liquid lamington

perfect day

wake up.  no hangover.  jeans and t-shirt.  brunch.  coffee.  trip to the aquarium.  get scared by bird eating spiders and jumpy frogs.  nursery.  buy plants and flowers and herbs.  supermarket.  lots of yummy food.  bottle o.  lots of beer.  friends’ house.  pot plants.  drink beer.  read in sunshine.  cook dinner.  watch the wire.  drink beer.  watch you tube film clips of 90s pop songs.  drink beer.  home.  water new plants.  drink tea.  happy happy happy.

summer

today was the first day that felt like summer.  i left the house without a cardigan or a coat.  the hipster girls were all in vintage frocks and bare legs.  everything smelt different.  lighter.  i changed my perfumes around, my dior is a bit sickly for hot weather.  but mostly, i sat on my bed and thought about how little i’ve achieved since last summer and how nothing’s changed and this whole year has pretty much been a waste of time.  so another night of promises to myself that i’ll never keep and watching the stars from my back steps.

home again

i’m at my parents.  and i love the quiet and how relaxed here.  what i don’t love?

1. dad asking how many drinks i would’ve had in the last 2 weeks.  apparently i should’ve only had 10.  i have 10 most nights.
2. mum smattering the conversation with “when you get married”.  no.  never.
3. not feeling comfortable sleeping naked, and yet feeling even more uncomfortable sleeping clothed.
4. sister slagging off my music taste.
5. knowing that if i was in melbourne tonight, i’d be out having fun, and i’d get home and go to bed and that eventually i’d hear the door open and the keys land on the coffee table.  cigarette lit, shoes kicked off and then see him in the doorway of my bedroom.

email to old friends

On Saturday night, we discussed maybe sharing some of our favourite Fordy memories. I still remember how shocked he look when I bit him on the thigh. Ahh, thems were the days. And those Jarlsberg donuts. Ahh, Fordy. Bless.

In other more terrible news, one of the girls at work has been diagnosed with pretty much terminal brain cancer, those of you who tend to pray it would be great if you could try and have a chat with God on this one, and get it sorted that giving brain cancer to 29 year olds with two kids under 5 is so not cool, and maybe he could swing it so everything turns out okay?? For those of you less likely to get kneely, some good thoughts and positive vibes sent out through to universe would be fantastic.

And keep your fingers crossed for me kids- I’ve got job applications in and I’ve got a good gut feeling!  

Tunes to get you happy: Human Equivalent of Penicillin (Rob Clarkson) If I Were A Rich Man (Yidcore) FM (The Slits) Free Cocaine (The Dwarves) T Shirt Weather (The Lucksmiths)

thursday night; 11pm

i get phone calls at 11 o’clock at night to go to the pub, to drink cocktails; to talk and smoke cigarettes.  and that’s why i’m not the normal secretary.  because i have this other life at night with the hospo kids and the musicians and alcoholics.  and i’m here in bed wishing i was there, where everyone knows your name, with a floridita in one hand and sitting in my bar stool laughing.  but i can’t.  because tomorrow morning i have to file, and write correspondence and listen to my boss and slowly waste away my life in corporate grind.