In my head….

I can’t help but share this…

When I was in London I was lucky enough to catch a project of love choreographed by friend of mine Jessyka WG and 13 dancers (many of them Perth girls) -it was truly a work of love. It might not mean much to you – but it makes me smile and brings tears to my eyes every time I watch it.

It reminds me of what I’ve left behind in London… it makes me sad, it makes me happy, it makes me feel like grabbing my hairbrush and singing loudly to my favourite soppy song whilst jumping up and down on my bed.

Thank you JWG, for my new found love for Celine Dion…

So, somewhere along the way in the last month I managed to pick up my first housemate (not including family or partners) in 8 years.

I should quickly bring you up to speed on my living arrangments first – I finally found a place to rent. Not a mean feat in Perth let me tell you. It’s a beautiful semi detached with wooden floorboards, high ceilings, big rooms and a cute little courtyard, perfect for smoking and drinking and reading late into the night. And I can afford the rent without giving up food – and trust me, it was getting close to coming to that. Plus it has the added advantage of my family and I staying friends because I can finally stop living in the same houses as them (not recommended for headstrong 29 year olds).

And my first few months in my big ol’ house were bliss. I clomped around late at night, watched bad TV whenever I felt like it and didn’t wash my towels as often as a nice girl like me probably should.

But then things happened, cogs in the machinery whirled, and within two days I went from planning how the exercise bike I’d just hired would fit into my spare bedroom, to moving all of my “second wardrobe” out of the second bedroom as New Housemate moved in.

Now, I like my New Housemate, I’m happy that she’s living with me – I’ve known her a long time, and she has a heart of gold, so please remember that my gripes below are a reflection on me, not on her. But these are the things I miss about having my own space, even a month later;

* that I can’t shower with the door open
* that I can’t sleep with the door open
* that someone out there (other than the Planet Video staff) know what bad taste in movies / TV I have
* that someone in the world knows what terrible eating habits I have
* that I feel guily if I don’t change my bed sheets exactly a week after putting them on my bed
* that I’ve taken to hiding any bad magazines I buy, or at least justifying them by ALSO buying the Times / New Economist / Bulletin (I used to buy one of them once a month, now I’m buying all of them fortnightly – that’s how bad the magazines I have to atone for are)
* I can’t run naked between the bathroom and the bedroom when I’ve forgotten to take my clothes with me when I shower
* that I have to remember to take clothes with me when I shower
* that I can’t just slam the door when I get home from work and lie on the sofa and not talk to anyone when I’m in a bad mood
* that I can’t grump around in the mornings – I’m a bad morning person, and it’s REALLY hard for me to even say “good morning” let alone sound friendly when doing it

And the wrost part – the self-realisation that I’m so petty, these things actually bother me….

Oh well. What doesn’t kill us, makes us stronger. And there are some upsides… She understands that complicated thing called food shopping that’s always eluded me, and suddenly my fridge is full. And she’s brought seven seasons of Seinfield with her. I think we’re going to be okay.

Stuff. It just happens, doesn’t it…

The past weekend has made me cry, fear the place a live and changed the way I look at the people around me.

Firstly a good friend of mine was beaten up in the middle of Northbridge on the weekend as he was walking to a nightclub – not more than 4 blocks from where I live. In a city of friendly people, he managed to walk in front of the crap ones who jump on unsuspecting drunks as they stumble down the road.

He didn’t actually know what had happened to him, he just “came to” with many bruises on him and the police standing over him – they eventually took him to hospital.

It wasn’t until Monday when someone heard it on the radio that we all realised the full extent of what happened; A group of youths came up from behind, hit him in the head, and when he hit the ground, they kept kicking him. This is bad, but this isn’t the worst part.

The worst part was that 2 or more people rang into the radio station to testify that they too had seen the violence. But not one of them helped my friend. Not one of them tried to stop what was going on. That’s a pretty Bad Thing.

So here I am, suddenly not trusting the people walking around on the same street as me.

The second punch in the stomach?

We were all out last night having dinner, and my friend who got beaten up was with us, and telling the story of what happened. One Bright Spark asked the question I hadn’t dared to ask; were they Aboriginal kids?

I wished the question had never been asked, and I could hear myself in a parallel universe yelling out “NO, I really don’t want to know the answer to that”. But I didn’t, instead I sat there with a tight little smile affixed to my face (partly to do with the question, and partly to do with the fact that I was eating dinner with 5 people I didn’t know, and it was making me feel shy and self-conscious).

I didn’t want to know the answer because if it was Aboriginal kids, suddenly the crime takes on a race element that I know will irrationally make me feel nervous whenever I walk past any Aboriginal Kids in Northbridge, and if it wasn’t Aboriginal Kids, than how dare Bright Spark ask the question and immediately assume crime in Northbridge is perpetuated only by Aboriginals.

Really, there’s no winning that one – and I wish to god I didn’t know the answer to the question….

I disappeared. Sorry.

But I’m back.

It was a whirlwind few months of alcohol and debauchery, loss of a friend, too many sad things happening at once, unexpected shifts in my life, and an unease with myself. An awkwardness that made the bones itch and the skin feel like it didn’t fit any longer.

But there are too many things happening at the moment that inspire me, to not ramble toddler-like on my blog, and spew forth half-formed opinions and semi-real words about the lovely little things.

While I was “away” from here, I wrote an anonymous sad blog. A true blog, but one that made me fall deeper and deeper into the sadness because I was hell-bent on examining, analysing and criticising the bad, the sad and the mad. But I’ve decided not to encourage that side of me with words for a while. This blog makes me happy to write, so write in it I shall!