Fully Sick, braaah.

***Disclaimer - I have been struck down with a filthy cold, so anything i write will be tainted by the fact that i feel like i'm trying to access my brain and all my senses from behind a wall of cotton-wool.****


I FEEL LIKE I'VE BEEN HIT BY A TRUCK. And not a friendly truck. A mean truck. And the driver got out and beat me mercilessly with a pool noodle as i lay on the metaphorical road in a pool of mucus. Bleerrgghh. Tissues please.

But no matter. I have been blessed with a week in which to recover before starting my new job, so i intend to take advantage of this time off by being lazy and indoors and consuming lots of tea and soup. I also have kindly housemates who offer up their stashes of echinacea and Sudafed, and check on me occasionally but mostly leave me alone to rest.

I am listening to Art Of Fighting and  i just finished an enormous cup of hot, homemade cold-buster (fresh lemon juice, chopped garlic, grated ginger and a spoonful of honey in hot water). Mmmm delicious and gross.

Have been reading online articles on marriage and divorce, as well as catching up on favourite blogs CakeWrecks  and STFU Parents. I read a little of J's blog, which made me homesick, because it always has photos of friends and fun, familiar things on it. It's her first Vamlumtimes day alone in many years, but she seems to be doing ok. I scrolled back to see photos of last weekend's Multicultural Festival. I saw them briefly on the weekend, too - when i first saw them, on the weekend while at G's house, i had a tiny little tear in my eye - damn homesickness. I don't know why. The Multicultural Festival, or Meat On A Stick day as it's known to Canberrans, has always been a fun thing to visit but i don't go every year. Missing Floriade will hurt. But maybe by September i'll be less homesick. I wrote little homesick messages to J and to A. They'll probably think i was drunk. No i wasn't, just a little sad and sick. (Although maybe a bottle of wine will help me feel better. Hmm...)

I have moments when i miss my friends more than i can bear, and i write stupid sentences about worrying that they'll forget about me and move on while i'm away. But even as i'm writing them i feel silly. Of course they'll move on, of course things will change. Of course friendships will change, new people will come into our friendship group and others will leave. But that's the nature of friendships, and particularly in the group of friends i have. It's made up of so many interlocking circles of friends, people come and go, some people fall out of favour and others become closer. Sure, my broad group will be different when i return. But my close friends will (i hope) remain so, and thanks to Facebook and the occasional emails and letters i receive, i don't feel completely left out. I just miss the spontaneity, the last-minute trips to chocolate or to late-night shopping or to an impromptu party or pub crawl. Sigh. I'm really ok. I'm just sick.

Life is great

How good is this...

- Asking a boy the following question, with absolutely no expectation of a positive answer, but just out of curiosity: "Would you like to go see the Oscar Wilde play, The Importance of Being Earnest?" and receiving an enthusiastic "Yes!"
- Taking said boy to said play and having him enjoy it, rather than simply tolerating it.
- Meeting friends of said boy and finding them to be lovely, and finding myself to be pleasantly sociable and not too boring, drunk or sour
- Getting a NEW JOB that i expect will be awesome (when i start next week)
- Booking a day trip to the Cotswolds for the weekend, where i will be touristy and awesome on a bus.
- Seeing a band i loved when i was eighteen and not being disappointed in the slightest - they still rock as hard as they did back then - and striking up conversations with Americans in the audience who are about the same age as me and have enjoyed Reel Big Fish as long as i have. And having above-mentioned boy get almost as excited as me and dancing almost as hard. And walking out of the show on an incredible high - and into a fresh flurry of London snow.

Getting fired up in the shower.

Thinking through the important things in the shower. It's a time when i can't silence my brain with tv or distract it with music. It's a time when my thoughts used to drift into dangerous waters, no pun intended, particularly concerning certain people who used to torment my mind. But that doesn't happen anymore. I can honestly say i don't think of him anymore. And even when i do, it's fleeting, and is not accompanied by that sickening feeling of loss and regret. Finally.

But anyway. I had a thought. Perhaps my inability to commit to a career or a man or a place to live is related to my refusal to accept stereotypes and assumptions about people, places, life in general. I hate broad statements about men, women, children, families, homes, jobs, etc, etc, etc, because for me most of them ring false. I can always think of examples from my own life or those close to me that disprove myths about the normal/regular/acceptable way to do things, so i frown and say "No. There must be another way."

Stereotypes are the lazy brain's filler material. People have one or two (or possibly more) experiences in life that are somehow connected, and stereotypes and assumptions fill in the gaps for them. Dated two boys from Tuggeranong who lived with their parents? "God, Tuggers men are so lame and unemployable." Had a black guy steal from you when you were in the army forty years ago? "All black people are thieving bastards." Heard on the news about a bunch of Lebanese boys who gang-raped a white girl?  "Fucking Leb cunts, all they want to do is steal our women while they keep their own locked up at home wearing hijabs." (All of this shit is stuff i've heard coming out of the mouths of people i know, or used to know.)

I refuse to accept any of this. I hate to comment on anything until i've experienced it for myself. So i keep flitting from man to man, from house to house, from job to job, in search of different experiences. I have secret disdain for people i know who presume to discuss with me what "men" are like, or what "children" are like in any way. Really. From someone who married their first or second boyfriend, and proceeded to have two children. What the fuck do you know about "men" in general, or "children" in general. You know YOUR man, and you know YOUR children. Hedge your opinions with this little disclaimer, and i will be much more willing to listen. Tell me what YOUR man is like in certain situation, but don't presume all men are like that. God. Same for when you're bitching about your boss, Person Who's Had Two Jobs In Their Life. "Bosses" aren't all the same.

I don't know why this fires me up so much. I can't say what's prompted this rant, but here it is. It's my blog, i'll rant if i want to.

Snow in London

London has turned a delightful shade of white. I absolutely adore it. I love the snow. When it snows, the cold doesn't seem so bad. I no longer feel the biting wind, and my frosty toes and fingers barely register on my radar.

Snow reminds me of when i was a child, and our trips to the Snowy Mountains. These trips are some of my most glorious memories, throughout childhood and into adolescence. I never outgrew my child-like fascination with snow - its texture, its appearance, the way it seems to silence and soften a landscape. I was also fortunate enough to have parents who loved the mountains all year round, so we had several summertime trips too - enabling me to compare the appearance of the region with and without snow. And the two or three times that Orange was dusted with snow during the decade that i lived there was even more exciting - to have snow falling on scenes i saw every day, and adding a sense of wonderment to mundane things like the clothesline or streetsigns. It was only ever a tiny sprinkle of snow, but it was exciting nonetheless.

The Royal Albert Hall

So having this much snow AT MY HOUSE is far too exciting for me. It started snowing before Cirque du Soleil began, but after i'd already started working at the Royal Albert Hall. I watched excitedly as the snow fell,  through the windows of the Hall. Many of my work friends and associates complained bitterly about the inconvenience of snow, but this did not dampen my enthusiasm. I tried to explain to them why i was so excited, why this was such a novelty - that in Straya it doesn't just snow, you have to go to the snow, you have to have the means to travel to see snow, and very few people live in places where it snows regularly (and more than just a light dusting). Once i'd finished my shift i ventured out, barely able to contain my excitement. I walked slowly as i'd been warned it could be slippery, but my lovely work shoes served me well and i kept my balance all the way to the tube. I took several photos along the way with my phone, and arrived at South Kensington tube station encrusted in a thick layer of the still-falling snow.

Me - very excited about all  the snow in my face

Exhibition Road, next to the Science Museum

Once i'd arrived home, i didn't even take off my coat and hat - i grabbed my camera and took more photos around my house and street.

Front wall and bins

Greer's pot plants on her windowsill

A group of Carribean guys were shouting and laughing a short way down the street as i photographed the snowy scenes. One of them seemed to be shouting at me as they approached - "Hey! Hello!" - but i was oblivious at first. He drew closer, and he was holding a giant snowball the size of a pumpkin, grinning and motioning the snowball towards me (and my camera). "No... No no no no no no.... Please don't..." i protested nervously. He crossed the street and lobbed the snowball gently at me - it exploded on my chest and i burst out laughing. He did too, and high-fived me, before returning to his group of friends to walk across the park. I chuckled and went back into my house to dry off and warm up, and to share my evening with my internet friends.

Looking across the carpark

The Crown - the old (non-trading) pub across the road

Bicycle - with snow.