Automne

The last time my fingers burned and my cheeks were bright and my hair bounced over a thick pashmina wrapped around my ears, I was in Paris and the stompy feet to keep them warm in the mornings and the shake of the shoulders before stepping under the shower and the cold tiles in the bathroom was a ritual that made me glad every day I was there. I thought of that tonight as I let my skin get cold, the frigid air brushing against my naked arms instead of covering up of how much I enjoy Autumn.

I bounced to work this morning in wonderful shoes and interesting tights, my favourite black dress and a trench coat I've learned to tie "just so". I felt sparkly, even though, for once, I was not wearing anything sparkly or even red. I was just bubbled up on the inside, happy and warm and red blooded.

I love leaving work as the sun is starting to set and the golden glow comes off the city as it reflects the mirrored buildings. Getting to my car when the sky is pink and streaky and the birds are chattering and noisy. I was excited to be alive every day that I was in France. There was so much potential just in the act of waking up in the mornings that lazing around in bed did not appeal. So much I could be doing or seeing or being. I miss being excited just by the call of the wind.

There's a life lesson in there, and an obvious one at that. One that gets swamped because of all the mundane and real life things that threaten to overtake in a mutinous coup at any time. But it was not the museums or the galleries or even the tower that I thought about most this morning as I shivered putting on my mascara. It was our little white apartment and walking through the streets. That first blast of fresh cold air as it burned my ears. Of holding Bingley's chilled hand until my furnace like ones warmed it up. Of bouncing while I walked.

I remember being on a boat in the middle of the Seine and closing my eyes under a bridge just so wishes could come true. Standing in line at Franprix with a bottle of 2E wine and a box of pasta and being so very much alive.

I stood under the shower tonight, unwilling to get out and be abused by the cold and thought about how much simpler life can be when you're on holiday and you only live for yourself. And some days those thoughts make me morose and want to chuck in this stupid career and the aeons of study and work and effort. Do something simple instead. Something that doesn't take but just provides. A normal job.

But I want as well, a life less ordinary. Where I can push myself to my mental limits and never say "I could have". I never want to be that person. I want to retire when I am still young at heart but with a roof over my head. I want to travel to Nepal and camp on the side of the mountain and trek until I'm dirty and dusty and hot and my feet have blisters. But I want to go to New York too, and drink fancy cocktails in an amazing dress with even more spectacular shoes. I want to go on a Cruise Ship that is taller than the highest mountain in Brisbane and goggle at the opulence of the lobby. I want to do things that I will never be able to do if I just do enough.

It's probably a curse to always want more. I can think of at least one good friend who may or may not read this who will probably shake their head. Think that killing myself for this job and being so strung out by study and stress and mindfuckery that I can't even hug them when I see them but struggle not to keel over instead is not worth it. That any benefit I can find, even if it's making a 20 year old boy feel less miserable for 15 minutes does not weigh up against the rest. And maybe that's true too.

But this is my truth and that mindfuckery took me to Paris where the wind was cold and slapped my face and my fingers burned and my ears hurt. And it will take me other places too, other places that allow me to dream and wonder and plan and anticipate. And it forces me to think. To be organised. To be unselfish sometimes. To be a better person. And that's probably the best bit of all. 

Sandcastles

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 one day in the sun as I drew in the sand and considered stripping off my clothes to play in the gentle waves being as I had no bathers. It was one of those days that tattoos itself in white ink on your skin and never fades, just suprising you sometimes when you catch it glittering beneath the dermis. I was there with a little girl with big blue eyes who drew pictures in the sand with me, chased tiny fish with her toes and trusted me in that implicit innocent way that makes you want to wrap them in your arms and shield them from all the horrible things in life.

I remember finding a banksia core and showing her how when you strip away the crumbly, crunchy exterior that inside is smooth brown velvet, and watching her slide her fingers over it too. Such a silly thing to teach, but strangely glad that I got to teach something. I don't know if she remembers me; my guess is probably not. I do not remember all of the adults that briefly swept in and taught me something. I don't remember friends of my parents who probably hugged me and gave me Christmas gifts, what they smelled like, if they ever sang me to sleep. But it's nice to think that they were there, these nameless, faceless adults that only ever meant well. That life is not all about hiding from potential offenders.

This little girl was in my dream last night, holding a dark haired baby and grinning like only stupendously proud little girls can. I don't remember much about the baby, and its' strange, because you'd think that's who I would have been focusing on, being as I have seen that baby in my dreams a few times now.

I wonder if the dream was prophetic, and if the little girl will one day soon have a baby brother or sister. To follow her and tackle her around the knees like my Possum does with the Elfling. A blue eyed sibling to share her memories of childhood and to sit on the beach one day and draw pictures in the sand. I hope that she might, because she's the type of little girl that you know is an excellent big sister. But I guess I will never know.

Schrodinger's Kitty

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 encourage me. My life some sort of weird farcical dichotomy of being. There was one over me as I drove home in hail today, some ridiculous metaphor of being. While others race for shelter I am out being battered, chasing rainbows.

This time last year I lived like I was on a tightrope, where the net shimmered beautifully below while I balanced serenely dressed in spangles. I have never felt so emotional in my life as I did a year ago, so reckless and wild, a raging storm of it. I have grown enormously in the last year - I have never been so beautiful as I am now. And all the lines and the new angles at my jaw contribute. Age is shaping me, moulding me against my will. I still don't remember how to breathe.

Sometimes in hiding from the emotion I have closed myself from looking for beautiful things, of seeing the beauty in everything, in pursuing the Gleam. But in honour of nothing, but being tired and anxious, and wanting to focus on something else, here are a few random things from my blog inspiration folder. I'm sure you all have one, and here's a glimpse of mine...

I have to know - did you dream this of me?

 Of wanting to lie with them, touch them, wake with them

My mirror friend

The hardest part? …there’s a fear that doubt will creep in, you will awaken one day and think “what the hell was I thinking?

I know it’ll get better. I wonder if it’ll ever be as good.

Reminded today of what I'm counting from

my mind is where the ghosted afterthoughts of you linger

you are still the brightest light to have shone in my sky

It's the shortest day of the year today. 
 
From tomorrow, every day will have more sunshine in it than the day before

As with other times before, Time had dissolved

I just closed my eyes for a second and disappared from reality. It was tough coming back

You're unlike anyone I've ever met, yet I feel like I've known you my entire life & beyond.

DFA

i will be frank, because i feel the need: i will take you in whatever form you are happy to share yourself with me, but i will always have, at the back of my heart, a little bit of wistfulness for more

the next day I didn't care & just held your hand for a moment

I was breathing so slowly & deeply that I may have appeared to be not breathing at all

i want words. 
 
and a tree

There was something about the beauty of the location, the company and the surrealism of having not slept and having no idea which day it was or which time. Some sort of suspended bubble that eeked itself out on the space time continuum. A beautiful lucid dream. I remember feeling my palms after all the digging in the sand, and how exfoliated and excoriated they were and the soft pain of that making me double take and realise that *this* was actually reality

Nope, in the end I cbf arguing so just went and did them.
 
QED
 
Then walked into a wall

well if one is going to be antisocial and self destructive one may as well do it antiseptically

now, when I sharpen a pencil, I enjoy the sharpness for a few seconds before deliberately softening the top so that it slides more easily on the paper

I'm perpetually glad that you appreciate the things that mean so much to me

When you're watching someone's face and they've yet to see you. The second that their eyes come into focus on your face and the connection is established: ephemeral; visceral; tangible. The way that you don't actually need to acknowledge it because it is so palpable that you can't help but know that the other knows it too

I understand gravity. Understand how it is that something so invisible can be felt so acutely. The pull towards. I never think about the fact that as I walk my feet touch the ground. It doesn't require concentration, it doesn't really require thinking. By virtue of the attraction of both bodies, the pull and force brings them together. Unintentionally. Inexplicably.

GTFOOMH

it must be strange shooting up your own vein. i look at my veins and think how easy they'd be to stick a needle in, but the idea gives me a shudder straight up the spine

i see it as a tangible edge, wispy and black but interestingly i see it against light