Aha, guess who bought a new USB cable? Me, that’s who. And it’s a minor miracle, given the combined technical ineptitude of both myself and my trusty salesman at Dick Smith Windsor, that I got the right one. So, woo!

And wow, there were a lot of photos on the camera. Firstly, about a million of me trying to catch Bowie looking as ridiculous as possible. Quite seriously, this is how he sleeps –

He sorta lets himself fall down between the cushions on the couch, points his legs to the sky, and sometimes he snores. If he were a person he’d wear flannel and drink XXXX.

There were also pictures of a crazy looking spider that set up residence over the front door of my house for the whole of the summer. It’s not there now – it retreated to where spiders go for the winter about 3 weeks ago. It was a nightly exercise though – dodging the super-thick web and at times the spider itself, who when building its web wasn’t really all that worried about where I was in the whole exercise. Warning people who were visiting was priceless – ‘Uh, you just have to watch out for the spider web and the spider over the door. Wait there.’ And so I would go and turn the porch light on, and there would just be gapping mouths all around. Aha. I have no idea what sort of spider it was –

But yes. Massive. And yellow. And awesome.

And then there was the Sunday afternoon when I got home early-ish, and it was one of those times where the light is pouring through the house in the most wonderful and warm late afternoon way. I have this red cabinet in the corner of the room that my Mum gave me, and on top of it is where (for now) I keep wine. Next to it, on this particular afternoon, was a candle holder my sister gave me for Christmas year before last. And the colours on the wall were so beautiful.

So now I actually have a USB cable, brace yourselves for regular Karen’s World updates. I bet you can’t hardly wait.

Names and dates and times

Dear school ‘friend’ who found me on Facebook,

I am a pretty friendly person. Having said that, I’m not the sort to go randomly friending people on a social networking site just because I went to school with them. At some point. Somewhere. You are clearly that kind of person, and all the power to you, but here’s the thing – I couldn’t for the life of me remember who you were. I read your name, even out loud, and my brain gave a great big huh? in return. I looked at your photo, and not even a glimmer of recognition. I even began to wonder if you actually attended the same high school I did. But then, you’ve been communicating with other people I KNOW I went to school with, along those lines, so there you go. You must have been there. And you obviously left an enormous impression on my psyche.

I ummed and ahhed about hitting ‘Confirm’, but I did. I became your ‘friend’, even though I have probably never spoken an actual word to you. It was curiosity more then anything else, but even given the benefit of your full profile page I am none the wiser.

But here’s a tip – if you’re looking to get back in touch with a person you once knew (or didn’t know as the case may be), probably the first thing you DON’T do is virtually tickle them on a social networking site. At least not without saying hello first, dig? Because every time you tickle me, hug me, kiss me, sucker punch me or invite me to play virtual strip poker, I am going to hit IGNORE. It’s just annoying. And it clogs up my inbox with alerts that I could really do without. It makes me want to drop a bomb on my Facebook profile. Which would be a shame, because Hell updates her profile with a new picture of Deakin every other day and that’s the sort of shit I look forward to.

Anyway, just so you know, you’ve become the internet equivalent of our old photocopy tech, who was overly familiar, asked at least 3 of us out at random times over a few years and every time he came to service our copier stood in front of my desk talking, for what felt like forever, about the most boring shit you could imagine. Just so you know.

Please. Just stop.



Dear Cadbury,

You bought me Old Gold 70% dark chocolate, and for that I am forever grateful.

Much love,


Dear herbal tonic,

OH MY GOD what the hell are you made of because I swear to god I smell you in my clothes and on my hands and in my car AND I JUST CAN’T GET RID OF THE TASTE IN MY MOUTH.

But my chest feels better. So thanks for that.



Whenever you breathe out, I breathe in

If socialising and community is boiling down to, as ‘they’ say, Facebook and other internet SNS (social networking sites – I am so up on the lin-go) then the whole world is heading toward a metaphorical hell.

And that’s all I have to say about that. For now at least.

Yesterday I ran smack into the intersection where traditional medicine meets natural medicine, and I gotta say – it raised some interesting questions. I’ve never, ever liked doctors, but that one time when a doctor prescribed me three courses of increasingly strong antibiotics to get rid of a persistent chest infection, thus landing me belly up in a hospital bed, really didn’t help that. Since then I’ve steered clear almost completely, with the exception of completely unavoidable things. Like that time I thought I had meningitis.

I hedged my bets this time, and made an appointment for both. The naturopath had the upper hand, because she had her appointment first. And I went, and she loaded me up with a lot of bad smelling and HORRIBLE tasting herbal stuffs. She looked at my blood, and she told me what she thought was wrong with me. Tired white blood cells for one. Poor little buggers are all tuckered out.

Long story short (as much as I’m sure my lung health is riveting for you all, let’s try and be succinct) – I cancelled my doctors appointment. She told me she could make me feel like a new person in 2 weeks. I sure as hell hope so, because I wouldn’t want to be drinking raw egg smoothies with wheat germ (read: protein deficiency) and drinking a herbal concoction that tastes like DEATH three times a day for nothing. You know, when you DON’T smoke, and you NEVER DID, you’re not supposed to have these problems. Right? Right.

So in two weeks I’ll either be bouncing off the walls with happy lungs and over the top energy (god help us all) or I will be getting a chest x-ray. Let’s hope it’s not emphysema.


It’s Sunday night, and you’re sitting at home with a burgeoning chest infection (yes, another one) and you need dinner. Not too much dinner, because you had way too much Pad Thai for lunch and then two rows of Cadbury Snack chocolate. So what do you settle on? Weet Bix. With brown sugar. It’s the food of champions.

Or wait, is that Vegemite. I can’t remember.

The definition of frustration is getting a chest infection in the last week of February, finally shaking the fucking cough and getting your full lung capacity back in APRIL, and then after a week of reprieve, getting chest pains and shortness of breath that can mean only one thing. So no doubt, stretching in front of me is a week of doctors appointments and naturopath appointments and chest x-rays and MRIs and what not. Because I’m heading at this thing with a full arsenal. Sure, there was that whole hiking the Inca Trail with bronchopneumonia thing that can’t have been good for the long term lung health, but there has got to be SOMETHING I can do, right? Shit’s getting ridiculous.

So owing to said lung issues and an inability to get sufficient oxygen to my brain, I saw a somewhat truncated Kaki King gig on Thursday night. This is a real shame, because I had been so looking forward to seeing her live again. She is a phenomenal guitar player, and really, you can’t appreciate her music fully until you’ve seen her live. So I saw some of it, heard some of it from the stairwell at the side of the stage while I wheezed along in time to the music, and then followed the boys suggestion of going home.

I’ve had all afternoon to myself, noodling around the house. I had planned to bake brownies, but then I realised I have no one but me in the house between now and the weekend and that would be Bad News. Well, there’s Bowie. But he’s not such a fan of the brownies. I found out this afternoon that he’ll have a crack at apple, but only if I eat a bit first. He’s like that with a lot of things – if I’m eating he’s all I want I want, until I give him something. And 9 times out of 10 he then goes on to pull his OMG ARE YOU TRYING TO KILL ME?!?!? face.

I’ve just figured out (with some help from Big Al) how to view these episodes of The Office I ‘found’, so I’m going to bed to watch them. The books will have to wait.