i can feel myself grow older
inch by inch, creeping up in maturity.
sure, i still stay up too late and say stupid words like 'rad' and jump around in mosh pits and get excited over pretty shoes and revel in the irresponsibility afforded by independence
nonetheless
i can feel myself getting taller with wisdom.

but wisdom is a shadowy beast.
it shows itself most clearly through someone else's rear-view mirror.

and clarity, even misplaced, likes to assume its identity
put on its mask
dress itself up
new-found certainty, some decision made, can masquerade as wisdom effortlessly. seamlessly. boastfully.
and you are left to wait til you're seated in the passenger seat of a friend's car before you can tell the two apart.

i'm scared.
but i think i've already decided.

necklaces piled several inches high, cds scattered across my desk, scraps of paper on the floor. shoes escape their boxes and life is crowded.

today i'm doing what i felt like doing last night. sitting around in a black band tee and pink pajama pants, letting my body mould into the shape of my chair. the cat empire wrote an anthem for this, and it was called 'nothing.' oh, sweet, nothing. last night, being the hardcore party animal i totally like fully completely am OH YEAH i went to see the whitlams at the metro. buying the ticket was an exercise in nostalgia (and in torturing my depressed bank account). getting there was an exercise in blistering feet and sleepy eyes. being there was amazing music and a captivating tim friedman, dulled by the fact that i felt like an old woman wishing for her rocking chair. not that i even know what it feels like to be an old woman wishing for her rocking chair. not that i even know that old women wish for rocking chairs. i mean, they could be the hardcore party animals for all i know. maybe that's why i'm not hardcore enough on certain saturday nights, because it's all a big myth and actually you get more party animalish as you get wrinklier.

anyway.

it was cool but now's sunday and summer has been kidnapped by rainy minions. that so doesn't make sense but i like the idea of little watery minions running around stealing the sunlight.

i am all about words.

i say a lot of them, i think a lot of them, and sometimes they get transferred as ink on a page or fingerprints on a keyboard.

too many words can be painful.
that extra verse of cliches ruining the whole song.
someone just having to fill the silence with small talk.
a head swamped with confused noise late at night.
the mingling of voices, the overlay of gossip and conversation, on the school bus.
saying things you never meant to say to those you love most.
hour-long lectures on coleridge and wordsworth.
the sweet nothings whispered to someone else.
the plot spoilers accidentally spilt by friends.

too few words can be disastrous.
not saying what you mean, feel, think, need, hope, love, hate, desire.
living behind your eyes, locking yourself up in that space inside your head.
never letting someone step in and help you figure yourself out.
another person getting in before you.
dreaming hypothetically.
forgetting the lyrics when you're on stage clutching a microphone.
keeping all your secrets to yourself.
the gems of genius prisoner to your fear.

coming home
is an empty house, a silent laptop, a messy room, and the sick taste of it being over.

i feel like my head is just a bit too light. it lolls around, threatening to roll off my neck. i'm listening to pop music because it's about that word that i just don't understand. i'm unpacking my bags because there's no choice. i'm keeping it all a secret because there's something wonderful about that intense privacy.

so much happened this week, relaxing on the central coast. and yet when we dropped mat home it felt like we had never left his tree-filled suburb. where did four days go? they disappeared in nights spent lying on trampolines staring at a brooding sky, and days sitting on and covered with the sand. i remembered some things this week. how much i love the beach, how natural it is for me to swim. what it means to whittle away hours. how amazing jeff buckley is. how childish adults can be. where my identity rests, secure and whole and deep.

and i learnt some things this week. most of them in a darkened room in the early hours of this morning. that being almost asleep is a beautiful sensation. how silence can build up and spill over and uncover everything. what clarity means, or could mean. how much i like your hand on my arm. what it means to feel protected. what i need to think through, and why.

i hate packing.

but at least in every fold of a tshirt and every pull of a zipper there is the excitement and the anticipation of the time ahead, the growth, the fun.

and hell, just getting away.

so i guess it's better than unpacking, which is filled only with smelly clothing needing washing and the sad, heavy fumes of the end of the vacation and the return to a room that needs cleaning and a family that needs a team of psychiatrists.

but i'm not very good at packing. i mean sure, i can squish clothes in with the best of em. em being them professional clothes squishers. um. but i can fold and tuck and organise and cross off items on a mental list. nonetheless, i don't work well with fitting my life (and by life i mean wardrobe) into a bag that seems to get smaller and smaller every time i go away. cos, like, i do this thing where i don't wear less than two tops. i'm all about the layering, baby.

exhibit a: and yes, this habit of mine means that i have to pack about fifteen tops for a four-day vacation. if i were better at maths, i'd work out the average of tops per day. it's a lot, that i can assure you.

also i'm not good at making decisions. where are we going for lunch, alix? i don't know, it's up to you. what do you want to do next, alix? i don't know, it's up to you. want to jump off this bridge, alix? i don't know, it's up to...oh. what clothes are you going to wear for the next four days, alix? and then my brain explodes like an exploding brain.

it's all about the options, you see. i like to keep mine open. wide, wide open. like my eyes when there's chocolate in the general vicinity. so i tend to bring more outfits than it is humanely possible to wear in the period of time i'm going away. even counting my penchant for layering. i mean, you have to count for the different weather possibilities, right? so hot semi-hot warm semi-warm cool semi-cool cold semi-cold freezing semi-freezing. and then, you want to have a bit of choice in there, you know? like, you don't want to be feeling like wearing a green top on wednesday and find only red, pink and purple pouring out of your bag.

it's a very important thing to consider. i'm serious. it really is!

exhibit b:

told you i was serious. and apparently kinda angry. anyway.

so basically it's the night before i go away and i haven't started packing. because i hate packing.

my life is too scintillating for me.

that totally relaxed clean slate deep breathing thing hasn't quite happened yet, but nonetheless the last few days have been pretty awesome. i am better than i have been in months, perhaps all year. if i were a graph i'd have shot up exponentially. if i were a mood ring i'd be stuck on happy. if i were love i'd be requited. if i were a mixtape i'd be a masterpiece.

late nights. best friends laughing in the front seat with the sun piercing through the windscreen. new shoes. sitting on comfy chairs talking about boys i mean life. architecture in helsinki. chocolate and berry pancakes. winning at connect 4 because my opponent forgot you had to connect 4 to win. losing at mario kart. lying in bed reading late at night. clicking 'online' instead of 'busy' on msn messenger. sleeping in til 2pm. embarrassing myself. buildings being broken down at the last crying out loud gig ever. those are a few of my favourite things.

one day, like today, a pink shoed girl caught the bus to the shopping centre and met quite possibly the two most beautiful friends in the big round watery thing, like the world.*

two pairs of shoes,
two cds,
one dress
and one belt later,
her bank account wept as she grinned at the four months that lay before her.


*alix is a suck up, especially to beautiful people. like spally and bel.

today i had my last exam for this year. the last half an hour i kept catching myself thinking about going shopping tomorrow and then eating pancakes and drinking cocktails on thursday then everything else that is wonderful and is encapsulated by the term 'summer holidays'
whoever invented them rocks
now i say, imagine if adam and eve hadn't sinned and we didn't have to work and life was one big long summer holiday?
anyway
time's up and pens down and i was leaning back and letting it soak in
and pretending my hand doesn't feel broken
then i walked over to broadway and bought four fiction books
being the total nerd that i am wanting to readreadread as soon as uni's done
no pressure/essays/exams/lectures/readings til march!

i am a little kid told to sitstillbequiet
i am a tourist edging in to get a better view
i am a rockstar waiting for my curtain to rise
i am a business woman rushing and running late

this time tomorrow, i'll be scrawling all over life with bright rose coloured crayons.

i've got a story to tell but it's been hidden by layers of mildly interesting facts on the spanish civil war.
it's deep.
it's meaningful.
it will change your life.
at least, it would if i could remember it.

one day it will all flood out of me when there's no civil war bearing on my mind
and then i will make dollars grow on trees
and you will want my autograph (i will still put a star or a heart over the 'i' of alix)
but then i'll realise that i'm being a loser
and give it all to charity

and that story will mean nothing. i will still like grapefruit juice and dislike soft drinks. i will still sing at church and i will still send my friends long emails. i will still be me and He will still deserve to be capitalised and this world will still be spinning, each morning one closer to the last morning, when He will return.

have you ever turned a conversation over and over in your head? not been able to help making it muddier and messier with every turn?

have you ever waited for a message and felt dejection cloud your heart as the minutes try to sneak past?

have you ever found yourself laughing a little too loudly, just to trip on a bad mood the next step?

have you ever doubted your sanity?
doubled over in self hatred?
found yourself wishing instead of praying?
smothered yourself in self pity?
tried to ignore the feeling of being absolutely alone?
wanted a fantasy?

there's a song that i can't hear without thinking of you. youyouyou in the first two notes of that chordal progression. those airy high notes (i normally hate airy high notes). those cliched lyrics (i normally hate cliched lyrics). it's not your fault. i happened to buy the cd around the same time you started living nearer to me and my emotions became a washing machine. but every time i hear this song i feel like maybe god's finger is on my shoulder. and he's pushing me in a certain direction. up and down at the same time. as low as the bottom notes of the bass line, as high as air.

the lyrics don't quite fit, you know. i like to reinterpret them, twist them in my head so they make sense for me and you. tidy up the edges and tuck in the folds. force them into that weird shape we have going for us.

it's the sentiment. maybe, i don't know, it's right for this. it could equally be wrong, but at least at the moment i'm ticking the first box, with a confidence i almost feel. and sometimes, you know, i play that song on repeat. test it out, harmonize to the chorus. you'd be glad to know i don't dance along to it in my room or anything. it's not as if there's much of the driving drum beats variety in there. but track eleven is getting a little worn out from all this spinning around.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANDY!

i am half way through my exams
i found an unopened pack of highlighters on the floor
i get to take a boy shopping on wednesday and dress him up
and i am totally relaxed.

i found the books i needed at the library
i got to hang out with some of my favourite people today
i can feel summer's warmth filling me from the toes up
and i have so many plans.

and for fun, a couple of shots i took of ash at blackstump. (nothing recent because my digital is not working. a tale of annoying, let me tell you.)

lara and alix, comedic duo extraordinaire:

so i was thinking about how my inner sanctum has grown over the last year, and how cool it is that it has. and then lara asked me what an 'inner sanctum' was.

lara: alix, what is an inner sanctum?

alix: well, you know how jesus had disciples...wait! let me finish!...like, you know how he had the inner three...

lara is in hysterics by this point and i'm like no...i mean not the whole worshipping and following part! they're like...my posse! no, not my posse... etc.

i have studied
DID SOMEONE SAY ALIX HAS STUDIED?

i spent a ridiculous amount of time today writing notes for my media exam tomorrow. about stupid people who don't believe there is a reality.

which prompts me to ask
does the mark i get in the exam tomorrow actually exist?
is tomorrow even going to happen?

so when i regurgitate this stuff tomorrow i'll be smirking on the inside because if i actually believed it i would fail
because i wouldn't study
or sit the exam
or go to university
i'd get all hairy and fat sitting in a dark corner rocking back and forth and possibly eating potato chips. and feel sorry for myself until i die quietly a decrepit shadow suffocated by my own beliefs.

well isn't that depressing.

taking the first sip of a too-hot hot chocolate.
i love my drinks when they burn my throat, because it always seems to be a little sore lately.
getting calls from private numbers.
who is it going to be?
depositing money into my bank account.
because it means i haven't spent it.
listening to a new cd on repeat for days.
at the moment it's jem, and it's a stunning range of emotions.
getting dressed up, wearing heels.
i'm such a stupid girl.
lunches that go for hours.
luxurious, open conversation. just being me.
my sisters coming to me for advice.
a rare, precious thing.

deductive arguments:
valid conditional arguments contain as premises a conditional statement and the affirmation or denial of one of its conditions, i.e. conditional and non-conditional premises
if p then q
p__________
therefore, q
(affirming the sufficient, standard form one--valid)
e.g. if i really care so much then i'm falling for you
i really care so much (i think)
i'm falling for you?

wait
oh.

i'm eating nutella straight from the jar.
things are not good.

when i was younger i used to sneak spoonfuls of nutella and feel really rebellious. i'd tiptoe. i'd open the pantry door reeeally slooowly so it wouldn't creak too loud. i'd grab the nutella and select a large silver spoon, heap it on there. close the lid up quickly. look around furtively, rush back to the pantry, put it back in as it was before (angle, label to the front, positioning next to the honey). then i'd tiptoe back to my room.

i used to do it because i really liked nutella and i felt like eating it and i could get away with it because i was young and growing fast and developing a six-pack from all the training i did for swimming. as i got older, and i matured to stealing bacis and lindt balls, the silver spoons were left lying in the drawer. lately i've been avoiding the pantry like i do mathematics. avoiding the fat like i avoid things that make me feel stupid. because it's just not good for me.

but you have the ability to make me feel like a speck of dust. you murder me with your words. you cut me down and empty me, tip me out til i'm dry. you despise me; you make me despise myself (more and more). i feel like the least likeable person in the world. the worst daughter. the most hopeless. useless, pathetic. twenty years old and utterly incompetent. alwaysdoingeverythingwrong. neverdoinganythingright. no hope. idiot.

so now i've taken the entire jar of nutella and i'm staring at half-finished philosophy notes while i mechanically spoon small swirls of it into my mouth. even though i vowed to stop eating crap because i have to wear a bikini in less than two weeks. even though i don't really want it. even though the brown goo doesn't make me feel better. i'm scraping the jar. i'm scraping the edge of self-loathing. i'm desperate to understand what i'm doing here and what i should be and for whom.

Like is Love's best friend.
They met in kindergarten,
fought in year three,
grew closer in high school,
braided each others' hair,
copied each others' homework,
and dreamt similar dreams.
Like looks like Love.
Sometimes she dresses
just like her deliberately,
to see who she can fool,
who she can confuse,
to try to see what it's like to be
a little taller, smarter, prettier.
Because Love is
(and always was)
a little better than Like.

lara and alix are sitting together at the kitchen table. mum has just come home and is in the kitchen. lara has been home alone all day talking on msn i mean doing her assignments.

mum: lara, have you eaten nothing but wheat all day?

lara looks at me guiltily.

lara [whispered]: is chocolate wheat?



sif my sister isn't the COOLEST EVER.

so i should be studying, but...
lara
belinda
kerensa

if you want me to make you one, comment! :)

can i just say that i dislike cricket. it's this long drawn out game dudes play in the middle of the day in white vests and long pants so apart from the sweltering factor there's the oops now i have a green bum of grass stains factor. and channel nine plays it all day everyday for YEARS AND YEARS and they do replays with choirs singing in the background and all it is is some guy throwing a ball kinda fast/hitting a ball kinda hard. and then they have greying experts in suits come in and talk rantrantrant.

i personally would prefer the midday movie, especially the ones from the early nineties with all the characters wearing hideous high jeans and midriff tops and flouncing around with fluffy hair.

today i was looking through one of those which bikini suits your body-type magazine special things. curvy? nuh. petite? judging by the number of guys i know who are my height...nuh. pear-shaped? nuh. the only one left is athletic.
argh.
they don't have one for people who used to be athletic in shape and in lifestyle and who are now seriously contemplating applying for the australian edition of the biggest loser because even their friends call them morbidly obese.
not even a little side panel.
or a little handy hint.

full head-to-toe coverage is looking like a good option this summer.

oh summer, how beautiful you are.
you burn my neck as i walk to newtown to get thai.
you let me wear my new skirt.
you entice me to the swimming pool, and cheer me on for another four kilometers.
you bring the flies. they try to kill me.
ok so that's not such a good point.
you make me happy, because skies aren't grey.

my new favourite poemm, my new favourite desire.

one (just one) day i want (really i do) to be real for you (who?)

do you think that we get a little carried away? that we see the endless rotation of bright images on the screen and forget they're unattainable? and then we get botox or at least foundation and wear wigs or at least dye our hair and get liposuction or at least go to the gym. in the name of impossibility. in the name of a plasticity we should hate. in the name of a perfection we're already blessed with.