Wow I just stood up again, after sitting at this screen, some part of me has this fear in writing. Distraction supposedly protects me from writing. Wait, microwave just beeped. Cookie that was frozen is now not frozen, I will come back. OK I am eating the cookie. Pretty terrible. Who decides to produce and sell citrus, sultana and oat cookies? Not I, I decide to purchase them. Now I really have nothing more to say about the cookie, other than it is now stuck to the roof of my mouth and the citrus taste is regretful, possibly even apologetic.

What is so bad about sitting here and just writing? The clock keeps ticking and the fridge keeps humming, the birds outside keep singing. And before you know it, it turns into an appalling reflective poem. The whoosh of the wind taps my loose window panes and the snails… ok vomit vomit vomit.

The fear inside comes from thinking that, someone else writes, lots of people write. And they must be better and smarter and wittier than I am so why even bother starting sometimes. I think a lot of us can get like that. Or we just do not have something good enough to say. If we crap on about feelings or the onomatopoeia of… nah that word sounded good but totally forgotten what it means so will drop that train of thought. The fear also of screwing up. When you are given something good, you wanna hold it, whether it is physical or it was an event or an experience. You want to treasure it and not take it for granted. Cup it in your hands, peek inside and grin. But the wind may pick up and may blow it out of your hands. Or it may seep out, lacking breath. Though the key word being MAY. And the key word is forgotten and to protect yourself you say WILL. So you can easily give up and accept this WILL happen so why bother holding it. Let it go. Elliot the plant doesnt think like this, he hasnt moved all morning. There are some wild winds outside and every little leaf and branch outside is knocking around wherever the wind chooses to shake them next. Yet Elliot is still, in the foreground, totally calm and unaffected from the flurry outside. But screw it. There is also the other side. That wild wind, that lack of oxygen or just simple badly designed structure, cannot stop events, experiences. They happen and will continue to happen. And I have something to say, as does everyone. But I can only speak for me, and will continue to talk, continue to create. And good things happen. Cringe worthy words yep, but because overuse of phrases such as these have sucked the meaning out of them, doesnt mean I cant squeeze my eyes shut and smile. Sometimes your gut just says it all.

Now for all those who tuned out, hello. I was five once (or twice) and my aunty sat on a log beside the fire. We were down at the holiday house in Manyana (when I say down, I mean down from Sydney) and this log had been sitting there for ages. It was a summer night and the ocean could be clearly heard in the distance. Mosquito repellent and smoke married together with the warm evening, to create that distinct southern coast Australian smell. The fire was quite close to this log, and it sneakily licked out every now and then towards the wood. As my aunty sat there casually, something inside the log was not so casual. Something felt uncomfortable and unsafe, so decided to work out what this was. Sorry, some THINGS, not just one thing. My Mum was there also and notified my aunty, not to move. Her shoulder, her other shoulder, her left arm, and three different places on her back now had alarmed and anxious spiders quivering on them. Now come on, what person decides to go, “Ha, OK I wont move”? Though we really should be considerate of the poor spiders, freaked out by the heat threatening their home. No, rational thinking there. My aunty stood up and shook, shook shook shook. And also did a bit of human verbal diarrhea that meant she was panicking. The kinds of sounds I couldn’t even type, cause they would sound Russian or something. The spiders went flying, some landed on my mum, some on the cool grass, and some landed in the fire. Option 1, 2 or 3, they didnt get to pick one. Nor did my mum. I have attached a photo, to show you what they look like. Yes the clock says “prestige”:

I am not too scared of them and would be fine picking one up. I had to when they would crawl across my lap in my van I drove at 17. They loved the van as a home and so when I drove their home (in a slight jerky motion back then) of course they would be anxious. Though the screaming friends in the passenger seat as I hurtled along the freeway did not appreciate my calm approach. Trapped inside the van, jumping over into the back seat and getting stuck on the gear stick in the process, one foot stuck in the seatbelt. Though the spider I reckon had a sense of humour and would walk along the ceiling towards them, my friends shoe missing the spider by a mile and hitting my head instead. I had to pull over in the end, not cause I cared about my friend but cause my eyes were so filled with tears from laughing so much.

We could totally analyse why I am talking about spiders, but we shan’t. Lets just listen to the wind.

Puff Paint

Ok, since I admitted it a few weeks ago, I will again now.

I made a shirt in craft at school when I was 11. When I say made, I just painted it. The actual shirt was an old white polo shirt that I found in my brother’s drawer. We all needed a white shirt for the activity at school, I forgot and last minute snuck into my brother’s room and found the shirt. It was slightly off white, though when it was purchased it would have been “white”.
So with my creativity in full swing and a set of puff paints, I decided to paint a Christmas tree, with some presents underneath. Though we all had to put the slogan, “Jesus is the Reason for the Season”. So neatly underneath I wrote that. And I had a shirt that I proudly wore to Christmas Carol singing on the corner of the shopping town in Engadine with the other members from Church. I also wore it as a costume, but will tell you about that another time.

So a few weeks have gone by since I last wrote. Elliot the plant has grown, I am successful for now (with the plant that is), and I keep getting to know a fella called Mike. We went down to this beautiful part of the world called Anglesea, just before the start of the Great Ocean Road. I do miss the ocean, one of the sacrifices of moving to Melbourne. You may argue if you are a Melbournite that it is next to the ocean. Yes, technically, yes. But Melbourne, you have a bay, and it is flat and the water a disturbing colour for a bay. One that no desire inside of me decides to nudge me and go, “Hey Lloyd, swim!” Possibly if I was covered in a hot substance, like fire. But the Ocean is about waves and raw white/blues/grays crashing and singing. Mike did oblige nicely and we went down onto the actual beach. It was not swimming weather but at least part of me did nudge me and say, “Hey swimming wouldnt be totally out of the question, no?” And the wind roared back onto us from the Ocean. It was like it was breathing onto us, I opened my mouth and it filled my lungs. Fresh and brilliantly clean. Ocean.. yes I miss you. But the weekend was great and the clash of movie titles occurred. First it was ‘Inglorious Bastards’ then followed by ‘Notting Hill’. Mike has no control over these posts so I will say Mike chose the latter. He loves them movies that make him cry. Joking aside, do people watch sad movies to evoke their own emotions from their own memories? Or is it simply a human being upset over a tragic story that they can relate to as humans? Mutually exclusive perhaps.

Last weekend (the weekend before the ocean weekend) I decided to surprise my Dad for Father’s Day. I flew up on Sunday afternoon after work and timed it so he arrived back from Church and there was Lloyd standing on his doorstep to say hello. I had made him a card, I used markers from work and drew a spotty tie and expressed how much I really do value him. Without Dad, aside from the obvious giving me life thing, could not have done many of the amazing adventures in my short life. Through simple support and sometimes the good old parent financial aid, he loves me unconditionally. Even if I make crap cards.

Also met up with the girls from work who were on a luxury weekend away in Sydney. I gate crashed it and then moaned a lot of the time as they continued to do girl things like Yoga (which I was forced to do also) and then flower shopping. All of this was also when I had my pyjamas on as Kitty thought my pyjamas were suitable yoga attire. I thought we were heading straight back to the car, but no. We went to one of the most expensive suburbs in Sydney for brunch. I kinda loved it though. PJs in daring places, kind of like people not knowing you got no underwear on yeah?

They are eating chips.

So am I.

Tutankhamun finishes in another few months and so those flags inside my head (the non-literal kind) remind me that I need to find work. And they will not be lowered until there is some new form of employment I know is to be lined up. There is so much inside of me that I want to explore through my career and it is just the point where I need to choose which part. Or can I involve all parts? No limitations should be applied. Kind of like IKEA but not made in Sweden. Sweden does seem to be a cool destination though, make note to go there.

I wonder how long my flat has been around? Wish I could ask it. Doesnt talk back usually so its establishment date really wont be an exception. Yeah nope, no answer.