Uncontrollable Fancy, in Flight

He was my sun for that week.

I was caught in his unforgiving orbit; going to the store, doing my laundry, ignoring phone messages from my boss asking careful questions as to when I thought I'd be up to coming back into the office, measuring out my life on a check-list of things I could do in the moments between seeing him.

There is a yogic term for the pause between breaths, and there is a meditation that focuses on that space.

Space.

A few notes written under the dome in the library, a trip to the supermarket without saying a single word to anyone, looking in a shop window at jewellery I would never wear, waiting too long to eat between meals.

Space.

What were those pauses called between seeing him?

In many ways I was closer to the stars than the object of my uncontrollable fancy, the whole time. I knew it, but but cherished the possibility that maybe I could. Maybe I could.
 
It's like knowing when spam arrives in your in-box. Even though you've been waiting for an email to arrive all day, even though the sound of real mail arriving is exactly the same as junk, you know in your heart that the noise you hear when the mail arrives is not the one you've been waiting for.

An Amnesty of Sorts

Neglect is an easy thing to overlook.

Days have ways of turning into the weeks that become months. I've neglected some. I've neglected these.

Lately I've been writing lots of starts of songs. Little melodies and some lyrics about being away from all the things you're usually close to, and want to be close to. That's not where I am at the moment but the book I am reading (David Malouf's Remembering Babylon), makes me feel that way (indirectly for the most part), and it's nice not to have to write too closely about the things I know. Or don't know as the case may be.

I've been writing half sentences about these— There's much satisfaction in the planting of seeds.

I'm playing at BOOGIE FESTIVAL in March. Deets here. Justin Townes Earle, The Dacios, Eagle and the Worm etc etc I was so looking forward to going to the festival, and now I get to play there too. I feel so lucky about that and the crunchy clean sheets I get to sleep in tonight.

Cloudy But Fine

It's hard to describe someone you know so well.

You know how sometimes you don't want to listen to the next song in case it changes how you feel about the one you just listened to?

Or you don't want to put the song you just listened to into words? Nor that book you were asked to review in class when you drew a blank because it wasn't something you wanted to share. Not with words in any case.

Or you don't want to chew gum after you've just eaten because it'll change the taste in your mouth? Though sometimes when you do you don't mind it so much. You didn't last time.

I am expressing a kind of 'not wanting anything to be less clear than it feels right now' emotion. Clearly.

The Birthday Boy

I wanted to give you this postcard because you gave it to me.

To my darling Jay Bird.

There are so many wonderful things about you.

You are marvelous, you are a marvel. You are tremendous, you make me tremble.

With all the things I love about you I could fill cards and books and bookshelves. I could write the words I love you, or I could read the words, you are loved.

You give so much to so many, to me, allthetime.

You are a gift I treasure, Happy Birthday boyfriend mine.

Before the Show

Ooh footy season! jeez, I could weep.

Not really.

I just miss cricket is all.

Gets to be like that with the passing of seasons into other cooler seasons. In temperature I mean.

Ok, you are fast experiencing what happens to my pre-gig brain.

It’s not pretty.

I’ll not subject you to it further.

I’ll be back in finer form on the morrow.

It’s my birthday too so that’s something (else) to celebrate.

Uh oh.

Stop me.

* Sighs *

I’ve gone too far this time.

Tonight might be messy.

Are you still there?

(Say “no”)

Yesterday there was an earthquake and I thought it was the wind.

Not THAT kind of wind.

But I was surprised to hear how many people were scared.

I wasn’t.

I’m not just saying that to sound brave.

I tell people I’m not scared of rats to sound brave.

Truth is I’m scared of moths. They freak the freaken shit out of me.

I don’t even care if they predict rain or earthquakes or tsunamis (do they by the way?)

Oh jeez, I’m sorry.

Hit “delete” now.

Did you?

A Very Cool Christmas

Melbourne is defrosting and par-boiling in 34 degree heat today.

I just met Jack and Jaime in the stairwell at work. They were red-faced and puffed when I found them somewhere between the third and fourth floors. I asked them if they had been running up and down the stairs and they said:

"Na. Wanna see what we've been doing? Come with us!!"

And so I ran down to the bottom of the stairs with Jack while Jaime ran to the top.

Jack said, "OK, back here, this is the safe spot."

And then in his 11 year old squeal he yelled up to Jaime "OK, we're ready!!"

And then Jaime pelted a plastic penguin down the 7 flights of stairs to near where we stood.

Jack proudly collected the penguin from the cool concrete and handed it to me like a cat presenting a dead pigeon to its owner and said, "See, hardly a scratch!"

I picked the plastic palm sized penguin (I assume is a character from Madagascar 2), from his hand and laughed with glee at the penguin missing an eye and it's beak but with bulbous body still intact!

Terribly Well

Jono and I spent the last few (too few) days with my dad in Tasmania.

On the flight home, J and I gazed at the sun setting and then disappearing on the horizon. Each shade of red, orange, yellow, and blue too brilliant to be afforded these simple ill-fitting labels.

I said to him that I thought instead of 'awesome' the word should be 'aweloads' because we couldn't have been more overwhelmed and fixated on the view from our 11th row seats.

Today there is another correction I'd like to make.

I am almost finished my Monday work-load. My first day back at my desk missing Tassie and my dad terribly workload.

And see that's just it.

If we could sit down and have a cuppa (ideally the plunger sort my dad makes to perfection), I'm sure that after even only a brief while you'd agree that I am missing Tassie, and Petey Boy, and Onemilebridge, and of course my dad, brilliantly.