that familiar voice.

there once was a see-saw of delight and doubt. as with all relationships. especially if things move fast – and you discover that your life has wrapped itself around this one person deliciously, and fiercely. things move fast. parents are met and are in love. plans are made. drivers licences are changed, bank details, medicare, little things. your friends become his and vice versa. and this is the upside of the seesaw – the delight. and it is purely that: delight.
and there is always doubt, as you would, sharing a life with someone. the risks. the what-ifs. but the scales tip down to this side, as you love him. with all your heart. with all your life.

so what if one massive doubt enters your cocoon where you’ve been trudging along in comfort and telling your friends of your happiness, shifting so many things in your life to the point that the thought of dismantling it and starting again makes you sick to the stomach? and there you were, him and you, agreeing over the same things: isnt it wonderful you’ve found someone who shares the same ideals and is passionate about honesty? isnt it amazing when he agreed with you that the act of cheating ISNT as bad as the act of opening up the opportunity? its when you put yourself in that position that’s already fucked, he said. its when you start hiding things from the other person that’s fucked, he said.
and you agreed wholeheartedly, your insides warm and happy. for you’ve been there before, and did it hurt. god did it hurt. and isnt it good that you’ve found somebody who wont do that to you? lies. lies. lies.

so your see-saw of delight and doubt has plummetted down on one side. weighed by deception, by what could be harmless – arent you good, still, for giving him the benefit of the doubt?

and then you doubt yourself: are you so gullible to fall in love with lying men? or are you so paranoid, for the pain you felt before still stings from time to time?

that, or you will not be able to bear this hurt, this time around, even though you’ve been there before. but you know you wont be able to stomach this. you dont want to see things unravel.

place only we know.

my most favourite thing in the world, now, that there’s been a recognition of what’s important in my life. and what needs to be thrown out:
(there has been a re-assesment, almost – of the different areas in my life, since my birthday. when i think im getting older, or noww that i think im smarter.)
when i come home and there are hugs, that last for minutes. where we stand near the door and he comes to me, or i come to him, and my face gets buried in his chest that smells familiar. or in the mornings, when i wake up. the arch of the arm, bent just right, for some contact. the playing with my hair in half sleep. the pulling close. the sighs.
how a person has, finally, come to know me so well. sometimes, better than i know myself. for i get muddled up from time to time, with the messy expectations of my world: my job, i am efficient and smart. my friends: i am together. my mother: i am a daughter, and growing. it is a beautiful thing, how he would erase all that, with one simple gesture. how he’d make me stop, there in the cocoon of an embrace.

divine madonna.

what would you expect if you smuggle two JWalker Red Labels in your bag into the races and start guzzling down champagne at 10 in the morning? i was betting on horses that made no sense but i liked their pretty names, and we were winning race after race until it all became a blur and i think we were putting one hundred bets on horses that gave ‘good vibes’. lost ridiculously. but it was such an amazing day, in my scanlan and j in his vintage suit, under the summer sun – unlike last year, i actually saw horses. there were no fights with cheating boyfriends. it was just an amazingly drunken day at the races – in bed by 8 pm, wearing a blue cowboy hat that j stole from somebody.
had to work sunday, which was relatively painless. then to deyonce’s park drive party, where i tried to interrogate Brad but ended up eating andy’s food instead. i love those people. i truly do. when i am surrounded by them, i’m me and noone else. how sad – as this is has been in my head lately – how the people you grew up with drifts further away from you every year, and the people you share your life with now, know you far better than the others do today.
been listening to chasing cars on repeat in my car. i have decided that it will be my funeral song.
speaking of funerals: RIP Belinda E. too young. i just dont get it.

for lack of a better word.

this is going to sound gay, you ready?
love it. my bestfriend’s gay. i love gay. so go on…
you complete me.
*silence*
told you. its gay.
no darling. its jerry mcguire. but i hope its true.
yup. very true. im standing on a freakn mountain 4 k’s away from my camp which im in charge of. just to tell you that. im like…lost without you.
ok now that’s delta. and that’s gay.
shut up.

to all untold truths

…a white lie is born.

i dont like being lied to. i dont have time for it, i dont have an iota of belief in it, i dont have the stomach for it. dishonesty kills me through and through far worse than if you had called me whatever colourful derogatory name to my face. i dont give a sht what people think of me. i would prefer it if you actually told me – and we can all move on.
but
i detest being lied to. you know those fukd up little lies people excuse as ‘white lies’ so as not to hurt the other person? i hate those too. there are no such thing as white or red or freakn purple lies or a lie to hide a truth that’s better off left uncovered. lies in any shape or form, to me, when told to ME makes me feel like an un-person. its a manipulation of an untruth that demeans me into this pathetic little ignorant girl who’s going along her business with all this sht up in the air and i didn’t even know. its not even that – its the deception that stings the most. and how you can be demoted as a lesser person. and i understand the intentions behind lies – the saving from hurt, the bliss in ignorance, the fights and whatever else that would’ve erupted if things were said. i get that. i get all that.
but i hate lies. i hate being decieved. i hate the feeling of being lied to. i hate the coverups and the little untold details and the fked up elaboration of made up scenarios and the bullsht details, all piled up and over to cover the truth.
absolute bullsht.

she’s my butterfly.

so the wedding was…well…really, really good. the weather was perfect.
i never realised, however, how weddings is to such an extent purely and entirely centered on the BRIDE. we went to the little apartment where the bride was staying to take pictures – and it was PAULINA CAN YOU GET ME A DRINK? MUM CAN YOU CUT THIS TINY MICROSCOPIC PIECE OF THREAD FROM THE HEM OF MY DRESS? CAN YOU GET ME THIS? IS THAT A SCRATCH ON MY BACK? DEAR GOD I CANT HAVE A SCRATCH ON MY BRIDE BACK.
and the funny thing is, we all accept this impossible princess attitude because she is the bride. and all brides are beautiful. and it went without saying that we all just had to agree with this, and be as obliging as we can be.
at the ceremony, i did my part with the play button without fking it up. my red dress was an absolute hit, i got called Angelina Jolie (which made my week). J walked down the aisle without trippin over, and he looked absolutely amazing. all handsome and suited up which is such a rarity, i lapped it up for memory storage as hard as i can. seriously. weddings are meant to be all emotional and i thought that i wont be one to get all emo – i’ve already had a few drinks and was running around with Dave sneaking in cigarettes as often as we can, so were getting fired up for some serious drinking – but there moments that were just so beautiful, and yes, i could’ve cried. could’ve.
there were butterflies shipped from Qld released at the appropriate moment (dont ask), i was in as much photo opportunities as i could get into, and everything went smoothly and it was just a perfect day for them. at the reception, i was seated next to J’s sister’s boyfriend who was an absolute sweetheart, who was as much of a pig with the food as me (Me slurring at waiter: ‘sorry is this chicken? cause i think this is salt. i mean, salt shaped as chicken?’), and Sam and Brent – who i swear was like D in a freaky, alternate, bizarro world. He was JUST LIKE Deyonce’ complete with the white boy accessory, they were dressed head to toe designer and danced Kylie on the dancefloor better than Kylie herself. it was surreal. it was like Dean in someone else’s body. it was like he morphed into Sam just so he could party it up with me in the country. hmmm.
i drank and ate and drank like a content little piglet, danced to some old classic usual wedding songs, i even got up onto the stage and played with the bongos (it was a dare.) met some old uncle. went home. two days off – bliss.

i am finding my blog incredibly boring lately. just…blah.
i have nothing of excitement to blog except for … well, deep and meaningful sht that’s swimming in my chest and im still unsure whether to type it out here. for the world to see. funny, how that never stopped me before. but its convoluted in there, simple things that i fear may be petty – or sound petty – but its twisted in funny loops that i dont know where to start.

but i will say this, as i have said before: it is not jealousy that ruins relationships. but doubt.

repeat.

This is a word we use to fill silences with.
When there’s too much inside of you, or not enough
and sometimes its the only thing that can explain.
Add a bit of drama and you can sell it.
We insert it also in the one empty space before your name in lettters.
There are whole magazines and novels and movies with not much in them but the word love, and its all so much but you still cry over them.
you can cook with it too, and it automatically becomes special.
How do we know it isn’t what goes on beneath everything?
When life gets too busy, too cluttered that there’s no space for words that mean something.
Who was the first person to tell someone they love them?
How did they know?
Then there’s the two of us.
This word is far too short for us, it has only four letters,
too light to fill those deep bare silences that exist when you press against me in the night.
It’s not love we don’t wish to fall into, but that fear.
this word is not enough but it will have to do.
It’s a single vowel in this metallic silence, a mouth that says O again and again in wonder and pain,
a breath, a finger grip on a cliffside.
How i wish sometimes i can create a new word just to describe you.
But love.
It’ll have to do.

sweet november.

i have the wedding this sunday. rehearsals tomorrow at 9am, where apparently i have been promoted to DJ. well, not really. i have to stand there and press play when they walk down the aisle – acoustic Ben Harper ‘Beloved One’. Then i have to switch over to Better Together Jack Johnson for their first dance. Oh hang on, i think its the other way around. i dont know. there IS a band but they dont start till reception. thank god for rehearsals. must lay off the wine until AFTER this little task.
the wedding is at a winery. it’s actually really beautiful. there’s a gazebo where the ceremony’s going to be held, amidst an expanse of the vineyard and a massive room of barrells of wine (helloooo) and we’re all praying for summer weather. everyone is wearing pastels: lime, peach, purple – and here i am – without Scanlan, and i am going to be wearing RED.
yup. RED.
i thought that the first time i meet the extended family i’ll go with a bit of a bang. if i fuk up the music at least i look good.
i have a day off monday. to recuperate no doubt. and its the cup on tuesday, spent drinking champagne and dips and siestas. i love public holidays. its 4.04 and i am literally counting the seconds till i get out of here.
we have a new client called david dick. how tragic. everytime he calls and i answer the phone, and its him – i have to literally jump on the transfer button. the shit he must have copped when he was younger. which must explain why he sounds so miserable over the phone.

heartcrack.

there are dramas here at work. there is somebody who has left his wife, for another woman. an ex-client, actually. this somebody is somebody i admire deeply. i would even go as far as to say he has become one of my dearest friends. i can talk to him about everything, even though technically he’s the one paying my bills. he’s my boss stripped off every stereotype that comes with the word. he’s a friend. and he’s a good one.

anyway. this somebody’s wife, before lunch today, called from outside the office and told me to hop in her car. and pretend that i was going out for a wee, or a smoke, or something. so i did. and as she drove around the block, i was sitting there thinking: i should not be here. i shouldn’t be here. what the flying fk am i meant to say now?

for he has vented to me time and time again. while we’re meant to be working, during lunch, after work when we’re packing up. i’ve lost count the amount of times he’s sat down and we’ve just chatted – about life and love and our incessant dependency on alcohol – and here i am in his wife’s car. who is bawling, mind you. not crying – we’re talkin heartwrenching, crucifying bawling.

and she tells me all the stuff she’s been going through. how she found out. how she’s been a wreck. the kids. who is this other woman? do you remember what she looks like? is he wearing a ring on his wedding finger? cause its not mine, you know. its not mine.

i dont know, J. i dont. im so sorry.

what do you say to a woman who’s lifes been ripped out from under her feet? who’s built something with one other person and here she is dismantling the whole thing?

you know how they say ‘broken heart’?
yeah..
its true you know. you feel it. i can feel my heart literally cracked in my chest. its so true.
but you know you can put it all together. maybe you know…i dont know…months, years…who knows, yeah? but you will, one day.
but still. there’s a crack. and it’ll always be there.

So true. a heartcrack. i dont think you can ever cover that up.

gypsy queen.

introduction.

i’ve been moved. again.
whitepage.com has been shutdown by Telstra due to it being too close to being whitepageS, so months of my writing has been deleted: entries when i first met J, drunken ramblings, bored out of my brain entries here at work, entries written when stoned, sad, angry, happy, tired. gone.
ah well.
so i’ve found this place and i dig it. i dig the name. and i can decorate it much like how i’ve moved into J’s place – move this over there, clean this out, start new. its a good feeling having nothing to do everything with. now i must let all my fans of the old page know where im at. *fans. like…my friends.* hmmmm.
never know. this might have more drunken stoned buzz entries than the last one. you just never know.