even though..

Even though it is not a given.. I have been looking at real estate – to rent and to buy in the manky area where I just applied for work..
I say Surely I will save money in the manky town? There will be nothing there to spend money on..
But they’ll still have the internet.. Says my chick housemate..
Oh yes.. I say thinking of two things in tandem.. lack of potential men to date.. and the ease of which I have lately been purchasing toys from the toyshop.. [like some sad old spinster]

Deep Deep Sigh..

my life [in 3 pages or less]..

I have been revitalising my CV and have decided to go with a short paragraph to describe my past work rather than the choppy [yet - I agree - very concise and clear] dot points I have used in the past.

It kind of looks like this..

2005 – 2009 Arts work in communities..

2003-2005 Diversional Therapy for old nannas..

2000- 2003 Arts work in a big city..

1997 – 2000 Diversional Therapy for old nannas..

Did anyone notice a theme? I have a pattern of interchanging arts work with diversional therapy [bus trips, tea parties, scrabble tournaments, sing-a-longs, wheelchair races, singing of Danny Boy, comforting families of deceased relatives, sneaking old slappers out for a cigarette, giggling about boys, finding the beauty in the speech of a dementia patient, advocating for human rights, drinking tea, flirting with the old blokes, dressing up as the Andrews Sisters and dancing and singing].
I love both jobs equally. It’s just that working in the arts is twice as lucrative as working in aged care. I can’t afford to indulge in my love of that job while I still have to eat and pay bills etc.

It’s funny though – when I talk about my arts experience it is pretty dry.. yet.. when I talk about my work as a DT I get all.. cheeky and happy..

A short term contract when I arrived in Melbourne from Sydney in 2003 turned into a two year commitment to improving the culture of 150 residents in a high care facility. I worked with a team to diversify the activities program to include music and dance and developed a partnership with the Victorian College of the Arts.
We held the Olympics in the hallways with wheelchair races, contracted swing dancers to come and perform for and learn from the elderly residents and we dressed up as the Andrews Sisters and sang to the residents whenever the mood struck.
I also provided emotional support and resident and family advocacy and formed very personal professional relationships with each resident in my care.

I remember a favourite old fella called Pete.. He was telling me about his sister in law and how much he hated her.
“She was an unmarried woman, a spinster.. but.. let me tell you.. she wouldn’t have died wondering!”

I think of that all the time.. Funny man. I shared a few stories about working at the nanna homes on my other blog.. I might scoot them over here – because I miss them.

[has my statcounter ticked over to 50,000 yet?]

what would chu do..?

For real and for serious.. I am midst a dilemma.

Consider for once, that you are not you.. you are me.
Single and share-housing at 38. Living in the big city.. paying big rent and entertaining myself with spending far too much money on next to nothing. Enjoying my modestly paying job. [I had a CRACKER of a day today - awesome - exhausting] Assisting manky communities across the state to run arts and community development projects – but assisting them from my city office most times.

Consider a conversation had with a woman I admire very much. Last week. Consider this woman has recommended me for a few very groovie contract gigs in arts companies across the city. Consider that because of her I have had groovie contract gigs.. and that she must indeed admire me somewhat as well.
Consider she tells me about a job coming up in a manky community in Northern Victoria.
The manky community that I made a film with last year in a process that was so perfect it brought me to tears a few times with the pride of it all.
A job that is part of a network of workers from across the state all working in communities.. a network that she manages. Consider the job is also modestly paid. It’s an arts based job – assisting the surrounding communities organise arts gigs.. community development.. grants writing.. relationship building.. partnership development.. etc and so on. [for the record - I am really pretty good at all of the above.]
Consider the modestly paid job also comes with a brand new maintained all expenses taken care of car.
Consider that the houses around there are quite often of the under $150,000 persuasion.
Consider that I need to get out of my groove.. find something new..

Consider that the town has a very good Japanese restaurant, great camping.. Consider I already know 50 or more people from there because of the projects I have done in the past.

It’s bloody hot there though..
Consider I have asked for a job description to be sent through.. that already now I am looking at houses to buy in the area..

[Lill.. if you are still around, Pet.. I think it would be near you somewhere..]

aahaa..

It just occurred to me that the name of this blog and the name of me while I am writing at this blog.. is Sulky Girl..
If this blog was called Cheery Girl then I would be worried.. but as it is not.. I will continue to be melancholy and sooky..

I gardened [a bit] and swept [a bit] and shovelled bones and rock [yep.. bones.. and shells and rocks] in my back yard yesterday and now have an open weepy nasty festery blister on my thumb. It’s red and a wee bit swollen around the wound.. I have a little fear that I might die from it.

I’ll tell you why.

I don’t garden in gloves. I don’t do anything much in gloves [except go to church] ever.
While I was gardening in my garden and tooling about with tools the dog was coating himself in the ‘warpaint’ of the enemy.. The enemy being the cat at number 63a. The warpaint being the cat’s nasty fresh crap from under the magnolia tree out the front.

After I gardened and before I showered I dealt with the nasty offensive smelling dog. Without gloves.
So. Now I am convinced the muck from his fur has entered my bloodstream at the wound site and I will be dead – or at least catatonic by dinner time.

I knew of a guy who died a few years ago from picking up pet germs in the garden while gardening gloveless. He died within a week. His distraught girlfriend had his dog euthenased and then struggled and struggled and struggled to pay the mortgage on her own.. and well.. she is probably still working three jobs to do it.

If I do go catatonic.. please let my mum know.. Also someone please get the Dr. [House] to do a test on the cat at 63a..

heart words.. music.. images..

There comes a time.. maybe once or twice a year when I need this. When I feel myself curling into myself and creating a hard outer shell to cover my softer than normal insides.. I need this..

may my heart always be open to little
birds who are the secrets of living
whatever they sing is better than to know
and if men should not hear them men are old

may my mind stroll about hungry
and fearless and thirsty and supple
and even if it’s sunday may i be wrong
for whenever men are right they are not young

and may myself do nothing usefully
and love yourself so more than truly
there’s never been quite such a fool who could fail
pulling all the sky over him with one smile

ee cummings

Something about these words make me feel like I am stretching out.. uncurling and opening up my sight lines.

This song.. reminds me of heartfelt teenage emotions. Learning every single word. [No google for the lyrics in the 1980's.. Learning lyrics required recording the song on the radio.. and then playing the tape of the song phrase by phrase.. rewinding back to the start.. writing the new lyrics down in your diary if you needed to..]
This song puts me in a place. A really good reflective place. I downloaded it from Itunes last night – along with the version by Emile Millar from the film Waitress.

Photography by Bill Henson makes my heart open. No one image. Perhaps I have a particular love of the landscapes he photographs. The lights, the nights, the atmosphere reminds me of Melbourne. He lives just streets away from me, and we seem to like the same bars and restaurants as I see him quite regularly. His work reminds me of the beauty of where I live. I’ll find it hard to leave Melbourne’s twilights when the time comes..

the big dry..

Popped over to B and M’s last night to baby-sit their kids. There was some miscommunication on their behalf and while M had booked me in B had booked someone else.. So I just hung around and yacked for a few minutes before I scooted off back home to leave the 17 year old babysitter in charge..

B&M were so sorry that they had ruined my Saturday night with the babysitting that was now no longer. You could have gone on a date! They said.
No.
I couldn’t have.

Plan A. has all but disappeared.. Well he hasn’t.. But communication has become so laid back our relationship is almost comatose..

Plan B. Buff. Is overseas.. Surfing. Somewhere. I have this mental struggle with myself from time to time.. He’s too old.. is he too old? Are you having a flashback to the time when you were vulnerable and seeking a father figure? Even though he is older.. he’s not OLD.. he surfs.. he is really really fit.. But.. he is older than everyone in your family (except for your mother).. What are you trying to achieve here..? I thought that was obvious! No. Really think about it. What is your journey and would this man be a part of it?

Plan C. Was never really a plan.. I should not even have impure thoughts/memories about that one..

Plan D. Made it clear two days before Christmas that I had dicked him around once [or twice] too often and that he never wanted to hear from me again.. And then he sent me a Merry Christmas text on Christmas day, telling me he was thinking of me.. yada yada.. Hmm.. Unfortunately even though I have deleted Plan D’s number from my phone.. after 4 years I still remember it.. more keenly so when I have had 2 wines.. But no. Plan D. is a high talker.. bad lover.. and doesn’t wash his linen.. Mantra. Remember. High talker. Bad lover. Dirty linen.

I have no more plans. Nothing.
No dates on the horizon.
A bit of a dry spell.
Using my free time to work on the co-dependency training with the dog.
It’s going well.

is cynicism ruining my life..?

It’s 4am and I am awake.. insomniating.. and watching some Cindy Crawford endorsed skin care infomercial..
A french rockmelon has been found to have the ability to wipe away wrinkles.

If I paid the $59 for the complete skin care system would I become more lovely than I could stand? No. I don’t think so. I think I’ll look like a girl with clean skin.

But. Part of me [truly] believes that it is only $59 standing between me and an international modelling contract. The reason why these ads are on at this time of the morning is to brainwash the insomniacs while we are in a weakened state. Oh and also because of the reduced advertising rates they can offer their products at wholesale prices.. For joy!

What I would like to see is a product that makes me look like Cindy Crawford, not just like a moisturised and clean – skinned me. I’d pay $59 for that.
Like a beauty polyjuice potion.. yep. I’d pay for it if it made my legs longer and my hair lusher.. Yep.. If that came in a bottle, I’d be there.

photo meme..

I saw this somewhere (Ms P’s?) and have bastardised it a bit I think..

4×4 meme..

Go to the fourth image file on your computer.. and open the fourth image.. Post and tell a story about the image..

Taz hurt his paw.. the vet was a bit over-zealous.. two vet nurses assisted her in holding him down to bandage his paw a poofy pink, which added insult to injury [literally].. as he was called a brave little girl by strangers in the street.

A few days later we found out that under all that pinkness was a little scratch [but it bled a lot - so that is why we took him to the vet - it did LOOK scary to the untrained eye]

Fascinating
[but I do like the pics of him in his little elizabethan collar..]

today..

This has become more like a diary of sorts.. sorry for the boring-ness seeping in..

Woken this morning by the Hot Italian..
Goodness but I am so ho-hum about him now. I don’t even want to call him the hot italian anymore.. I have been immunised.. He is Italian, si. He is of above average beauty, si si.. But. He called me at 8.06am.. after me being awake at 3am to watch the inauguration speech.. 8.06am. Not making me happy regardless of how attractive your little European accent is!!! Not making me happy no matter that I was the first person you thought to call today!!!

Exchanged a few emails [at a decent time] with my cousin! That’s put a smile on my face.

Assisted in the hanging of some pictures in the new office.. found myself underneath a 12 foot ladder ladder on my tip-toes stretching up a wall with an artwork precariously pressed against the wall above me.. It felt like yoga.. it also felt like a silly place to find myself. I stopped the madness after we hung one picture out of fifteen.

I find it interesting that the day after something good happens you feel all bone sore with a warm and aching face.. eyes feel woolly.. brain unfocussed. I feel like this the morning after the night before’s good sex.. and I do today as well.. the morning after Obama’s speech.

Yippee for the world that has no more Bush in power of a corner of it.

exactly..

Exactly how hard is it to schedule some quality adult time with someone who claims to be a sex addict, do you think?

To study upholstery and re-upholster a lounge chair myself will cost me exactly a third of the cost to get it professionally done. [booking in.. pronto.. think I am developing an upholstery fetish]

It has taken me exactly 13 months to realise that my dog does not like processed dog food.. no biscuits.. no cans.. He does however love icy-poles, apples, fruche and going for long walks by the ocean..

I have probably not seen my cousin for 24 years.. Yet spent an hour or more stalking him on the interweb last night. I have some Auckland readers and I would love you to go and see his band [he's the guitar guy and singer] .. or watch his show on TV The Redshift.

I am nervous.. should I say hello to him on Facebook?
Shag it. I will.
brb