I’ve had a loss of perspective

Oh god. Part of me just realised that it’s only Monday, and I have FOUR MORE DAYS of work fuckedness before I get to the end of Friday.

Give me strength.

And now I’m sitting here wading through my out of control inbox, failing to stop my out of control marshmallow eating, wondering how the hell I get the balance back. Because I did get it, at some point. I remember it vividly. 40 hour weeks. Wonderful, relaxing weekends (which are still there, incidentally, but it would be lovely to make it past 8PM on a Friday without falling asleep on the couch).

There are exciting things though. Some of it is butterflies in the pit of the stomach exciting. So, tonight, while I’m archiving emails and trying to get my work inbox down to double figures, I am also thinking about these things –

• I am going to be buying a HOUSE. Can you believe it?!? Bricks and a fence and a (little) garden. And do you KNOW how long I have wanted to live in and/or around Newtown?? A really, really long time. And who knew it would actually happen.
• And even BETTER (I know WHOA) I get to share this with the most amazing person I’ve ever met. I honestly feel so LUCKY when I think about us finding each other and what the two of us are creating. Together.
• That was gushy, I know. Aha I don’t care!
• Tara is coming to visit. I am so looking forward to this.
• It looks like I might be going whale watching!
• Christian won Project Runway. Ahaha I am so lame.
• It’s a hard life when one of the most pressing concerns in your personal life is whether you should drop money on an Olsen, a Shead or a Blackman. There are some amazing Australian artists out there creating amazing Australian art you know. And we will have some of it on our brand new (to us at least) walls.
• My cold is disappearing. I CAN BREATHE OUT MY NOSE. Also – a cold with no chest infection!? Naturopath – 1. Traditional medicine – 0.

I am going to write more this week. Honest. Note to self –

• Frightened Rabbit.
• Music for cleaning.
• All the noise just gets crushed by the song.

Also, my cat has figured out how to get into my bedroom while I’m asleep. Through the closed door, by turning the MF door handle. I can’t decide if he’s some sort of crazy, feline genius, or just really persistent. I actually have to ram something behind the door now to stop him coming in. I wouldn’t mind him coming in, so long as he didn’t feel the need to sleep on my FACE.

Hooray for the internet

My days right now consist of pushing my way through piles of shite created by other people, and quelling my work-induced homicidal tendencies. So, stands to reason that when I get back to CFG HQ the last thing I want to do is talk to people. Or think about people. Or see people. Well, most people.

Bless the internet and its anonymous, informative ways.

Tonight, while pushing around the series of tubes that is the information super highway, I came across Frank Lloyd Wright. I’m not actually sure how I got there – I think I Googled a book I’d heard about (somewhere), which took me to some blog about books, which took me to a blog about, well, all sorts of things, which had a link to Fallingwater.

Wait – a house built OVER A WATERFALL!?< !

The floor will have its way it seems

Back in February 2004 I was sitting in the Canberra Theatre, amongst a very mixed and somewhat subdued crowd, experiencing the dizzying personal heights of an Ani DiFranco live show. I get that she’s not an artist every true music lover will dig, and I get that her overtly political lyrics can polarise people. Whatever. I love the woman and everything she stands for, and on this particular tour I saw her perform 3 times. Her show at the State Theatre remains one of the best live music experiences of my life.

ANYWAY, in Canberra she played a bit of an eclectic set list. She played some fairly obvious songs like Evolve and Gravel (I think) but she also pulled our Everest and some other stuff I remember being surprised about but can’t remember now. She rarely plays covers. Like, hardly ever. I think on a DVD once I saw her play a Greg Brown song, but that’s probably it. But on this night she pulled out a song called Trampoline, which was written by a singer/songwriter called Joe Henry. At the time I had no idea who he was, but he went on to produce her album Knuckle Down.

Since then I’ve learned he is a pretty incredible song writer who has plus plus levels of respect from many other song writers that I respect. I’m not terribly familiar with his music, but given his association with Ms DiFranco every time I hear/see his name I pay attention.

Noodling around on the interwebs this week I came across this article written by Joe Henry about the relationship between literature and song writing. And you know, it’s like someone has written what I’ve been clumsily trying to articulate for some time now – I think there is only a very subtle separation between writing fiction, writing poetry, and writing songs. Real songs with literary substance. Song writers like DiFranco and Darnielle and Mangum and Sheff make me feel the very same things that I feel when I read Winterson or Plath or Neruda. Sure, the melody can help your heart to soar, but it’s words to me that give it wings.

I love this –

…Vonnegut reveals the beginning and end of his tale and gives nothing away. He places the past, present and future all in the same room and defeats time as a reliable voice of reason and judgment. He identifies himself, The Writer, as a marginal character in the story, thereby removing himself from it completely. He is the singer, not the song, and the tune is singing him. He is free.

It makes me want to read Vonnegut.


First, I can’t for the life of me understand why flannelette pyjamas aren’t socially acceptable dress for every aspect of every day. Particularly for work, and particularly hot pink ones with zebras on them.

Second, hi. I am still alive, honest. The last two weeks have utterly kicked my ass, and culminated last night in me falling asleep not only on the boy, but on his birthday. Shame on me.

Happy birthday mister – you = joy.

I’ve been more then a bit absent from the interwebs. It’s not really a ‘oh man my life is far too busy being fabulous’ thing – I’m just pulled in a few too many directions at the moment. And the one direction I want to go, the one place I want to be, is the one direction unselfishly not pulling. At least, not in that annoying way.

A feel a little like I’m tilting on a precipice. The precipice of something wonderful on one hand – the idea of owning a little house in Newtown is crystallizing into a reality that’s hard to comprehend at times. But on the other hand I’m a little nervous about losing my balance and pitching over the edge – I have a feeling, if I can’t balance everything I’ve got going on right now, it will be a looooooong way down.

One day at a time though. At least, that’s the plan. Well, that, and potentially dropping a carpet bomb on my office.

That’s a bit violent isn’t it.

I gotta find time for the music. You know how much music I’ve listened to this week? Actually, my Last FM page can tell you that – sweet fuck all. Also, the definition of frustration is wanting to hear Twist by Frightened Rabbit – like, craving the song – and not owning the album.

Oh, wait. Let’s all thank the intertron gods for MySpace. And Fat Cat Records for their online ordering facility.

Driving home tonight (well, driving to work) I had all intentions of a well-written, eloquent and profound post that was at least 3 pages long. I guess two thirds of a disjointed, random bunch of words is better then nothing. Right?

Still alive.

Drowning in visa applications and stupidity.

Assuming the crash position.

Hoping/waiting/desperate for the long weekend.

And this vague little smile
Is my all-purpose expression
The meaning of which
I will leave to your discretion