treadmills and things..

Women who look for their fathers..
Bad patterned behaviour..
Self hating decisions..

There are a lot of things.. but it is before 9am and I don’t be very wordy good before 9am or before a coffee..

My mate LM has a nice new fella. YIPPEE! says I.. but.. like I reckon 110% of people who hear the new fella scenario.. I wonder why now?

She’s done some wicked bad things to herself in the relationship stakes over these last 40 something years.. [well 25 something years - I am sure she was not looking for a relationship straight outta the womb].

Seems three months ago she decreed.. “I am shit at this!” and “I am a gonna change my ways!”
And she fucking did.
[articulate ladiness escapes me - forgive the languaging here]

I reiterate [without the apology this time].

She fucking did.

No more beautiful arrogant shits. No more smallerising herself to fit someone elses mould. No more running away or running toward. No more judgemental barriers. No more unobtainable, unavailable pretty users. No more high profile trophy bastards. [do you get the idea?]

She is dating and desiring a woolly faced down to earth intellectual. A slow moving type who couldn’t achieve trophy status if he tried really really hard.
She is the speedy speeder who couldn’t slow down.. and now.. she has.. slowed down to meet him somewhere on this crazy path, and slowed down, she looks like happy.

I love the happy endings.
I think she is in the middle of a happy story.. which may never end.
[romantic realist me.]

A note to all the single ladies [read, ' single lady - me'].. get off the treadmill.. stop looking for dads.. stop looking over your shoulder to see who has noticed how pretty your latest mistake is. See possibility within yourself and be happy. The rest will come.

now that’s more like it..

Gently woken by a good looking guy bringing me a special treat breakfast to eat in the princess bed..

He’s 6.

But I can wait for him..

even in the arts..

.. it is not appropriate to say ‘You absolute fucking wanker! Think about what you just said, and then, don’t ever say it again.. to anyone.. or you will be publically killed for being a fuckwit.’

After I had this meeting I realised that I had my period.. and I nodded and told myself ‘I understand now where that came from..’

just checking..

Yep. Still happy. Thouigh all around me people are ripping the heads off others.. Yowsers. Bring on the end of year holidays, this country needs a dousing in champers and beer.

If you have a social conscience you will go here and vote for James’ babes. #34
There is a poll in the sidebar.

I thought he could have called the kids something a bit more lovely than three and four.. but.. I guess when you have twins you can’t really think straight for the first six years.. so cut him some slack, they can change their names when they are 21.

shocking.. disappointing and soul destroying..

Had a great time with my mates.

On my return I realised that happy don’t get you anywhere in the blog world. No-one cares when you are happy.

Dog and I stayed with lovely folks and went to see a play [three acts, Shakespeare, outdoors] he sat on mine or D’s lap throughout. In the second act there was a dog actor on ’stage’.. and sausages played a big part as well. Dog THOROUGHLY enjoyed second act.. and was dodging his head from side to side to keep an eye on sausages and the blue heeler who was onstage the whole time though did not have a speaking role. It was quite funny how engaged in the action he was.. the people in front of me kept turning around and marvelling at what a ‘thespian’ he was.
By the third act he was just wishing it was over.. but come on.. three acts.. shakespeare.. he’s only human.

Then.
Dog got lost three times in the bush over 14 hours. The last time [this morning - he had promised he was only going out for a slash] was for several hours.. and when he finally heard my voice calling him he cried like a bitch.. [pun intended].. when that boy cries he splits eardrums.. and can be heard in Adelaide.

Dog and I safely home having made an impromptu detour through a town 45kms away that is named after my best friend’s cat [or the other way around].. and realisation that they have a lake WITH water [a geographical novelty in my part of the world] and a very very gorgeous looking pub.
Here was I all the while thinking the town would be a wheat silo and a toilet block like so many other ‘towns’ around here..

Had a snooze when home.. woke up with the most interesting premise for a theatre piece I have had in a long long time.. about a little town in the Mallee who can cure depression.
Spending a lotttt of time looking for caravans on the internet for an arts project in 2010.
Ohh and still being ‘pursued’.. instead of drive-bys, I get inane and constant emails..

Yep.
That’s mine and the dog’s round up.

happy..

Today. A pretty nice decision.
Do I spend the day/night with some great friends I have known for years.. great.. gorgeous.. pixie friend and her hilarious dry humoured husband.. and then head with them to an outdoor theatre gig made by another gorgeous friend.. A show I have been hearing about and anticipating for MONTHS.. Then sleep in the hundred year old bluestone outbuilding ‘The Prophets Room’, which is now his artist studio.
Then do I convoy back from that gig with ANOTHER friend who will be staying with me for a month as of.. umm.. tomorrow!!

or..

Do I stay here and hang out with my new friends, meet more people.. and drink and drink.. and then stagger home in the dark to sleep in my own bed?

Packing the dog and my bag.. heading ‘up the ‘doit’ to be with my old friends.. smiling much.

celebrity me..

I have just been called by the editor of Who magazine to appear in an article titled ‘How I gained 20 kilos!’ where I get to share my dieting tips..
Confidentially [this could be a breach of contract as I signed over the rights of my diet to Who earlier today].. I attribute my weight gain to a desk/company car based job.. dinners of pork chops and mashed potatoes, and long lonely suppers in front of the television of red wine and mint slices. Easy!

While cleaning my cupboards on the weekend, Lill wistfully looked at the stack of tuna tins from my pantry and said something that smacked of such truth it brought tears to my eyes.. “Tuna, it’s such a ‘good intentions’ food isn’t it?”

There is something in this post for all of you.

obligation..

A few years ago, early in the morning, I was being crushed in a motel bed by man I had known for two years. It was confronting to be crushed in a scary way by someone I knew. It would have been easier to fight the bastard off if he was someone I didn’t know. If he was someone who wasn’t loved and respected by people I knew. I would have screamed my lungs out and punched the fucker in the face.

I was laying in the motel bed next to one of my friends.. she knew this guy as well.. but each time I pinched her and hissed in her ear ‘help me’.. she smiled and went back to her drunken sleep.

For a long time this man was laying on top of me.. trying to feel my breasts.. and kiss me.. and I was FREAKING OUT! His wife and kids were in the room next door.. he was drunk and pinning me down.. telling me he just wanted to be nice [to me] because I was such a nice girl..

I was trying hard to start a conversation about his kids in the next room.. shield my breasts [rolled over onto my stomach - which kind of made me feel even more vulnerable].. and get him to wake up to himself..

Anyway he finally, finally, finally got the drift.. and left.
The next morning I woke up to his Jim Beam can under my pillow. My friend laughed when she saw it.. I was a bit too shellshocked to do anything.

I told one person what happened to me the night before.. had a cry.. and bucked up, went about my job [because it was a work gig I was on] and just avoided the guy.. ooh.. until now.

Now.

Now I listen to the messages on my phone. He’s moved across the state and is now living in the town I work. He’s called me and left a message.. Kimbaaaah.. he says on my answering machine. I want you to help me get some money together for a project.

In these last two years he has lost his shit, been accused of rape and been run out of his town. He has been drinking and drugging in a major way [my community is small.. I know what everyone is doing - good and bad].. and the last time I saw him he looked like he’d been hit.
Now.
Part of my job is to assist folks to source money for projects. But. I’ll be fucked if I call this bastard back.
Obligation? No way.

in print already..

The photograph I took on the second day of owning my camera.. is now the image on our festival homepage.. it is also the image that has been chosen to print to postcards to thank our sponsors..
[dude on stilts]

Funding [sourced by me] for the festival went to the design and making of these banners.. and hiring this dude [and a whole range of other things].. but the banners and this dude were money well spent.

I went into the debrief session about the festival last night expecting to be told I did a bad job. But the reality is.. I did an OK job.. AND I was the only one who raised money for the festival.. AND I initiated a cultural celebration for the opening of the festival they had never had before.. AND I was a major driver to get the Indigenous community involved with the most awesome re-telling of a local dreaming story [to an audience of between 250-300].. AND I documented 75% of the events by taking photos.. AND I wrote media releases.. AND as a result of my involvement in the festival the local Fijian community wants to work with the Indigenous community in getting a concert together for Harmony Day in March.. AND the Indigenous community had such a shit hot time they are already planning for next year.. [OK.. so I wasn't involved in the MAKING of the story - but I did source the funding for it to happen, and supported the project team.. kind of the silent partner and all]
AND.. the theme for both this year.. and next year.. were my idea..
I did OK. I do OK.
I wish I could stop beating myself up over not doing better.

conversations with my brother..

When I talk to my brother about how I was born.. he starts sobbing.

Not a year before I was born our parents gave away his two year old sister.. Imagine.. a 6, 10 and a 12 year old preparing for school.. and as they are walked to the bus stop their mother [our mother] telling them that their little sister won’t be their little sister when they come home. That she is going to live with another family.
Imagine them being told that they can’t ever speak of her again.
Imagine my mother being the kind of mother that once she tells you something.. [like to never mention your little sister again] you remain told.. and you don’t.. unless you are alone with your sisters in the cubby house you have made for just that very purpose.. for talking through things away from the parents.

My beginning story.. my birth.. my childhood.. has always been a special story. I was a special, cherished, loved child. I was the replacement for the child who was given away. But. As much as I love my story.. the truth is I was conceived in grief.. I was anticipated to be a healer for a family who were unbearably sad and incapable of grieving.

My cousin’s wife died at age 22 and left behind a 6 week old baby for my family to raise. When she was 2, my parents gave her back to my cousin [who had remarried] without any warning or consultation with my sisters and brother.
The shock to the family system was intense. My parents could not bear to have her name spoken. My eldest sister at 13 was the carer and the counsellor for the younger two..
When I was born, my mother said, my brother [11] would not let me go. He barely let her care for me. I was ‘his’.

This beginning story was all mythology to me.. until I asked my brother.. Do you remember when Linda left?
He does not stop crying for half an hour and the tears flow while he talks..
I can’t believe it has taken me 35 years to listen to his piece of my beginning story.. The pain of the children.

They did not see that little girl again until she was 14. Her father wasn’t able to care for her.. he abused her.. and she had run away.
She was in-transit to a women’s shelter in the city and stayed with my family for a week.

My mother is in close contact with her. She is the ‘good child’.. where all other of us have failed her in some way. None other of us has seen her for 21 years. Since my father’s funeral.
The day he died [at 3.16pm, Sunday 16 October 1988] hundreds of miles from us, Linda had a bbq at her house for a dozen friends. While preparing salad in the kitchen she felt someone tap her shoulder three times.. as she turned to see who it was she noted the time was 3.16pm and that she was alone. Minutes later she called my mother.