Bags of Pants

Right! I have just finished a big wardrobe clean out. You should have seen mum's face - she was loving it. Lined up by my bed I have 5, count them, FIVE bags of various items of clothing I am donating to the Salvo's. Beside my desk I have one (just the one) bag of clothes I think might go well with someone I know, so will be donated directly, skipping Savers: damn the middle-man. 

What sparked this flurry of activity, you might ask? Aside, of course, from the obvious. Well, this morning I needed a black singlet. I dug and dug through the draw I knew it was in, but could I find it? Well, yes, actually, I did find it eventually, but it took ages. Ages, I say. Anyway, this less than unique occurrence highlighted the necessity of a draw clean out. In some ways, despite the massive pile of clothes I am disposing of, I feel like I have gained some new items. For example, a white top, which looks great. I have no idea where it came from, but there it was, inside one of my old jackets (where else?). Also, I had about a dozen pairs of jeans I had forgotten about. Trying those on was fun - like playing The Biggest Loser or something and seeing the gradual change. Some of those pants were huge.

Anyway, when I was done, mum warned me not to let dad see them - he is more of a hoarder than I am, and would go through them and rediscover usefulness in old cardies or something. Hence their new home, in plastic bags by my bed. 

Yay or Nay? A study on the benefits of Thesisising

The tragedy of thesisising is ... 

All food is appetizing, every DVD is irresistible, trashy novels must be read now. 

However ...

Amazingly, thesisising allows for certain breakthroughs that may otherwise not be possible. Specifically, breakthroughs in fields pertaining to and directly involved with procrastination and related practices. These include, but are not limited to:

The locating of long lost items during intensive cleaning sessions, the revival of relationships with people who have been (and perhaps should continue to be) below my social radar, sustenance of valued personal relationships, discovery of previously unexplored venues, both of the coffee and beer variety, and the development of creative spending. 

The result? Poor, drunk, over-caffinated student with collection of childhood toys and no thesis. 

The best laid plans...

I met with Hannah yesterday, which, as always, was great. She is helping me get back on board with my thesis, working through the things that are stopping me from being where I want to be. I decided on a weekly target of writing, entirely within the realms of possibility. However, it involved a dedicated approach today (but not tonight) and tomorrow, Tuesday and Wednesday. Intentions, I am quickly discovering, are worth nothing. Due to a series of unfortunate events,* I left the house late last night, and returned only in this last hour. I am lacking in sleep and my regular teeth-brushing practices have been disturbed. Further, though I will be leaving the house much earlier tonight, I will, once again be away until later tomorrow. So, that leaves me with Tuesday and Wednesday to cram in what I was expecting to do in four days. Can someone please clarify - what is the point of trying?

*Regards to Mr Snicket.

Thesis Fairy vs. Dr Phil

Today has, thus far, been a success. It started early. Though I was unaware of her true identity at the time of meeting, I had breakfast with my Thesis Fairy. I had been hoping for such a meeting for some time. Or perhaps I was using this desire as an excuse to further postpone actually writing my thesis. In any case, I did meet her. This morning, as I said, over breakfast. I didn't recognize her at first - she appeared to be a good friend of mine that had been waffling about outside of my scope these last weeks. We drank coffee and spoke of such thing as metaphysics and the environment and the benefits of meditation. It was an unexpectedly intellectual breakfast. I arrived home stimulated, unusually so, particularly for so early in the day, when I am usual catatonic. I sat in the sun shine and brought Ms Judith Butler along for the ride. We got along fine, for a change. In fact, I tackled her in record time. When I was done, I sat myself in front of this wee Mac and spewed forth my understandings and such. Later, I had some lunch, and tried the 'Walking Meditation,' taking a leisurely stroll around the block. Upon my return, though sorely tempted by such things as Dr Phil and the Ridiculous Americans and Eaves Dropping on the Neighbors, I returned instead to my new friend, Judith. I wrote and wrote, with regular sunshine breaks, of course, and when I stopped, conclusion written, I did a word count, and would you believe, I had written 3000 words! Now, much later, I am sitting on my Thesis Fairy's couch. We are going to, in short order, begin studying together. Julia, my Thesis Fairy, I love you!

Quote of the Day: "I'm going to start reading ... Yes! My De-Col-I-Nis-Ation Book!"

Magically Taboo

I am so over being sick! And doctors suck. Raa. I waited for 40 min at the La Trobe Medical Center today to see a doctor I had made an appointment to see. I went in and she was like "how are you today?" and I said "I have tonsillitis, I would like a script for Amoxycillin please." And she just gave it to me. No checking or anything. What is the point of that? It is so frustrating, having to wait for a doctor so you can spend 30 seconds waiting for a script to print. 

Deep breaths. Right, now I have that out of my system...

I guess I don't have much else to say. I was running a fever at work and it all went by in a bit of a blur. The 'T' word has become taboo (not literally, obviously, that would be odd), again. I can't even think about it without getting nauseous, and when I try to work on it I freeze up. But I have the next couple of days off, so hopefully it will magically write itself during that time. In the mean time, I need to figure out what (and if ...) I am going to read at the Gallery Readings on thursday. 

Post-Rapture Pets

For all those concerned about what will happen to their pets in case of The Rapture, just refer to  these guys. They will alleviate any concerns. 

Dream Bazar

With the frequent and increasingly bizarre dreams my mind has been pumping out recently, I could open a Dream Bazar. And it is not just how bizarre they are, either. They are so real. Sometimes it takes me a day or two, or someone saying something related, that allows me to realise that the memory of the dream is a memory of a dream, not an actual memory. It started off simple. I dreamt that my local Safeway had closed its doors. It took two days, and a visit to said Safeway, for me to realise that I had dreamt this and that Safeway was, in fact, business as usual. However, the dreams have become increasingly bizarre. A few nights ago I dreamt that, while stopped at a set of traffic lights, a hover-car drove past. I was interested, in the dream, and distinctly remember thinking 'I didn't realise they had been released yet. I should tell dad, that's cool.' I fully intended to tell dad, too, just as soon as I saw him. Fortunately, I saw Alex first, who inadvertently revealed the false-ness of this memory. So, dear reader, stay tuned; who knows what tonight's adventures will be?

Oopsy...

What did I do? Why would I do that? Friggen ijiot. I can't believe everyone in my class is going to read that, how humiliating. Shit, whoops. 

Bouncer, bouncer, where for art thou, dear bouncer?

I have a friend called Alex. At this moment, Alex is sitting behind me, on my bed, nobly reading a draft of an essay for me. He is a great friend. Alex also has a theory. It is a good theory, and one that may explain away certain behaviors that have been rampant of late. His theory states that each individual mind is home to a bouncer. The job of this bouncer is to control the flow of traffic between an individuals mouth and an individuals mind. This bouncer, then, is a kind of filter, acting to prevent such social miss-haps as spilling random personal facts about ones self to ones teacher, and so on. Alex further argues that the reason riff-raff such as this are permitted, by said bouncer, to pass from mind to mouth on the odd (or not so odd) occasion, is due to unexpected or undesirable behavior on the part of the bouncer. These behaviors include, but are not limited to: sleeping on the job, being drunk, stoned or otherwise inhibited, being lazy, or being arseholes (as many bouncers have been shown to be). Today, I think my bouncer was vacationing. Fortunately, I met with Alex, who explained this theory to me, thereby relieving me of fault in my actions today.

And now I am off to the Voiceworks launch (with Alex).

I did it!

That's right! I wrote a story. Well, I borrowed a bit from here, a bit from there, and wrote the rest. I can't tell if it is any good, and it is wildly inappropriate, but there you are. A story for my workshop. 

Alas, my throat still hurts. 

'But I didn't do anything!' she whined

Wow. Last week, I understood. A fair punishment for a naughty friday night, sure. But I didn't do anything this week, and I wake up with tonsillitis, again. My workshop assignment is due in tomorrow, and I haven't got anything to submit. I was going to work on it last night, but I was exhausted and by 9.30 I was dead to the world. Now I have this afternoon to write something to unleash on the scrutiny of my classmates. An afternoon. This is not good at all. I just want to go to sleep. I looked at some older stories, but they are total shit. I'm going to have to write something. Now. 

DraftDraftDraftdraftdraft...

I can't believe it. After drafting and re-drafting four and a half million times, I finally send off my entry, then I read it again, today, just now, and there is a TYPO. Grrrrr (that is me, growling). 

On a happier note, I just found a CD I forgot existed, and it is great! The 'City of Angels' soundtrack. 

FOOD

What is it with wogs and food? If there is a celebration, food has to be at the centre of everything. After a three course lunch, followed by a three course dinner, I feel seriously ill. Just when I was starting to lose a bit of weight, and I eat more than I have in the last week in a day. I really don't get the obsession, but simultaneously I am (sadly) aware that I have unintentionally subscribed to the same way of thinking. I try to feed everyone; it's like, in the genes or something. 

The food was good though, haha. Went to the Nonni's for lunch - salami, olives, cheese, bread, etc. to start, then pasta, then roast, then cakes and coffee's. That was a really great lunch, actually. But, Joisus, then we had Ange's 21st, at a reception, with fish, lasagna, chicken, ice cream, cake and coffee. And, lets not forget, maybe three or so long necks of (gah!) VB. I had a bit of a dance as well, but the music was pretty terrible. All in all, a fun and gastric-ly fulfilling Fathers Day. 

Puppy Love

I've just had my heart broken, again. By a dog, again. Sam bought a puppy for Ange for her Birthday, and we had it here for a couple of days. I fell in love! He was just the sweetest thing. I'm going to have to post photos. Then Sam took him to Ange's today, and that is the end of that. I wanted to keep him. He was a mini-poodle cross cavalier. Black curly hair like a teddy and white beard, super cute. And he just loved being cuddled. I really am sad, he was lovely, my lovely puppy for a day and a half. 

This is what he looks like:

How adorable is he? I'm gonna miss you, puppy.

Inconsequential Load

I did it! I sent it off - my submission for The Age Short Story Competition. And I learnt how to spell 'competition' AND 'below' (as apposed to 'bellow', and 'wander,' rather than 'wonder.' How did I not know these things before? Well, I know them now). So now I can just wait for a bit, until I forget about it. How exciting! 

Judith Butler and I tussled today and, for a while there, I was winning. There is just so much material, but then again, my thesis has to be pretty long, so I guess it works well. I'm pleased to have something to show Alison when she gets back.

Wow, what an inconsequential load of old rubbish. 

Your Fairy Tale

I feel it up to here, brimming, thick, hot. I inhale, the air, it moves past dry lips, cold over my tongue. My chest expands, I see it, but. Air isn't carrying oxygen, I inhale faster, faster, but I am constricted, my throat, it's tight, clogged, I can feel it, up to here, brimming. And there is nothing I can do.*

*Beth Gibbons said that, not me. I am but a medium, or, Anxiety Riddled Childe of Thesis. I did some of it today, a bit. 

Spring Fever

I wonder if there is ever any end to a story. Not just the plot, or the lives of the characters, but the writing of the story. I draft and draft, and each time I print, I find something to change. I am beginning to think the best thing to do is set a draft limit, and when I reach it, print it off and hand it in, no peaking. Argh. I wonder if real writers, when they return to old stories, published and distributed and out of their hands, they find things they would like to change, ways to make the story better? I bet they do. Maybe it is best not to return, at that stage. 

I think my latest story is finally done. I think. I just hit 'print' and have yet to check, but that is draft 4, and, lets not get ridiculous, Judith Butler awaits. 

Having 'finished' one story, I find myself returning to others, and I am unimpressed. What is this? I ask myself. I was going to hand that story in tomorrow, but what have I done? The tense are convulsing, we can't have that. But do I want just one tense in the whole story? Present tense? Will the reader pass out? Tension like that can be unbearable, though I am no master, so more likely it will be boredom over tension that retires my readers. I think I can swing, past and present, but will they get it? And how, how, did I only just notice this, draft 2? 

Meanwhile, I am avoiding draft 3, and as they say, or I, or no-one, 'Tomorrow awaits no [wo]man,' so here I go...

PS Spring is here. Three cheers for the sun.

Dumb

You know that feeling, when you're about to do something, and you know it is really dumb, but at the same time, you know you are going to do it anyway? Yes? Good. Well that is me, right now. 

*Gulp* Ow!

"You take dis one!" the doctor told me. "Four time day, start now!"

"Ok." I was a bit scared, actually. Amoxycillin, save me, it hurts to smoke! (It also hurts to eat, talk and swallow, but I NEED to smoke). In fact, that is where I am going now. Gah, work already! Excuse me a moment while I indulge - ow it hurt hurt hurts! mummy, it hurts! - okay, thanks. 

Odd odd.

I could have brain damage or today could be one of the oddest in quite a while. Happy odd. I think. I'm confused, actually. Good odd?