Budgeting

With cash flow comes a responsibility to spend what you bring in wisely. Perhaps because I studied accounting I am a little inclined to take this further than most, but then again there is a reason that the economy is so bad at the moment.......

But with getting a car and planing to move there needs to be some form of budget so that everything can be done on the limited funds that a low training wage brings in. The problem is trying to find figures to work around. Until I know what kind of car I end up with I wont know the repayments or the insurance or the petrol costs; without knowing where I will like I have to guess about market costs. It then doesn't help that work is slow and hours are getting cut. In fact, now that I think about it, I'm even guessing on my weekly take home pay because hours change day to day. I'm not complaining. I have waited far to long to have a job to be complaining.

It just makes things complicated is all. And part of it is my own fault. I want far too many things. Patience must be applied and I have never been a particularly patient person.

But I am learning.

All habits can be broken, changed and reshaped after all.

Especially when the new year is only a day away. There is just something about the new year that calls for habit breaking and goal setting and life changing. The hopes that the new period of time will bring with it new opportunities and new hope. Its not a new concept.

Luckily my goals have already been set. Already started working toward. And unlike 90 percent of the other resolutions out there, mine will be kept and completed. It is an exciting time. Tomorrow we will be able to know one off. Have made plans to pull an all nighter at the beach (a particularly safe idea given that the central city is once again rubble after the boxing day aftershocks), and even though I have to be at work at 6am tomorrow morning, making it a very long day - I think it will be worth it. Provided it doesn't rain - though that said, rain could prove beneficial in staying awake.

And then four more lessons and my instructor thinks I will be ready to sit my driving test. At least when that is done I wont feel like so much of a burden on Dad. I know that he doesn't really sleep much, but I'm starting to feel bad. Its not like I expect Mum to help out - what with her being less supportive and all (shes complaining about the early starts? she gets more sleep than me) but still... I'm even starting to enjoy the driving. City driving for the first time today was a bit hairy, but as long as I keep my head its not so bad.

 Budgeting, driving, working - I must be growing up at last.

Boxing Day

There was defiantly a lull into a false sense of security that had been happening, I think. A 4.9 aftershock today while I was at work - the first really big shake in a good while. And the first that I had experienced in a very public place - the ones at uni don't really count.

It got the heart racing that is for sure.

Lucky the mall where I work wasn't that busy. Well, except for all those people lining up for the jewelry store. I mean I know why I was at a mall at 6.30am on a boxing day, but to willingly stand out side of a store until it opens at 10.... I will never understand some people. Surely the bargains cant be that good.

But the day has marked a kind of... almost turning point. Two full weeks on the bake shift and my routines are starting to form and I am starting to get the hang of it all. 5am doesn't seem quite so horrible any more and I am no where near as tired when I get home any more. I am starting to feel that my writing can once more become a very real achievement for me. I was starting to feel a little guilty neglecting it the way I had been. I had been on such a roll in November and while I defiantly don't begrudge that I have a job that now takes up my day (and I defiantly don't, I had been searching for one for so long that it is a relief to have one, let alone one that I enjoy), I have missed the flow of words.

With the progress of my driving lessons and the settling into the new job, everything seems to be coming together. By the end of February I should hopefully be in a new house, I will have a car (thanks Dad), be working full time and sometime within the next week or so I AM going to start writing again.....

2011 is going to be a good year. I can feel it.

So much better than 2010 was. I will no longer be a burden on anyone. I will no longer be looked down upon by parents (or at least I wont be around to see it if I am) and it will be the birth of a whole new me with the help of my 'to acheive' list. I am looking forward to it. To be able to attend the traditional boxing day BBQ and actually have things to report... there is a comfort in that I think.

Baptism By Fire

Starting a job, not only in the hospitality industry, but in a mall in the weeks just before Christmas is certainly jumping into the deep end with no idea of any rocks that might be in your path. From doing nothing much during the day to doing ten hours on your feet certainly takes some getting used to. Not to mention the learning of new processes and skills and dealing with the moodiness of the general population that comes hand in hand with this season...

The term 'baptism by fire' is certainly apt.

But that does not mean that I am not enjoying it - I am. I am enjoying being able to spend most of my day baking and playing with food. I am enjoying meeting new people - getting to know new work mates. And I am enjoying the kick start to driving that getting a job has required, not to mention the additions to my bank account that it has resulted in.

No, for all that my feet hurt and I think I am loosing my voice, this job is defiantly a good thing. I can even see the advantages of becoming a morning person - no matter how naturally nocturnal I may be. And once I settle in a bit more, get a routine going and my own wheels so I am not dependant on anyone else I think I can see myself really getting into it. And I am sure that once I get myself settled in it all I will be able to fall once more into my writing.  Once the stressful season leaves us behind and we can all breathe once more.

But Christmas is like that isn't it? It is supposed to be this time of rejoicing and spending time with loved ones and family and yet we spend the entire time rushing around in a mad panic like headless chickens. It is frantic and stressful and crowded and that detracts from the peace that it is supposed to be.

Not much to be done about it though - except stop celebrating the holiday. But wheres the fun in that. At the risk of seeming materialistic I like presents. So onward we must press. Two more weeks and the madness will be over for another year.

Day Two and I'm Still Alive

My first two days of my new job and though my back hurts, I'm dehydrated (my own fault), tired and still don't know how I am going to get over that side of town for 6 in the morning - I couldn't be happier.

Obviously I am no where near proficient and still have much to learn but the people are great (even if they all tell me different ways of doing the same thing) and there is something satisfying about being busy all the time. That feeling I guess will fade sooner rather than later but after months of idleness it is a nice change. Besides, I am learning and as Ralph Waldo Emerson once said, "every artist was first an amateur". Not that I hold aspirations of becoming any form of artist at this job, but the principle still remains.

Not only is there the new job, but the driving schools have been booked, Dad has agreed to lend me money for a car interest free and every thing seems to falling into place. I almost want to look over my shoulder to wait for the other shoe to drop - but I deserve this damn it. I deserve to have things going right for me for a change so I am not going to second guess this. Second guessing can only lead to the creation of self fulfilling prophecies and I can't have that.

It is enough to give one the warm fuzzies...

Finally

It has been a long year, I know that I have said this before but it has been. The repetitive nature of the comment may make me feel better temporarily but it does nothing to change the truth of the comment. This last year - my 23rd year of being - was full of trials. And with my birthday only five days away my thoughts have naturally drifted to the automatic internal reflection that seems to occur every year around this time.

My self esteem - so usually very strong, has taken a huge hammering this year. Failure after failure; rejection after rejection. I have held on, kept at it, and while it hasn't been easy nor without damage, finally it is worth while. Finally there has been a 'yes' in the sea of 'no'.

Finally a job interview has turned into the offer of a job.

And I couldn't be more excited or more relieved. Yes, it is a job that has nothing to do with my degree, but it has to do with my interests so that seems far better. And yes it raises the interesting question of how the hell am I even going to get to that part of town that early in the morning (ignoring the fact that it is in fact that early in the morning and I am really not a morning person), but it'll just put the fire on getting my license which will in turn wipe that goal off the list as done.

Yes, the negatives are easily ignored. They can be worked out - they are relatively simple and inconsequential when they are compared to trying to find a job in the current climate. As long as I keep focused enough not to let myself get bogged down with a need to please and fear of letting people down. But I think that after the first couple of days that feeling will depart.

And so I finally will enter the world of the gainfully employed. I have a feeling that this year is going to be so much better than last.

A Startling Revelation

I was just reading a book, minding my own business and getting nicely lost in a world that doesn't exist. Sometimes it is nice to do such things on a Saturday night rather than trawl through the drunken masses.... Any way, I was reading and all of a sudden it hit me. Out of the blue and with such violent force than my breath actually caught in my throat, it hit me.

I'm in love with my best friend.

I wasn't even thinking about him at the time. But there it is, in cold hard pixels.

And now I cant stop thinking about it. When I see my future I see him in it. And it's beautiful and it's perfect and its ever lasting. And it is entirely fictional - and always will be.

I cant tell him, that much is clear. No matter how day-time drama that notion is; I know him and I'm not even close to being the type of woman he goes for. Besides, he's in my life now - importantly and majorly. It wouldn't do to break that bond over something so tenuous as love.

It will be far better to keep the link alive as it stands now and banish this ridiculous notion from my mind. Now that it is out there, in the open and out of my head, that should be achievable.

Magical Lists

In the spirit of being more organised and have actual goals to work towards, I have called upon the assistance of Rachael - who from this point forward shall be known as Special Agent Redra - and initiated the magical list of 25 things to do before we are 25. Our birthdays are so close that I figured a month in either direction wasn't going to kill any one.

Now, I know that the idea of such a list is not new, or novel. But it is what we are doing, and we are sticking to it (this will not be a New Years resolution repeat). I will have a list - and I will kick the butt of this list.

Yes, I may have control issues at the moment - but there is so little about my life this year that I actually am in charge of so this helps. Taking back my life one step at a time.

We always think when we are younger that by the time we reach our early to mid twenties that we will have all the answers we need and will be grown ups making our way in the world. It's a bold face lie. I'd like to think that there is no magical number that exists to marker the change from young to old... And I refuse to have a quarter life crisis because things are not going my way. Having control issues seems safer somehow.

So its time to enjoy the free fall, December starts in a matter of days and then its time to get serious.

Success

I did it. I reached the NaNoWriMo goal of 50,000 words in a month - well a little under a month any way. Over 50,000 words in 25 days. And while I knew going into the process that reaching the goal would be an achievement, I was unprepared for just how... amazing I would feel.

The shear wave of... unadulterated joy. The confidence boost of knowing know that yes, I can do it; yes I am capable of achieving something. When surrounding myself with so much rejection and so much failure, the notion that I am capable of a success - however it might seem to others. It warms me.There are those that don't understand - of course there are - but that is fine. Just because there is no real physical 'prize', the knowledge that I can - that this writing thing is doable - that is worth more than any amount of money or swag.

And that attitude, that sense of accomplishment surprises me.

I am, by nature, not one to diminish or ignore the material aspects of life. I like the tangible I wont deny it. But this seems more somehow. This is something that I have done, I have created with my own two hands. Maybe that is why my feelings of success are so great.

But the ultimately the whys don't matter. I am going to relish in the feeling, use it to propel me even further forward and drive me in my future goals.

Because there will be future goals. Now that I have found this process of working toward aims I am unwilling to let it go. Perhaps I should have listened to all those teachers that tried to ram goal setting down out throats in high school...

Pike River and the Media

My heart and my thoughts go out to the families and friends of those 31 miners who were unfortunate enough to be own the Pike River coal mine at the time of the explosion. Even more so to those of the 29 still inside. It is a terrible tragedy and a horrible loss and wish them all the best in the trying times that are no doubt ahead of them. I have no wishes to diminish or trivialise their pain, for it is very real and I understand that.

But, having said that, the media coverage of the entire event has my blood boiling every time it comes on the TV and radio. It started with the constant coverage of absolutely no news; it moved on to them terrorising grieving and worried families, dragging in any one that has even so much as looked sideways at the mine to get their opinions on the place, finding long lost relatives who have had nothing to do with those trapped for near on a decade and has now moved on the worst sin of all (at least in my book), blame casting.

Perhaps I feel it more keenly through family ties to the emergency services, or perhaps I am just more... logical or empathetic than the media, but what ever it is, it really annoys me when people become determine to place the blame for either natural, or undefined tragedies.

It is the first principle of an emergency that the rescuer must first mind for his or her own safety. I was taught that in primary school so it is not like it is a complex or new idea. It would do nobody any good if those that were sent to help got into trouble themselves. That was the principle that they used during the earthquake here a couple of months ago, and that is the principle that they used at the mine. With methane levels of 95% that hardly comes as a surprise.

And yet people still find it acceptable to claim that the rescue teams are not doing enough. They are doing all that they can and the police superintendent deserves praise for the work he is doing, not judgment and condemnation from an American nobody that is so far removed from the situation that they probably still thing that New Zealand is a part of Australia let alone the location of a small West Coast town such as Reefton.

I can understand that the families are worried and they want answers and their people back safe to them. Believe me, I understand that.

But the rescuers - they have families too. How is sending them to their deaths going to make anything better?

And how does the media storm always find the one disgruntled relative to talk to - or is it just that that is the only one that will ever talk to them. That's probably more like it.

So, just for the record, the rescuers are not to blame, the government is not to blame, the police are not to blame and neither is the CEO of the mine. The fault lies in an explosion with an unknown cause and the fault lies with the nature of coal. It is as simple as that - no matter how callous that sounds (that is not my intent) - nature is nature and no one person can change that.

So with that said, big hugs go out to not only the families of the miners but also the rescue crews and people working on the rescue, the remaining staff of Pike River and the police superintendent. You are all doing wonderfully given the situation and should be proud.

The Nay-Sayers on the other hand, should be ashamed of themselves.

Creature of Habit

Is it possible for dogs to have OCD? If it is I'm sure that my dog has it.

Among other things (don't even get me started on the ritualistic pee cycle that you could set a watch to, the 5pm spazz out, the need to drink in threes and the ever growing list of fears), Misha has a blanket that sits on the end of my bed that he likes to sleep on in the mornings. A purple polar-fleece thing that he claimed as his own at a very young age - not that I minded overly, it stops him from going on my sinful (both in feel and expense) sheets. So this blanket usually sits on the bottom corner of my bed, waiting patiently for him and that is where he likes it, with just the right about of nesting to it. But I was changing the sheets on my bed earlier and naturally, all the blankets where thrown on the floor temporarily. Misha, bless his little heart chose that moment to come and investigate only to find his precious on the floor and not in it accustomed spot.

Oh you should have seen his face. For something so small and furry it is definitely expressive. He looked at the blanket, honestly glared at me then looked between the blanket and the bed before attempting to move it himself. Bearing in mind here, that he is a 6 kilo Bichon-Pekingese cross, and the blanket is the size of a double bed... Needless to say, he didn't get far.

He continued tugging until I finished making up the bed and folded his blanket back in its corner. He has been sitting there ever since, watching me - and I just know he is thinking 'I'm not moving so you can't take my blanket away again.' But for the sake of clean sheets I guess I am willing to deal with his bed-hog tendencies.

The Ex Factor

You never forget your first. That is a well known adage. And it is true for the most part. The first of no matter what you are doing is a very special and important thing; your first birthday, first word, first steps, first day of school. Your first boyfriend, first kiss, first lover....

All of them become ingrained in memory - some in yours, some in your parents. But all of them shape who you are and who you become.

Generally though, such past firsts stay in just that very place - the past. Maybe that is easier in some aspects. We can glorify them, remembering only the good; the warmth of the feelings of being desired and loved, the intense new sensations of a first kiss rather than the inexperienced fumblings... And that past through rose coloured glass can be good - who wants to remember the bad any way.

But what of when the past doesn't stay in its correct place. What of an ex that you are still in contact with? Some relationships end amicably - I don't mean those ones. Where both parties have agree that they are better without each other than with then I see no reason why some form of friendship can't still be salvaged. No, I mean the average run of the mill break ups where one person decides to leave. What of when those ones still result in periodic communication. Even if it is just something as simple as the occasional 'hey how are ya?'

It is hard to glorify the good of past firsts when the pain of the resulting negatives still reappears from time to time.

There is and always will be that tiny thought that flits through the mind. That one teeny illogical 'what if' that the rest of the brain wants to ignore; wants to argue 'but we are over this and have been for a long time'. And any other day of the week, that larger logical part would win. Its no mistake that I am better of without that particular flavour of person in my life. But every now and then.....

I guess the only thing to do is shake it off. Kids and wives are hard accessories to ignore, but indifference toward the guy can work a treat.

Besides which, celebration is caused for. The end is in sight - I can see it. I'm down to four-digit numbers to reach the monthly word goal. Less than 8,000 and I would have reached 50K. It truly is a feeling that both makes larger and lightens the spirit. And yes, it could be argued that I am using writing as a substitute for all the things in my life at the moment that I cant control. But I am - so what? I am doing well and what harm can feeling good about myself do?

Ego Boosting

A little boost to the ego never killed anyone. The joy of being praised for a job well done can be a wonderful thing. Especially when it is rare.

I catered a lunch today. My first ever paid catering job. It was nothing fancy, but to greeted by praise and congratulation before the food had even been tasted... it was truly warming. Even more so when the taste matched the looks.

Growing up it seemed that praise was never offered. It may have been and I simply was blind to it, but to me it seemed like every time I achieved something it seemed to get glossed over. It appeared - to me - that family would take the attitude of "well that's great, but now you've done that whats next?" There was never any time to just bask in the glory and satisfaction of a job well done.

To have that gratification, especially from relative strangers... perhaps I feel it more keenly because I am denied it from other sources (or at least my mind is denied it if it is offered and I don't realise it).

Maybe that's why, externally at least, failure doesn't seem to bother me. Regardless of my outward expressions the reactions I receive are no different. Always being met with an eye to future and what else can be done does take some of the gloss off the present.

Hmm, something to ponder on later.

I did have to laugh though. I look like my mother - that is no lie. Two photos of us at the same age and you could easily think it was the same person. Personality wise though, we are opposites, we always have been. Yet people, I have noticed, seem to treat me like I have the same sensibilities. I am not a prude; never have been, never will be. I am nearing (rapidly, though I ignore it) 24, joking talk of sex and strange piercings and naked neighbours is hardly going to shock - especially since I know the conversations I myself have with friends. And yet, in the minds of others....

Ah well, they paid me. Who am I to judge.

With money in the purse, the ego healthily fed, writing goals being met and the heavy constant rain pounding and beating in rhythmic time on the porch roof outside my bedroom window I think I shall sleep well tonight.



Reverse Goal

It would be very easy to let myself become bogged down in the knowledge that others are succeeding in their careers. Especially in a job that I myself interviewed and trained for. It could be easy to say to myself that they are living the life that I should have had instead of being proud of them.

But I am not them. Even though me and Rachael (who from this points on wants to be known by a code name - lets see what she comes up with) have the same degree, I don't have her temperament. I know now that I couldn't succeed in the job that she has. It would slowly kill me. So even though she won the job at the end of the day, I can, with 100% sincerity say that I am proud of her achievements.

I may not know what I want to do with my life anymore (well, at least in the interim until I can achieve the scary super goal of being successfully published) I at least am starting to get an idea of what I don't want out of life. A little late, but that is better then never. After spending so many years doing the 'right' thing or the 'expected' thing I am finally doing attempting to do the right thing for me. Its not particularly easy, and I cop a lot of slack for it, but I'm sure it will be worth it in the end.

It has to be right?

One day I will be able to look back on this year and say that the struggles are what made me. I just have to keep looking forward.

Look forward, for example, to the lunch I have been asked to cater on Sunday. Very excited about it. Complete strangers asking for me - well my cupcakes, that just happened to morph into an entire meal. It is an honour to be sure that something that I make is received so well. I just hope that the rest of it goes well. I'm sure it will.

Taking Stubborn to the Next Level

There are times when it is not only pointless, but completely irrational to hold true to something. In this case, it is my dogged quest not to read the Harry Potter novels. I read half of the first one when I was in high school - everyone else was going gaga over them but I just couldn't get into them. Now the whole thing is spiralled out of control to just being out of principle. I haven't read them because everyone else has.

Stupid I know.

Especially since I have seen all the movies, including Deathly Hallows Pt 1, which I just saw tonight. Its not too bad - and for a two and a half hour movie at least it doesn't feel four, which is more than can be said for a lot of long movies....but I digress.

I refuse to attempt to read the books again and yet I will willing see the movies. Sure I had to be physically dragged to see the earlier ones, but I walk freely into them now. Though, as we were walking out I was asked what it would take for me to try reading the books again. Slow painful illness was the general opinion.

My logic baffles even myself.

So a watchable movie with good company rounded out an alright day. So I didn't get the job I interviewed for yesterday (at least I'm going with I didn't since I didn't hear anything and the training would start in about... 10 hours) But I did get another chapter of Revelations written. That means that 30 of the roughly 39 chapters are finished and pushes the word count for the month over 35k.

Focus on what is achieved not what is lost.

See, I am trying.

Just not trying enough to drive me to read Harry Potter. I like my stubbornness. It has served me well.

Chances are that it will be stubbornness that gets me to sleep tonight. Ever since the earthquake the people that have take up residence in the tent down the street have decided that four day parties are the way to get through their pain of loss. I don't begrudge anyone their fun - and I defiantly don't judge them for loud and eclectic tastes in music, doing so would be hypocritical. But as much as I love cheesy early 90's pop (which is roughly as much as the next person) being jolted awake by a sudden burst of MC Hammer at 5 in the morning does take some of the gloss off a catchy tune.

As does a rousing drunken chorus of The Cranberries.

But then I guess it is not like I actually have to get up with a purpose first thing in the morning.Though, that said, writing does tend to flow better when I'm not tired. Plus, we never know what tomorrow might bring - for all that we know it will require full capacity.

Half Way Point

Day fifteen of NaNoWriMo today. All things considered I am doing well. I am yet to drop below the recommended total, sitting just over 29K... but the words are starting to dry up. Other things are starting to become more interesting or more important and I can feel the pangs of procrastination kicking in once more.

But then that is the point isn't it? To build discipline.

Any skill is going to have good days and bad days. The bad ones just have to be worked through. But that knowledge doesn't make the task any easier.

It's funny, since I started this whole have daily goals thing my sense of achievement has become more acute. If my goals for the day don't get reached, I feel like I have let someone down. And I suppose I am - me. So as a result, today, with one hour forty minutes left of the day and the writing goal not met, I am disappointed. It doesn't matter that the hair finally got cut, that I relocated the really good hairdresser, that I organised a job interview for Wednesday or that I made up twenty six owls for Mums fair stall, caught up with Dad (probably should have done that sooner since he was made redundant two weeks ago and I never knew)...

Somehow I need to find some form of equilibrium for my thinking.

Maybe its the aftershocks of the last couple of days messing with me. Though it seems slightly unfair to blame everything on the earth.

Oh well, tomorrow is another day after all. Perhaps my words will come back with a little sleep.

The Eyes are Everywhere

It is safe to say that I am never going to be cut out to have domestic staff.

People are here today (as the first day) to clear out the garden. I will admit that the yard was horribly neglected and badly in need of doing. That someone else is willing to do it (for a small fee of course) is greatly appreciated. They are out there industriously pulling and cutting and mowing busy as little Pacific beavers, and I am sure that they are far too involved in their tasks to be paying any attention to me and yet somehow...

The paranoia of the mind is a fantastic thing. In the mind they cast judging eyes towards the house, tracking every move that is made within. Waiting, watching, laughing amongst themselves about the fools that cant even figure out how to pull weeds. Biding their time until they can seize a moment to enter the dwelling to steal belongings and take my life -

Okay, now that I've typed that out I realise that it is entirely possible that I watch far too many late night horror movies. That and I am obviously letting what I am writing get to me more than I had thought I was. Fictional characters are good like that.

I'm sure the gardeners are very nice people. They seemed friendly enough when they cut down the trees earlier in the year, but to be on the safe side perhaps I will endeavor to be out when they return tomorrow. I'm sure that there are errands that need doing, and if there is not - well writing alfresco couldn't hurt could it. In fact it might even help break the teeny tiny bit of block that seems to have crept in today. Tomorrow marks the half way mark of November after all. Luckily I am already past the halfway mark of the 50K goal, but I can feel my lead slipping away by the hour.

Well, perhaps not by the hour, that could be exaggerating a little bit. And contrary to what today's poorly formed words are spelling out, I am not an obsessive paranoid weirdo.

Weird yes, weirdo no.

The Cat Lady

I nearly got a kitten today. I was the cutest little thing I have seen in a long time. Tiny and frail; grey and white with glacial blue eyes and a calm disposition.

If I was a more spontaneous person I would have claimed the infant she-cat as my own. But alas I am not and so now I must mourn the loss of what never was. There were be other kittens though, I am sure. They are always saying that they struggle to find homes for them all.

But as I berated my self for my unusually slow thinking I was warned that owning such a pet would be the first step in becoming an infamous cat lady. And that was clearly something that nobody wanted. Someone destine to be alone and surrounded by furred companions because those of the two legged varied steer away.

What I don't understand though, is how can the ownership of one cute little innocent being be the cause for eternal loneliness. If I bought home another puppy - a creature that generally demands far more attention than a cat - I wouldn't be marching on the path to spinsterhood.

Perhaps it was just that he is not a cat person himself. Perhaps he just doesn't understand, what with being a hermit and all.

An animal cant control the future of a person. A person struggles to control their own future more often than not so passing the blame on to a fur ball that could fit in the palm of my hand seems excessive.

No, one kitten wouldn't make me a cat lady. If I shut my self off from the world and only paid attention to the cat and not to the people that I see day by day and call family and friend - then I probably would be. But I don't see that happening. I like people too much.

There will be other kittens. Just as there will be other puppies and other fish. Especially know that I have worked through the fear I held within for so long when it can to domestic companions. And no matter what pets accumulate through my time, they will hold no sway as to the outcomes of my life. Animals are companions not dictators. Something that should be kept in mind. 

Sunny Days Part II

I had thought yesterday that the sunny automatically negated negative moods. That could have been over simplifying a point. Things can get to you, especially when someone (such as a parent) who is suppose to be unconditionally supportive adds to the already existent feelings of worthlessness. I am usually a fairly confident and self assured person, but after a year of job searching and constant rejection even the strongest of minds start to wear down.

Criticism isn't as easy to just let slide anymore -especially from someone so close; someone close enough to know better.

But then again I guess that knowing me isn't and hasn't ever been my families strong suit. Stranger that happen to share a group of genes. I have always been of the opinion that we all have two families - the one that we are born into and the one that we surround ourselves with voluntarily. I am just lucky that my chosen one understands me in ways that my birth one couldn't even begin to comprehend.

They defiantly understand the need for retail therapy. Even on a beautiful sunny day.

They also understand the rarity of me buying a dress - a dress!! To not only buy a dress but to be excited about such a thing. And I don't care what anyone says - just because it is a summer dress doesn't mean that black is a bad colour for it. I like black and black likes me - that is not a crime. Not everyone can suit colour after all. It would be boring if we all wore the same anyway.

Sunny Days

It is utterly impossible to be in a bad mood on a sunny day - at least I think it is. It doesn't matter if your seat is kicked on the bus constantly, or your mp3 player battery dies while still in transit, or you work into a door and bruise your arm.... you get the point...

It doesn't matter what all goes wrong, when the temperatures are high and sky is clear, it is very difficult to work up enough energy to be upset. It is easy to see hope and brightness in the days ahead - the hypothetical light at the end of a long metaphorical tunnel.

This coming summer will be a good thing I think. It has been a dark year; a long year with very little worth celebrating. But it is November now - nearly half way through. The year is nearly over, the summer only 19 days away - my 24th birthday only a month off, and the thought of that is somewhat... lightning. Freeing. I know as we get older - women especially it seems - tend to shy away from birthdays, using it as a milestone for time lost and things not done. But somehow, this year at least, the annual turnover can only be seen as fresh start and a new beginning. It is time to was away the bad things that have happened (not forget about them though, because it through our trials that we grow) and create the future that I want. It is not as simple as that, I know, but nothing worth doing is every easy.

Cliches are cliches for a reason.

There are exactly 31 days until my birthday, so between now and then I will plan. And that will be my fresh start. My 24th year will be my new start.

Plans it seem agree with me after all - for the second week of NaNoWriMo I have met my weekly goal with days to spare. 23,000 words and counting. I applaud all the people that have the ability and have already cracked the magical 50K mark -  they more than deserve the praise. But small and steady, achievable daily and weekly goals seems to be working - working enough that I hope I can continue it other aspects of my life - so why should I rock the boat. If I think too hard about what the others are doing I will only get discouraged.

Competition is powerful tool - but it can also be a dangerous weapon.

Crayola Magic

When, and why, do we become too old for crayons? I had forgotten entirely how much fun those little wax sticks could be until I was using them earlier today. We seem to hit a certain point in childhood - who knows how this point is chosen -but we reach this magical point and all of a sudden crayons become 'uncool' and for 'babies'. We move onto bigger and better things such as felt tips and coloured pencils and for some strange reason we don't really look back.

But we should!

I am officially reinstating them in my life - they are far too enjoyable not too. I'm not quite sure yet in what capacity they will be, but mark my words they will make a comeback.

Blogging

I was watching Julie & Julia today and it got me thinking about blogging. It is a strange world in which we live - traditionally diaries and journals have been private affairs; a place where secret thoughts can roam free and safe without censor of judgment. Later they could have been published - if the writer was particularly important or interesting - but that would be long after the events had passed into nothing but fading memories.

Now we type our journals into blogs and allow the world at large to view them. There is the potential there that hundreds of perfect strangers from multiple countries to read and interpret and judge our thought and actions.

The gap between the two mediums is quite large. But that seems to be the world that we live in now; a world with less privacy. Long gone are the days with multiple large families all squashed into a small house and so perhaps it is merely compensating for that. Or maybe not. There are so many other factors at play as well. Globalisation causing the world to be smaller, technological advances that allow us to do more, social networking that lets us reach out and touch hundreds if not thousands of people...

And it is not a bad thing, not entirely I don't think. As much as I have never subscribed to the whole Facebook revolution, I can defiantly see the advantages to a closer, more open world. The words of the every day person can now be heard - and as every one knows, words can be incredibly powerful.

The pen is mightier than the sword...

And speaking of pens and words - end of week one of November, and consequently of NaNoWriMo, and I am doing well. Structure and discipline seem to be working for me. One story arc is rounding out nicely and leaning towards overriding themes and titles are getting refined... I am feeling good about it - even though it is becoming somewhat of an obsession (and it defiantly is - I feel as though I should be constantly apologising to those that have to put up with me), obsession can sometimes provide a return - if nothing else than the satisfaction of completion. Obviously I hope that it will prove to be something more than just the satisfaction of completion - a dream career would be amazing - but a dream is never achieved over night.

Guy Fawkes

"Remember, remember the Fifth of November,/The Gunpowder Treason and Plot,/I know of no reason/Why the Gunpowder Treason/Should ever be forgot..."

It seems like this time of year is full of celebrations that have lost all relevance to their original purpose. Halloween was the first, and now Guy Fawkes... a night now devoid of all ideals and meanings - an excuse to spend hundreds of dollars so that an hour can be spent in the cold blowing things up and injuring the local populous. I can see slightly more point in the free city provided shows - the displays are far more impressive that anything that can be bought by the public. But even then there is very little to differentiate the fire work shows of November and the firework shows of New Years Eve.

Next will come Christmas and all the associated commercialism that comes with it. The buy buy buy mentality and endless impossible search for the perfect gift mixing with the stresses of providing the meal to end all meals and the ques and the crowds... its hardly surprising that both suicide and domestic violence rates increase in December. The 'season to be jolly' is now so full of stress and pressure that the family we should be embracing drives us loco.

But I guess loss of tradition is the price we pay for advancement. Or maybe it is that this country is still so young. We have kept the customs that the settlers brought with them, but unlike the people that held them dear, they have no relevance to the new nation. It never used to worry me but I catch myself thinking about it more and more. Maybe I just have too much time.

Besides, I should look on the bright side: The meaning of such holidays may be lost to most, but some still remember - things are not lost for good. The dog is, despite his current nervous state (still not recovered quite from the constant shifting of the earth), is blessedly unaware - or unconcerned - with the bright shiny explosions on the other side of the window. And I have reached this weeks writing goal two days early placing me ahead of schedule.

Its not all bad after all.

 

"...Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, t'was his intent/To blow up the King and Parli'ment./Three-score barrels of powder below/To prove old England's overthrow;/By God's providence he was catch'd/With a dark lantern and burning match./Holla boys, Holla boys, let the bells ring./Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King!/And what should we do with him? Burn him!"

 

2 Down, 28 To Go

Day two of NaNoWroMo 2010 and all goes well. It is amazing what a good system of organised plotting and logging can do. Motivation is all laid out before you.

Last year I tried to fumble my way through the process - I was cocky. I had a good idea so how hard could 50,000 words be really? Turns out more so that one might think. It's not a matter of writing bits here and there and hoping for the best. You need goals and motives and schedules...

I have that this year. I have a log spreadsheet with my daily goals and daily word count. I have my plot mapped out, I have my characters bio'd and new worlds created...

And as a result I have over 8,000 words towards my finished product. Well, maybe not finished product- but a finished rough draft at the very least. I know that there are people that can write while flying from the seat of their pants, but this seems to be working for me.

At least so far - two days is hardly the basis for conclusive evidence. But I have a good feeling about this. It would be nice if I could have the same kind of confidence about the other aspects in my life, but of this - this little thing - I have control. I am in control and I can direct success.

In this one thing at least.

The Science of Myth

There is something about science that saddens me slightly. I don't mean that I do not enjoy the benefits that science has given the human race - for the most it has enormous benefits - but could we have lost something in the getting?

The human race has an innate need to explain everything. Everything must have its cause and its reason and its purpose. To the scientific minds of modernity, anything that cannot be explained clearly doesn't exist. There use to be myth and legends; superstitions and religion. Stories taken with the utmost belief that the unexplainable was real. Our ancestors could believe that just because something didn't have a cause or a reason or  a purpose that it did not mean that it was any less than that which did. We seem to have lost that ability. We have lost, for the most part, the willingness to trust in the unknown. But the stories had to come from somewhere didn't they? Surly every fiction grows from a seed of truth.

Oh we still have religion, but it is no longer at the centre of our lives. We still have superstitions, but they are followed in jest. And we still have myths and legends, but they are our entertainment.

We send our children door to door begging strangers for candy while dressed as ghouls and vampires and zombies. But to the children these creatures are nothing more than Hollywood fantasy and Halloween is nothing more than a sugar rush. True meaning is all but lost.

It is hardly as important as some of the problems that surround the world, but it still saddens me.

On a completely unrelated note, NaNoWriMo starts in just under an hour. Time to fetch the writing cap - I am going to win this year come hell or high water.

The Ageing Process

There was a sudden moment today where I actually realised that I am getting older. That doesn't mean that I on any normal day that I think that my age does not change, it is more that... I just don't pay any attention to it - I am how I feel and that doesn't really need a numerical label.

But when you bump into one of the kids you used to babysit after not seeing him for a good long while, only to find that you can know look him in the eye without stooping and he is about to start secondary school....  

Well time really is linear I guess. And ever marching forward. I guess this is how my parents feel.

Free Will vs. Control

I was having a conversation today that got me thinking. Well no, that's not entirely true. It was the combination of the conversation and my writing at the same time that got me thinking - but either way, the topic stuck in my mind.

Which is ultimately better, free will or control?

Is it better raise a child to believe that anything is possible, that he or she can achieve anything regardless of talent or ability or any other external factor and have them introduced to the wonderful world of failure. Or is it better to be sheltered from failure and raised to be cynical and without dreams and ambitions.

While I can see the advantages of living a life never knowing failure, is it really considered a success if you never try anything. I personally would rather try and fail than never try. If nobody ever had dreams or goals or aims them what would we have to show for all the many millennium that the human race has walked on earth.

Sure there are the silver gilded few that seem to achieve more while exerting less effort, and yes there are those that fall at the other end of the spectrum that can give everything that they have while getting nothing to show for it. But in general there is a middle ground. We all have it in us to achieve something.

Maybe middle ground is the way to go. Someone whose life is controlled will revolt eventually - there are enough examples from history to show us that. And complete free will can lead to heart breaking failure and disappointment. Somewhere in between perhaps is the best course of action.

Or, maybe there is no one method that can be employed. Every person is different and every difference effects how the world and all that's in it is viewed - that includes how we react to success and failure. What works for one...

Myself, I will continue to have hopes and dreams. If there is no point to the future, what is the point to life in the first place.

So Worth It

So very very worth it - the first one was good, and while I am usually a little bit sceptical when it comes to sequels (and with good reason - a lot of them are a let down), this one was defiantly a keeper. Paranormal Activity 2 defiantly provided the shocks and starts that it advertised - I rarely react to horror movies it that kind of way, most now are so dependant of visual displays of gore and violence or wonderfully creative cgi master piece monsters. But the subtle play of unseen forces and sudden events... wonderfully creepy!

Concert and a movie - brilliant way to spend a day in count down to NaNoWriMo 2010. Making the most of daylight, sunshine and the outside world while I have a chance. This time next week I, along with thousands of other writers the world over will be gearing up - psyching ourselves up for a month of complete madness. 50,000 words in 30 days. No room for line editing in that margin that is for sure - which is by and far a good thing. And come December first when (not if, I refuse to fail this year) I hold the bones to a novel in my hot little hands to whole process will seem so very worth it.

But the during, between the exams, the job hunting, the plot bunnies running free and the normal November madness.... I shall just spend this week saying my farewells to sleep and a semblance of life for another year.

A Good Effort

17.5 million dollars.

It's a very very large number to wrap you head around - but apparently that was the amount raised by the concert in Christchurch today. Yes I know that the damage that has been sustained values in the billions but 17.5 million is certain to be put to a good use.

And what a concert - worth every penny of donated funds.

So much history to live through. First the worst natural disaster in NZ history, then the largest live event in NZ history AND seeing the Exponents reform for one day....

This is what being young is about.

Spring Has Sprung

 "spring has sprung, the grass has riz, I wonder where the birdies is."

I challenge anyone to find a flower more happy than the Daisy. Granted it may not have the sweetest smell of the floral kingdom but you cannot help but smile to see their bright pale faces. Whether they be the small and perfect specimens found in the lawn that seemed made for chain-making as a child or the bright and fanciful gerberas that grace the windows of florists there is something innocent and pure and joyful about them.

When I was a kid, every spring my dad would recite the same rhyme as above. Him breaking it out was almost more of a herald of the changing seasons than the actual birds returning. At least, as birds were to him. He is not a bird watcher by any means of the imagination, but he does notice them. Where I do not. I don't mean to diminish their importance, because I am sure that they are fascinating in their migratory patterns, but it always was and always will be the flowers that herald the spring and the summer for me.

I am the least plant orientated person every - as a general rule, everything I attempt to grow dies. I cope great flack for not being able to keep something as notorious as mint alive. But I do notice plants, more so than fauna. The ever changing trees from bud to green to autumn reds. There is something beautiful in the consistency of the seasonal changes, whether that change be in the form of leaf or flower.

And, when finally I can place that first jar of daisies next to my desk I know that, with the exception of the odd and unpredictable spring-cold day, winter is over for another year.

ctrl-alt-delete

I opened this window, with every intent to write some potentially intelligent rambling about.... something.... I'm even pretty sure that I had a topic in mind when I made mouse motion to double click in all the right places.... but for the life of me, mabye half a minute later, I cant remember what my purpose was.

Sleep and retry - perhaps that is all that is needed. Like restarting the computer when it has its little spaz-outs. When my alarm goes off tomorrow morning, with any luck, it'll all come flooding back to me in waves of white and grey matter that have currently abandoned me.

Defiantly one of those days that make you wish that life had a ctrl-alt-delete option.

The Wrong Words

A muse is a funny thing. An fickle entity all of its own. It does not matter what you had hoped to work on through out the day - when the muse speaks, she shouts and will not be silenced until she has got her way.

'Work on project A.'  You may say.

'No,' she replies, 'Project G will go this way and that's what we will do'

'But I have no project G.' You reply.

And a smug 'you do now' comes from the bossy little voice.

But for all that the precious little muse may drive one insane and to the point of distraction. For all she causes me to focus on the seemingly wrong thing... to work on fiction instead of fact, personal project instead of academic....

....I would miss her if she left me.

Procrastination

Procrastinate: verb - to keep delaying something that must be done, often because it is unpleasant or boring

for some reason (and its not a hard reason to comprehend I'm sure) when ever essays are due there is always something far more interesting to do. suddenly my muse decides to throw everything at me and i MUST sit and write. Or the floor suddenly seems particularly dirty and i MUST vacuum. or there is washing to do and dogs to walk and new recipes to try and ovens to clean and emails to catch up on and things to edit..... it goes on and on with things that are ultimately more exciting that writing a few thousand words on the Cold War, or African oil production.

House work does seem to be a prevailing theme however - that's not necessarily a bad thing i suppose. except that it is never done. you can dust on Tuesday and by Thursday the dust will be back. the dishes that you do in the morning will fill the sink again by night. it is an endless cycle of tedious and unpleasant tasks.

perhaps that is why it is so good for procrastinating - there is always something else to do.

Hot vs. Cold

A cold snap in the weather seems to bring with in the usual bemoaning and complaining from everyone that accompanies the coming of winter ever year. There is something about the dropping of temperatures that brings out the worst in the opinions of those that have been conditioned that heat and sun is the better of the situations.

But the cold warms the soul does it not? Being able to lounge in front of a bright and roaring fire with a good book on a winters night. Wrapping yourself in layers of blankets while being embraced by the soft feel of clean sheets.

Even the night sky seems fuller and more alive when the temperature is in the single figures. There is something about the cold that makes the stars seem closer - as if they are huddling close to warm themselves on the molten core of the earth.

That is not to say that the summer doesn't also have its perks, but we should discredit the beauty of the other six months.

And Life Goes On

Just over a month has passed and life is close to being back to normal. Yes, the ground is stiff cracked and broken and torn. And yes, I am constantly finding breakages and warping that I didn't find earlier, but for the most, the earthquake of the 4th of September seems like a long distant dream.

Okay, that is a gross exaggeration. It is neither long distant nor dream like. And it is just as unforgettable with the (so far) 1580 odd aftershocks to remind us exactly of  why we trip when walking down the driveway not remembering that the concrete has shifted or why the dog is decidedly jumpy at any small noise or sudden movement. If the aftershocks were not reminder enough, it still seems to be a popular topic of conversation - hell, I am guilty of doing just that right here am I not?

But for all that the landscape and a beautiful city is forever changed, it would be incredibly foolish to not realise the earthquakes for the benefits that they bring: The aftershocks for the quiet (and yet still relatively vocal) reassurance that they pressure in the fault lines is not building up in preparation for an even bigger disaster, nor yet shifting toward the alpine fault; and the damage sustained itself for the sheer economic boom that it has created.

For the last.... year? eighteen months? all we have heard about is the economic recession and the global credit crisis. But now? It is a good time to be in the trades. Every other vehicle that you see on the road seems to be a builder or a plumber or some other form of contract worker. The jobs vacant adds are inundated with positions for surveyors and engineers. I don't see this changing much in the near to mid term future. The rebuild is not going to happen over night. And as the wealth spreads out from the trade sector, the others will benefit - the building sector has always been the first to feel economic change after all.

Community spirit has also benefited. Neighbours who up until this point had never spoken two words to each other, are caring for the welfare of those around them. Levels of voluntary work has increased. People on the whole, despite frayed nerves from night after night of interrupted sleep, seem more tolerant, more understanding. But perhaps that could simply be due to seeing things in a different light. Taking things for granted for example now seems like a thing of the past - how ever temporarily that may be.

It seems that for years we have had the civil defence adds on TV telling us to be prepared for the day that nature fights back and so many people - myself included - ignored them, choosing to believe instead that either such a thing would not happen, or we would have plenty of time to plan later. But time is one thing that we never have, nor can ever have enough of. We should not only be prepared for such things, but we should take all the opportunities we can, while we still can.

Because life and time carry one whether we are paying attention to it or not.

So this is it. The last rant I shall spend on the earthquake. I shall put together an emergency kit (and have already promised never to mock my friends that have always had them ever again). I shall do the things that I have always meant to do. Time shouldn't be wasted - it is finite and precious.

From here on out, I am going to live while I can, no more wallowing, no more moaning or whinging on the campaign of 'oh poor me', because while being single, and searching for a job may suck completely, there are many, many things that are worse.

The Unexplainable

How does one even go about explaining what it feels like to wake up to a 7.1 earthquake?

How do you describe the sheer volume or force that comes and lasts for both the longest minutes and the briefest seconds? The sound of glass shattering and shelves falling;The sound of bricks and chimneys that have stood for decades crashing down through rooves; The sound of the earth screaming as giant gashes breakout across its surface.

How do you describe the deja vu that floods the system with adrenaline with every aftershock that racks the city? Waking again and again, night after night to find the bed once again shaking in time with the violent heaving and rolling of the earth below. Days filled with not knowing if the movement you feel is real or imagined.

How do you explain that for the first time in 24 years you are afraid of your own company? Balanced on the edge of a knife - not wanting company so as to avoid the inevitable constant discussion of the earthquake that naturally remains in the forefront of everyone minds while at the the same time not wanting to be alone.

Too much time to think. Too much time to realize all the things that we should have done - that we should do. And despite the casualties being blessedly nonexistent, mortality is suddenly all too real. I have never been afraid of death and that remains unchanged. Without the option of death there is no life. But life - now that is scary. We exist thinking that we have all the time in the world to live, but we don't.

No more presuming, no more taking for granted. Those two are achievable at least. It would be nice if there were no more aftershocks but I wont hold my breath.

Billy Burke

I am officially falling in love with this song. When I first heard it it was one of those 'take it or leave it' type songs, but i dutifully put it on my MP3 player in amongst the masses and put it on shuffle - as is my way.

Funny things is - it grows on you. The more I hear it the more I am thinking "hmm, you know, this is acturally a really good song"....

Changes

I'm stuck in a rut. That's what it is I have decided. I have no routine anymore. No structure. And as much as I love spontaneity, in the real world flying by the seat of your pants gets nothing achieved. Not really. Not beyond depressed thoughts and harping on like a emo.

I always claimed that emo's pissed me off, but now I am realising that I sound just like one - I don't mean to.

So it is time to get proactive. It is time to set myself a schedule; a routine and stick to it.

Daily job searches; more awareness of the outside world; daily timed writing challenge; at least three hours dedicated to my novel.

It's time for me to get my positive attitude back. I missed placed it for a while, but going without it hasn't worked so well.

The Price of Hope

Hope is free.

It is a line that we – me included – has both heard and used a hundred times before. But it, like so many other “words of wisdom” is a lie. Hope is not free. Sure it has no monetary value but we pay for it dearly with our emotions and our psyche.

We get our hopes up, and then, when they are predictably crushed, it hurts. My god does it hurt. And the more that we hope – the more that we try to be optimistic, the more we are disappointed and the greater the hurt becomes.

Compounded pain.

Maybe the pessimists in the world are on to something.

Further Proof that Life is NOT Fair

We have so many electronic gizmos that who would know what half of them do; we have drugs for erectile disfunction and hair loss; botox injections and plastic surgery; anti-wrikle creams and hair dyes; designer babies; cloned sheep...

... science has made it so that we can young and fresh and sexual and perfect until the day we die.

And yet the common cold still defeats us? Not only does it defeat us but they outlaw the ONE drug that can make it bearable.

How is that right?

Pressure

So I graduated. I made the long walk and the long wait so that I could take that brief stroll across a stage to shake the hand of an elderly academic. Years of work and thousands of dollars to gain a piece of paper and the right to wear a bat-cape and morter board without being judged.

An amazing and surreal experience that I am profoundly glad that I did. A sense of achievement that permeates the deepest layer of being.

A sense of achievement that was muted somewhat by the events proximity to ANZAC day. Studying theoretical business practices and accounting standards to slice out a tiny slot in the 5% of people world-wide with a degree doesn't seem nearly as impressive when compared to those that fought in the wars. Men that were, for the most part no older than I am now who left the security and comfort of their homes to venture in to the unknown only to be killed in the name of king and country.

The sacrifice of time and money verse the sacrifice of life. It is not really a comparable equation is it?

But I shouldn't let that take the gloss off what I have done. My degree is still a degree - still a symbol of achievement - no matter the date of the ceremony.

And, while the presence of that little piece of paper doesn't change intrinsically who I am, it does seem to change how the world sees me. Employers now see me as too qualified to perform the junior roles and not experienced to do anything else. This brings up the often asked question of where experience comes from. I know I'm not the first to ask that and I sure won't be the last. People who have known me for years, friends and acquaintances that don't have higher education now see me as someone who thinks themselves better than the blue collar when nothing could be further from the truth.

Pressure comes from every side to achieve the next "moment". Graduation is over so what's the next move? What's the next celebration. It is a pressure that wishes our lives away, breaking it down into segments of "important" events. And to the outsider these events seem to sneak up with relatively little effort.

To those on the outside, the other 95% of the world, a degree really is just a fancy piece of paper. Flatting is something you can jump headfirst into without thinking through finances. Jobs are something you just fall into and careers are myth, and money something else to take for granted. And to others, those in the 5% but in the creative end of the spectrum, growing up is optional not mandatory - discouraged rather than encouraged.

Surely there must be some balance. Some way that we can keep the youthfulness joy of life while still moving forward.

But pressure has a funny way of stealing the joy. Professional and academic pressure I can handle, but the eroding quality of the pressure of others is starting to wear on me.

Unsettled

I find it impossible to settle tonight.

The air is alive with thousands upon thousands of invisible sparks that shock and shake and set fire to every nerve that lies under the thin coating of my pale skin. The nerves burn and the muscles spasm and the brain short circuts. Nothing gets done. Nothing can be finished for nothing can be started.

At least not successfully.

A million incoherant non-thoughts shatter throught the mind leaving it simultainiously dangerously full and disasterously empty. There is no filling it. There is no calming it.

So much movement in the immobile stillness. I can feel the pulse in my wrist as I type. It is trying to escape. It wants to be free and not bound to the beats of the heart. I can feel every one of the burning nerve endings that seek the surface of my flesh. They dance to the time set by my pulse, blanketing me completly in thier electric waves.

It is impossible to settle tonight.

Bruises

The white is marred by blossoms of black. The dark cradled by blankets of blues. It is not the sickly pallor of the grey of death; or the putrid green of illness or the jaundice yellow of disease. It is all, as the bruises spread thick across the surface of the clouds.

The sky is wounded and it cries.

Wanting

I wonder what it is like to never want. I don't mean the kind of not wanting that comes from being wealthy.  That kind of not wanting stems only from the ability to gain everything because of the high level of money avaliable. While that would be nice at times, I think that that you be over rated. Things would not have the same meaning if they were not worked for.... oh dear lord I'm starting to sound like my father....

But no, wealth is not what I am talking about.

To never want. To never have a single thing that you want. To be perfectly happy with absolutly nothing. To live with no material affects, no desire for them, no need for people, no need for company....

No need for anything.

It sounds like such an uncomplicated and stressless existance.

Always Waiting

I don't think my soul has ever lived this long before - it is like it is waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It is not particularly comfortable.

Hold Me??

It is funny how somedays the smallest of things - like the death of a couple of gold fish - can set you down a dark road.

I find myself dying, ever so slowly, for want of touch. Dying like the gold fish.

My family is not a huggy family - they never have been - hell lets face facts here, we rarely say anything of consequence to each other let alone hug. All the guys I have ever been with will touch as far as sex goes but they either leave or roll away to sleep. And even they have been few and far between of late.

Clearly there is something wrong with me.

And that thing that is wrong is causing me to die by slow degrees. I can feel myself shutting down bit by bit, Becoming closed and cold. I hate it but i don't know how to stop it. Beyond touch.

Circumstances don't help. I can't find a job, there are expectations that everybody has and every man and their dog just has to throw in their 2 cents worth on the matter. Its bad enough that I am stuggling to hold onto my previously endless optimism but to have everyone around me critique and judge and offer their 'advice'...  its all starting to grate.

Then there are the engagment announcments and the babies being born and everyone around me wallowing in their happiness and new jobs and careers and families... and the others that are consumed with their own problems and want either a sympathetic ear or a quick fix solution with no never mind to others around...

All I want is someone to hold me and tell me that everything will be okay.

Standing Still

I feel like I am trapt, standing stationary as the world moves all around me. But I don't know how to find my feet again.

The Meaning of Life

It is the oldest quest of them all; the search for the meaning of life. Why are we here, who or what put us here....

There are so many different faiths, so many religions and superstitions, so much history. I know there has to be more to this life, to this world than we are willing to believe. Voodoo, Hoodoo, Vaudin, Tarot, Wicca, Christianity, Islam, folklore.... there must be some truth to them. Some basis of reality that brings people to beleive.

There are too many traditional stories from too many corners of the world that have too many similarities for there to be no fact in them - no matter how small, or even microscopic that fact may be. There is some variation of almost wvery basic myth on almost every continent - stories that are so old that when they were first told there was, not only no contact between them, but no knowlege that they existed.

I'm rambling.

I just feel that there is something more. And, like the generations that have come before me, I want to know what that "more" is.

I want to believe that ghosts are real and magic is real and that there are creatures and gods and forces out there that we have absolutly no knowledge of.

But which ones do were beleive it? It is all well and good to say.... find religion - but which one?

I find it had to beleive that Christianity - one of the youngest religions is the way to go. I have nothing against the millions of people that do follow it - everyone needs something to beleive in.

But I still think there is something more.

Fun Times

I would have thought that in a university, that is FILLED with educated people, that there would some intellegence. But no. Here I am, trying to apply to graduate and they can't tell me my name right let alone if I have enough credits for both degrees. You do the papers that they tell you too and then they still turn around and tell you that you don't have enough credits.

The pink hood would have clashed with the gold anyway.

And I just KNOW that they are going to say the wrong name. Again.

Thats not even thinking about the shear fact that my parents will actually be in the same room as each other - a truely terrifying idea.

It's not as though having said degree (or two) is actually helping me find work at the moment.

Who decided all this was a good idea again? I'm sure I had said that I wanted to go to culinary school. Who did I let me talk into university?

Bark Twice for No

My mother brings up a very good point. Who would teach the dogs the language. Alot of dogs live alone so perhaps they would each have thier own "language" - like babies

Bark Once for Yes

Do dogs all speak the same language?

I was watching my dog today and a few houses down there was another dog going to town with the barking. But Misha, my dog, couldn't have seemed to care less, he just lay there in the sun drying off after his bath. Now what I want to know is, was the other dog just talking shit, or did Misha just not understand what he was saying? Could Misha understand the other dog clear as me to you and just not care what it saying or would it have been like if my neighbour started yelling in Chinese - I would be able to here him clear as day but not have a clue what was being said.

I know that they have the whole pack body language thing that they all do - like sniffing butts and sitting higher than the lessers. But that is universal - to us certain actions look the same no matter where we are after all - 'don't shoot, I'm not armed' looks much the same in any language, as do most greetings and signs of jobs well done. But do dogs, like people have different languages for different breeds? Do bichon's bark different words to labs?

I guess I shall never know...

Eyes

There is something watching me, but there is nobody here....

Grave Yards

Most people don't seem to appreciate the beauty that is a grave yard at night. The atmosphere becomes palpable, your senses heighten and suddenly everything becomes more real and more like a dream at the same time.

Now if only the photos come out.....

Another Day, Another Murder

When did this safe city start becoming the murder capital of the country? Another woman seems to be discovered killed every week. In fact, come to think of it, when did this country become so violent? It used to be the place described as the place to raise children; the place where it was the norm to leave doors unlocked and keys in cars. Now though the news is filled with stories of murder and death and car crashes and dog mauling and animal cruelty and police shootings and violence against people that are trying to do the right thing.

And yes I realise that our crime rate is nowhere near the scale that the rest of the world seem to sit on - especially the big cities - but that was the whole point. We are this little sparsely populated island at the end of the world. Green and clean and safe only now we have to add violent to the list.

It’s not only the volume of these horrible crimes but the age of those doing them. Children. 14 years old and being charged with murder.

Can we, as humans, be born devoid of all innocence? Is it as we have always believed? Something that is able to be lost but not regained? Do we start off our lives innocent and become more jaded and cynical depending upon our life’s experiences? But life affects us all differently. Perhaps innocence is instead another of these aspects of our being that we are either born with or not. Some born innocent and who retain some aspect of that throughout their lives no matter how long they live or what they go through while others are born with no hope of redemption.