night I stepped back onto the dancefloor for some swing dance classes. I was a complete nervous wreck. The thought walking into a room and having to make physical contact with a bunch of people i don't know.... sweaty palms, body odour, halitosis... it's all enough to make an ex-dental nurse vom.

but... i did it(go to class not vomit). and you know what? i aced it. it all came back to me just like riding a bike but I'm actually really good at this. One lesson back and I have been moved up to intermeadiate. This evening I'm praticing my moves in the loungeroom much to my housemates amusement and desperate for next monday to come around so i can hold a strangers hands and find my inner quiet.

cmx

slightly accomplished

This morning whilst riding to work my bike broke down for the umpteenth time since it came into my life. It’s possibly the most unreliable bike in town but I love it too much to part with it.

Normally I would call someone to fix it, I’d kick it, I’d lock it up and walk away but this morning with frozen hands, swollen eyes and angry beeping drivers abusing me every couple of minutes I managed to fix it all on my own. No tools, no calls and no tantrums. I was very nearly late to work, I am covered in grease and there are cuts on my hands but I’m pretty damn pleased with myself.

Cmx

Public Apology #1

Hello.

Please accept this as an apology for any irrational, awkward, out of line and peculiar behaviour I may have displayed in the last two or three weeks.

I’ve been a bit out of sorts and I haven’t done a particularly good job of hiding it this time around. April seems to be a bad month for me every year and let me assure you all that next year I intend to hibernate in Vietnam for the majority of the month to save you all from having to deal with me. I’m well aware that it hasn’t been much fun – try being in my head.

Good news – As the end of April nears, the end of my angry red is in sight and thing are calming down again. I feel a bit like my old self today (my dress blew up in my face to remind me who I was) and am relieved to say the least.

Thank you for tolerating me. I owe you all a coffee, a cupcake and a hug.


cmx

P.S. Please make sure you collect on the coffee, cupcake and hug offer. I’ll even make coupons.

And I'm still as stupid as anyone, but I know my mistakes

Recently, my mum posted me in the mail a vegan cookbook and it has to be said – this cookbook may be my first true love. I spend approximately half an hour every evening in an almost meditative state reading the recipes, writing myself shopping lists and pondering as to what exactly some of the ingredients are. This half an hour is often followed up with a call to Kathleen, who is Abby’s mum and the most amazing cook I know. For 15 minutes I chat with Kathleen about the ingredients that I am unsure of, where I might procure them and how the final meal might taste.

The recent arrival (and endless bragging) of this cookbook has sparked some not so pleasant and thinly veiled remarks from my friends about my apparent “veganism” and my “not-so-fun-anymore-ism”. It’s not often I feel as though I have to defend my choices (or my right to choose) to anyone but this weekend, some remarks that were made cut me a fair bit.

I’m not Vegan. I’m not Vegan because my boyfriend is Vegan. I’m not even close to Vegan. I’m Vegetarian. I’m not Vegetarian because my boyfriend is Vegan either. He has little to do with my lifestyle choices and little influence over me. I am Vegetarian because late last year I watched a documentary on the treatment of animals that broke my heart and made me physically ill. I don’t have any milk products because I am lactose intolerant, and I’m a bit funny about eggs. I ensure that I buy beauty and laundry products that aren’t tested on animals because I see it as unnecessary cruelty. I was Vegan from the age of 15 to the age of 19. I might (and probably will) be Vegan again someday, but it’s my business… not anyone else’s.

I’m simply trying to minimise the cruelty inflicted on animals and the damage to the environment caused by the lifestyle choices that I make – So that I can sleep better at night.

My “not-so-fun-anymore-ism” is something that is brought up after a glass or two of wine, it’s said in jest but I think it’s unfair to suggest that someone isn’t as much fun anymore because they aren’t drinking as much. I’m still making the same jokes, I’m still doing the same stupid things and I still find the same things (mainly cats and seals) hilarious and entertaining. My closest friends know that I don’t have to be drunk to fall in a drain or be harassed unprovoked by someone or make some stupid decisions. I am more than capable of doing all of this and dancing like a fool completely sober. I just don’t like getting drunk anymore. It’s not nearly as much fun as being coherent enough to pick on the drunks.

You know, people change. It’s not a crime to do so. I’m just surprised that my friends are treating me a bit like a criminal for it. In my mind, it’s a much more serious crime to go along in life and not consider the implications of your lifestyle and choices on your health, the environment and the people around you.

a mother's joy.

Last night, my mum came into town for dinner. I rode home from work on the park avenue, about 30 metres from my house I could see my mum waiting anxiously outside my house. I rang my bell and she looked up, smiled and waved.

As I turned my bike around and pulled up outside my house my mother clapped, cheered and whooped loudly with utter delight. It was as if I were six, and riding without training wheels for the very first time. I hopped off my bike and she hugged me and did some more clapping. then she hugged me. rinse. repeat. rinse. repeat.

I was incredibly embarrassed at the time. My face was scarlet and I wanted to get her off the street and into where she could continue cheering without my new neighbours witnessing my mother behave in a mildly manic way.

After we had dinner and she had long gone, I was thinking about how happy she was to see me ride my bicycle up the street. She's seen me ride a bicycle a thousand times, but everytime it elicits this response from her. She claps and cheers like I'm about to win gold.

I'm not sure why this makes her as happy as it does, but it's nice to think I'm doing something that makes her proud and happy.

cmx

you're my wonderwall.

For Christmas last year, I received some wonderful Christmas presents, but the glace cherry on the Christmas fruitcake for me was two tickets to Ryan Adams & the Cardinals from Brendan.

I utterly adore Ryan Adams (I’m fearful of simply calling him Ryan for fear of further taunting) and I have for years. His albums have been stand out soundtracks to some of the more difficult periods of my life. Cold Roses was the soundtrack to a break up, Love Is Hell is the soundtrack for my ongoing grief, for a period I even preferred lying in bed listening to his albums than talking with my friends. It has to be said, Ryan Adams has been a consistent and loyal companion in times of woe.

In the midst of my month of great upheaval, the impending show was at the back of my mind. It crept up on me very quickly, and before I knew it… it was that very evening. January was a terrible month, plagued with unrest, house hunting, work issues and moments of utter despair. This time, the soundtrack to my drama was Fugazi’s Repeater. I listened to that album on repeat when I was anxious, when i couldn't sleep, whenever I was riding between house inspections and on my way to work. By the end of January, I had moved house and settled into my new home, I had something very important back with me, things had settled at work and life was back to how I like it. Ryan Adams was the perfect closer to a month that tested me. I stood (and sat, and stood again) and was able to enjoy the set without a worry in the back of my mind. No feelings of grief, no woe… just a truckload of happiness and relief.

I’ve been listening to a lot of Ryan Adams in the last few days and it seems the association between him and feelings of sadness is abating, and a new link between his music and feelings of happiness seems to be forming… It has to be said, I’m very fond of the idea of our relationship stepping over to the sunny side of the street.

do you realize?

Something was missing last week.

It went missing on Saturday morning and did not return until the following Saturday afternoon.

I didn't realize just how much I would miss it until it left me...

I only realized just how much I adore and care for it the moment it returned.

cmx

watch yourself!

Okay, so today I was sent a text message involving someone eating all of my tabouleh. Since I read the text message telling of my tabouleh's demise, I have been singing “Tabouleh bouleh!” to the tune of Sam the Sham & The Pharaoh’s ‘Wooly Bully’. I have adored this song since I first encountered it in Full Metal Jacket (one of my favourite movies) and let’s be honest, I love tabouleh. This is a hybrid of one of my favourite songs and one of my favourite foods! What more could a gal ask for on a Thursday afternoon?

So for you, this afternoon… I present Sam the Sham & The Pharaoh’s singing ‘Wooly Bully’ AKA ‘tabouleh bouleh’

i really don't.

thanks for that mr tom petty.

i realise that this song doesn't relate to my situation at all, apart from the chorus.... i don't have to live like a refugee. I'm listening to Gold 104 and I do adore this song.

x

accounts department

Dear Accounts Department.

Thank you very much for the inconvenience you have caused by not paying me or my workmates at all this week. Not only do all of my automatic debits come out of my account today (costing me money which I doubt you will reimburse me for) but I have no money for lunch or my food shopping.

I am hungry, I am poorer, and I am going to be a force to be reckoned with come lunchtime.

Damn you accounts... like Wednesdays aren't bad enough!

holiday.

So, I had a week and a half off work. It went incredibly quick and sadly the same crap I left on my desk is still here on my return. The break did me some good and I’m feeling better about a lot of things that have been crowding my poor little brain and preventing me from sleeping.

Firstly, I’m coping okay with the robbing stuff. Last night I managed to sleep through the night on my own in my own bed without waking, anxiety ridden at every sound on the street. In my quieter moments I am still mourning for my lost jewellery, some of which had very little value to anyone but me. Last night, I cleaned my noticeably less than full jewellery holder and cried for everything it once held. It’s now clean, and empty and ready to hold new precious things. It’s still a sore point, but now I am crying on my own, and not when people ask me if I’m okay or show me any kindness. Apologies to anyone who I cried at over the last couple of weeks, your sympathy has not gone unnoticed, I’m just a little overwhelmed.

I had the best Christmas I have ever had (don’t tell my mum). I woke late, I ate tiger toast in bed and watched cartoons and then I rode up to my friend’s house for a lovely Christmas lunch with friends aka family of choice. There was no pressure whatsoever, and the day was filled with bike riding and laughter. In that kitchen of my friends, there was a lot of love… and everyone who was there wanted to be there. Later, I went over to Brendan’s house, we ate blueberries and traded Christmas tales. I'm not so grinch-like about Christmas now.

To be honest, I did little these holidays but watch DVD’s, tinker on my new laptop, swim, ride on my new bike, drink coffee, see Public Enemy (highlight!) and hang about Fitzroy and Brunswick but it was exactly what I needed. I had grand plans of movies, exhibitions and sorting my life out… I got none of it done and I feel great for it.

So yeah, I’m back… A bit lighter in the heart, and a bit brighter in the mind and ready for two thousand and fine.

Cmx