Pity Party

Tonight after work, I walked down to where Gus was parked with a big grin on my face. I'm not sure why, but I just felt really happy. I'd gotten a lot done at work, I was on my way home, and I was going to spend the evening with K. I grinned the whole way home, thinking about how much I loved riding Gus, how much I loved living in Launceston, how the air smelled nice, and how I was going to cook one of K's favourites for tea.

Then I rode up the driveway, and saw an empty space where our car is usually parked. My heart sank. I realised K was at work. Again. I thought he had the night off, but I was wrong. So I went inside and nuked a microwave dinner and sat on my BFA in front of the computer all night, doing nothing in particular. Sulking, mainly.

K texted me and asked how my night was going, and I poured out my pathetic story to him. He suggested I go and visit someone - put in the effort, surprise a friend, that sort of thing. But why doesn't anyone ever put in the effort with ME? I feel like I'm always the person who organises to meet up with people. If I don't arrange to see friends, then I'd never see them. Don't my friends ever sit around and think, "Gee, I haven't caught up with Rebecca in a while. I might pop around and see what she's up to!" I guess not, because it never happens. I mustn't be a very nice person to be around. I thought I was nice. Well, sometimes at least. Maybe I was wrong.

There are easier things in life than being a nice person. Nailing jelly to a tree, for instance.

Still Shopping

I only went to a morning service today. And I didn't go to church at all last Sunday. I know, I know, form an orderly queue in the 'recommitments' section, while every head is bowed and every eye is closed. Hell, going spasmodically has got to be better than not going at all, some might say.

Today's church was randomly selected by means of being the church that my boss goes to. I'm aware that I'm treading on dangerous ground here – If I hate it, I'll either have to lie and say it was great, which I'm not very good at doing, or tell him how much it sucked, which will hurt his feelings. Or get me sacked. But if I like it and want to go back, then that means I'll be going to my boss's church. Hmm. He's invited me along a few times though, so I thought I'd get it over and done with on a day that I knew he wouldn't be there.

• Nobody tried to grope me at the door this time, which is always a good sign. But that was probably because I was walking to find a seat as fast as my little legs could carry me after my last experience.
• There appeared to be three main age categories – ninety, forty five, and twelve.
• The building was nice, but the auditorium had an unnecessarily high ceiling. Plus, it was back to front – behind me was a beautiful view of bushland through huge floor to ceiling windows. In front of me was the stage, framed by some ugly panel board. I was tempted to turn all the seats around. Or my seat at least. Maybe start a trend.
• The unnecessarily high ceiling had those radiant panel heaters on it. Great idea, I thought, if you're SIX METRES TALL. It was FREEZING in there. I hate being cold.
• There was a very annoying child sitting in front of me. Yap yap yap, I wanna go outside and kick my ball, I don't wanna go to Sunday School, I'm hungry, I'm thirsty, I need to go to the toilet, and so on. I wanted to pick him up by the back of the hair and give him something to complain about. Communion came around, and upon seeing the loaf of bread, the annoying kid whinged about being hungry. So the lady next to him broke off a big bit and shoved it in his mouth (probably more for five seconds of peace than for concern about his nutritional welfare). Then the juice came around, and whaddya know? He was suddenly thirsty. But the lady drew the line at the juice – "No, you CAN'T have any of that!" she exclaimed, shocked at the mere thought. It puzzled me to think that the body of Christ could be shoved in a whining child's gob to shut him up, but the juice was evidently nothing to be trifled with.
• The musicians showed the enthusiasm of a bowl of socks. Not that I blame them – "The Best of Hillsong 1995" was probably a great album, but I didn't feel it terribly necessary to relive it note for note twelve years later. In fact, the service up until the end of the songs was the spiritual equivalent of chewing on a dry Salada. At one point, a forty year old woman wearing pigtails got up and gave a monotone mini-sermon about how we should be worshipping. I think I dozed off halfway through, but I'm pretty sure her main thrust was the promotion of the raising of hands. During the next song, she raised her arms as if to say "See? It's not so bad!" However, everyone else's arms remained superglued to the sides of their tweed jackets. It kinda reminded me of the nerd at the footy who tries to start a Mexican wave, but it doesn't catch on.
• Then the sermon began, given by a visiting speaker named Darren. It was actually one of the best sermons I've heard in a long time. And not because he was a particularly gifted speaker, or because the spirit of the Lord was moving mightily through his mere human form, hallelujah-amen, but because everything he said was the truth. He spoke about how seventy something percent of Australians claim to be spiritual, or believe in God or a higher power, yet only nine percent attended church regularly. Then he said, "And I don't blame them, to be honest with you". I was grinning from ear to ear. He spoke about how people don't want to come and sit in a cold, boring service for a quarter of their weekend every week, and that if we didn't start meeting people where they're at, then it'll be too late before we know it – God would start taking it to the streets. I felt like applauding. However, I'm fairly sure I was the only one – the temperature in the room dropped about ten degrees, and I'm sure it wasn't just because of the lame heaters. I guess people don't like being told they're doing a crappy job of something. My favourite bit was when he was trying to illustrate the point of God not being all harsh and condemning, and how he made things for us to enjoy in life. I believe his actual quote was, "For example, God made orgasms". The oxygen levels in the room suddenly depleted to accommodate the collective gasp of the congregation. Preach it, brother!
• After the service, a girl came up and introduced herself to me, and we got chatting about the whole 'church really blows' thing. She doesn't attend church very often, and I really enjoyed talking to her as we had similar views on things. We swapped numbers, and I hope I see her again on my Gulliver's travels.

Hard to rate this one I had to take into consideration the dreary service versus the fantastic sermon, keeping in mind that it was a visiting speaker, so I can assume that the usual sermons at that church are not quite up to that standard. But everyone was really nice, and nobody seemed fake at all. And that's the main thing. So 3 Joy Gems. ***

Gavin's Progress

I got an update on Gavin recently.

A couple of weeks ago, he opened his eyes and smiled at his partner in recognition! He still can't talk and is recovering from another operation on his skull, but he is communicating by squeezing people's hands.

I was so happy to hear that. It means that he's still Gavin, and that he'll get better.

A Lemon

It occurs to me that the reason I don't appear to have any sort of solid purpose for being on the earth is because the reason I am on the earth in the first place is no longer valid.

I was born because my parents believed that having me would bring them fulfilment in some way. This did not happen. They now lead their own lives, doing their own things with their own new families. So seeing as my original purpose for being born no longer exists, and probably never did, I guess I'm just destined to live out my years, trying to have as little negative impact as possible until I die. I don't feel deserving of good things happening to me, as I don't believe I'm really 'earning' them, because I have not and never will achieve my original purpose. I shouldn't really be here – I was born under a misconception.

Something in the back of my mind is saying that this is a lie, that I do have a purpose for being here, that I have as much right as anyone else to exist and be happy. I think this is due to sitting in church for a number of years, listening to the 'God has a plan and a purpose for your life' drum being beaten. I'm not saying that's not the case, it could well be. It just hasn't shown itself to be true for me as yet. So I can only draw the aforementioned conclusion.

It's kinda like the guy who really loves apricots, and goes out to the nursery to buy an apricot tree to plant in their backyard. As the tree grows and becomes established, its first fruit reveals an error on the nursery's behalf – the tree is not an apricot tree after all, but a lemon tree. The man is disappointed. Nevertheless, it would be foolish to rip the tree out now. Instead, he leaves the lemon tree alone, occasionally picking a lemon to put on pancakes, or giving them away to other people who might like lemons. It's not a bad tree. It has its good points. But it's not what the man intended it to be.

The lemon tree produces lemons that some people find useful. But if it had never been planted in the first place, those people could have sourced those lemons from somewhere else. In fact, they might have even planted their own lemon tree, if they loved lemons so much. Therefore, by being mistakenly planted, this lemon tree might be taking up a spot that could have been filled by another, more wanted lemon tree. That lemon tree will now never have a chance at life, and all because of a tree that was mistakenly planted.

The thing that sucks the most about it is that it's not the lemon tree's fault. He didn't ask to be planted. He would have loved to have been the chosen tree, but he wasn't. It was someone else's mistake, but he has to live with the consequences.

Supermarket Christian

I went to two churches on Sunday. How spiritual am I!

First impressions count, so here they are:

Morning Church

(randomly selected by means of being the closest church to my house. I'm quite lazy really. No, really, I am. We can hear their services as clear as a bell from our deck, so I thought I'd go and see what all the hoo-hah was about).

• There was no sign telling me where the entrance was, so I kinda had to lurk around like a flasher in the bushes and wait for someone else to go in before I knew where to go.
• The person I'd followed inside got groped at the door by a lady on the 'welcoming team'. Avoiding the welcoming team was like running the gauntlet – the team consisted of about five people, all staring at me intently as they shook my hand and clapped me on the shoulder. My hand was sticky by the end of it. I was annoyed. I'd just washed my hands! I'm a bit OC about these things.
• I'd found a seat and was reflecting on the fact that having a sticky hand was getting off pretty lightly really, and that it could have been a lot worse, when an eighty five thousand year old man came up and mauled me welcomingly. I'm struggling to think of a part of my body that didn't come into contact with his hands. I'm scared of old men and paranoid about being touched by strangers, so by the time I'd had my hair ruffled, my back slapped, my shoulder petted and my cheek kissed, I was ready to run out the door. Instead, I sat there and thought of England.
• I sat one seat away from a girl around my age, who soon introduced herself and invited me to move across and sit next to her so that I didn't look like I was by myself. I told her that it was appropriate really, seeing as I was by myself. She laughed and patted the seat next to her. I thought I'd better cut her some slack. She turned out to be really nice and ended up being my tour guide for the morning.
• The worship team consisted of two rhythm guitarists who were also singing (one guy and one girl), a bass player and a drummer. They all looked around 20 years old. The drummer was really good, and kept me interested in the songs. Even the song they played continuously for 25 minutes. The songs were simple and the musicians were skilled. I didn't not like it.
• There were two teenage boys sitting directly behind me who saw the songs as an opportunity to catch up on what had been happening during the week at the top of their lungs. I turned around a couple of times and glared at them in an 'I-know-I'm-just-visiting-but-you're-really-giving-me-the-shits' sort of way, but that didn't seem to do anything. I will consider adding them to my list of people I'd like to punch instead.
• The people in this church seem big on reproducing. There were offspring everywhere. Erk. Generally they seemed fairly well behaved. Just as well… (thumps palm with fist)
• During the slow 'reflecting-on-your-walk-with-God' part of the worship (aka "What Should I Cook For Lunch?", some guy got up and said that he "sensed" that some people in the congregation had a "word to bring". Well, it was a race to the front! There were evidently some very keen prophets in this church. Most of it was the usual unmemorable white noise, but one lady had a 'word' about peas. I laughed. I liked hearing about peas.
• The first 20 minutes of the sermon were really good. The last 20 minutes probably were as well, but I'll never know because my concentration span simply does not last that long. It was about trees. Peas and trees – an interesting theme for the day.
• After the service (and the ensuing relief that the seemingly eternal tree sermon had finally reached its zenith), my new friend took me to the morning tea area and got me a drink. I chatted to lots of people, and I still remember their names. Everyone was really friendly, and I didn't loathe the service, so I reckon I'll return for a second go.

All in all, 4 Joy Gems ****

Evening Church

(randomly selected from The Examiner on Saturday, 14^th April 2007 (ibid. et al ad nauseum), for having a name that starts with 'Z')

• This church wins the prize for being one of the largest church building I have ever attended. It was seriously huge. The service was held in a kind of stadium thingie, and there were other buildings with cafés, museums, all sorts of stuff. Massive churches seem all the rage these days. I don't understand the attraction myself.
  
• I saw about five people I knew within the first ten minutes of arriving. Then, I was introduced to someone I had never met in my life, and they said to me "you must be Carly's sister!" Harrumph.
• Everyone seemed pretty friendly. The four of us found a seat. Then WHAM! The music started. It was so loud, I could feel my hair blowing backwards with the force of the noise. A little kid had his fingers in his ears – it seemed like a great idea to me. I would have done the same if I wasn't worried about appearing rude. The worship lasted around 45 minutes, and in that time they played three songs. The second song was about dancing, and I swear the tap water in that neighbourhood must contain amphetamines, because the four of us were the ONLY ones in the entire building not dancing like lunatics. EVERYONE danced like it was coffee day at kindergarten for the entire length of the song. Then, they cracked out the banners. The friend to the left of me was laughing into his chest. I thought the dancing song had gone for an eternity, but I soon took that thought back when the next song started – they sang one line in the song for about half an hour. ONE LINE! HALF AN HOUR! I really wish I was exaggerating, but I'm not.
• Right, I thought to myself, this church could still redeem itself in my eyes – it's sermon time. We were informed that we would be watching the eleventh video in a series of twelve. Two words in that sentence rang alarm bells for me straight away – 'video' and 'series'. Yawn-o-rama. But no, I chastised myself, don't be cynical all your cynical life, you cynic. Give it a chance. Well – half an hour later, after being shouted at and belittled by an American televangelist style preacher about how we would receive TENFOLD if only we would give away all our money, preferably to his God ordained ministry (which grossed $120 million last year, praise the Lord), and that really, none of us gave nearly as much as we should be, and that God SEES this, and we should be giving offerings over and above our tithe, which should go to the STOREHOUSE (everybody say "storehouse") which is the local church, but the offerings should be given in PARTNERSHIP (everybody say "partnership"), preferably to his ministry, and could everyone give the Lord a half-hearted round of applause, hallelujah – all four of us walked out. We just couldn't take any more.

One good thing came from attending that church – the four of us went out for a meal afterwards and picked it to bits, which led to a really great chat about all sorts of stuff. It was worth sitting through an hour of 'Banner Betty and the Hearing Loss Posse meets Mr Shouty' to have that outing afterwards.

The people were friendly, and they were genuinely trying hard to build a great church. So I won't be totally heartless. 1 Joy Gem *

Gavin

My friend Gavin was in a car accident a few weeks ago. I clicked on The Advocate website one morning, and read an article about a car crash in Forth the night before. As I read about the person involved - 39 year old man from Wilmot with a white Barina - I was filled with dread. Surely there couldn't be too many people who would fit that description. So even though it was early in the morning, I decided to ring him up to make sure that he was okay.

His partner answered the phone, and I could tell by her voice that Gavin was the one who had been in the accident. She was frantic. They'd flown him to the Royal Hobart Hospital the night before, and he'd had emergency surgery to relieve the pressure in his head. His head injuries were very serious, and he was in a critical condition. The doctors were putting him in an induced coma until they could assess the damage. And that's all she knew.

Now, around four weeks on, I'm really none the wiser. I tried calling the hospital, but they wouldn't tell me anything about how he was doing because I wasn't a family member. They said if I wanted to know anything then I'd have to call his partner. But I don't have her mobile number, and I'm assuming she's in Hobart with Gavin rather than at home in Wilmot. So I sent a card for him, and put a note in it for his partner, asking her to give me a call with some news. I still haven't heard from her, which isn't unusual I guess, as she must have a lot on her plate at the moment.

Eventually I found out from someone who was talking to someone who called Gavin's partner that he is out of his coma, but still isn't responding a lot, and it appears that he is paralysed down one side. I really, really hope he recovers. He's such a great person, who has such an appreciation for life. It's just not right.

Get well soon, Gavin. I'm thinking of you.

Gus Got a Note

I've been parking Gus in the laneway behind our building at work. Despite all the 'no parking' signs about the place, I haven't been booked because it appears to be privately owned. However, I got a little note on Gus a couple of days ago, saying "Could you please leave this space free, as we have deliveries daily".

Now I don't know where to park! The minimum for the multi storey car parks in Launceston is $4 a day, which might not seem much to some city folk, but to someone used to having free parking at work, it's a damn nuisance. I thought about parking in the same laneway and just moving Gus up a few metres, but I don't want to annoy anyone. But as my boss rightly said, "it's not their laneway either". So what should I do… try and find the author of the note to see if they'd mind if I parked somewhere else? Park there anyway? Pay $4 a day? Rah. I can't be bothered dealing with it.

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K found a frog on our driveway tonight, and ran inside to get me so that I could see him. He was brown and fat. He could hardly even lift his little tummy onto a rock he was trying to climb on. I've never seen a frog that fat before. He made me happy. I'm happy that a frog lives in our yard.

Killer

Last weekend was all over the place. I'm usually very organised, so when I knew I had to play a gig in Burnie, I thought I'd make the most of the trip and go to the old house to do a bit of cleaning. Two birds with one stone and all that. Rachel said she loved cleaning and was keen to help – I was grateful, even though it meant she was a FREAK – I mean, who likes cleaning? Seriously? It's gotta be the most unrewarding job in the world. If you write a book, it stays written. If you paint a picture, it stays painted. If you clean a toilet, someone's just gonna crap in it again. Regardless, I was pleased to have another set of hands helping me.

I was determined to be ready on time – Rachel was coming at 9:30 to pick me up, I had to be ready for my gig as well as having all the cleaning stuff sorted out to take with us. It wasn't until we were pulling in the driveway of the old house that I remembered the dream I'd had the night before – the awful, terrible dream, where I'd forgotten to ask K for the key to the old house, as I'd already given my key to the real estate. But the dream was TRUE! I had forgotten the key! I never forget things like that, but man I felt like a dickhead having to tell Rachel that I didn't have a key to get in.

After a few phone calls to the real estate, and several failed attempts to break in on our own (that place is Fort Knox, I tell ya), we managed to get inside and make a start. I finished the bathroom, and decided that I was going to clean all the shelves in the house next. After being fairly involved with one set of shelves in the main bedroom, I stood back to admire my work. The fact that I'd had my head right in the cupboard meant that I wasn't at quite the right angle to see the massive huntsman spider that was sitting under the very shelf I'd just been cleaning. Argh! I'm not normally that bothered by spiders (I mean, I wouldn't marry one or anything, but I'm not really scared of them), but this one took me completely by surprise. My first instinct was to seek out the insect spray and give him a good coating. As soon as I had done that, I felt terrible. Huntsmen take an ETERNITY to die, and I had to watch him staggering around, clinging onto life, trying to get away from the invisible poison that had already sealed his fate. I was torn – should I scoop him up and put him outside, and hope that the fresh air would revive him? Should I stomp on him and end his suffering? No, I couldn't do that – I'd feel his bones crunching under my shoe, and that would be worse. Instead, I decided that the most humane thing to do would be to finish what I'd started and engulf him in a second coat of the stuff. He stumbled around like a drunk at closing time. It broke my heart. Eventually, he fell on his back, curled up his legs and died.

I felt extremely guilty. Why hadn't I just left him in the cupboard? It's not like he was bothering anyone, it was an empty house. Why did I have to kill him? He might have had a family to support. He might have had his whole little life ahead of him. And I killed him for no reason. I deeply regretted doing it – I wish I had never spotted him.

My reaction to all this puzzled me – I can sit and watch ads about the starving children in Ethiopia and feel absolutely nothing towards them, but I can't kill a spider without feeling heartbroken. Is there something wrong with me? Nobody else would have cared about killing a spider, would they? I care more about animals than I do about most people. I don't know why it is so, but there it is.

I'm sorry, little spider. :-(

So Long, North West Coast

It was my last day at work in the Devonport office today. I kept doing that thing where everything you do all day, you think "this is the last time I'll make a coffee at this sink" or "I'll never sit at this desk again". I will certainly miss working in that office, but that doesn't mean I'm unhappy with my decision to move. Now that the company I work for has moved into a new building, it's a fair bit different than the old place. We are now sharing the building with a bunch of other people, which means there was a lot more activity going on around me, which made it hard to concentrate this week. I definitely think the move is for the best.

While I was tidying up loose ends, I got to thinking about leaving – not just the office, but the North West Coast in general. This has been my home for most of my life, and there's a lot I'll miss about it.

The things I'll miss about living in Ulverstone are:

• Living five minutes walk from the beach
• Walking the streets of a night with K, peering into people's windows
• Going for bicycle rides through Fairway Park to see the galahs
• Our friendly next door neighbours, and the neighbourhood in general
• Not having to maintain a garden
• Not having to pay for parking
• Being close to friends and commitments in Burnie and Devonport

The things I'll miss about Devonport are:

• The roast lamb rolls at the Fairway Coffee Lounge
• Um…
• Have I said the roast lamb rolls at the Fairway Coffee Lounge?
• The nice lady at the post office hatch who remembers my PO box number without me having to tell her
• The roast lamb rolls at the Fairway Coffee Lounge

The things I WON'T miss about Devonport are:

• Having to put my motorbike gear on just to go out for five minutes, because nothing is within walking distance from the office
• Not being able to find a parking spot. Ever.
• Having to park somewhere to go to the bank and post office, then ride up the road and park again to go to Kmart and the supermarket, then ride up the road AGAIN to run errands in the Fourways
• The shitty roads that desperately need resurfacing
• How every street is a main street
• Random weirdos coming up to me wanting to have lengthy discussions about my scooter when I'm in a hurry

The things I'm looking forward to about living and working in Launceston are:

• HARI'S CURRY!
• Living in the same city as many of our good friends, and not having to drive an hour and a half to get home after hanging out with them
• NOT having to put my motorbike gear on just to go out for five minutes, because EVERYTHING is within walking distance from the office
• Knowing whether or not my boss is ignoring me on MSN, because I'll be able to see him
• Living close to the Trevallyn Reserve and the Cataract Gorge
• Living in our own house again, that we can modify as we see fit
• Having a crack at gardening
• Going on journeys with Gus to new places
• Maxing out the Myer card
• Finding a church that I feel I could belong to

Well, time to move on. Thanks, North West Coast - I have many fond memories.

I Don't Remember

I have a terrible long term memory. I really do. Sometimes the hypochondriac in me wonders "maybe I have some sort of early onset Alzheimer's?" I think it's a combination of genetics (a few of my relatives have mentioned that they have the same problem) as well as a kind of learned reaction that my brain has developed over my lifetime to help me cope with life's hard knocks. It is a blessing and a curse really. I find it fairly easy to forgive people for things they may have done, simply because after a while I can't remember exactly what it was that they did to upset me. Also, it's great for watching films and reading books that I've already seen or read before – I'm reading or watching and thinking, "this seems vaguely familiar", but I can't remember enough of it to know what's coming next. This is a big reason why I've taken to keeping blogs – if I write it down then I'm more likely to remember stuff. And if I don't, I can always read it later.

Songs, however, I can never, ever forget. My memory is full of a lifetime of songs, TV theme tunes and jingles from commercials that no matter how hard I try, I cannot erase from my mind. It is frustrating. I mean, how useful could this information possibly be:

You can't beat a Sao
Sao satisfaction
You can't beat a Sao, that's a fact
Sao brings out the flavour
Of any food you favour
You can't beat a Sao, that's a fact

Or:

Follow the arrow, just follow don't say no
Follow the arrow, they'll show you where to go
Arrows go this way, arrows go that
Arrows take you to an octopus, they take you to your hat

Or:

Feathers, fur or fins
Shell or scale or skin
If it walks on legs or flies on wings
If it runs or crawls or slithers or swims
It's got its place in the scheme of things
Feathers, fur or fins

I was bemoaning all this with friends recently, and one of them suggested that I should make up songs about the things that happen in my life, so that I can remember them. I'm not sure if that would work. I mean, how catchy is a song with lyrics like, "went to lots of meetings last year, la la la, also discovered that I quite like risotto, la la la", or, "Doo-doo-doo… my last pap smear was in 2003… yeeeeah yeah"? Maybe that's where folk or country and western songs originated? I mean, it's possible that Billy Bob BoJangle might never have remembered that it was 12 months since his separation and he could now legally get a divorce if a year ago today he hadn't crooned, "Left my skank of a wife for another lovely womaaan, wooah-oh, singin, the life of a ma-an on the run".

By contrast, my short term memory is fantastic. If you ever want to know what I had for lunch yesterday and exactly what time it was when I took my first bite, or how much Whiskas was on special for at the supermarket last week, then I'm your girl.

TGIF

Someone on my work Messenger account today had their personal message as "TGIF" (Thank God It's Friday). It got me wondering a few things. The first random thought was, "Does God like Fridays more than other days? Like, does he look forward to the weekend like everyone else?" My next thought was about how ridiculous my first thought was. But then I thought, "If [person at work] was so damn pleased that it was Friday so that they could have a couple of days off from working, then why don't they get another job? One they enjoy going to?"

I love my job. And I'm not just saying that in case someone from where I work randomly decides to see if I have a blog somewhere (unlikely – they probably have a life). When Friday rolls around, most of me is glad for the respite the weekend brings, but another part of me is disappointed that the work week is over. Does that make me a freak? Maybe. I always dreamed of having a job that I loved though – it has made such a difference to my outlook on life. Before I worked full time, I was often sad and depressed, and was never really sure why. Sometimes I wonder if that's still all lurking beneath the surface, and having a job is simply a distraction from it. I'm a bit scared of taking holidays, for that reason. I don't think that's the case though – I think most of the reason for the sadness was that I didn't feel like I had any reason for being here on earth, I had a shit job that any halfwit could do. Now I feel slightly useful occasionally.

How many people, at a vague guess, don't like their jobs? I reckon it would be a lot. Maybe even more than half. So then, is there a solution to that? Are they in the wrong job, or do they just have a negative attitude towards work that would carry through no matter where they were? I think it's sad. You spend so much of your life working, if you don't enjoy it, then that's a big part of your life you haven't enjoyed. It's just not worth it! I'm not sure what you'd do about it though. Changing jobs isn't all that easy sometimes, particularly with financial commitments or families to support. But even if you work towards your goal bit by bit, it's heartening to know that you'll get there eventually, and it makes working in a shit job a bit more bearable.

Congratulations to my brother, Luke, who just quit his job at Kmart that he hated, so that he could go to TAFE and get a trade. What a bold move – but one that will pay off in the end. Go Luke!

Swimming

Went swimming in the Leven River yesterday with K, Fanghead, Keith and Dan. It was so nice! Well, it was to begin with anyway. Not content with just swimming and relaxing, the boys decided to see whose penis was the biggest in a game of 'Who Can Swim With the Biggest Rock'. (Why don't men just pull down their pants and compare once and for all, instead of all this chest-beating? It'd save a lot of time.) Anyway, the winner was Dan, after a couple of near drownings. Not content with the result, Keith thought they should see 'Who Can Skim a Rock the Most Times'. Again, the winner was Dan. Then it got ridiculous with 'Who Can Bust a Rock in Half'. The testosterone was so thick I felt like I was asphyxiating. Then I saw a spider on a rock and Fanghead screamed the place down. Then K got a fish hook stuck in his foot. Then we saw an empty beer bottle, bobbing up and down, going on a journey down the river, past someone's slimy old shoe. The novelty wore off at that point, it was getting kinda gross.

Today I went swimming in the sea with Jason. What a difference! The water was so warm and clear, and there were waves to jump over. There were no spiders or beer bottles or cavemen antics. I am sure gonna miss having the ocean only 5 minutes walk away. Sigh. Where is there to swim in Launceston? The Cataract Gorge, with all the eels and car bodies and probably human bodies and submerged logs? Or the adjacent pool, where the lovely water temperature is undoubtedly linked to the amount of urine within, and you feel like you're doing the hokey-pokey rather than swimming because you can barely move for all the people? Bah!

The last time I went swimming in the Gorge, I swore I'd never do it again. I ended up covered in slime, and had some sort of mysterious skin rash the next day. And K nearly drowned trying to swim from one side to the other while carrying a rock as big as his head.

My Funny Valentine

It was Valentine's Day on Wednesday.

Traditionally, K and I do not celebrate this day. Whenever February 14th has rolled around in the past, we have pointed our noses in the air, and sneered in self-righteous disdain at others who chose to waste their money by succumbing to the wishes of advertisers, florists, Cadbury, Hallmark, etc. Let other couples be guilted into spending their hard-earned dollars in order to 'prove' their love for each other! Let others feel forced into superficial displays of affection! We felt far above such frivolity - almost to the point of ignoring each other for the entire day, just in case anyone got the wrong idea.

This year I spent the day at work as usual, watching colleagues receive gaudy packages complete with simpering love notes. Bleh. Riding Gus home from work, I shook my head at how some people blithely do what the media tells them to do, without thinking to question it. I was still scoffing to myself as I rode into the garage upon my arrival home.

What was that noise? Sounded like jazz music. Must be coming from next door, or across the road maybe... no, it sounded quite close. Perhaps K had left the radio on, or it was coming from a website he was looking at. Puzzled, I went inside, where I discovered the source of the music - our CD player. The table had been set for two, complete with wine glasses, placemats and candles. The house was clean, and I could smell a roast dinner cooking. K beamed at me, barely containing his excitement. I could hardly believe my eyes! Here before me was a man who, when asked if he loved me a while back, replied, "I told you I loved you on our wedding day... if anything changes, I'll let you know". And here he was busting out a mad Valentine's effort - I was stunned.

For me, the most startling thing from all of this was my gradual realisation that I really, really loved and appreciated the effort he went to. Me, the person who laughs in the face of romantic notions, the girl who has never received flowers purely because of the obvious scorn I have shown towards such 'nonsense', was actually quite chuffed that someone cared enough about me to go to so much effort. I have no idea why this particular year was different to any other, but I'm glad it was - we had a wonderful evening. We finished our dinner and sat drinking the wine and chatting for a while, then we went for a swim in the sea as the sun set behind the Dial Ranges. It was sickeningly romantic - but I had such a good time!

I shouldn't get too used to it - no doubt it'll be back to normal by next February 14th. And I don't mind that either. It was a wonderful evening, but mainly because I wasn't expecting it. What's so special about receiving flowers or gifts when you're fully aware that you're going to get them? Nothing. Of course you're gonna go to an effort for your partner if you think they'll be mad at you if you don't do it. And of course, there's the worry over whether they'll go to more of an effort than you will, or vice versa. The reason this year was so special was because neither of us had any expectations of each other.

Thank you, K. I love you.

Dreams

The other night I dreamed that I was walking along with a friend, I'm not sure who, through the streets of town one day. I had a baby's head cradled in my arms. The baby's body was packed away in my carry-bag, until such a time that I could figure out how to put it back together again. The head seemed happy enough though, smiling away. I tickled the little face and it giggled. I thought to myself, "maybe it wouldn't be so bad to have a baby after all!"

Then suddenly, the little head seemed to realise that it had lost its body at some point. The face screwed up and went red, and started to wail. I didn't know what to do! I didn't know how to put the baby back together. I ended up handing the head and my carry bag to my friend, so she could put the baby back together.

I think it's a sign - if I ever had a baby, I'd unintentionally decapitate it.

Thoughts from a 10 year reunion

It’s Christmas tomorrow, which sucks. I don’t remember when I stopped liking it, coz I know I used to like it, but I don’t now, which makes me wonder when the point was that I stopped.

Went to my 10 year reunion last night. It was, surprisingly enough, not too bad. Nobody had changed much. There were still the typical groups, the daggy people at one table, the cool people near the bar, and little cliques dotted here and there around the room. And me and K just floating around between everyone, not really fitting anywhere. The annoying people were still annoying, the hot guys were still hot. I think I had too much makeup on. Poor K had to drag around behind me like a lost dog while I yapped to people I used to be friends with ten years ago about nothing in particular. Most of the conversations were pretty much like this;

Me – (wide smile) hello! How are you?!
Person (returning wide smile) I’m really good! How are you?!
Me – (a little over enthusiastic) Great! What have you been up to?
Person – oh, you know… (proceeds to recap the past ten years in approximately ten seconds) working, I’m engaged, getting married in March 2007, we’ve bought a house, travelled a bit…
Me – (glazed eyes) uh huh…
Person – (after a few minutes) … but I’m glad I tried it though. How about yourself? What do you do?
Me – (response ready) Oh, I’ve been married for about five and a half years, I work for an IT company…
Person – You like it?
Me – (summons unnecessarily fake enthusiasm) yeah I love it! It’s great!
Person – (glazed eyes) cool…
Me – (trails off) yeah…
Person - (glances over shoulder) well I’d better…
Me – (embarrassed at having held them up from something or someone more important) Oh yeah, sure. Nice talking to you! (wide smile again)
Person – you too! Bye

Feeling a bit jaded with skin deep conversations after a while, I spotted an ex boyfriend sitting near the bar. I marched up to him, interrupting his conversation, and talked at him for five minutes about how sorry I was that I hurt him back then, and how I'd always remembered it and felt really bad, and if I could take it back I would, etc etc. Luckily he laughed and told me not to worry about it. Well that was one past guilt dealt with already, and it was only nine o’clock.

I decided to try and find my friend KP who I’d arrived with in the first place. No luck. I thought I’d try outside, where there were a few people hanging around outside the entrance. Upon approaching this group, I realised that the circle they’d formed was to make the passing of a big joint a lot easier. Some things never change, eh. Same people and everything. I spied KP running from across the road where her children were being babysat in a hotel room.

A Sour Faced Girl whom KP had never really gotten on with much turned to me and said “did she just go and put her baby in her car?” Horrified, I replied “of course not! They are staying in the hotel across the road”. Well, I mentioned this comment to KP when she finally came inside, and she was pretty pissed off. “How dare she, what a %$#*ing %@!$ who %$#@ wouldn’t &#!*with a #$%@” etc etc. It was then we realised that SFG’s husband was sitting directly in front of us, listening to every word. Oh well.

More and more drinks were had, particularly by my friend KP, who ended up having it out with SFG about her comments about KP’s parenting skills in true high school style (at the top of their voices in order to be heard above the music). Then KP decided to go and ask The Lesbian of our grade whether or not she thought she was hot. I never did find out what The Lesbian’s response was. Must ask KP. Not that I want to know whether KP is attractive to lesbians, but just out of interest. I wonder if I’m attractive to lesbians? Just out of interest mind you. Anyway, when KP made the loud observation that fat people travel in packs and always seem to be the ones who end up on the dance floor at gatherings, I decided that the drink I was holding would be my last. Picking my way through the group of fat people on the dance floor, I went to see where K had gotten to.

Well naturally we ended up being nearly the last to leave, which always seems to happen at these sorts of things. I hate it, I feel like people must think I’m a desperado who doesn’t have a life usually, but hangs out for occasional gatherings like these to scratch the social itch in my life. Which isn’t true by the way. I have a very rich and varied social life thank you very much. I don’t know where you heard otherwise. Anyway, I’m really glad I went. I would have regretted it if I’d missed it.

And I won’t have to go to another one for at least ten more years!