but you're still the one pool where i'd happily drown

i think maybe a year ago, if i'd found this song, it would have hit every nerve on my body. yet i'm glad i didn't find it until i'd fallen in love with new york and then left it to have an affair with australia.

and i love the title. "new york i love you but you're bringing me down," by lcd soundsystem. don't worry, jay, this isn't another music post, i know how you love to skip them, but i am entirely in love with this song, and the handful of "video tours around midtown" clips on youtube that accompany it, like this one:



it reminds me of the truth, that yes, of course, i do love new york, but like any good marriage, there are days where i don't know how we ended up together. it's not a good relationship if you wonder, "how did we ever become so unhappy in each other's company?" but it's something more entirely to know that, even if you are questioning the entire sociopolitical practice of monogamy, you're in this one together. i think that's what new york and i have together.

i miss the old girl, even if i've never been fond of her times square tourism, or the wet garbage on the subway tracks (why should i care? except that i have to stare at it when waiting for a c train to finally come), or the teeming douchebaggery of the meatpacking district or bleecker st on a friday night. it is what it is, because there's always cedar hill, unlimited mimosas at brunch, the ray's pizza on 8th, and a new issue of "time out" in the mail every wednesday. we have fights, but we never go to bed angry.

back in august, i questioned leaving my good marriage with new york for the one who that wouldn't go away, australia. and as i've started talking about coming back, hopscotching around ideas like, "why did i come to australia?" or "should i have just stayed in new york?" the resounding response from an assortment of supportive friends has been the same, essentially: i came here to find out what could happen.

for the record, despite the life crises that have met me along the way--and maybe this is a speech i should be saving for some post at the end of this chronicle, but it's christmas and it's a time to be grateful--i absolutely had to come to australia. i'm writing this play right now--would i have done this if i stayed in new york? maybe not--and there's this resounding theme of just "sitting with it." i found a lot of ways to avoid my pain in new york, and then i figured out a plan to flush out my pain. but i always had somewhere to go, something to do, some way to tend to whatever wounds.

in australia, with little to no work to distract me, not a whole lot of people to run off with, and a lot less noise to block out the silence, i finally learned how to just sit with everything. to sit in my life and do absolutely nothing about it but let it be.

in australia, i stopped running.

how can i catch up when i don't want to?

in lorrie moore's brilliant collection, "birds of america", a series of stories all about people whose lives have somehow veered off the road, she's got a story called "real estate," about a woman who, regarding the mess she's in, recognizes somehow how funny it is too. maybe i'm not remembering it correctly, i don't have the book with me and can't quote it words for word, except that for the next two and a half pages, she can't help but just laugh. i mean "ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!" over and over, until it looks less like lines of a story and more a brick wall of hysteria. maybe that's the point.

i certainly get it.

now i think i've indulged myself enough in past posts with the dire dramatics, so we're gonna try to not hunker down and sniffle and cry about this. maybe it's the yoga, but i'm not that fussed anymore. you see, for the past few weeks, i was banking on a job that, by all intents and purposes, was perfect. and i had, it seemed, a really good chance of getting it. i put all my energy towards the belief that i could get it, that it was coming my way, that the job was, essentially, mine. these would be the tried and supposedly true tricks of some of those self-help books, once they get around to ideas like "the power of positive thinking" or "the law of attraction." yes, i sort of believe in all that stuff, because it doesn't hurt not to.

i also recently read this book called "the wishing year," only because it vaguely resembled "eat, pray, love." it was, ostensibly, nonfiction chick lit, but that hasn't stopped me in the past. the short of it is this woman decides to turn to wishing and, to whatever extent, greater forces outside of herself, to draw things into her life that had, in the last few years, fallen away or never appeared, for one reason or another. for the most part, i just liked the idea of this working, i liked the possibility of it. i can't entirely shake my skepticism, but "the artist's way" had some basis in these ideas as well, so i had some experience in giving it a go anyway.

lest we forget my petition, which was answered, so i also have some experience in it working.

anyway, one of the points the author made, which sticks with me particularly now as, much of what i, let's say, "wished for," has not really come true, is that when our wishes are not granted, it is often illuminating of what we really want in life. apparently, i didn't really want this job. i hardly wanted to believe that. of course i wanted this job! i wanted the money, so i could take classes and see theatre and travel and...and...

well, so i could stay. so i could make australia "work." (put in quotes because who knows what the hell that means.)

i'd also decided that if i did not get this job, then it was a sign. i do fully believe in getting signs. maybe i'm less of a skeptic than i claim. maybe i just don't want to sound like a total kook. before you know it, i'm running away with a rogue group of crystal therapy practitioners i met at the "mind, body, spirit" festival, to play the triangle in their new age jam band, "amethyst dawn."

i guess i consider these signs to be something of a comfort. no one wants to feel totally untethered in life. that seems to be a great appeal of religion. i totally get that. it's nice to feel like someone's got the map, even if you don't.

i didn't want to show my cards too early about this, because you never know when the universe is going to throw you a bone, and i suppose there are still a few employment leads out there, but the point is, i've thrown in the towel when it comes to actively pursuing a job any better than sumo salad. if some of these other opportunities come through, fantastic. i'll gladly take them. but not for classes, not for traveling, not for much else other than saving.

my heart's not here. it hasn't been for a while. the truth of it is, it really is funny how little has gone according to plan. then again, i never had a plan. i never wanted a plan. i just wanted to figure it out as i go. i think i needed to have that untethered feeling for a while. i remember saying the very first day i got here, "no one's looking for me here. no one has any expectations. i could do anything i want." that freaked me out, and the next few months i spent learning how to live with so few borders.

so that decision i mentioned in the last post is put on slight hold till i find out what's happening with these other opportunities, but if nothing comes of them, i'm buying a plane ticket home. it means i'd be back in the states sometime in early february. this gives ivy (flatmate of dreams) a chance to find a replacement, and me a chance to do a few last things there. it gives me a chance to make peace, much in the way that i did before coming here, so i return home with as little baggage as possible.

it gives me a chance to say goodbye.

so it'll be interesting to see where we go from here. i could come back in a few days with great news, and hopes of returning to new york with a sizable financial shield against the awful job market, or i could come back with a return date and dusted hands.

i'd sigh myself to sleep if it wasn't so fucking funny...

baby, you're sailing away

my body is coated in a sweat like some sort of subhuman slime, dripping into my eyes and hitting my feet with a sort of cartoonish plop. i reach my arms up high over my head, my biceps aching, my triceps tearing, and bend down slowly, vertebrae by vertebrae, watching myself in the mirror until i have no choice but to look down and just keep breathing.

i haven't been this peaceful since some balmy new york night in july, when it seemed everything finally made sense.

ladies and gentleman, meet bikram yoga.

no, this is not something else i signed my life away to at the "mind, body, spirit" festival a few weeks ago. i've actually flirted with the idea for a few years now, romanced by the idea of all that sweating and stretching and finding zen in the third ring of hell. i remember thinking, sometime in ithaca, probably during the nate-fueled nervous breakdown of senior year, that it might be a nice christmas present. that was two years ago, about this time.

now i'm here, and while i won't deny that i was a legitimate mess after nate, i also knew that that was just practice from some greater life crisis, an assembling of tools of tricks and experiences for when it really felt like i was circling the drain.

ladies and gentleman, meet australia.

but this time, i did the yoga. i signed up for an introductory ten days of unlimited use for $19, which i could have easily just spent on a couple vodkas back when drinking seemed like a good idea. i think my ten days end sometime next week, and then i'll probably fork over (on credit, considering my current cash flow situation) another couple hundred for twenty more classes.

i need this class. i need that feeling, after ninety minutes in a room that teeters just barely on becoming unacceptably hot, pushing my body and my mind way past both their respective comfort zones (a theme, really, of my time in australia), of absolute peace, immobilizing calm. by the end of every class, i'm laying down on my towel and mat, drenched through with sweat, staring up at the ceiling, feeling somehow at peace with the heat, with my job situation, with my entire life. last night, i was laying there, thinking, "i could just stay here, and none of it would matter."

but i was really fucking thirsty, so i got up after like five minutes.

i need this kind of, well, therapy, to be honest, because somewhere in the next few days, depending on certain factors, i'm making a pretty big decision. i'm not getting into it here yet, except to say that it's time. once i know, i'll post something about it.

so a few things until then:

tassie was good. of course, i've come to realize that i hate having to tell people about my vacations. jay astutely noticed this when i went to thailand in '06, and admits he still doesn't acually know how it was, because my response was always a weary "oh god, it was fine, i don't feel like talking about it." so tassie: it was fine, the weather was nice, the scenery was pretty, the people were fun, i'm happy to be back in civilization. i know, i'd make the worst travel writer, which isn't good, because i plan on stretching the truth when i return to new york with possibly no relevant job experience since july '08 and say that i've been working on some travel writing project while in australia. (read: i wrote a blog every week about how insane i was going.)

but i promised pictures, so i'll put up a picture or two. or maybe not.

also, i will still be writing up a fine review of that "mind, body, spirit" festival at some point in the near future. i promise to limit the number of references to crying in public to a minimum, only because i didn't.

that might be all i have in me right now. i have to dash to work soon--for two hours. don't even get me started, i'm stressed about it enough as it is and i don't know if my body can handle another night in a row of yoga.

who am i kidding? i'll totally be there.

she never let on how insane it was

i'm leaving for tasmania tomorrow morning, so while i have a few fun stories to tell, they're going to have to wait until i get back. y'know, because i've been updating so feverishly as it is, a few quiet days on old "boy flies into a ditch and lays there for a while" are really going to cramp people's daily reading.

i know this is very "hello, god, are you there? it's me, margaret" but is anyone still reading this? not like my self esteem is relying on an audience, because i'm still going to keep writing; if anything, it's a backlog of material when i finally write my own version of "eat, pray, love." i haven't decided on a title, but for a while, i've been toying with using the expression, "wait, i'm sorry, what?" as the title for something. "i know, right?" is also an option, because i've been accused of saying it far too often here (cue awful impression of me with brutally butchered american accent).

of course, i could just call it "boy flies south".....

brief tangent: i didn't know what i was going to call this blog until i opened up the blogger template and started typing in all the "oz"-related or "traveling to australia"-related things i could think of and seeing if the url's were available. i'd already used one of my other ideas for the last blog (which will continue to remain anonymous, thank you), and my first choice this time was "return to oz," which is also the name of the brilliantly freaky 80s sequel to "the wizard of oz," but that was already taken. i think i also considered "yellow brick road," for like two seconds. "going down under" was probably an option, though awkward to share with mixed company, and a bit too cheeky of a title for a blog that would eventually consist of many posts chronicling life crisis on top of life crisis on top of drinking problem.

anyway, i've realized now that this tangent has no point. i do wonder if i'll keep blogging when i get back to new york, and what will i call it? i've grown attached to getting undressed in front of a partially open window, so to speak.

anyway, anyway, anyway, when i get back, i'll get my cookies together and put together a more picture-heavy post of my tassie adventures (i know how murky it can be to slough through all this text, particularly when it's laced with such despair), plus another fun tale in my employment saga (which, please cross all your crossables, could be taking a turn for the amazing, but i don't want to jinx anything, so just forget i said anything), and finally, a thorough review of my day at the "mind, body, spirit" festival this weekend. i wish i had the guts to bring a camera. but i did grab fistfuls of information packets, gave my contact information out quite liberally (expecting a series of phone calls about life coaching, a 30 day detox program, and a board game that helps make your wishes come true!), and narrowly escaped an induction into a cult at their workshop in conference room b.

it was the best day of my life.

wish me well in tasmania, babies!

oh, sweet sorrow, let's write the book tomorrow

i know, it's been heavy lately.

sorry about that, really. sometimes i think about the blog i wrote during my last trip to australia (which i will not be linking to here, as i'm both sort of ashamed of it and find it terribly incriminating) and it was such a different experience. i've euphemistically described those five and a half months as being something of an "awakening," as in a "sexual awakening." as in i was a total whore, which i'd never even thought i'd be considered even in jest. i remember thinking i'd maybe kiss one boy and ride that high all the way home. i was not entirely inexperienced when i first arrived on these sunburnt shores in 2006. i'd had my heart broken, my virginity taken, my understanding of intimacy and of another person's ability to easily forsake that intimacy revealed to me quite unequivocally.

not that it's all about what we lose or have lost, or what scars we get out of bed with every day (or get into bed with, as is often the case when we, as it's been so eloquently put, try to fuck the pain away). but i had no idea what debauchery i would be getting into when i arrived here the first time. it was, for the most part, a lot of fun. i did, of course, get emotionally involved with a couple people, and there was some drama. i met david here, and at least for those weeks we spent together in sydney, had up until that point, attained something close to ideal. now it seems i hardly recognize those days as happening in my own life.

i had thought, coming back here the second time, that i'd be repeating my ways. or i thought it was possible. granted, i was climbing out of the great chastity belt of 2008--and really, it was so so great--and i felt like, "sure, i could be free-wheeling again in oz, but maybe this time i'll be a bit healthier about it." i think something like a week after i got here, i had already, let's just say, fucked up.

but alas, it's almost the end of november, and i've long since descended from the highs of whoredom and have, quite effortlessly, kept things monogamous.

my therapist in college once that noted, "you live at extremes, 1 or 10, no in between." i don't remember what the context was when she pointed it out, but it ended up being entirely true about something like 98% of my life. like, when it comes to relationships. when i'm single, life's a buffet and i'm stacking plates. but when i'm in a relationship, i won't even look at the restaurant, let alone what's on the menu. we could credit my father for this one--y'know, like the money thing--because of course--and those self-help books i keep flashing under my trenchcoat will back me up here--we're entirely shaped by who raised us. and being raised by a man who wouldn't know monogamy if it came up and proposed to him, i've come to view cheating in any form to be something of a criminal offense.

though let's not beat around the bush: i know what i'm better at, or maybe less afraid of. i didn't have a single "relationship" in new york, though i was rarely not seeing someone, in some capacity, until the chastity belt went on. every guy i met in new york had the shelf life of three hours to a month, i'd say. and did i actually really, genuinely like any of them? i don't remember, and that's probably a sign. i was, let's be honest, in no shape to be anyone's boyfriend in new york. i was more like an amalgamation of alanis morissette songs.

it is incredible how the recipe changes when you add "2 cups of emotional attachment" to the situation. it's like you've been baking the same cake for months and months and months, and then you add this new ingredient, and suddenly, the cake pushes its way out of the oven and it eats you. i've accepted this. i've come to settle down and say, "hey, it's okay. i'm inside a cake."

i know we're not talking about what i'm doing here anymore, but when the madness settles and i don't quite feel like i'm careening through the streets of melbourne on the edge of hysteria every day, i realize that i'm learning a lot. some days, i sigh and think, "good god, i am so tired of feeling so crazy and emotional!" but eventually i realize it's just this crash course in life. i'm learning so much about what i want out of a career, a relationship, a social circle; what i need intellectually, artistically; how incredibly important it is to stay physically healthy in order stay sane; most of all, what kind of fight i have in me.

equally, i'm learning when it's best not to fight, and to just sit. and not run.

who knows, maybe i'll even learn how to find one of those stable numbers between 1 and 10. maybe i could learn how to live at a 6 sometimes.

i could get used to a 6. i could see myself even being entirely monogamous with a 6. y'know, deleting 1 and 10's numbers from my phone, not responding to their emails. when they say, "hey, let's go do something we'll all regret on friday!" i can, "no thanks, i'm seeing 6 these days. we're going to see an art film, then go get sushi and talk about eat, pray, love. have you read it? god, it's totally my life story."

ah, now that's a cake i could get comfortable inside of.

and in my mind, i still need a place to go

i'm what you might call a "flight risk" these days.

the original idea of this blog--this "boy flying south"--has become something of a "boy flying off the handle." i had said in the last post that i've been thinking beyond australia, in terms of what i need to do, but that i didn't want to commit myself to anything just yet, whether spoken or in writing. my morning pages--the great staple holding together this whole "artist's way" process i'm entering week 11 of--are like a rollercoaster of emotions and ideas, as i guess they're supposed to be, but i didn't want to act that all out here. the idea is that, for the unknown handful of people still reading along, i rope it in a little, get an editor in to clean this up a bit, and try to make a cohesive story out of what's happening here.

maybe it's my irish catholic upbringing seeping out--i never truly believed that was anything more than a joke, but alas--but i'd hate for anyone to trek along through the great peaks and valleys of my emotions, at least not to such dizzying heights and trenchant depths. i may spill most of the beans in the can here, but i'd hate for anyone to think i'm being ridiculous.

all of this to say that i've been thinking a lot about when i'm leaving australia. and as of right now, it won't be at the end of july. as you may know, i bought a one-way ticket here, thinking, "well, i don't know when i'll be back, or even if i'll be back." i had this great fantasy of falling so entirely into a life here, from day one, and becoming entirely inextricable. it was something of a dark secret i wouldn't really admit to anyone in new york, no matter how much i cared for them, how much i would miss them.

i had intentions--i had visions--of never coming back.

well, i mean, okay, not never. but never in the sense of thinking, "i live here now." never in the sense that i would not be yearning to return to so much of my old life. i say this choking down so much of my pride--and you have to understand, there is almost an embarrassment in this admission, so be gentle--but this has not come to fruition at all. there are plenty of people who, with some world-weary sigh, might say, "well, it's only been four months. i think you need to lighten up. maybe you should give yourself some time." and i don't really know what to say to that.

yes, there's some truth to that. look how long new york took to work. this has been a huge change and the adjustment will understandably take time. maybe i really do need to lighten up--it wouldn't be completely unheard of in my life that i would be beating myself up or getting down on myself. blah blah, we've gotten that out of the way. that's all just to say, "i hear you."

but i'm not really listening. to be entirely honest, i'm not even really considering. i do have a tendency to smile politely and nod and say the right thing. it's another thing i never wanted to be "good at." but alas.

you get one shot at this life. how much of it do you want to spend knowing it's not working? particularly when you have a sense of knowing how it could work. there are plenty of reasons for me to believe my life would work better in new york. i have a lot of friends in new york; despite the economy, i have a better chance of getting a good job in new york, and not making salads every day. (mea culpa, mea culpa, college degree.) i like new york. i know i didn't for a while, but i also didn't like drinking for a while, and lo and fucking behold.

yet i'm not going anytime soon. the other day, i thought i knew when i was going. i even started telling people that was when i was going. and i'm sorry. because while this could change, i don't think i'll be back that soon. if anything, it makes sense for me to stay longer and, after hopefully landing a better job than this, save up even more so that my move back to new york is even smoother and easier. i also think, despite the fact that this is "not working," that i need more time here.

to do what? well, y'know, that's been the big question, and maybe someday i'll think about answering it, and i know i thought this blog would be all about answering it, but as it stands now...i don't really fucking care what i'm doing in australia. it doesn't matter. it really doesn't. it does not matter why i am here. in fact, i'd venture to say there is no reason, no actual action or experience or "thing" that defines my reasons for being here. i know i said last time that i was just afraid to answer the question, that i actually thought i knew what i was doing here, and that answer is still true. but it actually has nothing to do with australia.

i think the reason i'm in australia is this:

sometimes, you gotta go halfway around the world to realize where home is.

i know. so simple you could put it on a bumper sticker, or make it your favorite quote on facebook. maybe i will.

but i'm not going to then hop a plane and go back to america just for that. when i left the states, i said that i wanted the cause to be greater than the sacrifice. i didn't give up everything i had in new york for some simple truism. i came here to do more than that. so i'm not leaving yet.

i'm not done with australia, but come april, i'll be home.

consumed with what's to transpire

the other night, i went out with rach and a bunch of her friends from uni to celebrate finishing their degree. now vodka and i haven't been talking much lately (occasionally, she sends me a text message: "wanna meet for a drink this week?" i rarely respond) but we kissed a few times that night. she wanted more, but i did not. we're not through, it's just not a good time for dirty mistresses.

well, for me, anyway. everyone else got pretty smashed. this one guy, what you might call a "mature-age student" at 32, had finally finished after something like ten years of part-time study. and what else to do but spend the better half of the day racing to the bottom of pint after pint. i guess i would too. i'm assuming general opinion of this guy is the same whether he's drunk or sober, but particularly drunk, nobody was too excited to see him show up at the bar for another round and to take the opportunity to hit on anything with two legs, two breasts, and two of the same kind of chromosome. he was very particular in his tastes. oh, and engaged, fiance not present.

naturally, we got to chatting.

i said this not begrudgingly, because it's expected and understandable, but i've had the same conversation with almost every new person i've met here in australia. it's what happens when you're from somewhere else. you start with the basics. where are you from? how long have you been here? do you like it? have you traveled much? what are you doing here? in new york, there was the list of questions everyone asked about my going to australia in the first place. this is the new list of questions. funnily enough, both lists have the same general inquiry about what the hell i'm doing here.

and that's, of course, the one question i most definitely can not answer.

so while this guy was entirely wasted, he still managed to run through the list, and i started to go through all of my stock answers. i'm from new york, i've been here a little over three months now, sure it's been great but just a huge adjustment, i've been to sydney and cairns (cue small detour into "i was here two and a half years ago" and how i decided to come back), and what am i doing here? oh, i don't know. just working in food service, paying the bills, nothing special. traveling, maybe take some classes soon. writing. just figuring it out as i go along. (that old brown shoe.)

"wait a minute," he slurred. "you just throw 'writing' in there like its nothing. that's the most important thing you're doing here. y'know? so what are you doing here?"

i smiled. "yeah, i guess you're right. i'm here to write."

"yeah!" he said.

mind you, once he found out i was gay, he also threw his arm around my neck and asked if i wanted to kiss him (engaged, fiance not present). i think he did this twice. while i was flattered, i did not want to kiss him. he also, though a bit fumbly because of all the beer, tried to find a way to ask how melbourne is as a city to be gay in, and if i ever had any problems. the poor guy was doing his best to be interested and quite possibly concerned for my well-being, and surely now doesn't remember a second of that conversation, but i assured him i was okay.

eventually, he cut himself off the booze and decided it was time to go. this previously noted fiance was coming to pick him up. ("this is one of the things i never knew about gay relationships," he blathered to me at one point. "how do you have monotonous relationships when you're gay?....oh, i mean, monogamous. sorry, i'm confusing your relationship with mine." brilliant.) i don't think we had a proper goodbye, and he never got that kiss, but alas, i kept thinking about that conversation all weekend, and i'm here writing about it now.

insight shows up in the strangest of places. this drunk, lecherous, recent college graduate at 32 called me on my shit so quickly and so easily. he nailed it. "writing is the most important thing you're doing here." i'm, quite admittedly, not fond of the fact that i'm working in food service here. michael and i went to boost yesterday at lunch (this smoothie/juice bar in australia, for those in other parts of the world) and i said, "it could be fun to work here," and he said, "stop thinking these jobs are fun. aspire to something more, you're better than these jobs." and it didn't really register to me, i guess until the combination of both comments, that it seems in some way my focus is still a bit off here.

"the artist's way" would basically eat this admission for breakfast and ask for more, but it does come down to this: maybe i'm underestimating my reach a little.

this is, mind you, the understatement of the century for me. but it's a start. for a number of reasons, some of which will reveal themselves as i digest them more and eventually figure out what i want to commit to writing about in here, i'm thinking beyond australia these days. and trying to get a sense of what i'm doing in the near future and what direction i need to be going. not "want" or "should" or "might." it's a matter of need these days.

the "what are you doing?" question has gotten so much larger, but i wonder if perhaps the reason i haven't been able to answer it is because i've been too afraid to.

in actuality, i may sort of already know the answer.

i would've baby-stepped into intimate

i'd like to suggest that this starting over is a success, in the sense that life seems to be softening around the edges, much in the way that it did in new york. it's a slow process, if i remember it well, but it's like how, with grieving (and i read this in a really good book recently) you don't ever stop hurting, you just feel a little less miserable as time goes on.

i'm feeling a little less unsettled as time goes on.

so remember that salad place? sumo salad, to be exact. indeed, i am working there now. yes, according to my morning pages, and maybe even this blog, i don't remember, i swore off food service. and let it be known, i still do not like food service. but i like this job enough to keep it. i work every weekday from 7:30am to 2:00pm, and i'm busy the entire time, and the people i work with, usually, are all nice enough. my manager can be a bit of a dragon lady, but she cools off easily enough. today, her manager was in the shop helping us out, as we've been short-staffed or everyone who works at this location is all relatively new, or i don't know, we're basically half a mess, so here she was to help out. and as someone wisely noted recently, most people who work in these positions are total fucking control freaks. this woman fit that to a t. there was absolutely nothing she could not find something to make comment on or try to correct in some way. for some reason, it didn't really get to me.

i don't know, maybe it's because i know that i'm not going to eclipse in my career as being a manager of a fast food salad chain found in various shopping malls across australia. i'm good enough at my job after only one week, but let's be honest: i never want this to be something i'm 'good at.' i liked that i was good at advertising and sales, and that i'm 'good at' writing or being creative in some way more intellectually stimulating than knowing how much dressing to put on a salad. i'm just here to pay the bills, folks.

i was having a brief chat with this woman today as she asked how long i'd been in australia, and where i was from. "you're from new york, and you came to melbourne?" she asked incredulously.

i smiled. "i know, everyone says that. but it's been nice, doing something different."

she sort of laughed. "but it's not that different! the pace is a little slower, that's all."

wait, i'm sorry, what?

so it should be mentioned, plenty of other people have asked, "why would you leave new york and come here?" with some sort of...well, humility, i guess. melbourne's great, i'm not putting her down at all, but let's not be ridiculous. melbourne and new york are not the same. i wouldn't have come here in the first place if they were the same.

and so probably because this woman was already starting to get on my nerves, and because of this, albeit slowly calming, frenzy of foreign exhaust, and also because i am the only american i see for days, i'm very protective of my home country. tag onto it the whole obama thing, if you want, and the fact that coming to australia only solidified for me that new york is in fact home, and i'm basically the most territorial i've ever been.

i didn't really know what to say to her. i mean, the point of leaving new york was not to go to the outback and, i don't know, dig for root vegetables for nine months. i wasn't looking for the polar opposite. i don't even know what i was looking for anymore.

so i said, "well, i wouldn't want to be out in the country."

earlier, my boss was making some comment about how i didn't hear what she was telling me (it doesn't help that she doesn't actually seem to be addressing me when she's talking to me; she's one of those people you're perennially guessing with), and half-jokingly cried, "damn americans! they don't understand english!"

once again, a bit choked with national pride, i said, "well, it's a different english."

some other guy, somewhat understanding enough, noted, "it's because we talk so fast!"

once again, though, totally off the mark. i can understand you people just fine. and if you insult my country one more time, i'm going to drown you in a bucket of mayonnaise.

i could be a bit ridiculous these days. i talked to both jay and joe on the phone the other day, and it's not so much that their accents resonated with some sort of deep familiarity--i don't even hear accents anymore, to be honest, american or australian--but that sense of 'your own people.' one of my friends here made a point months ago of saying he wouldn't be in a long-term relationship with someone who wasn't australian, because something would be missing, some common history. when he first said it, i thought, "well, that's not fair at all." and i'm not saying, "oh yeah, i totally agree now," because i still don't, but i get it to an extent. there's something to be said for "your kind."

this is not to romanticize america or its people, or to put down australia and its respective inhabitants--i'm quite fond of and totally over any number of folks from either population--but i think wherever we go--and maybe i can only speak for myself here--we crave that sense of familiarity. we want something we can come to intimately know, be that a person, place, or thing.

except, of course, for making salads. i have no interest in intimately knowing how to make salads.

so i'm wearing the shoe till it fits

'sometimes, a person has to go a very long distance out of his way to come back a short distance correctly.'

- jerry, 'the zoo story'

'our life's work is to use what we have been given to wake up.'
-pema chodron

'i just have to make this list.'
-virginia, 'hysterical blindness'

as i said...i'm starting over. this is reminiscent of earlier this year, when i decided to start dropping baggage. i spent a fair bit of time just amassing ideas, trying to get a sense of what i was feeling or what exactly needed to be healed. finally, it struck me, the thing to do. make a list. i've recounted this all before. the hiv test, the letter to david, the letter to my father, the clarity petition, it's all here, more or less.

life's been a series of cycles lately. it seems that's all it ever is, lately, until the pattern works itself out or i finally forge on in an entirely new direction. moving to australia, apparently, was not new enough of a direction to move. and that's okay. it's gonna have to be, because as much as i (quite often) want to slip into my running sneakers and haul ass to tullamarine airport, i'm sitting here with it. i'm not running away this time.

take that, you fucking cycle.

so it's time to make a list. what is it i need to do this time? last time, the tasks were fairly tangible. this time, they're more vague, they don't come with such a set of instructions. they're something like:

1) let go
2) be grateful
3) get a job

i'm fairly unsure of what this starting over means. it means today, i applied for half as many jobs as usual, but i put in a concerted effort with each application, and didn't just spambot anything that looked halfway decent. it means when i finish writing this, i'm going to go for a jog. it means that when i walked to the supermarket earlier today, and that thing that's been nagging at me lately started singing again, i didn't shuffle along to its nasty beat. i picked up my head and looked around and thought, "i'm really grateful...i can walk. i'm really grateful...i'm healthy. i'm really...okay, i really don't want to do this, but okay...okay, i'm really grateful..." and it sort of helped.

it means when that soft tone of 'victim' starts to fill my voice, i clear my throat and speak up.

it means i'm taking the trash out, i'm doing those dishes, and i'm making the bed. these little efforts are important.

it means taking a deep breath.

it means when, as i'm writing this, i get a call from this salad place in the city i did a trial shift at, asking if i can work tomorrow at 11:30, i take it thankfully and consider it the universe throwing me a bone.

i guess that's something else i can be grateful for.

and now, of course, it's time i went on that jog. it will be tempting, as i step into those running sneakers, to just keep going and going, but i'm not disappearing. i'm not running away.

i've only just begun here.

we'll start all over and we'll start again

at the beginning of every month, like some sort of lunar cycle, something new happens or comes into my life or begins. i arrived at the beginning of august, i moved into my place the beginning of september, i began the russian roulette of employment opportunities in october, and now it's the beginning of november. i have about two more days for something else to come along and steal the spotlight, but i think i know what the new thing is.

i'm starting over.

jay would read this and think of the treacly melodramatic self-help reality show we watched in junior year together every afternoon, and it is a bit like that, except no vomiting into a bowl of pine cones, getting yelled at by a drill sergeant while i clean a dirty car, or dressing up a mannequin in the attic named miss mabel with all of my symbolic baggage. (it would take much too long to explain, and i'm essentially just beating jay to the punch by saying, "i know, i'm starting over, just like the tv show, 'starting over.'")

i have no other way to put it but to say that i'm starting over. i arrived in australia three foggy months ago, and it's been nothing of what i expected. in some ways, that's been a pleasant surprise, and i don't discredit that at all. but in other ways, it's been a pie in the face.

i say this echoing my sentiments in the last post--i would hate for anyone to think i'm not fine--but i haven't been fine. i haven't been myself these days. i don't know if it's just the money situation. i think it's been bigger than that. but i'm willing to find out. i'm not turning to my old vices to get away from the sadness--the shit i pulled a year ago to get away from my pain still amazes me--and i'm not running.

i'm sitting right here with it. i could pack my bags and book a plane ticket and make a mad dash for america--"when the going gets tough, i get going"--and what a shame, what a loss of an opportunity. and what a mistake. do i really expect i'd feel any more settled moving back in with my parents, and with the remains of my savings, rebuilding a life in new york and telling everyone who asked, "yeah, australia wasn't working for me, so i came home"? what am i going to do when things don't work out 100% in new york? where will i run to then?

so i'm starting over.

i have some sense of what that means, but i'm going to mostly just let it reveal itself to me as i go. it means forgiving these past three months. it means letting go of a lot of ideas of what i think i should be doing, or how this should be working out. it means being open to whatever fate has in store for me, even if it doesn't seem to follow the map, no matter how basic, i wrote up before i got here. it means being grateful for everything i have right now.

i think the reason things finally worked out for me in new york is because i started to be grateful for everything i had. i didn't acquire anything new. i just said, "okay." i just said, "thank you." i stopped resisting new york, hating new york, insisting it wasn't for me. i cleared away my delusions and my fears and my resentments, and i carefully removed all of the blockages that were keeping me from, at the time, leaving for australia with some peace, but actually, were keeping me from living anywhere with some peace.

something got lost in the last three months. and that's okay, because i'm finding it again. the first step is realizing you've lost it. the second step is inevitable.

you just start over.

oh, you won't catch me around here

i've never been so excited about a job that requires me to file for three days. but i've never been paid $21 an hour to file. i guess at times like these, you forget the fact that you're college educated, you're not a shit writer, you once worked for a fairly reputable name in new york, and once you really get your shit together, you're totally going to make something of this name of yours. none of that really matters. you just try to not get too many papercuts throughout the day.

****

this isn't to say i've stopped asking, "why did i come to australia?" and started asking, "why did i leave new york?" it's not really about the questions these days. it's more just this general sense of, "i had no idea it would be like this." the good and the not-good-yet.

****

before i left for australia, in this blog, i said, "for all the yes and all the no of my life. i have no choice but to be incredibly grateful." it's easy to say when you're feeling like you've just conquered mt. everest, and it's important to say it when you just feel you can't keep climbing.

****

i didn't exactly have any expectations of what it would be like when i got to australia. some more grown-up, "saved by the bell: the college years" version of the last time i was here, maybe? much like so much in my life, i romanticize too much.

****

i should be concerned if i don't occasionally feel completely out of sorts, right? maybe it's set in, what everyone else had mentioned at some point and reminded me of in some way. i picked up my entire life and moved to the other side of the world with no plan, only some drive to try something new. i get it now. it sounds fun and exciting and adventurous on paper. i should be doing exotic things, traveling constantly, hop-scotching through this country.

but i'm (quite gratefully!) temping in offices around melbourne, living in a neighborhood so mundane it makes me yearn for the garbage-strewn sidewalks of 159th St, and spending large chunks of my day entirely paralyzed by more than the idea but the cold, hard fact that i don't know what the fuck i'm doing here.

but at least i know where i stand today.

****

i keep thinking i shouldn't be writing this. but if i focus on the positive one more time, i'm going to throw up.

****

but this is probably far more important to be writing about than some drunken night at a sweaty gay club where i pretend my life is a lot more wild and exciting than it's really turned out to be. believe it or not, i'm quite happy to not be drinking or sweating to britney remixes on podiums for a little while.

vodka's devastated; i barely call anymore.

****

maybe it's "the artist's way." i am writing a lot more, to say nothing of the spiritual overhaul this process has done on me. maybe there's no room to be wasted and blathering false sentiments to strangers i hardly connect with on a real level, when i'm spending so much time rediscovering some other part of myself i was probably drinking away that year in new york.

****

but i'd hate for anyone to think i'm not fine.

****

once this nausea passes from positive thinking, i could actually list off a few really good things in my life right now.

****

the truth of the matter is, though, i really am sort of grateful for these foggy, uncertain times. i seriously mean it. i'm quite exhausted from what's been a pretty constant buzz of anxiety for the past few weeks, and to be fair to anyone who's seen or talked to me, i haven't been myself. but i don't believe in the meaninglessness of it. i was doing my morning pages a little late this morning, after my interview at the temp agency, and i wrote: "the light is easier to see when the fog lifts, but the fog requires a deeper faith in it."

****

something to think about while i'm filing for the next three days.

tell me you never wanted more than this

lately, my computer has been having a lot of updates that keep requiring it to start over. about every five minutes, the message pops up letting me know that the changes are ready to be installed, but i must restart. do i want to restart now or later? a progress bar, with five minutes on the clock, creeps forward.

i keep pressing "restart later" because i don't want to stop what i'm doing and let the computer do what it needs to do for these changes, these necessary updates, to take effect.

symbolic much? you better fucking believe it's symbolic.

i've been a well-contained mess this week. short story long, this new job is offering a miserably small amount of hours and a miserable work experience. that harridan of a boss? well, there's something to be said for first impressions. i was discussing this with someone yesterday, but i do not think that, just because you work for someone, that gives them any right whatsoever to speak to you without some respect. i think it's this misconception that our bosses are allowed to yell at us because they are our bosses.

but don't get me started. i think there's a benefit to recognizing the negative, but no one wins when you swim in it. and it doesn't make for pleasant reading. or hell, pleasant living. venting is great, but wallowing is miserable. i've got higher ambitions than misery.

so i've turned to what i know and can rely on: office work. the temp agencies of melbourne, australia, have no way of preparing themselves for the ensuing tidal wave that is "me, on desperation's edge." i know i said i didn't want to end up back in an office--if i wanted to be in an office, i'd stay in new york, blah blah--but let this be one of the important lessons i've learned here in oz: hospitality & food service blow hard. just the sight of a waiter carrying three plates at once gives me a serious panic attack now. this morning, a few of us went out to brunch, and i could barely handle being waited on. i couldn't look at any of the servers, sure that i would spot a deep sadness in their eyes, like cows at the bloody slaughter.

(i don't quite know when i turned into carole from "repulsion," and it's only a matter of time before i'm crawling around on the floor in a nightgown or avoiding hands reaching from the wall to pull at my beautiful but recently unkempt blonde hair.)

and strange, that this is desperation these days. i know i like to talk about my early days in new york the way everyone talks about their early days in new york, particularly if they were challenging in some way. i romanticize the hell out of that time, because it's long over and because i grew so intensely in that period of time, but i think it's fair to say i had to keep moving partially because stopping meant letting the great bear hug of depression move in for a spiritual kill. i like to look back and think, "the universe delivered because i demanded with my entire soul."

i don't know where people find the time, or even the energy, to cry in public at these moments of strife in their lives.

anyway, i think i'm just feeling a bit on the razor's edge because--and this is something i didn't quite expect to experience here--i'm also going through a bit of "foreign exhaustion." this is typical, they tell you when you study abroad. the newness will wear off, the excitement will fade, and you'll grow obnoxiously intolerant of even the smallest difference you spot from what you know back home. i had a minor bout of this earlier in my trip, and i remember when it happened the first time i was here (and passed in maybe two days' time), but it's been pretty full-on lately. and i start to crave new york like a drug.

yesterday, i called my mom, partly because we were due a catch-up, and partly because i think some times in our lives ask for that phone call, to whoever it is knows you best. sure enough:

my mother: "hello?"

me: "hey there, it's me."

my mother: "hi. what's wrong?"

and it wasn't like she was assuming something was. it's the mere fact that all i have to do is say hello, and she knows something's up. i laughed (blinking back a tear or two) and said, "god, how do you know?" she said, "i'll call you back" so i didn't have to pay for the call. which was a nice break so i could pull it together, because one kind word at that point, and i would have absolutely crumbled. i just couldn't bear the idea of crying to my mother from the other side of the world.

it baffles me, really, that i'm so seized by this financial situation. to be honest, i have enough money right now. when i moved to new york, i did not have enough money. but i always need a cushion. being raised (loosely used term here) by my father, a man who made a living of riding by the seat of his pants, and that includes with matters of financially supporting his family, i've run like all hell to the other side of the spectrum, and for my entire life, i've been careful with spending and diligent about saving. and sometimes, pathetically cheap.

i want to say, though, in recognition of seeing the positive of this all--besides the basic point that this is a fantastic learning, growing experience, and in just a few weeks time i will be looking back and sighing and already romanticizing this moment--that without naming names, because i'm bloody awful at compliments, thank you. you've been so kind. there's a couple people that could be said to (including my mother, who thank god is not aware this blog exists), but i know what i mean here.

a little gratitude goes a long way when we think we've got nothing in our grasping, clutching hands.

sometimes, it's just what we need before life's changes can take effect.

fists on up, it looks that easy

i'm playing life by ear until i go deaf from it.

i've never left it all to such chance. the catchphrase of the few months before i left for australia--"i'm just gonna figure it out as i go"--has turned into something entirely more formidable. and say what you will about my signs from, i don't know, the universe--the fact that the shoes i had to wear for the recently-quit job gave me gouge-like blisters and possible nerve damage in one of my big toes; the way that song came on my ipod this morning while i was writing my morning pages, and correlated so frighteningly with what i had just written down; etc and so on--but it seems life is always throwing me a hint that i'm onto something. i suppose it's a comfort.

like, i just started getting into "six feet under" and i've been powering through episodes to get to the series finale which promises to be the most devastating thing i've seen since "away from her," a movie that leaves me puddly-eyed just thinking about it sometimes. and it seems every episode i watch, when i watch it, connects with something i've been thinking about. there are characters in their thirties who have not pursued a career but have merely worked jobs, and claim to be happy at them. and in some strange combination of "artist's way" realigning, living in australia on the seat of my pants, and possibly a good old quarterlife crisis come a few years early, i'm thinking, "could i do that? could i get away with not ever having a career?"

if i don't start saving for retirement now, am i going to be one of those old people living in a dingy apartment somewhere with ugly curtains, old newspapers, and cat food for dinner every night? if i don't hop on a career track now, will i be left answering to these years of wandering and waiting tables until someone takes a chance on me? do i really think being a writer will actually pay some bills?

i suppose these are all rhetorical questions, and being listed for the sheer sake of keeping records. y'know, so i can look back in a few years and say, "boy, was i confused!" (don't be fooled; what i'm doing here is tossing off all these questions as just silly notions, and not the intense self-interrogation i've been doing on the couch all morning as i put off returning overdue library books again.)

oh, as it is friday morning, i should note i ended up not going in for that "dream job" at the cafe in the city, because let's be honest, i don't even know how to make instant coffee, let alone anything more complicated than sanka. on the plus side, the universe tossed me a literal sign in the window of a cafe/bakery in my neighborhood, and after a brief conversation with the harridan of a manager--who, if i get the job, god willing, i'm sure i'll have a hell of a time making like me--i now have a trial shift on monday. it's like a game of hopscotch lately.

so i'm a little "meh" today. i don't know, there's the fun and excitement of a life of uncertainty, of questions not quite answered and possibilities not quite known, and then there's just the fear that you're going to turn one of life's corners and walk into a punch in the face.

i reckon i could do myself some good by listening to my own advice from the last post, in recognizing that things do--or don't--work out for reasons that reveal themselves as the next page turns.

so i'm keeping my ear to the ground till then.

it sure takes its precious time, but it’s got rights and so have i

i once noticed that when my life got to its most interesting, i never made any attempt to chronicle it until sometimes months later. i've been journaling on and off since i was about 9, and there are any number of entries over the years that have begun with me saying, "i'm sorry i took so long to write, i have so much to catch you up on!"

i reckon it has something to do with living in the moment, not wanting to hop back to the sidelines and observe, but rather be the story itself. possibly also, at least recently, because i'm also into week five of "the artist's way," so i have in fact been chronicling my every move with a mandatory three pages of freeform writing a morning (the morning pages, god bless their cotton socks). but no one else will ever read these pages, unless i step in front of a bus tomorrow and someone snoops while packing up my belongings.

so for the record, if i do step in front of a bus tomorrow, and you're the person folding up all of my h&m button down camp shirts and stuffing them in the space bags i brought, i will haunt the living shit out of you if you start reading my morning pages. but do please return the actual "artist's way" book to the public library, it's already overdue and i don't want anymore fines.

all this to say, a lot has been happening since i last wrote my treatise on unhealthy relationships. i reckon that was rather cathartic in a way, and i found that the theme of healthy relationships--with myself and other people--nabbed a bit of the spotlight as of late. ah well, let's be honest, it's been a main character in my neuroses--obsessions, whatever word you want to use--for years. but as i sat on my bed one friday afternoon, with spread cheese, salami, and crackers scattered before me, each labeled with feelings to be eaten, i think i actually cried out, "okay! i have had ENOUGH of this!" and i dashed out of the house and insisted on more.

that's all very vague and requires a fair bit of backstory, so the blunt truth of it, which i think will sum it up nicely, is this: i think i'm done dating guys i don't actually like. i know, who is this person, and where did the old colin go? i don't know, but he's not here. check washington heights, i think he's pouring himself another drink and waiting for some asshole in his forties to call.

i haven't quite given "the artist's way" the credit its due, and i'd happily dedicate the next seven weeks of that process to singing its praises, as i can say quite assuredly that it has changed so much of my life. yes, it's initial intention was to rediscover myself as a writer, to take down the brick wall between me and my creativity, to be the artist i so unabashedly saw myself as when i was maybe twelve, when i was writing books, regardless of their quality, huge books worth of writing! the point was, "i want to be a writer again." but as chekhov said, "if you want to work on your art, work on your life."

let's not even bother rehashing my love of a good self-help tome, if only to say i do believe in it, and doing this twelve-week course is probably the most actively i've tried to reclaim some sense of myself. and truly, it has been work on my life. i think the artistic resuscitation is almost secondhand to the recovery this process offers for your self-esteem, your sense of wholeness, your ability to be honest and compassionate towards yourself as much as others, and really, to discover what you want to be doing in this life.

have i ever mentioned that, sometimes, i would ask the question "what am i doing in australia?" i don't know, i've been really sort of quiet about that in this blog, i know....but seriously, one morning, i was wrapping up my morning pages, and it seemed the answer--in reference to another aspect of my life than my artistic self, as in fact the morning pages are so rarely about my writing--just started to flow out. i'm going to let it marinate for a bit, but i think i've come up with a really good answer to the question.

the point of this all being, it's been a good couple weeks. i got a job--and then quit! and now i have another job that i'll be doing a trial shift at on friday. i thought this post, following the hiatus, would be about the job i got, as a waiter at an upscale french restaurant in the city, and the quirks of it all, but i found, as the week went on, that i just completely made no sense at this job. i think, if i wanted to make the sacrifice, i could have stayed, the money would have been good, but the hours were long, the pressure was high, and my gut was screaming, "honestly, i hate this idea!" so what did i do? i sat down one morning this week, for my pages, and wrote out my "dream job." i did a brief job search before leaving for work, got a couple phone numbers of jobs that sounded like what i was looking for, called one on my break that day, and was told to come in for the trial shift in a week. i don't think this was just luck. i think it's all a matter of putting out what you want in this life and then listening for the opportunities to receive it.

really, lately, there's just been this sense of "this wouldn't have happened if i hadn't come here," that sense of the why, why my heart was so insistent on traveling 10,000 miles away from home, why i had to leave new york despite everything going so well (eventually), why i had to wait until getting here, and getting settled for a month and a half, before finally starting "the artist's way." when things in your present life start falling into place, you realize more fully why things in your past maybe did not, or why they fell into the places they did.

with things going so well, let's see if i can avoid that crosstown bus.

hide out from the ones you know will love you

"i'm just so bloody over it. this boyfriend-as-band-aid syndrome."

"yeah, i hear you. it's pathetic."

"you know? it's like, get your shit together. no one's going to 'save you.'"

"right? maybe you should write a blog post about that."

i smirked, thinking of how this blog has become something of an extension of myself now, my life, like a place to hang my coat by the front door.

"yeah, maybe," i said.

****

"do you want to come over?" he asked, online, of course. "we could run those errands of yours. i'll help you. then maybe get some dinner?"

"yeah," i typed back, full of false enthusiasm. "that sounds like fun!" smiley face.

"oh, and bring some swimming trunks, maybe we can take a dip in the pool after dinner." winky face.

"yeah? that could be good. you know what they say about going swimming after you eat, though." winky face back.

"well, maybe we'll just have to think of something else then."

winky fucking face.

*****

last week, i was crossing the street, and i could swear someone who looked exactly like david was crossing from the other side of the street. he looked different, of course, like maybe he'd put on some weight or lost some hair or something, but i couldn't stop staring, waiting for the hint that this was not in fact david, that he was still in new york or who even knows anymore. he'd have no reason to be in melbourne. no reason to be back in my life, even tangentially. regardless of what i sometimes considered, maybe in some way wanted.

to recognize one another.

*****

i forget my swimming trunks and we never run those errands. i have been here before. i know how this works. assumed familiarity, which i suppose is necessary when it's only a matter of minutes before clothes are coming off and privacies invaded. we're in the bedroom, he's fiddling about with this and that on his dresser, i'm not sure if i should sit down on the bed. it's like halloween every day, and i keep recycling my "lady in waiting" costume.

and then he comes over to me, as if he is about to walk right through me, and so it begins.

here's the keys, you drive.

****

"well, when's the last time either of us has been in a healthy relationship?" jay asks, online, unfortunately.

"i know, right?"

"i mean, maybe we're all in something of an 'unhealthy relationship' until we're in the right one."

i agree, because it does seem quite simple, and i'm just too exhausted for complicated these days, but i want to ask if it's possible that it's still healthy, but it just doesn't work. or is it just the amount of sickness? what if it's just the flu, not a five-car pile-up that's ended in a fiery rage and you trapped in the passenger seat?

****

yesterday, on the tram, i said the name "david" in my head over and over, trying to attach recognition to the word. i don't know how this started, what track my train of thought had jumped onto. i suppose i'll never speak to him again, and the greater distance i get from the time our lives intersected, the more it seems like just some strange fever dream that i've awoken from, sweaty and confused, and asking constantly for almost two months now, where am i? where am i? where am i?


****

i read this fantastic quote in a book once. the main character is getting ready to meet a man she's been seeing quite uncertainly for dinner. throughout the story, she is visited by something of an imaginary relationship counselor trying to talk her down from the rooftop of her dating life.

"telling jokes is your way of asking, 'do you love me?' this mentor says as she's getting dressed that night. 'and when these men laugh, you think they've said yes."

it was as if someone had revealed my dirtiest, darkest secret. and the book was a bestseller--how many people that knew this! i put the book down and looked around, blinking away the sudden film of tears on my eyes.

****

"i might just lie and say i have a boyfriend, i don't know, say that we had taken a break and decided to get back together," i said later. "i just can't handle it--it's too intense."

"yeah," she said. "yeah, that'd be easy enough."

"i don't know, maybe i should be honest," i sighed, rolling my eyes. "just tell him that he's looking for more than i can give him."

i look back now, and i wonder: what am i trying to say here? he's asking for too much, or i'm incapable of giving more? this supply and demand of the heart.

****

and let's be honest, i can count on one hand the number of guys i actually liked, which means i've spent much of my time giving shit excuses to men i was too afraid to tell the truth to.

****

i've been here before, waking up at 6:30am in someone else's bed, curled up at the very edge, clutching the pillow and thinking, how quickly could i get out of here? i usually just go back to sleep, go through the motions of waking up (the inevitability of morning sex), having a shower, having breakfast, and gracefully making an exit. but one time, i ran. i slid out of bed, listening to his snores as i pulled on my clothes, closed my backpack (he lived two hours away; i was supposed to be there for the weekend) and held my shoes in my hand as i tiptoed out in my socks.

in the living room, i left a note. "thanks for the accommodations." i was angry at him, but moreso, i was angry at myself. what was i doing here? i knew in the months earlier that we'd spent chatting that this guy was no good for me. and did i really need this on the history books, another 40-something with a kid who can't understand him and an ex-wife who can't forgive him? (talk about validating those daddy issues.) and did i even have any right being pissed off that he was flirting with some surely underaged twink at the bar the night before while i stood a foot away, staring blankly at a drag queen and sighing into my vodka? (some things you can guarantee in life...)

but there i was, the next morning, slipping on my shoes and making my way to the door. scorned by someone i did not actually really know, and yet recognized almost instantly. i think some people's dysfunction fits together like puzzle pieces, and the picture they create is always an ugly one. i said i'd learned my lesson, but this was years ago. i hadn't, yet.

the moment i was out the door, zipping up my jacket against the frigid morning of an upstate new york winter, i started running for my car. i threw my bag on the passenger seat and slammed the door. i hit the lock, i don't know why, except i sort of do. i pulled out of the parking lot of his apartment complex and held my breath all the way to the highway.

****
ultimately, i'm sure, it wasn't david crossing the street that day. i'm sure if i did something crazy like dart through the crowds and grab his arm, i would realize on closer inspection he looked nothing like david, except the look of annoyed bewilderment on his face, which i might recognize from the tail-end of our relationship. and i would apologize and keep walking, my heart pounding in my throat for at least the next ten minutes.

and if it was david? what would i say? what would he say? i doubt i'd be able to even come up with a decent joke. i doubt he'd even laugh anymore.

****
"you know what? screw it," i said. "i think i'm just going to tell him the truth."

"absolutely," she said. "it's so much easier in the long run if you're just honest."

****

honestly? i knew i'd never get those errands done, and i forgot the swimming trunks on purpose.

winky face.

life is a maze and love is a riddle

who isn’t genuinely tired of the question, “what am i doing in australia?” let’s just assume from now on that i’m asking it every day. i think i do at least one thing every day hoping the answer will be lying in the experience. i can’t put pen to paper without trying to draw a map for myself. i analyze everything.

if we’ve talked, i’ve analyzed our conversation later on, waiting on a corner for the tram to come rumbling up the street, or walking to the library to use the internet every day, until we finally get this modem set up in our apartment. (ivy and i are so perfect for each other, i think, because we are equally scattered about these things and over time, none too bothered about it.) or wandering a park, or sitting in a food court eating a sushi roll by myself. or doing a price-comparison on cereals. i’m deciding if saving 70 cents is worth the possibility of a bland breakfast, but i’m also looking for meaning in that thing you said to me that i pretended to not hear.

in related news, i’ve started this twelve-week self-guided course called “the artist’s way.” jay did it, and not-always-gently insisted i start it for months before leaving new york, and i always said, “okay, okay, yeah, i’ll try it.” i kept thinking, “but the book is on your bedroom floor, it’s yours, and i’m going to want to cuddle with it at night.” nevermind the book i’m using now is on loan from the aforementioned library, and i’ll have to extend the loan period at least three times in order to complete the course, but still. i think it just wasn’t the right time. i needed to come to australia, shake off the fixings of my life, like layers worn in winter weather, and then put it on.

it’s related news, because it’s required me to write three pages every morning of essentially anything that comes to my mind. it’s a blank canvas for analyzing. i am generally incapable of free thought. all of my thoughts are quite constrained to the requirements i have for any of my writing. it has to be somewhat linear, it all has to serve the purpose of one topic, everything has to work. the point of these “morning pages” as they’re called is to get all of the thoughts blocking you from writing out onto paper and out of your way. the book suggests this might be hardest for writers doing the course, as they will have to resist actually writing. i have to resist writing and editing, and forming a thesis, and tying it all up in the end with some clever line that somehow references how this all began. (the method to my madness with this blog, mind you.)

but i’m five days in, and i’m slowly accepting what needs to be done. i have had terrible writer’s block for a while, and it’s been an effort enough to write in this blog (hence the two-week break at the beginning of this month) and my theory—which is hardly original or groundbreaking—is that my writing and my personal life are inextricably connected. certainly that’s been manifested entirely in the mere fact that i am writing a personal blog, but when it comes to fiction or playwriting or anything else i might attempt (hello, poetry, my old pen-pal from childhood! i have not written to you in ages!) i think the groundlessness, the aimlessness of life right now is constantly leading me astray from whatever source of creativity i am able to tap into when i feel like i’m growing from roots in the ground.

but i think this is much like the stages of grief, insomuch that there are stages. there are rooms we must pass through to get to the next room to get to our rooms, a place we can relax and call home. the way i look at it right now, it’s like i’ve just moved into this house and taken all of my stuff out of the bags and boxes i moved it in, and now it’s all scattered around me and waiting to be put somewhere. i’m sitting in the middle of my new living room floor, looking at the pieces of my life, and saying, “okay, where am i going to put everything?”

and with all of this newness, a very particular brand of homesickness sets in. i’ve come to romanticize new york, in particular the couple months before i left, but certainly even the times before that, the rougher waters. in new york, i thought, “in college, all of this was some exquisite agony, because i could just skip class and order pizza and lay on the couch, and it didn’t really matter.” but now i look back at new york and think, “what exquisite agony, because i had my work to focus on, and my friends at work to keep it fun, and i could spend hours in central park, and order pizza and lay on the couch, and no one had to know.” i don’t quite know what the idea is here. perhaps the lesson to learn is that every stage of life is full of comforts.

certainly here, while i’m still unemployed, i can wake up whenever i want, lay around the house, go to the library, go get lunch, go for a walk around the neighborhood, and eventually catch up with someone for a drink or dinner or a night out. i think it’s not that i don’t have plenty of life’s comforts here in australia, it’s more like learning how to translate another language into the words you didn’t realize you knew all along.

and the more of this new life i continue to translate, the more i answer the question, “what am i doing in australia?” right now, today, i’m translating. i’m learning the language so i can start to speak it quite fluently, and soon, discover that it always made sense.

i just had to keep with it. even if that requires a fair bit of analyzing. obviously, the question, “what am i doing in australia?” is far simpler than the answer. there will be dozens of answers, as i will discover a year or so from now. so maybe i could just accept the analyzing. it’s my purpose.

i came to australia to analyze everything.

even that thing you said.

we have loaded up your eyes and fed you tangerines

my apologies for the disappearing act. i may well have lost all of you, but my flight path led me briefly astray. or something pertaining to this whole metaphor of me flying (south).

i won't waffle on forever with this one, but at least give a brief update on where things are, now a scant month and a half into australia. the short of it is i've moved into my own place, with my new roommate ivy, who's the best thing next to two-for-one drink specials and bartenders with a heavy pouring hand. i don't have a job yet, but i have been going out a fair bit, and taking regular vodka baths in public, much to my eventual embarrassment the next morning in bed (and sometimes, even my own bed...). champagne may have proven herself to be quite capable, but nobody knows me like vodka knows me.

there is drama. there's always a bit of drama.

i admittedly hit a weak spot about a week or so ago, where it seemed i was really swimming in the question, "what am i doing here?" and quite privately, whispered to myself the possibility of just packing it all in and going back to new york. but clearly, that is when you should most assuredly stay put, because that means the life lessons have arrived for the learning. i'm never having the nervous breakdown i like to claim i'm having (i have admitted in the past, in regards to other topics but certainly applicable here, that i can talk a big game) but as my mother said on the phone last night, "you're always the most surprised of anyone by your ability to be just fine."

fair enough.

give me a good twenty-four hours to realign, and i'll have something solid for you. the good news is that i think the emotional dust has settled, and while there is a bit of bs going on in other fields, it's certainly nothing that's got me laying on the kitchen floor playing with the dust bunnies.

it appears we are touching down with a relatively smooth landing.

but he's got the worst taste in music, if i didn't know this i'd lose it

as entirely tempting as it is to spend this post recounting the drunken antics of this weekend (with some largely unflattering picture proof floating about on facebook now), i think i can sum it up in one photo:


everything else can go unexplained for now, but suffice it to say, i've decided to remember it all as "shame-pagne weekend." (do note the bottle in hand is not my lovely assistant, vodka.) at least with vodka, i remember much of what i did, no matter how embarrassing, over the top, or trashy. champagne is clearly just fancily-served rohipnol, as there are large chunks of time i do not remember, and actions i hardly recall but in retrospect, maybe wouldn't have done. though, the good news is...i could have done a lot worse. (and in nights past, certainly have.) i guess i have a fair bit of time left here in australia to break my old records. or maybe reclaim my dignity.

but let's not get distracted by the main course here. it's been a heavy couple of posts lately, i think, trying to chronicle this transition. i've made some mention of the food, the weather, the people, the general shifting of tectonic plates in my life. the picture also speaks to the clothing (yes, look at that vest and deep v-neck shirt--and not from h&m, it's a brand new feeling), but what about the music? more specifically, what about australia's terrible taste in music.

now, i don't genuinely mean that. i think from a new york--hell, a general american--point of view, it might be considered terrible. not quite as bad as much of europe (david hasselhoff, et al), but one of the things that surfaces as the jetlag fades when you first arrive down under is the reigning royalty of kylie minogue. and the almost historic reverence for abba. and all the remixes!

naturally, i'm in heaven.

i had forgotten how permissive australia was about, truly, my own terrible taste in music. as i mentioned in an earlier post, i am generally ten steps behind everyone else on the path towards coolness when it comes to music, and often get sidetracked in a glut of remixes, which i reckon is much like an audio k-hole. what a relief, in this case, to be out of new york and in a country so far from the rest of civilization that marches to the beat of its own drum (machine).

say hello to some of the latest additions to my ipod:



to say nothing about the homoerotic overtones of the video, i've grown quite fond of the presets, with what seems to be standard fare in oz, a good electronic base to their music. but this song ("this boy's in love") totally wins me over with the melodrama of that plinking piano and the wailing vocals.



this song will always remind me of australia, even if the singer is swedish. this song is so australian. feel free to search for remixes of september's "cry for you," and you can get a sense of the newest playlist in my itunes.



i had heard of these girls before, the veronicas, but this song ("untouched") totally won me over. throw some well-placed strings in a pop song, and i'm sold like a used car. it's one of those songs that feels almost anthemic when you've got couple drinks in you. which, sometimes, i do.



this is currently huge in australia. i'd never heard of sneaky sound system before, but "kansas city" is growing on me. it's just one of those songs, with all that electronica and the 90s dance-pop vocals, that wouldn't seem to go anywhere in new york except buried in a remix. the video's fucking weird, too.



i know, i know, totally drinking the kool-aid here, but it's a rite of passage if you're going to live in australia. you have to sort of actually like kylie, too. and i have to say, the song ("the one") totally works, and the video's pretty. also about as soul-stirring as a gospel choir when you're drunk on champagne and dancing on a podium at 1 am. or so i hear...

and finally, because i think it's only appropriate, my latest musical obsession. it is, of course, an abba remix. with a bonus: check out the brilliant answering machine message at the beginning. and then sink into musical bliss.




feel free to watch the original video and song as well. feel free to fall in love.