In my head….

5 days ago one countdown stoppedand another started. It’s not so much about something ending anymore, but something beginning. Rather than counting down, I’m counting up. A new experience. One I like.

Melbourne fits like a glove. The streets are mine to wander, the nightlife my friend, my new job is a happy companion. And speaking of companions, Boy is the cherry on the top of Flinders Lane.

It’s ridiculous how happy I am. It doesn’t even make for good blog-reading. Apologies to all for being so boring… Except me of course. I wouldn’t change a thing. I’m so happy, I can’t even be bothered to take the piss out of myself. But it’s only day 5, so what would I know?

Three weeks ago it all seemed so far-off. The new life, the new job, the new city. Now, rather than counting down the never-ending days, we’re counting down the all-too-rapidly-passing hours.

It’s like waiting for Christmas, but even better because whilst presents are exciting, you never know what you’re going to get when you unwrap the paper. I, on the other hand, am very aware of the wonderful life and the alluring Boy waiting for me at the other end of this 28 hours, and needless to say – I’m jumping with excitement…

The French have it sussed. They worked out that it’s not just florists, jewellers and hotels that can make money from adultery. Some smart Frenchy worked out that money can be made from providing adulterers’ alibis…

Which leads me to ask the question – how many times did this guy get caught out, that he finally thought to himself, “if only I could call someone to provide me with a fake late meeting so I can play nooky with my mistress, or a phoney wedding invitation so I can go on a bachelors weekend?”

This is a minor little rant, as I’m no angel – which some of you know. But funnily enough I was chin-wagging about this with Boy last night, and suddenly the concept of cheating stopped making sense. If you are so damn unhappy with the person you’re dating or married to, why wouldn’t you just leave?

Yes, I actually know the answers already; “I’m staying for the children” – “I still love her, it’s just something I have to do” – “it’s just sex, it’s not love”…

But I’m newly in love – so I’m allowed to look at the world with rose-coloured-glasses for a little while. And so I say “no” to cheating. I think there should be an honesty clause in the unwritten contract of relationships, and we should take to the streets and protest against cheating. Put slogans on t-shirts and march to parliament house. Wear buttons, sign petitions and resort to wearing too much patchouli so civilised people will agree with our cause without arguing with us, because they want to get away from the smell…

Okay. Maybe not the last one.

Hmmmm – did I mention I haven’t slept more than 7 hours in 3 days? I may be slightly delirious from lack of sleep……..

I keep telling myself it’s okay to be scared.

In the meantime I have my friends, my red wine, and a Boy who tells me it’s going to be okay.

So, it’s going to be okay… right?

Right.

An email from Boy.
A beautiful song.
An unexpected thank you.
A well made coffee.
Two compliments.
A productive lunch.
Another email from Boy.

Can’t wipe the smile off my face today…
Not bad for a day that started with me panicking because maybe I’d made a bad decision…

And like a drug it hooks me in.
I hate facebook with a passion, but try to wrench me away from the damn thing, and you will get hurt.

I know too much about you all.
And with Myspace as well, suddenly I’m overwhelmed by just how much you all know about me.
And I think that maybe I’m cyber-stalking you. Or you’re doing it to me. One or the other.
Either way, Facebook has kidnapped my privacy and is holding it for ransom.

Damn facebook.
Give me back my secrets!

Boy recently quoted some song lyrics to me. The song was about ridding yourself of “stuff n things”. Now here I am, doing the same…

It’s saturday night, less than two weeks before I leave my Perth-town, and I’m surrounded by boxes and bin bags. My life is in pieces and I’m choosing which pieces matter enough to carry with me to my new life…

Love letters strewn at my feet. Jumpers held together by holes, handed to me a lifetime ago. A teddy bear that I’m not even sure why I have, but I’ve carried for so long she’s my best friend. Postcards collected for prettiness. Movie tickets, theatre tickets, gig tickets from dates-gone-by. An envelope with the scrawled words, “This is filled with love and kisses”. A tiny box sent from Greece, a miniature reminder of a long ago summer of freedom and lust. Birthday cards. Christmas cards. Get Well cards. Endless cards.

These bits of my life will stay behind. I’m not coming back to Perth this time, so maybe these scraps of my history will stay in a box in a dark storage room and we’ll not meet again.

But it’s all okay. It’s hard to stare your history in the face and realise how much has passed, how many things I did wrong, the relationships that failed, the friendships that faded, the moving on of so many people. But I’m doing something different this time. Breaking a cycle even I believed too ingrained in my being, to be broken. For the first time I’m not running away from my life, I’m running toward it.

***this post is so bloody sickly sweet, and it’s a bit flowery. But it’s what’s in my head, so jam it…***

Guilt (n)
a feeling of responsibility or remorse for some offense, crime, wrong, etc.

Deception (n)
the act of deceiving.

Lie (n)
a false statement made with deliberate intent to deceive; an intentional untruth; a falsehood.

…………………

My self-taught lesson for the day is; don’t look for solace in the dictionary.
It’s all black and white.
Nothing’s written in grey.

I tried to explain to the dictionary that I’m not a bad person.
And I did what I did because I honestly needed to.
It was a tiny, wee, little lie.

But the dictionary remained silent.
It’s judging me.
If only the other who judges me would be as quiet….

You don’t want to talk about it.
I think we get that from each other.
You don’t want anyone to worry about you.
I think we get that from each other.

You won’t let me tell you I’m sorry, and get angry at the world with you. And I get why you feel that, I really do.
But I had to find a way. Some way. To tell you I care.

We’re not alike in any way. Except the minor details which bring the big picture into focus.
And so I think you’ll understand why I’m writing this here.

In case you’re wondering, Sister o’ mine, I’m fucking angry at the world. And if I could beat it up for you, I would.
I may be the little one, but I can stand up for you too, you know….