tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19494787935235516102012-01-26T19:57:30.478+10:00Launch your vessel, And crowd your canvas, And, ere it vanishes Over the margin, After it, follow it, Follow The Gleam.Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.comBlogger6241100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-21445441481506089312012-01-26T13:14:00.000+10:002012-01-26T13:14:02.166+10:00

It's hot today, the first time in a week where the rain hasn't pelted down and I'm loving the heat. Usually I would take soft, cool greyness any day, but Australia Day needs to be hot. Sweaty and glowing, listening to the Hottest 100 and BBQs sizzling in the background. When I was a teenager my friends and I used to drive out to a waterfall in a national park with a deep pool and blast the

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-57926565208559272012-01-20T15:02:00.000+10:002012-01-20T15:02:09.232+10:00

This time three years ago I was sitting in a large lecture theatre with my notes in a perspex folder as I listened. In front of me, nestled in my lap was the beginnings of my belly, that would continue to swell for the next few weeks as the Possum grew. I was no longer a student, and yet sitting there in the lecture theatre, I may as well have been, and life was not so very different to a few

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-76705051731273055102012-01-17T16:17:00.000+10:002012-01-17T16:20:48.344+10:00

It's a good thing I write these posts for me and not for the internet at large, as clearly I'm the only one appreciating them! Our last day in Bangkok was sultry and steamy as we asked the Concierge to direct a taxi driver back to the tailor where Bingley supposedly had half a suit waiting for him.It was clearly not one of the more well known tailors, as it took a lot of directions and calls

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-18314727276064009852012-01-13T21:00:00.000+10:002012-01-13T21:00:21.445+10:00

I remember reading once, that one of the therapies that they use for anxious children is to wrap them in a heavy blanket so that they're provided with deep sensation over the skin. I guess it's a sort of regression to the womb thing, where those round walls gave a defined boundary so that everything you knew could be contained within your little egg. I don't know if I was wrapped as a baby, I

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-32196354780935785092012-01-07T17:24:00.001+10:002012-01-08T13:22:44.272+10:00

After the massive day of cycling and swimming and eating we unsurprisingly slept in quite late the next morning, surfacing after the buffet breakfast had closed (oh no!) and being hungry and excited for adventure. We ate a very poor and very expensive lunch at Romsai which took forever to be served and formulated a plan for the day. All of the various websites we perused on our phones said that

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-89314475495162765032012-01-07T13:19:00.000+10:002012-01-07T13:19:35.217+10:00

We woke up after our first night in Bangkok bright and early in anticipation of the cycling tour we had booked for that day. Initially we were to be riding around the ancient kingdom of Ayutthaya to see the ruins and temples of the region, but with the floods the area was underwater and offlimits. The tour company however offered us the alternative of a 40km bike ride through the southern

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-40046261971319221002012-01-04T18:00:00.002+10:002012-01-04T21:42:06.731+10:00

It is a beautiful Summer afternoon and the sky is such a uniform unearthly shade of blue that it does not look real. There is a beautiful breeze rustling the trees and my Michael Kors ensconced feet are up on the verandah railing as I sit back and watch the world go by. Work is very very quiet this week, to the extent that I have no patients at all, so my time is mostly spent trying to wrap my

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-45824255487024564242012-01-01T11:18:00.000+10:002012-01-02T00:27:27.897+10:00

My facebook wall has exploded today, full of wishes and cheer and resolutions. Enigmatic and encouraging slogans, pictures of fitness and cheer and sparkling love in amongst the excitement of welcoming in a new year. It is a yearly tradition, and one I've participated in before. A new year, a new leaf, a new life journey to travel. Entreaties to positivity and something better these 366 days that

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-91057755768185363792011-12-25T10:41:00.000+10:002012-01-01T10:42:22.945+10:00

3 Christmas helpers on Christmas Eve Decorating the table for Christmas Eve Met with approval Dessert By candlelight The stockings were hung by the french door with care In hopes that St Nicholas soon would be there Finished Christmas dresses that I was too tired to "press" Stealing away as Santa distributed his booty Mayhem

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-80279176918812857872011-12-23T21:41:00.000+10:002011-12-23T21:41:07.631+10:00

'Twas the night before Christmas Eve when all through the house, not a creature was stirring (except the husband playing Star Wars Online and the neurotic cat). The children were nestled all snug in their beds, while visions of Pillow Pets danced in their heads. 4 hours driving today to bring my babies home and I have MISSED them. I miss them of course any time they're away, I missed them when

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-9012743806854992072011-12-20T21:56:00.002+10:002011-12-20T21:56:33.337+10:00

Is this thing still on? Maybe? So, I've not been writing much lately, as you may have noticed. Except about a holiday I took several months ago. And I still haven't finished that. Procrastination and I, we're like best friends forevah! Part of it is because I'm crazy busy and part of it's just because I'm too stubborn to write properly on here without finishing my holiday posts but at the same

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-51394782504303846882011-12-11T14:53:00.001+10:002011-12-11T16:45:01.460+10:00

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-58504613244971087952011-12-11T13:34:00.001+10:002012-01-04T21:10:07.822+10:00

That's us in the rearview mirror. We are worried we're about to die in a fiery crash... I have a confession, when we decided that we would break up our home flight by stopping over for a few days, I didn't actually care where it was. I had no burning desire for anywhere in particular really, my only half baked thought was I wanted somewhere with night markets because I love this Canon ad.

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-64717705588871410972011-12-09T12:39:00.000+10:002011-12-10T01:56:47.300+10:00

Our last full day in Paris started with breakfast in the 6th, wandering ostensibly in the direction of the Jardin Luxembourg. I was sure we were going the wrong way, but Bingley was in charge of directions for the day and so I left it up to him as we wandered through side streets and colourful alleys. After the customary tartine and oeufs we headed down yet another side street while I looked

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-76016243919930175812011-12-08T13:36:00.001+10:002011-12-08T13:40:47.179+10:00

To me the beauty of fireworks have always been that once the last ember fades gently into the night, that they are no more but for the memory held of the colour and spectacle and the ghostly wisps of smoke dancing in the heavens. I will always remember, even if every last glittering spark is long forgotten by all those who exclaimed when they were bright.

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-43591413094452526242011-12-05T20:16:00.001+10:002011-12-06T07:29:57.327+10:00

That perches in the soul, And sings the tune–without the words, And never stops-at all, — Emily Dickinson It is a truth universally acknowledged that things that are most hoped for only happen when you have truly given up all hope of them happening at all. As a hamster in the wheel of a large hospital, it was beginning to seem impossible that there would ever be anything else but feet

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-38852931929103246712011-12-04T11:09:00.001+10:002011-12-04T11:28:43.508+10:00

First weekend of December now holds two beautiful traditions - the ballet concert and of course, the tree. This is our third year of rocking up to ballet, finding our seats in the darkened auditorium and waiting for the moment when I burst into tears over tiny ballerinas in pink tutus. I wish I could show you pictures, but our ballet school prohibits photography AT ALL during performances

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-17775648068669804802011-12-01T10:53:00.001+10:002011-12-01T10:56:45.360+10:00

Sometimes it's really nice to curl up in bed and have a cry and feel sorry for a little bit, just to get it out. And then, after I've had my cry, and felt sorry for myself a little bit, it's nice to put on some music, dance around with my adorable children and remind myself, that sometimes shit happens, but seriously, it's really nice to be alive. Chill out it's alright, kiss me, it's nice

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-46815312286494445882011-11-27T16:40:00.001+10:002011-11-27T16:41:28.388+10:00

Sunday the 16th of October, after the plug debacle had been settled, started off as a brilliant sunshiny day as we wandered through the streets of St Germain and towards the Seine. Unlike the beautiful misty, mystic Sunday the week before, the streets were full of people wandering, sitting, people watching and ebbing and flowing adding colour and texture. There were street performers and

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-81796040910988277382011-11-24T09:41:00.001+10:002011-11-24T14:01:47.702+10:00

The night of my birthday, exhausted but happy, I really wanted a bath. A deep relaxing soak with lots and lots of bubbles. I had been a little disappointed on the first night in our apartment when I couldn't find the plug to the bath - a problem not common in France where the type of plugs that are usually used are not actually removable, but powered by a special knob or handle on the bath itself

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-7004174726286322442011-11-22T10:34:00.001+10:002011-11-22T11:00:55.792+10:00

When I arrived she was leaning over the bed, face blue as she gasped for breath. My entrance shepherded by the others called by the emergency page for a young woman who couldn't breathe. The mask went on, the lines went in, like a well greased machine and the clothes were ripped from her chest so that we could stick on the leads for the defibrillator. I was there when she stopped breathing, and

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-4685451684089152952011-11-15T21:54:00.001+10:002011-11-15T21:54:32.458+10:00

I could go one of two ways with this entry, I could continue on my whimsical tour guide Barbie posts, or I could talk about what it was like to turn 30 on top of the Eiffel Tower surrounded by lights. The short answer is that it was an emotional day for me, partly hormonal, but absolutely impacted by the feeling of actually being between dream and reality. I had always dreamed of Paris, of

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-91373945772146642972011-11-14T22:55:00.001+10:002011-11-14T22:58:51.836+10:00

Without doubt, that sleep was the best I'd had since arriving in France. I had found home, and my sleepy, weary body had decided finally to succumb to beautiful dreams. I woke at about 7am, just as the cool crispiness of dawn was playing with the curtains and I stretched langorously in our little white room thinking excitedly about the day ahead. I wanted to see the Louvre and had budgeted a

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-23450305664075978102011-11-12T12:24:00.001+10:002011-11-12T17:13:20.785+10:00

The next morning we woke up in our castle (will never get tired of saying that), and sleepily listened to the birds outside the window. The hum of early morning activity was settling over the house as the stairs creaked and showers were turned on in adjoining rooms. We stretched and talked about our plan for the day. I had bought a giant map of the Loire Valley with pictures of all the many (

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-41649288433681024202011-11-11T23:18:00.001+10:002011-11-11T23:34:03.951+10:00

Day 4 was the first morning that I slept beyond dawn. Whether it was the lovely plump pillows, the bed being the perfect softness, the bottle of wine or just pure exhaustion, we woke in our yellow room to see thin sunlight bouncing around the walls. My first thought, after I had thrown open the windows and gazed at the beauty outside that I had woken up in a Castle!! A real one! It was every

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-21975996490899921492011-11-11T17:53:00.001+10:002011-11-11T17:53:40.001+10:00

Predictably, I again woke before dawn and was unable to sleep longer. After watching some bad gameshows on French TV, Bingley finally awoke and we rugged up for a pre-breakfast stroll again. It was colder on this morning than previous, so we walked briskly through the deserted streets, with no particular direction in mind, just criss-crossing and exploring as we felt like it. Almost all the

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-81434288761550932642011-11-09T22:06:00.000+10:002011-11-09T22:06:57.900+10:00

After falling asleep at about 5pm in the afternoon, I awoke at midnight, confused. We had left the blinds open however, and as it struck midnight, the room began to sparkle, and I climbed out of bed to watch the Eiffel Tower effervesce, wordlessly curled up in my tiny little window watching the lights fizz and pop like an interminable glass of Champagne. When it finally stopped I got back into

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-4349302021836066632011-11-08T12:19:00.001+10:002011-11-08T20:44:06.750+10:00

As we wandered out into the misting rain, with the soft grey dawn all around us, the previous 25 odd hours of almost sleepless travel were all but forgotten. The cobblestones were hard and irregular under my feet, the air was cool and damp as it brushed my cheek and the sounds were of the breeze through the trees, loosening Autumnal leaves and swirling them to the ground. The streets were almost

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-48455190079121850762011-10-31T15:54:00.000+10:002012-01-08T11:50:01.209+10:00

The morning of our flight, the first Spring rains were lashing Brisbane. The water was sluicing across the windscreen of our new car as we packed it full of bags and coats and visited my sister's new house to see my parents briefly on their return from New York. I had barely slept the night before, excited but unbelieving of the fact that this was actually happening. After checking in for

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-17275505903394972072011-10-28T20:28:00.000+10:002011-10-28T20:28:42.094+10:00

I have been home for nearly a week now, and fully intending to update on my blog, but was never entirely sure where to start. Do I tell humorous anecdotes of silly things that happened or that I saw? Do I take the romantic route and talk about the beauty of the place? Do I tell about the tears on my birthday, or the whimsical ones on the taxi drive to Charles De Gaulle? Do I just show some of the

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-51291976216567619952011-10-07T11:30:00.000+10:002011-10-07T11:30:44.721+10:00

I might have mentioned, just once, or maybe twice, that for my 30th birthday in exactly one week and one day, that I wanted to be in Paris. I have always wanted to go, in a completely irrational, illogical, soul pulling way, but that indescribable pull has been strong in recent years. I want to be there sure, but part of me needs to be there. Playing monument bingo and eating macarons along the

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-13144190418186862882011-09-28T21:45:00.000+10:002011-09-28T21:45:35.944+10:00

There are probably strange moments in any job. I remember in my first job realising the strangeness of picking chicken off of microwaved carcasses to be chopped up for sandwiches in a tiny back kitchen. It just struck me as very very odd. But today, while jammed in an operating table that had been lowered onto my hips (now bruised), with my arm in a strange man's armpit as his arm balanced on my

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-74542293558873940132011-09-26T18:59:00.001+10:002011-09-26T19:01:27.596+10:00

I found new mosquito coils that are made of sandalwood and citronella and clay, and they are perfuming my summer. Richly sweet, rising in ghostly swirls above their tins as I laze about and look out at the lights of the city beyond. Drifting on breezes and lilting softly. Undulations of scent. My hands feel roughened and worked, my nails ragged at present. I want to dig them in superfine sand

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-85991168732193471802011-09-24T20:34:00.000+10:002011-09-24T20:34:06.750+10:00

This time in two very very short weeks I will be in a plane, somewhere over the South Pacific, wending my way towards Paris. Bingley at my side with my knees curled up in my uncomfortable tiny chair, buzzing with excitement that this dream is finally finally real. Life is very good mon choux. My hair is shining and my eyes are sparkling. I come home every night smiling. Bingley is working and

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-81887649379252403342011-09-20T22:14:00.000+10:002011-09-20T22:14:29.084+10:00

Five is such a very big number when you are a very tiny little girl. A little girl with masses of personality under the masses of hair that bounce with every step and blaze like little flames under the sun. It was 5 years ago today that I lay shocked and elated, curled up with my beautiful baby girl and wanted to do it all again. Pregnancy, birth, babies. The whole lot. Because she made me want

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-71776869072608061142011-09-18T17:04:00.000+10:002011-09-18T17:04:56.710+10:00

As befits a hazy, hot Sunday afternoon I am drifting lazily in my hammock, inhaling the sickly perfection of sun warmed jasmine and pork belly crisping in the oven. The lightest of breezes has come to play this afternoon and the three musketeers are giggling on the swings as it dances around. We went to the mountains today, wending through the forests to curl up on a mat of green and chase away

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-88731315350785932192011-09-14T21:02:00.000+10:002011-09-14T21:02:24.164+10:00

I was desperate to write these last few days, but was stymied by Telstra, the balrog of online communications, and was instead left to simmer in a steaming pot of words this last week or so. It is now 24 days until Paris and I am so excited it feels as if I am living beyond my own skin. My palpable anticipation seeping out in an electric haze, my aura lit up by a million invisible photons

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-89624870006256325062011-09-02T20:33:00.000+10:002011-09-02T20:33:54.372+10:00

I think that there is possibly nothing more beautiful then feeling air move in and out of lungs. Of lying your hand or your cheek against another's chest, and feel it rise and fall with life. The way the wind eddies in swirls through the deep passages of the core, and exhales in little puffs. On a hard day when I come home spent, I love to sneak into bed when all the lights are off and the

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-1644568471137055192011-08-18T21:53:00.004+10:002011-08-18T22:07:59.355+10:00

Polly's Underthings by jenniphil featuring christian louboutin shoes I wear matching lingerie every day.  Not just for dress ups. Not just when I'm wearing my favourite black lace dress which is a little bit like that one above. I have a drawer (or accurately two) full of beautiful sets in every colour of the rainbow. Every colour except beige. I have almost the exact set above, and I wear it

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-33710674132764862462011-08-18T21:02:00.000+10:002011-08-18T21:02:59.603+10:00

As I drove home tonight in the darkness, the wind was playing with the leaves; little flurries catching in the headlights as they twirled in the streets. It was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen.

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-33012778610495753782011-08-17T20:53:00.000+10:002011-08-17T20:53:31.221+10:00

I first realised I was an adult when I was 22 years old. It's a very distinct memory, in amongst the general slide into aging that occurs as a transition from adolescence. I was lying in bed, alone, and the Elfling was crying. I had been up to settle her probably 4 or 5 times already and I was beyond tired. Bingley was overseas working and I was completely alone and no one else was there besides

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-86712038102518223092011-08-08T22:20:00.000+10:002011-08-08T22:20:45.295+10:00

When my fingers curl softly over the wrist lying limply at the side, it's always surprising to feel the warmth. As I press against the flesh, feeling between my index and middle fingers for the thick radial pulse, there is always - always - a feeling of fleeting confusion when I can't. The heat of the skin surprises me, as if something momentous should have happened at the time of death and left

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-35571040319760031662011-08-05T22:09:00.006+10:002011-08-05T23:23:29.015+10:00

This is my current compilation of outfits for Paris. Obviously my knee boots don't have the coveted red soles (yet!) but these are approximations of the outfits I'm taking. It's fun virtual packing. And it makes me realise what things I'm missing. Like red tights (arriving soon).  I find it really hard to be miserable. So instead I look for beauty in things. And sometimes, if I'm lucky, I see

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-72423148635900046162011-08-04T23:24:00.000+10:002011-08-04T23:24:02.948+10:00

*ahem* She says as she watches the tumbleweed roll lazily across the screen, scattering dust that billows in the late sunset and windchimes tinkle mournfully on the saloon verandah... So, I've been away. You may have noticed, and you may have not. I certainly did, being as writing here has been my therapy for years. But then, suddenly it wasn't. Now just like the first time I tangoed with

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-21827088601052341042011-06-19T21:39:00.000+10:002011-06-19T21:39:53.040+10:00

Today is supposed to be orange, but I went to the mountains today and played in the forest, so it will be trees instead. I don't feel remotely guilty about cheating either. Such is my all encompassing love of trees. Driving up the mountain through the trees Blue skies and bare branches, sprigs of wattle everywhere Giggling in the sunsplashed clearings Into the forest Luminous

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-63464802458988816692011-06-18T22:04:00.002+10:002011-06-19T22:07:05.355+10:00

This is an old, pixellated photo, but I still love it. Bingley bought me those shoes as a present some years ago. They are half a size too big, and due to that are still in absolute pristine condition, and get worn pretty much only around the house when I feel the need to wear patent red stiletto heels. It's amazing how much happier you can feel with something so pretty on your feet.

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-79777594916222292712011-06-17T22:04:00.000+10:002011-06-18T22:04:57.915+10:00

This is my baby. My Asus G51J imported from the USA as they were near impossible to buy in Australia. A gaming laptop that at the time of purchase surpassed most of the PC systems that were available ready to buy. It is beautiful and I adore it. My 4th child. I feel despondent when I'm away from her. She sits on my lap every night, mostly humming softly but occasionally singing all my favourite

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-92230668357937749682011-06-16T21:29:00.008+10:002011-06-18T21:52:08.052+10:00

Long exposures are my nemesis; not being in possession of a tripod (though in desperate lust with the idea of a gorillapod). I have very steady hands, but it takes the merest fraction of movement, an inhalation at worst to cause the dreaded shakes. In Melbourne when I was taking my night shots I became increasingly frustrated with photos like this and my seeming inability to keep still enough to

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-30336634934684615632011-06-15T21:17:00.000+10:002011-06-15T21:17:36.927+10:00

The moon is so bright tonight it is hiding the stars, the sky covered in a pearlescent sheen. It was looking at that cold bright sky tonight, with my eyes blinded by tears that I decided I will never be a surgeon. I could not treat someone as an organ to be sliced and managed, and then passed on when there is nothing left to cut. I had to make a call tonight, to a girl who is still young enough

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-66106356592469755102011-06-14T21:59:00.000+10:002011-06-14T21:59:20.242+10:00

They've been my own for as long as I remember. Eyes that change colour with my moods, from watery clear green to happy brown. But always with flecks of gold, that somehow, when I am completely happy, (right down to the tips of my fingers) take over all the other colours, until they glow golden. Like the last rays at sunset before they fall behind the stars.

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-18664520121437619892011-06-13T18:05:00.000+10:002011-06-13T18:05:04.357+10:00

I am miserable today. Stupendously, wonderfully miserable. Even the pink fluffy clouds right outside my window can't bring me out of this funk. They whisper at me that dreamland is out there if only I'm willing to come out and play. And instead I huddle further into myself and blink back tears. I had a near panic attack while grocery shopping today, even while wearing my brightest and most

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-5945738389357661942011-06-12T17:13:00.000+10:002011-06-12T17:13:27.569+10:00

In weather such as this, it occurs to me that it must be a great thing to be in posession of a tail. Especially if said tail is covered in fur and optimal in length to cover your nose when you curl up in the prime position in my bed. Prime position of course being snuggled firmly into my side, as I am apparently the radiator around which my shivering family choose to congregate inside this frosty

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-14460557696858408132011-06-11T20:29:00.000+10:002011-06-11T20:29:17.579+10:00

I dreamed last night, like I have not dreamed in a long time. It was a night filled with dreams, one after another, like a movie marathon projected against my eyelids. Misty dreams and clear dreams. The last taking my breath so that I woke gasping for air and struggled to pull the thin cool greyness into my chest. It was warmer this time last year. I remember a wide purple sky and rippled water

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-80501534526256578052011-06-11T19:15:00.000+10:002011-06-11T19:15:44.858+10:00

Frankie

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-59497192038927304292011-06-10T21:06:00.001+10:002011-06-10T21:26:28.815+10:00

Staying up late on a Friday night, watching Disney movies under a mound of blankets...

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-83680938305873470262011-06-10T20:56:00.000+10:002011-06-10T20:56:33.546+10:00

I was at work late last night, and then headed out with an old friend who reminded me at 8pm that I was supposed to be meeting him for dinner. Oops. In any case, it was lucky I'd actually dressed ok that morning because I'd completely forgotten. But after being at work 13 hours I looked terrible and I smelled worse. He was gracious enough not to mention though, and it was a fun night after an

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-63901580135258967632011-06-09T21:54:00.000+10:002011-06-10T21:57:46.246+10:00

Polly is going back to highschool looking suspiciously like me as a 17 year old. Short tartan skirt, the coveted docs, the white school shirt. Messy braided hair, no make up. Big dreams and wistful fantasies. Wishing she could live in a book. Black celtic cross around her neck, ankle bells, cloisonné market jewellery and always the notebook and pencils.

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-82629659580867616462011-06-08T20:14:00.001+10:002011-06-10T19:50:32.204+10:00

Well, I have no idea what to do with this one. I have plenty of bad habits of course, but they're kind of hard to photograph. Either that or I don't think even a meme means that they ought to be captured on film. I don't shave my underarms as vigilantly as I should. My eyebrows need plucking. I am procrastinating from paperwork I should be doing and I have a bad habit of ignoring the dishes in

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-75901788620436771722011-06-07T19:25:00.000+10:002011-06-07T19:25:57.901+10:00

It was a struggle today. I am feeling off, and decided to call in sick from work, a decision that was reinforced when I came home from dropping the various children off at care and vomited followed by sleeping for 2 hours. I feel rundown, and when I dropped off the Possum, one of the carers sucked in her breath between her teeth and asked where the rest of me was. To be fair, in my skinny jeans

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-85792794717398217342011-06-06T21:51:00.001+10:002011-06-07T21:28:17.112+10:00

I have lots of beautiful architectural shots for low angles. In Melbourne I was constantly looking up. But I wanted to share these pictures of my Monkey. I love her to bits. And the camera loves her. She cut her curls the other day, in an approximation of a fringe, because they were annoying her. I nearly cried. Luckily she still has a full head of riotous Auburn.

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-36296640839415009142011-06-05T15:55:00.000+10:002011-06-05T15:55:00.274+10:00

Two photos for today's challenge. The first one I considered saving until the flower day, but I take photos of flowers every day and I'm not sure if my camellia will still be in bloom then. I love the showiness of camellias, and how easily they bruise and look slightly tawdry. They have almost no scent, are all style and no substance. The cheap red lipstick that wipes off with the first kiss.

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-13149898565475267392011-06-04T21:08:00.001+10:002011-06-04T21:10:21.237+10:00

Four seasons in one tree. I love.

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-40644032900870418752011-06-04T13:45:00.000+10:002011-06-04T13:45:52.340+10:00

April, June and November. June is a special month for me, heralded by the birth of the beautiful Possum. It is the first delicious month of Winter when the skies are painfully blue and the air stretched and thin. It is the start of two doonas on the bed and the true apreciation of warmth when everything else is cold. I planned to celebrate June with a NaBloPoMo or at least following Averil's

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-34862597270199269392011-06-03T14:41:00.005+10:002011-06-04T15:02:09.490+10:00

Unfortunately, not a single cloud in the sky today. Luckily, as an inveterate cloud stalker, there are many photos to choose from. My favourites, from the last month at least...

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-18740988665032962922011-06-02T14:35:00.000+10:002011-06-04T14:35:33.675+10:00

Day 2 and already forgot to take a photo. Luckily I have one from the week before, and no-one will ever know! The subterfuge, it kills me. Wearing to work, on a cold grumpy morning... Tommy Hilfiger striped work shirt in pale blue, my favourite big cream scarf and my Size 11 jeans. I know it's vanity sizing but I don't care. They're Sz 11, and that's all that matters ;) I have also got in the

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-86591903804428068202011-06-01T14:10:00.001+10:002011-06-04T14:11:32.601+10:00

Because I am both a sheep, and in desperate need of something to keep me posting at present, that may not need me to think in terms of sentences longer than a word or two, I wanted to join in with this meme. I'm not the world's hugest "joiner" but I have a habit of joining things too late, and taking to them with a strange enthusiasm that scares off others with whom I want to jump in and discuss

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-88144285641304986432011-05-30T22:10:00.000+10:002011-05-30T22:10:47.856+10:00

I was reading my bloglist tonight, curled up in bed against the freezing cold, still in my work clothes because I got home too late, when I came across one post that made my chest constrict. It was a photo a friend had posted of himself and his girlfriend in rainbows, framed perfectly and lovingly. It was the ideal couple portrait, and I was so wistful for the joyfulness of it, of that exuberant,

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-4363857687219737082011-05-27T22:26:00.000+10:002011-05-27T22:26:45.506+10:00

Travel Dolly by Jenniphil featuring black handbags Planes are all about the comfy for me. If I'm going on a long haul flight then it will be cold, cramped and noisy. I want soft and comfortable, and although I'd love to be the tailored blazer and immaculate hair type, being able to curl up in my seat is much more important. Inevitably I will be wearing jeans, because they're warm and easy, and

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-75316456602130725152011-05-22T20:16:00.003+10:002012-01-19T12:48:53.390+10:00

By the end of last week I was so tired I was an emotional wreck. I walked in from work one night, unlocked the front door and burst into tears. Not because anything in particular had gone wrong, or because anything had happened, but because I was so stratospherically tired. It was tiredness that hurts, and it was compounded by work being so busy that I kept missing little things and then

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-57773801702806920082011-05-22T16:33:00.000+10:002011-05-22T16:33:12.392+10:00

Country by Jenniphil featuring a studded leather handbag Another week, another Dolly. This week country. Pretty easy for me, being as I could quite cheerfully spend my whole life there. I love the city, the city suits me, but the air in the country and the bigness of the sky suckers me in every single time. I'm actually wearing something very much similar to the ensemble posted above, except my

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-44181881533042222332011-05-15T19:28:00.000+10:002011-05-15T19:28:24.290+10:00

We made plans to kiss the sun at night Hopeless dreamers, hopeless types Shedding skin you show your beauty scars Don't forget me or who you are You know this don't feel right Who knows what we feel? I just met you I can read your thoughts What they tell me is what I want I'll keep you guessing keep you wanting more 'Cos where we're going no one knows You know this don't feel right

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-959346379239058052011-05-12T18:50:00.000+10:002011-05-14T18:59:14.075+10:00

Pleats by Jenniphil featuring la perla bras Long time no post, so may as well get back into the swing of it with a (belated) Polly post. I have been spending my free time at work, joyfully researching Paris to the extent that I now see maps with the Seine wending through it in my dreams. Polly Dolly here is living that dream, dressed in black with brand new Repetto flats (want, so much) in my

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-18522034567292302962011-05-03T21:28:00.000+10:002011-05-03T21:28:39.195+10:00

Are all beautiful things painful? The emotion that runs so deep has the power to soothe as well as slice, and I wonder how much chance there is in that... if it's God playing with his yahtzee dice, while we rattle around in the cup. I cannot escape rainbows lately, they follow me around like some sort of technicolor omen, and it makes me laugh and wince in equal measure. They both mock and

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-15047930021157638502011-05-02T21:30:00.000+10:002011-05-02T21:30:38.371+10:00

I have had this window open now for the better part of 4 hours and have left it hanging in the breeze the whole time. Like an assignment that's due tomorrow that I'm putting off until the very last minute. Which is ridiculous because this is a blog, and the only reason to write in it is because I want to. There's no have to anything. And yet, here it sits, like a precocious middle child,

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-50224683650755762822011-04-25T22:49:00.002+10:002011-04-25T22:49:28.623+10:00

Things are never what they appear to be when you look at them closely. The wings of a butterfly become translucent scales, and the softest, smoothest skin becomes furrowed and pitted with follicles. Verdant grass that feels soft underfoot looks perfect until you look closely - where the blades of the mower have ripped the leaves. Unravelled and ragged like satin ribbon that is not hemmed. A

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-21342472509143405262011-04-25T05:44:00.004+10:002011-04-25T05:46:15.909+10:00

It’s 5am. The sun isn’t up yet, but I’m curled up with a hot mug of bitter chocolate cradled between my fingers inhaling the steam. My hair is mussed and I’m tangled in the blanket, eyes bleary from having just woken, skin still sleep soft. I have creases on my face and my voice sounds groggy. Next to me is someone I have never met before tonight, and yet he has seen me sleep, watched me wake, in

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-60856541317079073582011-04-24T11:19:00.000+10:002011-04-24T11:19:46.775+10:00

Ideally I would love to cheat with this post and show you delightful natural photos of excited children chasing around with exquisite handmade baskets exclaiming over Easter eggs, before sitting prettily in natural white light and beaming. But for me to have taken such shots I would have had to have slithered out of bed at 5am, as that was the time when the delighted shrieks could be heard from

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-70564747221891899292011-04-22T19:38:00.003+10:002011-04-22T19:54:15.733+10:00

Coming late to the Polly party this week. Partially because I've been working and partially because glasses had me stumped. I have a $4 pair of sunglasses that Bingley calls my Audrey frames, but other than that I have 6/4 vision and get woozy if I try on plain glass frames.I'm just not much of a glasses girl. But I'm off to the beach next week, and desperately hoping that it is warm and sunny

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-69876172801953561442011-04-22T19:02:00.000+10:002011-04-22T19:02:24.603+10:00

There is a storm building. I am on my front verandah watching the clouds; for a brief moment before there was a rainbow in the sunset, but now the sky is bruised and angry. The clouds are swirling, different levels excitedly circling the sky, some black, some green, some heavy with rain. I frightened a dogwalker before, standing at my front gate balancing my camera to take pictures of the sky.

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-48538765314814322122011-04-21T20:40:00.000+10:002011-04-21T20:40:07.853+10:00

The bubbles I build around myself are arguably so beautiful because they are so fragile. The way they tremble adds to their beauty. I was so happy today, and now, I am left with the slight film of a bubble that has burst. Misted. Dewed. I don't want to sigh, but I did. A breath that slowly inhaled then released; disappointment chasing away the rainbows that don't want to play. Folding into

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-28198459958430654312011-04-21T20:09:00.000+10:002011-04-21T20:09:00.870+10:00

I was effusively happy today. Ebullient. Infectiously cheerful... I drove to work in the sunrise and the warmth saturated my skin just as I was waking up. It felt so good to be warm and warmed. Wrapped in my purple coat and surrounded by periwinkle sky. My mind was dancing today, little flashes of colour and idea and promise fluttering around me all day. When I am happy it feels as if all

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-65940137042550874092011-04-18T20:03:00.001+10:002011-04-18T20:04:53.956+10:00

The cool air whispered around the car as it turned off the highway onto the gravel. The red and yellow leaves rustling as the pale dust billowed around the tyres and the unsealed gravel crunched and spat; the regal sky overhead unmarred. They sat, quietened as the car rumbled through the undergrowth, dipping into ruts and brushing against the delicate sprays of wattle reaching out for the thin

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-59290272848054306422011-04-16T19:36:00.001+10:002011-04-16T19:40:07.228+10:00

It is cold this evening. I am under the doona and have my new favourite charcoal hoodie keeping my ears warm. The windows are open of course, because I hate closed rooms, and I love the smell of the cold wet air. I woke in mist. Pale grey and damp, swirling quietly. It was a morning for sleeping, cosy and comforted. But I went out into it, drove into the sunrise as it evaporated away the clouds.

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-28283457753523025762011-04-15T11:58:00.001+10:002011-04-22T19:54:43.426+10:00

Absolutely nothing like what I wore on my wedding day, but what I wish that I had. Somewhere on a mountain top, with a bright red cloak when it got cold, and only those who needed to be there.  Wedding Dresses by Jenniphil featuring vintage dressesVintage dress $1,400 - vintagetextile.comBadgley Mischka leather pumps $245 - piperlime.gap.comJon Richard butterfly jewelry 10 GBP - 

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-55007764391017979062011-04-11T11:21:00.001+10:002011-04-11T11:21:37.480+10:00

It feels shallow to say that the sky is blue. It is so much more than blue, and yet what word could be more blue than blue? I want to call it periwinkle, at least in part because saying periwinkle aloud makes my soul laugh, but periwinkle evokes pale mauve and hydrangea blue and it is neither. It is not indigo, because that is the colour for the bewitching hour of twilight, and royal blue does

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-56230219649805909012011-04-09T19:46:00.003+10:002011-04-09T19:59:16.022+10:00

I went shopping last night and today, and have decided that I love clothes. Really, I love fashion and wish that I was built in such a way that I could wear whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. But having found what works for me at least I've managed to find some clothes this season that I am well and truly in love with. Including a purple trench coat that sadly I did not buy, something that was

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-38784441248342419042011-04-06T17:37:00.000+10:002011-04-06T17:37:51.490+10:00

It is the most beautiful afternoon, and I am home, having left work at a time when the sun was still in the sky and the blue was almost blinding. It is windy this afternoon, whipping around and the sun and the blue and the wind are seeping under my skin and making me cheerful. Bingley brought the Possum to work today to have lunch and we ran around in the sun and the wind and watched the

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-37151647983390687302011-04-01T22:14:00.000+10:002011-04-01T22:14:23.650+10:00

I came home late again tonight. Another day of working too much and too many hours. I realised I hadn't eaten anything all day bar a single chocolate that had been passed around from a box from a grateful patient. And then I realised I didn't eat anything yesterday either. The moment I realised was when I was rubbing my tired shoulder and felt a hollow where there was never a hollow before. And

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-60365916045951857852011-03-30T20:26:00.000+10:002011-03-30T20:26:16.743+10:00

If a 29 year old woman believes in fairy tales, does that make her whimsical or a fool? I used to cling to the idea of beauty, of life making some beautiful, prismatic sense. But like others who use alcohol, or cigarettes, or working themselves into an early grave, I hid in fairy land. Pretending at a world that did not hurt. That meant something extraordinary. Some "vie moins ordinaire". I felt

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-74306516249618805952011-03-28T20:54:00.000+10:002011-03-28T20:54:50.319+10:00

I love the smell of wisteria and pine trees. Wet pine needles in a bucket turning slightly swampy. tied to a tree to make the birds a warm nest over the frost. Wisteria on the breeze as I hang precariously from the tree, binding the ugly blue bucket to its trunk. I love the smell of downy soft wattle, honey sweet and delicate. What fairies must smell like. Soft grey foliage that highlights the

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-8970236162419656482011-03-26T19:03:00.001+10:002011-03-26T19:04:31.113+10:00

It is the most spectacular Autumn afternoon; the sky is clear and bright, the breeze is cheerful and the birds are lyrical. There are the faintest of clouds on the horizon, lustily pink behind the naked branches of my favourite tree; as I watch, the gradients change, as if the pigment is sliding down the sky, pooling just at the limits of vision. I love the feel of the air on my legs and arms,

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-7125925087926269752011-03-22T21:08:00.001+10:002011-03-23T18:13:55.875+10:00

I won't scare people at work tomorrow. Surely? Edit: apparently I did. Leave without pay until Monday. $1k+ gone from the fortnight budget. Fuckit. 

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-66226359902252301372011-03-21T18:50:00.000+10:002011-03-21T18:50:41.196+10:00

  I am sick. Awfully, miserably sick. I have lost a fair bit of weight. I have conjunctivitis, I have enlarged tonsils, I have blocked sinuses and last night I spiked a high fever and moving any of my muscles hurt. I can't eat, I can barely bring myself to drink. I am dehydrated and the corners of my mouth have cracked and begun bleeding. The pain mingles and makes me cry. I am intermittently

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-72675919140829591842011-03-19T19:53:00.000+10:002011-03-19T19:53:19.344+10:00

I read this book some time ago. It was the first book I had ever ordered from the Book Depository and I kept it in my bag to read at times where I needed something so lovely as to banish any other thought from my head. For a hopeless romantic it is an anthology to make corset stays strain and breath difficult. And many minutes have I stolen from an otherwise dreary day, hidden somewhere in trees

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-74080551468515106802011-03-19T12:35:00.000+10:002011-03-19T12:35:55.755+10:00

I have conjunctivitis. Only in my right eye, which weeps uncontrollably and caused me to wake up with my eyelashes crusted together and the hair on the right side of my pillow to be matted and stuck to my face. My eyelid is almost swollen shut and I look like I've been punched. Très chic, non? Luckily today is Saturday, and I am curled up in bed with the softness of Autumn rain enveloping the

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-54565553477262755732011-03-13T08:27:00.000+10:002011-03-13T08:27:40.619+10:00

It is a beautiful morning. Warm and rose coloured. I woke with the sun slanting over my eyes and smiled. The birdsong was (and is) jubilant this morning, farewelling the last of Summer as I stretched out in the warmth. I have found myself unable to sleep in, even though it was the objective this weekend and not minding at all. Yesterday the rain clouds threatened at dawn and the pitter patter of

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-79012135858318751212011-03-06T19:25:00.000+10:002011-03-06T19:25:03.138+10:00

I wonder why it is, that when you reach the point where there are no more tears left, that there are always hiccoughs. It's equal parts amusing and tragic, trying to maintain the tightly furled foetal position while spasming uncontrollably. The already bruised delicate skin around my eyes feels like it has been sandpapered and I can still feel crusted salt tracks that I can't brush off because it

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-8673494640780653442011-03-06T00:10:00.001+10:002011-03-06T00:13:44.422+10:00

It's windy tonight. A whistling, strong wind; playful and insistent. I am lying on my bed in the darkness, my belly swirling from too many mojitos and a dinner that consisted heavily of cheese and Zorro. I'm so tired, I ache. I need to be sleeping, but watching the curtain lift in the wind makes me want to be awake. To be playing too. It is prowling towards midnight, and the self-satisfied purr

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-78158174893114758932011-02-28T21:16:00.002+10:002011-02-28T21:22:27.915+10:00

When I was little, back when I still believed in God as if He were some sort of omnipresent wizard that I'd confused by watching too much Dorothy and Toto, I used to make wishes rather than praying at night. I wished for some silly things. I wished I would fall in love, because I desperately wanted to (and only ever managed it once!) and wished that others would fall in love with me. But my most

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1949478793523551610.post-15563209121266274142011-02-27T20:58:00.000+10:002011-02-27T20:58:58.453+10:00

In the year 2000, in between bouts of drunkenness and guilt about not doing any work I used to be adept at something I called pseudostudy. I was at the time studying some relatively knowledge heavy anatomy subjects, and trying to rote learn "knee bone attaches to the hip bone" or however it goes was painful and had me glazing over by the end of the first table. I tried writing out notes, but I

Jennhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10875757234483528006noreply@blogger.com6