so there's this girl i know, right? and she has had a whole week off uni in which to write an english essay that's due on tuesday. so, you say? that's like 400 days away. and whatever happened to doing english essays the night before? i mean, that's pretty common, right?
well yes.
but.
this girl i know, she's going away tomorrow to have a brilliant long weekend away with tents full of awesome people and a line-up of awesome bands. so, you say? whatever happened to doing english essays the night before?
well yes, that's pretty common.
but.
this weekend will involve hours of sugar-fuelled skanking (possibly in a mini-skirt, even though it's freezing) combined with a distinct lack of sleep.

oh.
so this girl i know, who is actually me, still has half a volume of mary shelley's frankenstein to finish reading before she/i can even consider writing said essay.
which means she/i will begin writing the night before it's due.
which, as we've covered, isn't that unusual an occurrence. except this time she/i will sit down on monday night having had, ooh, about ten hours sleep over the last three nights. if she's lucky. i mean, if i'm lucky. whatever.

the point is i'm a loser and this week has been one of the least productive of my life because i am a lazy somethingorother.
but i still can't focus on the last few chapters of frankenstein coz i'm too excited about the weekend.

look at me look at me

i got a digital camera

be prepared to feel like the paparazzi are following you when you hang out with me next. there'll be a lot of flashes.

ariel just said that it's like we're in the army and she's right

except that people in the army get treated better

and they get paid for their work

lauren is a beautiful writer and you should all read her latest post because she tells my story in telling her story.


i haven't returned the sheet music i borrowed from church yet.
i forgot to bring catrina her makepovertyhistory band so many times that she bought one at a cd store.
i neglect my family, partly out of an attempt at self-preservation, but also partly because i can be lazy this way.
i don't swim anymore because i'm frightened about what the coach will say about my body, or even just how he will look at me with a smirk.
i wish i was confident enough to forgo make-up every morning.
i'm a flirt.
i am scared of my ego inflating so i don't pursue opportunities to sing more.
i am jealous of the people i love most.
i don't know how to cook, nor do i make any effort to learn.
i'm petrified of looking stupid, so i make a big joke out of my occasional blonde moments.
i want to be a writer, but i'll never believe in myself enough to sit down long enough to churn out anything decent.
i still want to be famous sometimes.
i am not happy with distinctions, and yet given the amount of work i'm doing lately distinctions are more than i deserve.
i spend more time listening to music than i do reading my bible some days.
i fall in love with anyone who shows me affection.
i think there's something wrong with me but i can't bring myself to tell someone who could help.
i am a burden.

all dressed up and nowhere to...

i got my hair done today so it is all blowdried and styled and coloured and cutted and i bought a beautiful dress today and i put it on at home with my white heels and my fake pearls and i felt pretty

the end

i got some mail today.

on thin green airmail paper i got a beautiful letter from basil in uganda with drawings of a truck and a soccer ball and people/chickens and upside-down ice-creams on skateboards.


on my laptop screen i got a rather scary email from the coordinator of my university course.

why scary?

1. i've never given my gmail account to the university, so i have no idea how she got it
2. anyway, normally university emails are sent to my university account
3. well, our coordinator is scary at the best of times
4. and especially when she's sending me email to an account she shouldn't know exists
5. the one-word contents of the email were disturbing in a 'i'm stalking you' kinda way

so what did she have to say?

"hi"

that's all.
nothing else.
well? anyone got any brilliant theories as to what's going on in her head? should i change my name and hide out in the blue mountains? should i drop out of uni?
should
i
reply?

it's like god is filling the sky just for me.
it's like he's announcing his glory even more brightly than usual.

today in english class this quiet pretty blonde girl who hasn't spoken a word all semester did a brilliant presentation on virginia woolfe's to the lighthouse. since i don't do readings i haven't a clue what to the lighthouse is about, but this girl's presentation was even interesting just as a study in rhetoric. i wrote down all these beautiful phrases she used, most of them off the cuff, all over my sheet
disconcerting and fascinating
brief eternities
a succession of moments that collapse into one another
shapes and light and darkness
beauty is feeling
she even managed to say stuff like decay and erosion of time without sounding stupid. she spoke with the confidence of a closet poet. hiding away linguistic gems and locking the door, but always knowing the value of what she's keeping from the world.
i bet she's a far more eloquent writer than any of the outspoken kids in my class (including me).

oh so belinda and i totally worked out what i'm looking for in a guy
and promptly decided that he doesn't exist

i'm thinking about letting my fringe grow out so long it covers my whole face (better pimple coverage than clearasil and a step up from a paper bag). i'd have to cut holes in my fringe so my red glasses can poke through and so i can, you know, see. but ashleigh pointed out that the glasses-shaped holes would move down as my hair grew. albeit at a very very very very slow rate since i've been growing my hair for approximately one bajillion years and it's still only just past my shoulders. i guess i'd just keep cutting it until eventually the fringe had this enormous hole in the middle of it. except then that would defeat the purpose because you could see my pimples in all their glory anyway. besides which i have this weird spasm of a kink on the right side of my fringe which looks like a loser at the best of the times let alone if it were allowed to grow cousin it style.
so i guess i'll stick to getting my fringe cut back next week.

the restless nights
the off-key singalongs
the rain
the sun
the synchronised rock-throwing
the squashed quarters of the girls' tent
the charred marshmellows
the campfire smell
the eggs in toast
the red christian cordial
the giggling in the backseat of the bus
the peacocks showing off

the youth group weekend away couldn't have been better.

i've got an aversion to certain punctuation marks especially commas at the moment and it means everything comes across all year three kid's grammar homework. welcome to the degeneration of the englissh language.

i wonder if one day the vague understanding i have of aristotle's polis will mean anything. maybe one day i'll be in some NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCE IN WHICH TERRORISTS WILL HAVE ME ON A TIMER AND I HAVE TO RACE ACROSS THE CITY TO FIND THE KIDS THEY'VE KIDNAPPED BEFORE THE BOMB EXPLODES AND ONE OF THE CLUES THEY'VE LEFT FOR ME UNDER A BENCH IN A PUBLIC PARK ASKS WHAT IS THE NATURE OF ARISTOTLE'S POLIS AND HOW DOES IT COME INTO BEING AND I WILL BE ABLE TO ANSWER AND SAVE THE DAY AND THE CAMERA WILL PAN IN CLOSE AND I WILL LOOK PRETTIER THAN I DO IN REAL LIFE.

oh wait that's just some bad action film i saw.

you know that feeling you get when a song just lifts and transports you up, not into fluffy clouds or over a rainbow or anything, but definitely up somewhere
when the chorus comes in and grabs you like a hug from a friend you haven't seen in ages
when you cant help but close your eyes because the feeling is just too intense

"if you like my freestyle

then check out what i wrote"

there once was a girl who tripped in love. while all the other girls fell in love, dainty, graceful, self-assured, wistful, calm, this girl tripped down love's stairs, bashing her head against the railing and bruising herself on every step. sometimes she'd launch herself down the stairs. sometimes she was pushed. either way, it always ended in purple and blue discolouration and a mild concussion.

every time, she'd get back up. she'd blush warm crimson and smile ruefully. she'd crawl up the bottom stairs and slowly regain her composure as she neared the top, straightening up, smoothing her skirt, tucking her hair behind her still slightly red ears. smiling. pretending. trying not to dream.

one day it felt different. she tripped, certainly, but she clasped the railing and, with a jolt through her arm muscles, stopped tumbling down.

she started to make more of an effort. she wanted to be subtle about it, so she just wore mascara on one eye on the first day. she practiced different colours at home, and the next day felt confident enough to wear mascara on both eyes. once self-conscious of the natural blush of her cheeks, she now painted them with blush. once concerned her hair remained in place, she now twirled strands loose from behind her ear, reddened now not by embarrassment, but by its close cousin: infatuation.


(i don't know what happens next.)

i want to want it to be all about you.
i want you to want it to be all about me.
i want us together to know what it's all really about.

on saturday i stepped on a thumb tack when i was working. an ugly, fested little tack so rusty it had started rotting away. it was gross and it hurt. i thought my foot was going to fall off. my mum informed me that i had seventy-two hours to live. but i called my doctor and he promised i have a bit longer than that. presuming, i guess, i don't get hit by a bus or fall off a cliff or whatever.

despite the toe thing i had a rad time at bizzos that night. slc played and they are the phat. incredibly tight and energetic, just like the hot pink slc dinosaur-with-an-eyepatch tee i bought. except less tight and...yeah, less energetic. so actually not like that at all. i got to hang out with mah crew (that's you esther and spally etc) and also with nat, the guitarist from slc.



five reasons nat is hardcore and cool enough to be my friend:
1. he just ignored the two
strings he broke during the
show
2. he did interpretive dance
with me in the middle of bizzos
with all the pretty shire girls
in heels looking on in muted
surprise
3. he used to have dreads, and
if he poses right i can pretend
he still does
4. he drove straight from the
gig on sunday twelve hours to
his workplace the next morning.
his workplace being a law firm.
in melbourne.
5. oh. i didn't think this far
ahead.

i met lots of fun kids actually. i bonded tight like glue with this chick called steph. we talked about access denied and assorted otherness in maccas at 1.30am, and she accidentally touched my breasts like three times. which, you know, is always good for growing friendships. and stuff.

sometimes i try really hard to write a nice happy pretty post about all the good stuff. like a nice happy pretty skinny blonde chick with sand in her hair and paint on her toe-nails. i try to paint toe-nails and insert grains of sand knowing that as soon as i post something raw and angsty (a converse-footed, black makeuped chick) i will regret it. and when i scroll back over my entries i will skip it and cringe a little in my head. embarrassed, and guilty, because god is incomprehensibly good. if i wasn't so ridiculously self-involved i'd know this more fully.


i feel like there's a pillow in my head.
i feel like i shouldn't say what i feel.
i'm sorry i'm not cooler
like a cucumber
i'm sorry my temperature isn't steady and my feet aren't fixed and firm
i'm sorry i need so much
i'm sorry i don't bottle it up and pack it into crates at the back of my head anymore.

i have a friend called karthik who says he's not complicated but he totally is. tonight he talked my ear off about his issues which was cool because
a.) it was just cool
b.) my mouth is really hurting from (suspected) wisdom teeth trying to break through my gums like a little army of somethings with miniature pitchforks they enthusiastically bash against the right side of my mouth sending shock waves through to my neck and ear. suffice to say it's pretty damn painful to talk, so i was happy to listen.

when i pay karthik out he always says 'shuuuut up' all drawn out and it's hilariously funny and cute for some reason. sometimes he alternates 'shuuuut up' with 'shuush' because they're his two great come-backs.

he says he's apt and wisdomful and that he's the nicest person ever in the history of ever.

tomorrow is spally's birthday and since we are twins we are going to rock up to the gig with brown tshirts and pigtails and look heaps hot. hot like the sun. hot like pancakes. hot like johnny depp, except in a more feminine kinda way.

the plan

so tonight phil picked me up and whisked me away to his house after giving me a comic he'd drawn for me and a card for my birthday. which, yes, was months ago, but phil's way better than me at maths and he said it was my birthday so i believed him. he cooked us garlic bread and this cheese stuff i always forget the name of and caesar salad and steak diane and made me a strawberry daiquiri. then he played me a song from the movie amelie and other miscellaneous pianoing goodness. then we played this bongo drum game that i was insanely bad at. then he showed me pictures of the time he got bitten by a blue bottle. then we listened to michael jackson and the idea of north and alicia keys. then we had pancakes because they're my favourite with chocolate-covered strawberries that are also my favourite with chocolate icecream that is phil's favourite. then we went to see vera at the cafe she works at and phil had a lemonade spider while i felt a bit sick because i was so full i looked pregnant. and we listened to mel torme on the way home and he sounds different on every song he sings but in a good way. we sang along to 'bewitched' and it was cool to know that someone else my age knows all the words to that song.

the plan

was

the phat.

this is my newest friend. his name is basil and he lives in a rural area of uganda. he will be eight years old on the fifth of october, and he's in year one. he likes ball games, and he likes maths. his father is a day labourer and doesn't have regular work, and he struggles to provide for his family. his mother is a housewife. basil helps out by caring for the animals.


uganda is a land-locked country in east-central africa. its history is blackened by colonialism, ruthless authoritarianism, economic mismanagement, civil war, and conflict with sudan.
most ugandans live in rural areas. housing varies from square mud-walled buildings or grass-thatched huts in the countryside, to concrete block or brick homes with tin roofs in towns. contaminated water and inadequate sanitation are problems for the poor.
much of the population does not have access to health facilities.
wages of most people have not kept pace with price increases, and families need several income-producing activities to make ends meet.
as many as 1.4 million ugandans were living with hiv/aids by 2001. the epidemic has orphaned over two million children, and placed major strains on scarce resources.
uganda continues to struggle with high levels of debt. while uganda was able to increase government spending on education and health as a result of debt relief, its indebtedness continues to effect the availability of social services. if uganda is to meet the internationally-agreed millennium development goals, it will need total debt cancellation as well as significant increases in aid.

help change lives

train etiquette is quite absurd when you think about it. the way no seat is left bum-free, and yet there might as well only be one bum there because everyone pretends to be alone, ignoring everyone else. we sit. staring out the window or at the graffiti on the back of the chair in front or eyes closed to contain the beats inserted into our minds through little white earphones. or flipping through the telegraph. or struggling with the enormous pages of the herald. or highlighting furiously in an attempt to finish several hours of university readings in twenty minutes.
anything to keep us occupied. anything to disassociate ourselves from the guy with the lime-green bumbag, from the business-suited dude speaking loudly into his mobile phone, from the girl in too-tight jeans and a pink trucker hat.
why is it ok to deny the existence of the others in our carriage? not just ok--socially appropriate. i can't even admire the earrings of the trucker hat girl, for instance, because it's rude to even glance at her. yet if i was to meet her at uni, say, then i would be expected to introduce myself and excel at small talk...i'd probably even tell her that i like her earrings.
but on a train, she remains trucker hat girl. nothing more. and in fact, if i'd been doing my job properly i wouldn't have looked up as she sat down heavily on a nearby seat. i wouldn't have noticed her at all.
it's like trains are somehow separate from the outside world. like the world can't see through their windows, and like those inside them can't see each other. every morning i see ladies doing their make-up in between stations. reddening their cheeks and plumping up their eyelashes. for some reason it doesn't matter if the people on the train see them with bare faces, as long as their office colleagues see the painted version.
oh. wait.
people on trains are supposed to ignore each other.
so i shouldn't have noted their rouge brushes.
i should have been busy denying the fact that humans are social beings, like everyone else was.

when i got off the train today and headed to the escalator, i couldn't be bothered to walk up the right side and so i leaned on the left-hand railing and waited while it chugged up a level. the people who chose to walk up looked really funny like zombies and it was probably because toby was talking about zombies last night, but still. as they filed past me their arms were by their sides, their leg muscles moving mechanically and their faces stony and forward.