She's back

Well isn't that a sorry thing when you look back at your last post and realise it was half way through the bloody year.  I feel like I have just been spat out of some time vortex where its only been a minute for me yet here we are months on.  That vortex in fact was university and it finishes up with my last exam on Monday (can't you tell the procrastination thats going on here?) anyhoo I feel the mood for writing coming on, and what better time, It's 930pm a small candle and an old halogen lamp dismally light my mostly darkened room, a hot water bottle is slipped neatly down my pants (because someone has forgotten to tell Melbourne its not winter anymore) my nose(ical) is at any minute about to snap off my face and new ideas are being to caress my mind softly.... so softly.

More to come....

Great Day

I achieved today. Got up and walked to the growers market. Had a warm coffee and a bacon and egg roll to start me off, then perused my way through many stalls manned by their very own crier touting the latest specials for the day.  Loaded up with fresh fruit and veg and bunch of beautiful smelling flowrs, I headed home. Got my bakers groove on and baked muffins and date and pumpkin scones.  Also made a flower garland for my hair. Settled into my warm bed and now listening to the rain on my tin roof.

Awesome.

Pity about my football team, but I guess you can't have it all.

I am the mistake in you, you are the mistake in me, we are the mistake in each other

The broken doll, watery eyes, her delicate skin
Over years, emotion too bold has scratched her paper thin
A soul, in time, blackened with lies and slush
From the very man she thought she would be able to trust

Told to play in the garden, mocking her with this farce
this marks the spot where she attended life class
that between her legs, little cunt, not worth much more
An innocent version now, soon to be someone's whore.

The hatred runs deep and over years, daddy dear
I know I'm not worth more than what you paid for that beer
For myself, be assured, that I won't gamble
or dare to even think, you may be slightly culpable

But appear he did, in an unconventional tide
the broken boy, too,matched my pattern, similarities couldn't hide
I was swept into his soul, a patchwork quilt like mine
the promise of a fix, it would only take some time

I never felt so high, my desperate fingernails clung in cracks and all
So this is what it's like to be free, floating up on a pedestal
the passion, custom cut, soft felicitation
But this euphoric little band-aid covers nothing of the fatal laceration

Foolishness gags me, lies sit heavily on my chest
With one whisper, poison is infected in his breath
holding up the mirror, truth and hope again are torn
the scars reminding me, of nothingness, my skin adorns

You threatened to drain this new life, this cure from my veins
Cannot you then see, that this unlocked insane
He wanted you to feel, I wanted you to see
The crude oiled pain that was infected into me.

But alas I take my cue, and now play out my part
Slowly killing what little left there is of my pathetic heart
The shape of a circle, the message that it sends
Tells me this fiery red hell of mistakes will not ever end.

Goodbye Prahran, Hello Abbotsford.

I should be packing. right now.

But of course packing is the pits and so I am procrastinating on the net, oggling other peoples blogs wishing I could write, take photos, style, review as well as them.

Already I have come to the conclusion that I own copious amount of shit that has no real use at all on my life. I sit and wonder how I have managed to accumulate so much stuff in the last 29 years - where did all this stuff come from? You begin life with nothing but your bare naked self and then suddenly you need a massive truck to move all the things you own.

Although moving is.... well..... such a pain in the arse... it is also a time of opportunity. To shed. And be free from everything tying you down. To start a fresh. To lighten your load. I have moved that many times I'm not sure I could even count them any more. I just recently found out from a work mate, as we walked the beaten track towards the coffee shop together, that she has never moved once in her life. Not once. She bought the house she grew up in from her parents. I can't even imagine this - and it scares me to imagine what stuff has not been gotten rid of because of it. I can't imagine living in a world with no new starts, no change, no freedom.

Suddenly the opportunity of moving isn't seeming so bad after all, here's to the next chapter in my life... and whatever that may bring.

(photos of the area near my house, beautiful no? Can you believe I am moving closer to Melbourne city!?)

WTF: Ikea

Um, can anyone tell me what the fuck this is?

Train Girl

Just playing with the iPhone

Scene 1 take 5, Rolling, Background action, and Action

Well I don't know what you have been doing for the last two days but I have been making some serious coin for sitting on my arse and having a ball with some stella ladies!  That's right, I was being an extra... on a pilot for channel 7, I literally was on set for about an hour and a half for each 12 hour day I did.  It;s quite and experience and I would highly recommend it if you ever get the chance.  It's a whole lot of chaos, a whole load of wannabe's, a whole lot of catering, a whole lot of streamlined jobs (Mr Ford would be proud), a whole lot of gaffa tape and a whole lot of waiting around.  Still beats doing your actual real job.

We were in a scene where we were girls attending our 10 year reunion from our all girls high school.  It was quite funny to see art imitating life and vice versa.  In two days, 50 or so woman had made their little groups and cliques, we all knew who the bitch group was (it was Kate Nielson by the way, the psycho chick who used to date Wayne Carey before she got fucked off her nut and tried to glass him - hasn't she fallen from Grace, although I'm not really sure she had far to fall.  One of her croonies seriously looked like a tranny, in was awkward) there was the daggy group, there were the loners, their were the annoying group, and then there was my group.

Kim, a member of this group reckons we were the cool group, I'm not sure about that but I can definitely say that we had the most laughs and cheeky behaviour.  We had a freakin ball.  Hanging out in that condensed amount of time was like going out together at least 20 times so of course we had got, very quickly to the sex talk and the dirty jokes.  We were a misfit type of bunch and I don't think I would have ever met these ladies had I never been an extra.  There were 2 ladies with 2 kids, a youth studies teacher, a jazz singer from Frankston, a sailor tatted metal head from Elwood, an International Studies student from Mildura who was having a long distant relationship with a fat frenchman, a quiet but lovely girl from Interplast (an amazing charity that my work actually sponsors) and me.

Anyway if you see a show called winners and losers look out for me and my girls, we are the ones mouthing the words, knickers, pissing, penis, balls, vagina, cunt, fucking in mimed conversations hoping that some sly viewer will pick it up.  We are all adults aged 26 and up, but put us together in a school like situation and we may as well have our skirts hitched, chewing gum, hiding at the back of the building, smoking a ciggie (which we also did!) good times.

Assignment Time

I'm totally bogged down with assignments at the moment so not feeling particularly inspired to write anything creative at the moment, however I did happen to come across a great quote which I thought I would share. To give you context I am currently writing an ethics essay on the subject of confidentiality and privacy in Psychology.

"Recently I have been both amused and concerned by a sign posted in the elevators of a local hospital that reads "Remember Patient Confidentiality!" as though "confidentiality", like an umbrella, might have been forgotten and I could go back & recover it from the hospitals "lost & found" Office".

(Baklar, 1996)

I think I may add to this entry every time I see a sign like this - or even add my own like "Careful of this crack, right here, don't fall down it", "Don't stand on a swivel chair to change a light", "Don't forget to breath" , "Smile, someone's most likely having a shittier day than you" or "Don't forget to clean up after you kill someone" or "Remember, the easter bunny is not real", you know, stuff like that, that's important to remember and without a sign, one might forget.

Off with the birdies....

Stencil, comic strip and animation artist, Solomon Yeone, is bringing nature back into the big smokey cities with his new guerrilla art campaign "Off with the birdies". Next time you are in Sydney city look into the corners of the streets and stations - you may find yourself standing next to a little feathered friend who is waiting for a train with you. And keep an eye out in Melbourne also, word on the street is that the flock may very soon, be flying south. Yay for street art! Become a "fan" on Facebook and follow the campaign making cities prettier places.

The Girl

5.30pm. The city heaving back to life again, the air filling with the symphonic sounds of heels clip clopping on the blue stoned pavement. The tires of cars meeting a rain soaked bitumen road, creating continuous images of fizzy drinks at the moment of their ring pull. The impatient bleats of horns, like lost goats, in search of the flock. It was dusk, the ageless time, neither day nor night. All that walk it's halls is layered with a film of deep blue, masking their timelines, they tread weary but with satisfied expressions of another day of punishment done with. At this timeless moment, we live in a world all equal, free from titles, creases, veins - all angelic and harmonious, as the sea of movement doesn't skip a beat.

I sit at the edge of my bed listening the distant sounds this world makes outside my window. My towel is draped around me lazily but consciously, I am still cautious of being seen naked by that gluttonous presence that sits patiently filling up the empty spaces of my room. My attempts to dry my hair properly have failed, yet again, as pear shaped droplets, unsuccessful in their attempts to cling to the tips of the strands, fall in succession and roll in a steady stream down my back, lightly tickling me. I close my eyes, desperate to remain focused, in this dark empty room there is nothing but a playground for an army of thoughts beating down the boundaries of my mind.

I part my legs ever so slightly, the fused skin of my thighs prickly complying. My fingers ever so softly take over the function of my sight, and trace a familiar path between my legs. Trodden enough for this to be easy and time efficient but not so new as to be a redundant exercise. A diamond flash of light appears from the movement of my arm, the outside light of the world for a moment met with my metal, I don't see it but the transparent curtain of my eyelids tell me it's there - my eyes are still firmly shut and will be until the end.

My next deep breath cements my body and like the cascade of lined rows of dominos, falling from a simple flick of a finger, I harden from my heart through to the very ends of my finger tip and toes, the weight I always know is burdening me has finally appeared in it's physical form. It is time. Silent. Steady. Slicing. In the same moment of time a violently penetrating burn meets an arctic freeze, both loyal friends and sworn enemies. With each tick of time, each increasing movement, my rigidity, my rigor mortis is eliminated, as each element of my body is detonates into gold burst of dust. every sound that exists unites, crystalizing into one perfect note - a moment of harmony.

I am a million particles, all seeing, from every angle, every time, outside and in, so real and so clear, so still, I see everything and I see nothing, all becomes meaningful and meaningless, I am shrouded in enlightenment and confusion. I am a whole perfect moment suspended, weightless and complete.

Dark, velvet tears weep from my flesh, it's always this that wakes me, my mortal being reforms again and I am disturbed. My thigh is crying, wetting me. I concentrate on the paths these tears choose to take. Each hair on my body has it's own emotional encounter with each traveling droplet, welcoming them, embracing the harmony of matter meeting matter, like a chorus starting to sing one voice at a time, all the way down to my toes if I allow the chance. The locks on eyes are released and once again I perceive this created reality. The weight settles back into my skin, like an old friend.

I pick up a towel I had set in preparation for this moment and press it against the inside flesh of my thigh, the outline of the cut has become a million needles and all the feeling I possess, has moved into this area of my body as if nothing else matters. An enemy infiltration and the troops have been called in for support - what they don't understand is that the enemy is one of them. The gold dust of my alluring perfection begins to fade, I always try and hold on with desperation, to it for as long as I can manage but inevitably it disintegrates through my fingers, an impossibility, like trying to hold onto water. The fat, grotesque form of guilt comes and sits heavily into my lap. I feel sticky and sick, why did I do this again? Why do I need this so much, why does my body, my every bit of being yearn for harm?

I head to the bathroom to wash the sin away, the coolness of the water soothes the burning fires, subdues the in-fernery of foolishness. My hands cupped like a human bowel, I watch as the water finds its way through my imaginary ceramic fingers. An impossibility. I am chasing nothing, I am running from nothing, I am afraid, of nothing. Nothing but a dream, a fantasy, a monster created by the electricity running through my head, fabricated through perpetual thoughts, a monster of thoughts, thoughts that are me. I am my own monster, I am afraid of me.

I look into the mirror and see myself looking back at me, knowingly, and I wish that I wasn't.

(This story is entirely fictional and the topic is serious. If you think you need help or assistance with self harm go to reach out, life line, Kids helpline or beyond blue for more information or to find support)

What the Bleep

Following my last post about firing neurons, I watched the DVD What the bleep do we know, the other night. It was fascinating. It was based on the concept of quantum physics - and encouraging us to re-look at the world that we take for granted, to question our being in the world. It reminds us that we live in a uncertain world, that is plastic, that is able to be changed and manipulated purely by thought. Big concepts huh? But to a certain extent it is very true.

I mean you need to take things carefully, and not blindly believe everything it says - but the film states this themselves. They are presenting some opinions to get you thinking - they don't say that what they say is true, they encourage you to make up your own mind. But for instance they present a finding that a Japanese man, Masaru Emoto happened upon. He claimed that water changed it's physiological properties when thoughts (words of intent) were directed towards the water. He showed this by sending words of intent towards bodies of water then freezing it and take a microscopic photo of a single water droplet. The positive words/thoughts showed beautiful crystalised forms and the negative thoughts/words showed grotesque and ugly forms. Some of the forms are indeed beautiful and spectacular, I have shown one below which takes the form of "thank you"

Anyway Mr Emoto does go on to say that transformed water, if it is positive, will then have healing properties and he goes on to try and sell the secret to releasing the thoughts of water and I highly doubt this is true, I mean it could be but from further research (googling) it seems he hasn't tested it enough in a scientific setting. He also hasn't passed James Randi's 1 Million dollar test (this is to the healing claims). But I do believe that they are quite confident that water does change shape and this is what is quite amazing in itself because it means we actively affect our world, which has been supported in scientific settings time and time again and this is the remarkable point that to me is far more weight to it.

We actively affect our world.

So often we think we are passive players, take for instance the healing sell from the concept of positive thought water, people buy into these types of offers because we are all trying to look for the external answer that will help, change, decide the path for their lives. In fact, people are so passive and become so complacent and believe they have no control and inevitably it becomes a truth, the brain and body physiologically change in accordance to this belief, and ironically the 'observer' has just controlled his/her life into being controlled. How amazing is that concept! If you don't look at the world differently after that then you are blind and cannot read.

Actually let's take the concept of vision and perception to further explore the unbelievable beings that we are. Basically, we operate like a machine - we are data collectors and users, we do not see with the eyes but with the mind (Shakespeare knew this when he wrote A Midsummer Nights Dream! Sorry I'm digressing, back to it). Scientists have shown by mapping our brain, that when we see something and when we imagine something, our brain is doing the exact same things in terms of information processing - so there is no difference between what is real and what is unreal, we understand something to be there because we have a built a collection of infinite information in our minds, assisting us to understand what something is and to consciously acknowledge that it's there - we have created neural networks for quick referencing. And those neural networks can be different for everyone based on experience, why are they different? Because we create understanding, we are not born with it only the capacity to create it. So you see the brain is plastic and it can change. I won't go into now but if you care to know more about neurons firing together and wiring together then Norman Doige's book The brain that changes itself is a bloody good place to start.


But back to seeing, are things visible if we don't have a reference point for them or the ability to access the information for them? There is some experiments that have shown this may be correct. This all shows us that our realities are indeed ours and different from others. So we have created our reality which means we can change it, we just need to be conscious of it to change it and thats where I think we are lacking but when you are conscious of it - life become amazing because the simplest and smallest intricacies of life will seem different and complex, constructed and changeable - we start to live in a really dynamic world full of infinite possibilities.

The very next morning I went to have breakfast with my friend who is a casting manager and she told me a story from her work. She was running out of time to cast her final actors and the director kept asking her to get more people because he didn't feel comfortable with the people she had already put forward, however she did not have time to find more people, get their profile pictures and put them forward for submission. So she became conscious of her choices, and how information may look to her director. There was one actor that she thought would be great but he had not passed the photo test with the director - she resubmitted all the same people but different photos of them, and she had all the photos looking away and the actor she wanted she used a photo looking directly at the camera. Not only did the director (after scrutinizing mind you over these photos) not only not know that the submissions were all the same but he chose the person she wanted out of the 20 faces. Was it magic? no, it was psychology in action, it was understanding our brain and using it's skills or rather lack of skill to save time. Magic, no. Incredible, yes.

Next time you make a choice - become conscious as to why you are making that choice. does it remind you of something? Have you chosen it before? Does it relate to something in your life? Is it attached to a positive memory? Are you repeating the choice because you make to any of your choices unconsciously?

Only when we become conscious, do we really understand the infinite possibilities of ourselves and our lives. We hold the most powerful tool ever known, and it's sitting right behind your eyes.

xx

We are all just bunch of firing neurons

I went to see Andrew O'Neill last night - the occult comedian who was just delightful and possibly should be the poster child for being the most tolerant guy in the world. I think he has the right attitude - he said that he was nothing but a subjective concept to us - a bunch of firing neurons in each of our minds, creating a picture, and understanding in our minds that would then lead to our perception. I mean what a fucking awesome statement, because if you are making judgements it's your own mind thats creating them isn't it? It's your firing neurons that are fucked.

he considers himself to be a transvestite in fact he says that he has joined the union and that part of that commitment is to cross dress at least 3 days of the 7. I'm not sure if this detail was fabricated - I can't help thinking that this union is actually a bit of a boys club because I would imagine it's much easier to join as a man cross dressing than a woman, given that we have naturally blurred the boundaries and I am actually not sure what would constitute enough masculine effort to be considered a female "cross dresser" I have tried to google it with not much success on this detail. In any case Andrew is so handsome and looks so lovely in his outfits - they suit him perfectly - I wish more men were comfortable in wearing dresses or skirts and it were as normal as women wearing pants (trousers for any UK readers - I wish), then if it were more socially accepted we would have to define it with some special term it would just be the norm. Actually it did make me think how lucky I was to be a woman - we definitely seem to be the more freer sex and have far less limitations when it comes to how we wish to socially construct ourselves as individuals, but I guess it comes at a price with other social stereotypes and limitations but I think we have opportunities to break these more than men do.

What I love most having attended the show, was had i not gone i would never have been sat down next to a man who was I would say in his forties, with the most beautiful healthy looking long hair i have even seen, I was totally jealous, but I'm digressing, sorry. He was a corrosion scientist and is from the UK doing a stint at the CSIRO in Australia. His demeanor was soft and shy but ever so warm, open and friendly to anyone who was willing to accept him. He proudly showed me his newly acquired vampire teeth, that he has recently had made to fit. They were lovely. He said he has an affinity with the vampire concept and thus dresses accordingly to the description of one to fulfill this sense of connection. I asked him why he simply didn't get the teeth capped onto to his regular teeth for a more permanent commitment to the look, but he shyly responded that the corsets, capes and teeth come out for the appropriate nightclub he attends - I hoped that was his choice and not because he felt he was only limited to that space as a way of self preservation.

His one concern about being in Australia was that the overwhelming exposure to the sun was giving him an unwanted tan. "Who is going to believe me as a vampire, if I turn up looking so dark skinned" Bless him. A truly gorgeous spectating buddy to a very entertaining show.

Be who you feel you should be, don't fight the neurons creating your individuality or be limited by other neurons, that are, themselves limited in their perceptions.

xx

Misty Water Coloured

(I know it's slightly egocentric, but it's my blog and I'm doing it anyway)

My Top 10 Childhood Memories in chronological order - probably answering all your questions as to why I am the person I am today.

1) Feathered Encounters

Two years of age (That's right this is my first memory and my mother is quite impressed with the level of correct detail) I had been taken to the easter show, Im presuming where I had been taken was, in fact, the easter show. In any case I knew I had been somewhere exciting and fun and I was hoarding a collection of goodies to show for it. Except as I sifted through the items in which was probably the millionth audit of newly acquired possessions I realised something was indeed missing: My coloured foil windmill with the yellow handle. You know those windmills made of sparkly foil paper, that when you blow on them all the colours merge into a big blob keeping a toddler interested for hours. I went on a hunt to find it and peered out the window towards the car from where we had come - bingo - there it was lying innocently on the ground. I must have made a dash out of an open front door, down the steps of the stoop and onto the driveway where the car was parked. My windmill was within a hands reach, however as I reached out to pick it up I realised I wasn't alone. I looked up and there ahead of me was a feathered creature of gigantic proportions, its giant claws scratched threateningly on the ground and its beak snapped - this was the end I was to be eaten alive by this death winged creature. Screams and tears were cascading from me before I even knew it and frantic parents rushed out, only to stop in their tracks, stare and then burst into fits of laughter (I was not impressed by this reaction and now I think back and am impressed that at the age of 2 I already knew how to be unimpressed - clearly why it's been the default reaction of my life)

Oh PS this monster turned out to be a chicken and ironically it got eaten in the end by the neighbours and thankfully I remained in one piece.

2) Jealousy

3 years - first day at kindy - I met my childhood best friend Sarah, however the first time I met her I despised her as she walked aloofly onto the astro-turf and hopped onto some play equipment (the type of play equipment that is now banned because it's now actually deemed too dangerous for children to play on - no wonder children are so soft these days.**) Sarah was sporting the latest hair design of a full curved to the head fishbone braid and sporting pink and white reflector velcro sneakers - god dammit she was cool - I hated her and at the same time desperately wanted to be her friend, cool by association. I knew from that early moment I would never make the grade with the latest fashions and reach true uber coolness - I was served a cold wet dish of reality from the ripe old age of 3. Still Sarah turned out to be a nice girl and we became friends, plus a couple of weeks later her mum cut all her hair off to look like a boy because of nits so that cut her down a peg or two.

** We used to go to pottery classes in the school holidays and there was an old wooden circular bench (like a really simple carousel) that you would push around and it would spin and it had section like a pie, each section would hold a couple of kids and you would hold onto the metal bars so to not fall off. We would get as many kids on as possible and spin that thing so fast and the last kid still holding on won. We also used to have a treated pine pyramid that was at least 5 or 6 metres high - that many a kid owes there first broken arm to. Needless to say both these super fun playthings no longer exist.

3) Pink Undies

5 years of age - some of the participants of this memory still refuse that it happened but there is enough of us to know that it did. We were in kindergarten, the very first year of primary school and in fact we were only a couple of months into it. We had a teacher called Mrs Moosung (I think she still teachers at my old school - thats 24 years ago!) she had just nipped out of the kinder yellow classroom for a minute (probably to have a ciggie or something) Anyway we were told to sit still and wait, of course the minute she left, we all went mental. One of the girls called Sarah said I bet you can't guess what colour my undies are. Yellow a girl called Melissa yelled, White I chimed, purple Alanna shouted. All received shakes to the head so of course this turned into all of us trying to lift each others skirts up to see the colours and basically each others undies, then out of nowhere Emily jumped up and said these are my undies and pulled her pink knickers down to her ankles and did a jig - cue Mrs Moosung. We all got sent to the headmistresses office. Emily went first and came back in tears, I was horrified and petrified of my turn, I was so scared when I was actually in there that I burst into hysterical laughter, the headmistress was ok though and I was just told off and sent back to class.

Still the ordeal had made me so embarrassed and mortified that I didn't admit it to my mother until I was in year 6.

4) wet carpet

Year 1 and I was 6 years old. My teacher was Mrs Couch and she was frightening, she had a booming voice and smacked us when we were naughty (back in the days when this was ok) But she also made us massage her feet and play with her hair when she read us stories. One day she kept us back in class even after the lunch bell had gone and I had been desperate for the toilet, and wet my pants - unfortunately this also made a little wet patch on the carpet. When she told us to get up and line up to go outside, she noticed it and pointed her foot at the patch and boomed "who did this" I was so scared I never said anything. I also didn't say anything because I knew what happened to little girls who wet their pants at school - they were sent to Mrs Kernig, the nurse and were forced to wear a boys uniform for the rest of the day and then you got teased by the other kids

This is the first time I have ever told the story.

5) The School Yard (Various Memories)

We used to play He-man and Sheera in the playground at lunch. If a boy bought you a super dooper (which was a long thin fruit ice block) that means he likes you and if you took it that means you were girlfriend/boyfriend and that was considered gross. Once my friend Emily and I had a fight at lunch and she said that she wished I would die at an early age. Not dead yet. We are still friends. Alexia: One, Emily: zero. The school canteen. You would always approach them with the sentence "how much can I get with this much?" [array of coins dumped onto the counter]. They served us carob and ovaltinies instead of chocolate: we were extremely naive. Every band morning my mother would drop me earlier at school, for band practice (my mum wanted me to play the clarinet and I hated it) - I spent a lot of mornings in the mural weather shed, and at the concerts I pretended to play (I've never told my mother this).

6) Learning does stay

Year 3 and I was 11 years old - I had to do an assignment on Platypuses and Echidnas - they are both monotremes - this means they only have one hole..... for everything. Snap.

7)Raptors in the dark

One of my closest family friends Jess was a little younger than me in school but outside of school we did a lot together, everything in fact, a lot of memories live in the lap of my mate Jess. We used to go for walks at 7.30pm every night - I would watch Home and Away at 7pm and then re-tell Jess the episode while we were walking (I don't even know why? I think she may have enjoyed the way I told the story better than watching it herself) Anyway my fondest memory with Jess was with my sister and her brother Jordan. It must have been around the time of Jurrasic Park because this is how we knew about Raptors. Basically whilst the parents were chatting in the other room over dinner we would play the game raptors in the dark. Simple Premise. Someone was the raptor, the others were getting away from Raptor, we all had to crawl on the floor (around the couches etc) and it was all done in the dark. Basically it was just a way to scare the beejeezus out of ourselves, just the silent anticipation of a raptor behind you in the dark set you off into a frenzy of screams, which in turn led to more screaming from others and so on. the adrenalin rush was sensational.

8) And Action......

From very early on people were aware of my dramatic tendencies - I wore one glove around the place in honour of Michael Jackson, Wore my hair like Cyndi Lauper. I had a habit of encouraging (ok... forcing) the children that belonged to the guests that came over for dinner to do a play, dance, song, whatever was taking my fancy at the time and we would perform it for the parents at the end of the nights proceedings. I was a hideous, nazi-like director and everything had to be done perfectly and my way. I was known to fire children from the stage and cause them to cry. We actually have a tape that I recorded, which was me pretending to record a radio station program and I fire one of the children on the recording because she is not doing the voice properly and then she runs off to tell her mum - snitch. In this interview I also run a secret sound competition which was a nose blowing into a tissue and interview a person with the name Led Zepplin - I was an idiot.

9) First Crush

He arrived in year 5 and had the attitude of a kid with a dirty past. I heard he burnt down his last school. Wow. He was a rough, handsome, delinquent. And I spent many a night in my room fantasising about him holding my hand, kissing me, telling me that he loved me, wanting him to ask me to be his girlfriend. He was dreamy. I would go parties and desperately hope that his spin of the bottle would land on me. In the end he chose Anita Palmer as his girlfriend because she peaked early with puberty and had the biggest boobs for a 10 year old, you have ever seen (some say her mother sent her to the doctor for jabs to bring puberty on early....... tramp.)

His name was Robert Doyle.

Apparently now...... he is a total bogan.

10) For the Kingdom, Power and Glory

So I kind of need to mention this because it took up a lot of my childhood life and will explain why I am so anti it now. My mother allowed my friend parents to take me to church. Now I'm not really sure why she did this - It was possible that I had wanted to go, I'm not sure - that I can't remember. I guess my mother had the trust in me that I would eventually work it all out in my own head and make my own decisions about things. I was taken to a CLC church - this stood for Christian Life Centre which was eventually to be become part of the Hillsong family (yup). It was one of those churches that played rock music and the paster wore a Madonna mic and pranced up and down the stage theatrically to do a sermon. He got to the point where he asked people to come down to the front if you wanted to open your life up to jeebus. I was taken down, and a gazillion hands (people I knew as well as strangers) were thrust upon every part of my body and head. To the side of me I could see others in the same position who had started convulsing, their eyes were rolling in the back of their head and they fell to the ground and started yelling in tongues (this apparently is the holy spirit entering your body) I was freaking terrified and not only that I felt like a failure, because I didn't feel even remotely groggy or affected by these violating hands, let alone whacked out by some spirit and in the end the hands just pushed me to the floor. It was ridiculous and no one answered your questions sensibly, only with fairytales that were unsubstantiated and most of the time you were being told how much of a shit person you were amongst a larger group of shit people and the only thing we had left was god. It was theatrical to say the least - possibly why I was attracted in the first place.

Now I believe in science.

But I don't want to leave this with such a cold note so I will tell you that one time in Sunday school we were drawing on the blackboard and at the same time were also given kit kats to eat - so there I was in my element, Chalk in one hand, kit kat in the other - you can tell where this is going...... jeebus made me eat chalk.... I hate jeebus.

Guilty Pleasures

(Some of the plot may have been fabricated to assist the story - c'mon you can't tell me you have never done it and at least I've warned you)

The other day I needed to go to the airport to pick a visitor to Melbourne, so I organised the hire car, picked it up, drove out the 30 or so minutes from city to Tullermarine, parked in the short term and crossed the pedestrian bridge and into the chaotic scene of jet setting: business men, families, backpackers and then some, in all directions were adorned with their various luggage accessories and necessities - some looked like they carried with them, their entire lives from start to finish, others a mere laptop bag. As I darted through the myriad of wheelie madness, I headed towards the screen informing me if the plane had come in, then a glimpse of something familiar caught my eye.

It was one of my girlfriends, her elbows supporting her as she leaned across the barriers of the internationals gate, she had a coffee in one hand and a look of nostalgic satisfaction. As I sidled up to her in hope that we could be waiting companions while we waited for "our people" to go through the torturous traverse through customs, I realised from her look that abruptly burst through the meditative spell she seemed to be under. When I innocently questioned who she was waiting for, there was hesitation, as if she were searching through the bank of answers available for deposit, then she realised the account was fairly empty and fessed up that she was indeed waiting for nobody.

The fairly reasonable journey out there had been for her own guilty pleasures. She felt the completeness in her own soul when she witnessed people re-unite and she devoured the residual excitement that trailed off the backs of individuals embarking on an unknown adventure. And this wasn't the first time she had made the trip to witness these scrumptious delights - as her needs of pleasure required it, she would hop in her car and it seems to me that one may have soon required the other hand to calculate the amount of excursions.

This made me start to think of all the possible quirky little scenarios that have organically become apparent to satisfy our humanly needs of satisfaction, pleasure, pure contentment and harmony - happiness essentially. And who out there at that moment was also satisfying their needs and willingly succumbing to the world of wonderful.

Immediately I knew some of mine. One in particular I discovered when I was quite young - the brutish art of kicking over toadstools...... crazy huh? But I just adore doing it. When I was growing up we had a jungle of a back garden and there were numerous dark, moist and misty places that were just ideal for toadstools to thrive. I had been exploring out the back, avoiding at all cost, the creepy crawlies that also loved the dark spots and I saw a patch of them, defiantly claiming the patch of mound, all hideous, stocky, stubby and stunted. So I kicked them, they were so light they went flying. But the real pleasure I got out of it was the sound, the soft and low "thup" sound when shoe hits fleshy fungus - just imagining the sound is giving me delightful satisfaction. Try it sometime. I bet you would enjoy it too.

So what do you do to fulfill your guilty pleasures?

xx

PS. Just found a facebook group with 95 people in it who also express the love of kicking mushrooms - I am not alone

What will they think of next

*** [added 19/4/10] Interesting, further to my post below from a couple of days ago, looks like it's still good marketing but for the big guy, not the little guy***

I am so super impressed by this marketing I just had to post it. Basically this new restaurant in Melbourne has just opened. Yeah you say no big deal - places open all the time.....

BUT...

for the first 2 weeks they decided to give the food away for FREE on the proviso that you find the details of where this place is yourself - if you hunt and find..... then free pizza! - it's genius, and yellow pages owe this little place for the recent activity on their webpage.

http://hiddenpizza.com.au/ (It didn't surprise me at all to my friend Simon's face in the photo of staff - this is totally him)

http://www.yellowpages.com.au/sup/the-hidden-pizza-restaurant-13768965-listing.html

I think I'm going to order the Hot Salami - YUM

You've got the Love

So why don't you try internet dating? Everyone is doing it these days. It's not weird. People are far too busy these days to meet anyone, so people are using the tools available to meet each other without the time and cost of going out. A friend of a friend of mine and his partner met on the net and they have been together for ages, in fact I think they are getting married. My friend S says it so matter of fact. In fact a lot of my friends are telling me this. I guess at the age of 29 and still being single people feel the need to tell you this after the tenth time of you and them catching up and them asking, again, so seeing anyone? no, no, just me still............ [cue tumbleweed and sound of crickets] um...... (realising I have become a social faux pas) I guess I haven't had the opportunity, you know, to meet the right person? (I ended this as a question because at this point I don't what I'm saying)

At this point into the blog I just want to state (before you all go accusing me of being some Carrie/Bridget Jones wanna be) that I know being single is not the end of the world. I am somewhat intrigued at the fact that it comes so easy to some and not to others (IE me) and I am just wanting to explore that. I mean I actually thought that it would just all work itself out by now - I thought it was part of life's story - It was all very possible (and likely) to end up with a shit partner and thus partnership but you had one all the same. But as a surprise to me I can't even seem to get the shit ones to stay.

So, acknowledge that there is a problem, the problem however, I am assured to by friends is not me, not at all (well that's a relief) but the time that we live in - it's just impossible to fit everything into these modern days. I mean I wanted to be educated, be focused on my own career, my individual outcome and obviously that has come at a cost - not meeting Mr right because my attention has been on other things - so best trot off to the internet and make up for lost time.

Oasis, RSVP, Adult Matchmaker, hot or not, e harmony, fling finder (for the person far too busy to even rock up to a bar and say to the nearest person "oi fancy a fuck?"), plenty of fish (amusing - nothing like a witty pun to make you feel less of a freak) - Nowerdays there is a plethora of these sites just waiting waiting to have your profile installed and they are seriously high tech and very detailed these days which caters for ye olde science of attraction. I think back to the first days when these sites were just starting and wonder whether there was a serious number of mistakes happening or just a serious lull in partnership success. Some of the sites didn't provide photos or if they did some of the photo uploads compressed the image so that the end result was seriously distorted had you put a large file up - so you went by personality, which one might say, is being less shallow - but I think we all needs to face the facts here - beauty and attraction are part of the equation here, it's an intrinsic part of evolution governing laws of health and fertility. Symmetry and proportions, vocal sounds and even scent help us know whether we match well with a partner and will have the opportunities to have have lots of robust babies to continue our legacy. There are even some sites that allow a recording of ones voice to see if you like how the other sounds! I'm yet to find one that allows you to save your scent - so that it puffs out onto whoever has come across your profile!

A site called ok cupid combines all of this - allows you to show your physical side whilst asking you an array of questions in a survey to determine your morals and values of this world and match you accordingly (if you want you could answer all 20000 questions - the more you answer - the more definite the match) So great - we (site makers) are using the technologies properly now to make more "real life" type of decisions on potential partners. And whilst I find it somewhat interesting and mostly amusing, I can't help feeling as I answer the question of "If I was an animal - what would you be?", that we have somewhat regressed despite the 21st century capabilities of getting in touch with the 50000 other losers, I mean datees, that have lucked out in the real world.

I can't help feeling that I have just slapped a big FOR SALE sign on my forehead and I'm brokering myself through a concoction of witty short worded statements and a 10MB image upload limit. I mean our fore mother and fathers have worked very hard to be rid of the family ball and chain making marital decisions for us yet here we are, posting profiles and allowing virtual inspections as if it were a normal business deal much like the pair of pants you are trying to sell on your ebay account - 1 nearly new and without tags nearly 30 year old, only serious bidders may apply. And I have the gaul to look curiously at Indian friend Jatz who's brother was just introduced to his now wife and think that this is a weird and wacky cultural thing to do - my god my photo is on a webpage and according to text messages about 15 dudes have me pinned to their favorites page! And I still haven't said a word to any of them - not even in writing. That's what is fucked up. If we are regressing this far back can't someone indulge me by introducing the paper love letter back into common fashion. A request to merely sit next to me in a public place or to hold my hand or even talk to me, if we are going back this far can we bring the good parts back too? The sonnets, the poems, the communication for god sakes!

It makes me ask the question what am I doing this for? Is it all biological - Am I just pre-programmed like an outlook reminder to say oi, don't forget this oven has a warranty and you are getting very close to it's use by date. Surely not, It has to be more than that - I need it to be more than that. And I would say given that I haven't ovulated naturally in the last year (yes sorry bodily function details alert) I would say I don't hold the best chance of procreating given that I am not even generating the hormones to keep the system going, so I would say the hormones are not what is driving me. Another point of evidence is my appallingly shocking choice of men - I can't say that may choices have ever driven by biology to find a good mate given that they all seem to be as poor as fuck and wouldn't even be able to support themselves let alone a family and the dweeby guys I seem to favour are not yelling out "good genes" to me.

I know all you scientists out there don't believe in love but surely romance has something to do with it. So many stories are based on love, so many songs, so many poems verbalise the crazy manic feeling we get when we meet a significant other, in fact you scientists have shown that a brain in love is much like the brain of the insane. Insanity is not something to do with good breeding that's a feeling we want all to ourselves - the ultimate abdication of our sensible self. It's the feeling people ride roller coasters for, or bungy jump, or skydive. It's that raw nakedness of not only skin but soul and secrets thats given up to become a shared commodity - theres no hiding from a loved one - they witness the craziness, the dirty parts, the clean parts, the sexy parts, the smelly parts - all in ands outs of you.

But that feeling goes away doesn't it? So it can't be all about the romance because the craziness goes and the smelly parts stay - so is it trust I'm looking for? Correction that I need to look for? Given that my choices are obviously not engaging trust and therefore are so short lived. My girlfriend recently told me that her boyfriend said to her that when she washed her lady bits in the shower she reminds him of a monkey.... no shit. This same girlfriend told that once, when she farted in the car, she quickly auto locked the windows and took sheer delight out of his reaction of encountering it and then having no accessibility to any fresh air. What is that!? Other than pure openness and trust in another.

And then there is companionship. I don't want to come across as a loser but I think I may have just had one too many dinners sitting alone in my apartment, looking at the wall (or facebook). Perhaps even my cooking skills may increase if I feel I cooking for someone other than me, I mean my carrot cutting skills are seriously below average. Either that or I will start to get a better range of food being cooked for me! That and I may tidy up a bit more - there's nothing like a person to impress to get your living standard out of the gutter - right now sometimes I feel I'm on par with a homeless person, I'm so lazy. Plus in the last couple of weeks I've been a little poorly and there's nothing like having someone around to make sure you don't die of the common cold and if you do to make sure you are dealt with and it doesn't take a funny smell 5 days later being reported by neighbours. I know, a tad dramatic, but really just having someone around to hear a couple of your thoughts and opinions would be nice, you end up saying them into the air to no one when you live on your own (I'm dead set true about this, it's not made up) about something funny you read on the internet or whether the movie you are watching is totally shit and the silence that follows it, is deafening.

Ok then Lexi, what do you want then? What are you looking for? describe him? My girlfriend put me on the spot after one of my single rants and you know what after I blabbered around the subject for a little while I realised I have no freaking idea what I want. I can't describe him, I can't picture him, I can't imagine myself with him at all. But this is ok and this is probably why I have failed so dismally at the online dating saga. We need to just let it be, I need to stop questioning myself and my abilities cos my friend Felicity hit the nail on the head for me. What's the point of analyzing it Lexi, is it going to be any less confusing, is it going to refine the want any more? The fact of the matter is that there is a yearning, a want to find, a need to find and it occurs naturally and it encompasses every point that has ever been dissected and we are none the wiser because it just is, we. just. are. Just go with it. So this is what I'm going to do - I'm going to get out from behind the For Sale sign (and quite frankly I think everyone else who is online dating should as well - with the amounts of profiles out there we would have enough people to fill a gazillion bars and venues - so c'mon people lets just say hi to each other, what the hell are we all scared of?) and I'm just going to accept the want that is burning in my belly and be open to getting it - whatever it is and stop looking for the reason why not, am I doing it wrong, how can I do this better - those answer are not there and they are not going to help and being frantic about it is not going to help either. Just accept. Just be.

(And maybe ask better questions like - what do you think the best way of cutting carrots is?)

xx

PS. I just wanted to write some of my favourite lines from songs or books that I just adore that represent love to me.

" I wish that you wanted me, I wish that you needed me, I wish that when I said 2 sugars, you knew that actually I meant 3" - Kate Nash

"My phone is on vibrate..... for you" - Rufus Wainwright

"From the top of the mountain. Every morning I walk towards the edge. And throw little things off like: Car parts, bottles and cutlery Or whatever I find lying around. It's become a habit. A way to start the day. I go through all this before you wake up. So I can feel happier. To be safe up here with you" - Bjork

"The only regret I will have in dying is if it is not for love" - Love in the Time of Cholera, Gabriel Garcia Marquez (And there is more where that came from - so many pearls, it's hard to just choose one.)

If you have any quotes that some up love for you - I would love to hear them

Where are you when I have my head down a toilet?

April already? Holy Shit. I've been abandoned. By her. Already. Not by the old girl she never goes away - old faithful, a true stayer. Even though she had been given the marching orders. She sat outside, patiently, curled up on the mat. Peering in. Now and then. Finding a window. Like a naughty puppy, creeping back in, low to the ground, the master has forgotten, she doesn't even remember what she was angry about. I'll just show off the cute, fun side and it will be ever so natural to take up my regular position, in the corner of the room of her life. And where did she go? The new girl? Fucking holier than thou bitch. Butter wouldn't melt. "It's all going to change, everything will be right this year". The perfect life. What's stopping you. Me. Us. The blog. The Surfing. The Diet. The body. The temple. The Zen. What's stopping you. Fucking April is what stopped me. You. My dear. Where are you? Gone. Again. Typical. You never were a stayer, I told you - couldn't even commit until May. You pissed off already. Leaving me. With what? The pinots, the processed food, the sav blancs, the ciggies, the recycled fling, the regret, the toilet bowl - old faithful holding my hair back reminding me that this is what life is this fun - it's good she is gone the only thing she was stopping you from was living the good life. But you've called. haven't you? Disappointment laced between the notes of your voice. Offering Peace. Reconciliation. We can work it out. Can we? We made a date. Tai Chi, Meditation maybe a walk. On Sunday. Yeah Sunday. See if we can... Well we'll see. She says it will all change. When I least expect it. She could disappear. again. Leaving me. Alone. In tears. And old faithful. Pouring another glass of wine.

Labour (Day) Pains

**Please note some names have been shortened to first letters to protect what little dignity these people have left**

I sit on the couch on Labour Day and wonder what an earth brought me to this moment. Why am I nursing groin pains, have my top on backwards and why did I wake up on the couch curled up in a little ball next to Buffy the dog, who is in the same sleeping position? Why is B wearing two different thongs, resembling death warmed up? And why is J, still fully clothed in bed, sausage stains on the back of her t-shirt and sporting a plastic fork in her hair?

I have just finished my labour day weekend holiday, having celebrated it with 6 other people and 3 dogs. What an adventure has just transpired.

I have now increased my vocabulary by words and terms such as: Nisbit, rusty trombone, cuntkerchief, horse friendly wink.

I began the adventures with a replacement bus ride (due to train track work) to Geelong, our driver Barry - pleasant fellow - dropped us off at Geelong train station. B was meant to collect us, however being the eternally late angel that she is, we were forced to endure air sharing with some of Geelong's finest - who were off to Melbourne to enjoy the frivolities promised by Moomba Festival - wearing nothing but a cuntkerchief (an extremely small garment leaving nothing to the imagination) and really I do take my hat off to a crazy bitch who can tolerate such temperature conditions as 10 degrees wearing basically nothing.

B finally arrives, wearing mustard coloured jodhpurs, riding boots, a striped deakin university nurses uniform shirt and a V necked sweater. You see her strange attire was because today we planned to go horse riding at Blazing Saddles (sounds like an STI doesn't it?) in Anglesea. Something we all hadn't done since we were teenagers and quite possibly the reason for my current groin pains. However the pains could also be a product of seeing a photograph of a ridiculous pose, a male ballerina was doing up a wall, in a copy of vanity fair J provided to me for the bus journey to which all 8 of us decided to attempt - when J boldly stated that "anyone could do that" - she was wrong.

The trail ride, for the most part, was mediocre to say the least. None of us can really attribute anything that our horses did to our own riding skills. The bloody animals have been doing the same trip 2 or 3 times a day for the past 10 years and generally just follow the leader and know when to do what. We did however get a small canter in which was exhilarating for about 100 meters - but for the most part it was mainly walking - due to the fact the an 8 year old, rang-er girl dreadfully named Hester, decided to be a big fat cry baby and refuse to do anything fun. We all realised - during our post ride debrief at the pub - that at some point during the ride, had all wished ill of her and had all muttered under our breath for her the harden the fuck up. The most exciting part probably was when my horse, who seemed to enjoy taking close up whiffs of the behinds of the other horses, whiffed her last when the recipient of the nose decided to kick back in turn causing my horse to rear up. Much to the astonishment of the trail leaders and my fellow riders I managed to stay on and react rather cooly about it all. The leaders in their very "I'm a proper rider, not some disgusting cowboy accents" said "well done, well done, my, you did sit in that well, very good". Really I think I was more stunned than anything and have never gripped my thighs so hard together (again back to the groin pains). The other interesting thing about the ride was that we established, from the wink we got at every swish of Y's horse's tail that she was quite the town bicycle and no doubt had been ridden by, not only humans (in a transport sense) but also by every male horse that called Blazing Saddles their home..... tart.

After all that excitement the troop needed food and beer - to the pub! We disgustingly consumed many a plate of nachos, fries and calamari and washed it down with jugs of beer. I perhaps made an error of judgement and decided to re-enact a u tube clip I had seen of the today show presenters playing the winter olympic sport - curling - on a playstation wii - which involved very suggestive movements. On top of this J decided to tell us a story of revenge which resulted with a man being shat on by his very angry wife. We also got a story of a rusty trombone reach around (google the term). You could tell by the looks of silent horror from the patrons around us that we weren't really well received.

The next part of our journey went slightly awry - the intention was to walk down to the river and partake in the joys of bobbing in the water with the assistance of a rubber inflatable device and sip on champagne. We were told all we had to do was cross the bridges and we would be there. Well many a bridge later and 1 and 1/2 hours into the walking trip we were beginning to doubt that we would find the place and then disaster struck.

We had been throwing the balls to the dogs and B had thrown the ball that sailed with slow motion and plopped into the river water. The 3 dogs all bounced in after it and after a little bit of time wondering what an earth Roxie (the dog) was doing to Bella (the dog), we realised she was drowning her. Panic set in, B (the boy), bless him in his soft and effeminate ways bravely signaled by unzipping the v neck part of his sweater that he might go in after them. However there was no need, K (owner of both the dogs) was a woman possessed and fully clothed (spectacles, thongs and all) hurled in after them in a an act that can only be described as sheer bravery. Once the dogs were rescued they continued to run around again as if nothing had happened - however K was not only water logged but bore the lashings of bella's claws across her chest and was also missing a thong.

The thong never surfaced and it was assumed that it was indeed stuck in the mud. We made a slight attempt to feel around for it will the dog ball throwing plastic stick thingy, and whilst we were doing so - some dude in a weird leg peddled kayak, came past enquiring what we were looking for - when we told him he stated that he hadn't come across a thong, but had come across something. He produced a pink lip smacker lip balm, which indeed, did belong to K - so there was at least one win (although I would say chances are she wont ever use a river soaked lip balm again), sadly however, we never recovered the thong and poor K had to limp back home minus one shoe.

By the time we reached home - we almost had to turn on the spot and head out again for the main attraction of the weekend the "holly go lightly, Y's house warming party" which we also like to now call - a ridiculously debaucherous night to which we have photo evidence. On the way to the party, stopping in at the alcho shop, E calmly stated to the shop server that he had a massive huntsman spider crawling across his chest - to which the rest of us responded in hideous shrieks and screams and holding onto each other for safety, which I'm sure didn't help the situation one bit - I am happy to say the disaster was averted with a quick brush of a hand.

I won't go into too much detail of the warming because what happened at the party really should stay at the party, however I can mention that much liquid of the alcoholic variety was consumed, sausages were eaten, voices were lost from the amount of singing that was done on sing star, A parrot pinyata was bashed to death and then worn as a hat, a the movie goonies was played at the end of the night. This was where the night got somewhat blurry for me, due to the fact that I was found curled up asleep in a corner when everything was said and done. B had gone home and forgotten me and left me (I believe she had many other adventures involving mismatched thongs, cigarettes and bar fights but we can't be sure), It was just lucky that E found me when things were being packed up, she woke me up to tell me it was time to go - I obediently followed in a daze. Don't really remember the walk home - only that it involved strawberries. Once back at the fort I believe my efforts were much the same - falling alseep in a ball with the dogs in the lounge which I was left until the morning.

Bless her little heart Y did try and coax us all out of the house for a spot of surfing, but we were having nothing of it and decided to wallow in our hung over states and eat scrambled eggs with tomato and goats fetta, pancakes, bread and jam, popcorn and chocolate. J, still wearing her sausage stained top from the night before and branding a plastic fork that she got from the fudge shop, declared that she believed a cat had shat in her mouth - she also went on to tell us a story she had also once related to axel rose about a nisbitt (again google the term). We all sat in the dark, watching the movie vanity fair (a hideously awful movie, that we negatively commented on, every second of the way). Eating and sitting took up a fair amount of the day - and in the afternoon we all agreed that it was time to head back to reality and a hail damaged Melbourne.

We did our best to have a great labour day long weekend, and I can safely say that we did our best deliciously.

xx

The Man

He was late. His irresolution had got the better of him. When one usually has the opportunity to set sail to sober-land, being wholly satisfied with their third and, what should be, final drink on a Friday night at the fine establishment twenty yards from one's place of work - this man missed this boat, utterly and completely. A colleague defiantly sat a fourth in front of him. This fourth, being the gateway that led him to this very moment now. Pointlessly trying to grasp onto blank moments which, more than likely, would have been full to the brim of inappropriateness and his undulating dance with the door and house keys, that at any moment, could cause him to abruptly exonerate, the essentially consumed kebab - a gift for the front door mat.

He finally reunited door with keys, thankfully with no evidence of lamb betraying him. He painstakingly crept in, in attempt to make as little noise as possible, however the paralysis of his motor cortex, left his movements with the immaturity of a toddler learning to walk and he managed to hit every item in range of his two meter journey into the house.

There she was, poised silhouette - a dark shadow in a doorway. She gave him a look of dry disdain, subtle and forced, as if it in-dignified her to have to give any reaction at all. The expression one gives when they smack their faces into a glass door having mistaken it for an opening and are forced to acknowledge that the stupidity, indeed, had happened at all.

She added a slow drawn out blink, why was he wasting her time? He opened his mouth, one imagines to begin some sort of an explanation, however what came out resembled more like the agonising sound of a heifer in labour and before he had even had the chance to finish off that foul and disgusting noise, she had already turned swiftly, aloofly walking off, her shadow becoming a mere blend of the surrounding darkness.

Bitch.

Tonight he would probably have to sleep on the couch. He silently mocked himself. The hatred pinned to that thought was really intended for no one but himself. He knew in a couple of moments he would be begging for forgiveness. He mused with a fond curiosity of how she always managed to invoke such self hating thoughts, to immediately paint him with the colour of guilt. How could she drive him into such desperation, night after night, his ultimate aim to please her knowing she would always be so disappointed at any efforts. She was, after all, just his cat.