Sunday never seemed as though it was going to be exciting. It gave no hint that it would unfold into a day of high drama and escapades. At no time was there a warning that Sunday may result in a trip to the hospital. Then again presonal drama tends not to promote, it leaves that to the commercialised, over-hyped, shiny branch of drama that relys on advertising for success.

Despite its lack of advertising Sunday proved to be far more interesting then anticipated, it started quietly with a civilised coffee and breakfast scenario at a lovely cafe in Newtown, then descended quickly into idiocy with an outing to the local tavern and a few games of pool.

I am not entirely sure what happened after that, but I do know that I sustained an injury on my head, got knocked out cold, there was a lot of blood involved and obviously amnesia. I rocked up to the hospital bleeding profusely, extremely confused and having no idea what happened. I did not stick around for a brain scan, I saw no point at all, after all I passed the neurological exam (apart from the pupil bit) I was covered in blood and just wanted to go to bed at home.

So another injury for the year. This is getting so ridiculous I don't know how to react. WHY ME? Is so pointless, not to mention self indulgent. Am I doing it to myself? Now we might be getting closer to the mark, surely there has to be compliance on some level to end up with so many injuries in such a short time frame, I am an attention seeking fool. Throw hypermobile, unfit and unhappy into the look-at-me mix and maybe things are becoming a little bit clearer.

Now of course I am paranoid that I do not just have concussion, that I should have had the brain scan that my headache is far too bad to just be consussion alone. I could go back to the hospital and get it checked out, but I do not have time and I know I am being an attention seeking hypochondriac.

Goddam I am a fool. A foolish foolish fool, with a massive headache that paracetamol does nothing for..... but I ma sure I deserve it, lucky I do not believe in Karma or I would be coming to the conclusion that in my last 1467 lives I was a serial killer or a politician or something.

Ouch.

It is 11am on a Friday and already I am fantasising about that first post work drink, mm so sharp and refreshing as it slides easily down my throat. An old friend returned once more, to fire my insides and boost my confidence. Our relationship is not quite as reckless as it once was, we know each other know, we don't have to rush like we once did, there is no urge to impress, we both know what we want and how to get it.

Slowly over the course of the evening the seduction takes place, never quite sure where it will end, will it be a violent night leaving me worn and breathless tomorrow, or a slow lesuirely slide of pleasure? The unkown is part of the appeal, no matter how long we are together there is always the mystery of the next morning. That risk of waking up with no pants, no friends and no money. Or maybe tomorrow I will wake seedy, memory intact, pants accounted for, control retained and bus fare still nestled in my wallet.

That sharp bitter vodka lulbricates my throat and washes away anxiety. For tonight I am free, I am attractive, witty, different. Tonight I am like me, but better; different, less involved, more careless. I will fly bouyed by the false high, the confidence sparkling out through my rosy cheeks, witty, fun and in control.

But what alcohol bringeth it taketh away. The moral hangover, the physical pain of a night on the turps, the weight gain, the slow poisoning of my body. The realisation of innebriated desicions that should not have been made. The slow destruction of my looks and youth, the damage to my cerebum. The desperate check of the phone to see if once again I have communicated things better left unsaid.

Mostly, as tumultuous and exciting as we can be together it is all old ground; that all too familiar bile in the throat, clothes that smell like an ashtray penance, the desperate scanning of memories and possessions, an inventory of damage done in exchange for being Queen for a night. I have grown up with you, learnt the lessons of life and love with you by my side. I know now the price of forgetting, the pound of flesh exchanged for a night of self confidence.

And still the promise of 5pm looms on the horizon, shiny, exciting and fresh. Filled with glasses of amnesia and bottles of temporary ego. The night and all her drinks await me.

Pearl Jam

Black

Hey...oooh...
Sheets of empty canvas
Untouched sheets of clay
Were laid spread out before me
As her body once did
All five horizons
Revolved around her soul
As the earth to the sun
Now the air I tasted and breathed
Has taken a turn
Ooh and all I taught her was everything
Ooh I know she gave me all that she wore
And now my bitter hands
Chafe beneath the clouds
Of what was everything
Oh the pictures have
All been washed in black
Tattooed everything
I take a walk outside
I'm surrounded by
Some kids at play
I can feel their laughter
So why do I sear
Oh, and twisted thoughts that spin
Round my head
I'm spinning
Oh, I'm spinning
How quick the sun can, drop away...
And now my bitter hands
Cradle broken glass
Of what was everything
All the pictures had
All been washed in black
Tattooed everything
All the love gone bad
Turned my world to black
Tattooed all I see
All that I am
All I'll be...
Yeah
Uh huh...uh huh...ooh...
I know someday you'll have a beautiful life
I know you'll be a sun
In somebody else's sky
But why
Why
Why can't it be
Why can't it be mine
(not sure?)
mm-hmm no yeah no
mm mmmm no nonono yeah yeah
we-
we belong
we belong together
together
oooh ooh
we-
we belong
we belong together
oh yeah

 <a href="http://mingle2.com/blog-rating"><img style="border: none;" src=http://mingle2.com/img/bb/blog_rating/pg.jpg

I stole Aunty B's cool little rating thing, lets see if it works. Very disappointed to be rated PG, they do not check for how often you say 'sex' or I would have come through as ruder and less kiddy friendly.

On a more personal note, I am having a party tonight and I would dearly love to cancel it. I am not in the mood. I do not really want to socialise, I am not feeling very tolerant or friendly, I do not want to go to a party let alone host one.

Last night was the best I have felt in a long time,  but that is because I was painting, short lived and hardly a solution to my current mood and cricumstances. I was also not unhappy this morning when I put on my jeans and discovered the ratio between us has changed, thankfully for the better, makes a nice change from looking down and despairing at my enormity.

Oh God who cares?

I have a spare ticket to Peeping Tom tomorrow night, actually it is my friend who has it, but I have been asked to find a home for it. This post will not help, but at least I did something.

I spent just over 24 hours in Canberra over Monday, Tuesday. I hate Canberra, it is so sterile, designed by a very strange dude (Burley-Griffin who was into Mason stuff and weird social values) for a bunch of public servants to congregate in. It is the only place I have ever had a sudden desire to throw molotov cocktails and run riot through the streets. I think it is the clean, frigid, boring, eerily quiet nature of the "city" that does it to me. The weather does not help, it was so cold! 4 degrees at 6pm, ouch.

Forbidding black hills surround a large town that is a series of circles leading to nowhere. the dark clouds and constant drizzle help to stifle all colour and movement. Cars slide down wide boulevards so far from each other you could be on a highway. Roundabouts lead to roundabouts leading to nothing, no centre, no heart. The landscape is broken by symbols of power, flag poles rise out of hills to pierce clouds. Black tower emits it's etherical pollution constantly from an ugly, functional impersonal structure. There si no mystery, no character, no vitality to be found.

To make the Canberra whirlwind tour so much more unattractive there was the added bonus of spending my time shmoozing and lobbying both the powers that be inside the Hobbit Hill that is our Parliament house and the powers that are my funding group. Nothing like middle age men is suits to intimidate you.

I hate the social insititutions that force us into uncomfortable and strange clothing, that place so much power in the hands of white middle class males, that make young ethical women feel like lowly failures. I hate having to watch what I say and be oh so concious of my appearance, gender and age.

Torrential rain forms sheets of grey outside the window. My mood is reflected in the dark skies and furious clouds.

Work is hard, politics is painful, none of this is news, but I am feeling it at the moment. Maybe I need to lay off the doobies, does not seem to help make the world a fun and cheery place for Max.

My finger is not broken, what a relief! Just soft tissue damage, who needs soft tissue anyway?

I am feeling listless and unsatisfied, can't escape this niggling feeling that maybe it is supposed to be better then this?

I want to write, I am frustrated with the lack of creativity in my life at the moment. I love writing, I love art and music and drama too, but I think I write better then I can do the rest. How do I find the time to be the most soical person on the face of the planet, save the world, earn money and write?

How is the rest of the world feeling? What is the mood out there? I am guessing that the entire enormous spectrum of human emotions are currently being experienced, stupid question. 

I wonder what it would look like if you coloured every emotion and then saw it from the sky? If you could map emotions like the contours of the earth, would there be lines of joy and sadness in places? would the cities be a huge dark sad cloud? Would there be pockets of joy, where people are living happily, sustainably and in tune with themselves, each other and the earth?

You know you have had a good long weekend when; you wake up on Tuesday and discover that yes, you do have a broken finger, you smell like Bundaberg and Coke and you may still be stoned despite being in bed at 10pm the night before. Ah the fun.

The Manyana long weekend was a triumph, despite a ridiculous amount of time put into organising, crazy weather and last minute drop outs it all ewnt very well.

There was table cat, scrabble, walks on the beach, cyock pants, Legolas, chess, giggling, shooting blanks, frisbee, volleyball, poi and soccer. Phew what a list!

The only thing left to do is distribute photos, begin the reign of Table Cat and get an x-ray to discover exactly what I have done to my finger (it is currently immobile, large and purple, yes it does resemble a cretain anatomical feature found in apporximately half the population).

My life is strewn with bad timing, from getting busted for weed as a teenager to the never ending list of people met at the wrong time in their life, I could list so many examples of the extremely poor timing that has hampered my life. I used to hesitate to say I was unlucky; I live in a western society, which puts me firmly in the land of the lucky in my opinion, but these days I accept that piece of good fortune may have been a trade off for the shit hand I got dealt for pretty much every other aspect of life. I am not complaining, just venting. I long ago accepted my lot as punching bag for the universe.

I shyly mentioned it to one of my bestest friends last night and he concurred "It seems like every time you get on top of things, something goes horribly wrong."  I could not agree more, I am glad it is not just me being self indulgent.

Today is another such example... I am sick as a dog, head full of snot, eyes barely able to focus and it is day 2 on my new job. I was sick yesterday but today it seems the enthusiasm that sustained me through Monday cannot cope with helping out for Tuesday as well. I am struggling with the most exciting and challenging role I have been in since I got offered a fundraising job in a night club in January 2000, and I am sick. It is hard enough being scared that I am underqualified and inexperienced, let alone coping with limited brain capacity.

My intelligence is something I used to think made me fortunate, now I am not so sure, ignorance really is bliss, sometimes I wish I could be dumb and happy. Sometimes I wish I could forget more easily and accept more readily. sometimes I would do almost anything to stop thinking, just for a minute.

Last weekend I spent in Melbourne which was really nice. It is a great city, if freezing cold. If I lived there I could bicycle everywhere, that would be nice. My Mum is moving there in a month, so I guess I will be spedning more time there. I have to go back next week for a night, yet another example of bad timing... Could have gone once thus reducing my carbon load and my burden on the budgets of community organisations. Being away next week means that I miss my friends 3 day visit to Sydney, being away last week meant missing 2 gigs I really wanted to go to, seems petty, but that is the mood I am in.

Oh well, what the fuck can I do about all of this? I will continue to stay positivre, to believe stupidly that things will get better despite all evidence to the contrary. I just hope I can keep it up, sometimes I wonder? People always tell me how strong I am, but that seems like a really dumb thing to say, it just means I have faced more awful shit and survived. Most other people would be "strong" if they had to deal with the tragedies and sorrow that has littered my life, you don't really get much of a choice, the alternative is pretty grim. Strength is a physical thing, this other mental strength people speak of is more like a callous. It is maazing how much horror you can bury deep in your soul and get on with life.

Maybe that is why I have given my working to career to trying to make the world a better place? Since I cannot change my luck maybe my work can help others. I really hope the world will be a better place for me having been in it.

Friday night Bizarro was sent off in the traditional fashion of excess and debauchery, fabulous. There was the private karaoke room, complete with drunken fools (us) security guards and terrible singing. The "Villains of the Sea" theme certainly brought out some amazing costumes, most impressive efforts from Biz, Fanta Pants, Andrew and Paul spring to mind, and there were many eye patches floating around.

I, of course, received a hilarious and ugly wound to the head with an inanimate object (in this case a slice of my nose was shaved off with a plastic viking hat). It could have been worse, one girl lost half a tooth in an accident involving drunken stupidity and a fountain.

Unfortunately I did not get to greet the new day with Biz as I had planned and hoped to do. I was busy playing nurse to a drug casualty, ce la vie.

All things considered the night was a success and I got to wear my viking hat which never fails to make me happy. Jason expressed a desire to lobby to have my wearing a viking hat at all times compulsory under federal legislation, I would concur except that there are so many other fabulous hats I would like to wear.

In true style I rocked up to the house warming party on the following night still in costume and having had no sleep or shower time! Classy lady.

So back in Australia I am yes. Somethings are unchanged, but everything is different. The eyes I look through are the same I left with, but they are changed. I think maybe I grew up a little bit; yes I know that is not hard considering my previous level of maturity.

May the Fourth be with you my friends.

I have a whole lot of nothing to say.

I am in a strange mood, it may be attributed to the head injury I recieved last night. Minor bruising and a lump caused by a CD to the head, yes I kid you not. Probably the most amusing injury since I bruised my groin playing with my poi.

Today is the day of random messages from My Space patrons. Tis the curse of joining all the available internet space things, whatever you will call them, to be public and have my photo out there for all to see. Who are these people who write to strangers based on a photo and some wanky crap about popular culture preferences? Disconnected lives crossing on the twist of optical fibres. Why do people reach out across the ether with comments for strangers they know nothing about? Is it hope or sadness that presses the hand to seek other screens and blank IP addresses to be their friends? Somewhere out there a warm body stares inot a computer screen and conjures messages to try and find another body to make contact with.

I do not know what I want. I have been so focused on getting a job, a home, shoes, clothes to wear to court, I have not stopped to decided what I want, I have just done it. So now I have a job, a home, court clothes and shoes and I am uneasy. 

Since I got back I have been to Byron for Blues and Roots, contracted and recovered from face leprosy, seen many bands, had many drinks, been to a couple of parties, caught up with many friends, had so much glorious food, started poi. There is more, these are the stream of conciousness surface floaters that I am willing to share. Other more private things have happened, but they are mine until I decide I can show them to you, if I ever do.

So much has happened and yet because I am not traveling suddenly I stop writing, I still keep a journal but my public ramblings had, until now, ceased. I know this was set up as a travel journal, the whole point was to inform and entertain my peeps back in Oz, and those I know around the globe, but I like it. I am not going to stop even though I am back, and I know from my blog stats that no one is checking it anymore, so I can say what I like, tempting.

I am sure in some stupid anthropormorphic way a little corner of cyberspace has missed me, no I am not sure, I would just like to believe it. What is the shape of the internet? If all that information was incarcerated on paper and put together, how much would there be?

I will not publish this yet, maybe never. Maybe I will start a new blog where nobody knows and write all the secret words I keep for myself, the private ones that form the inner me. Somewhere to record my angsty poetry and my twisted sentence fragments, to play with language and shape it into the sounds of me. To muse about my life, my friends, my loves, my fears and hopes.

And now recording this, I realise that I have given my blog out again, there is a chance people may still be reading this, hmm, interesting timing. I like the idea of people reading what I write, hence the desire to be a writer, maybe this is why I once again find my fingers straying across the keybaord forming the sentences I leave unsaid.

Maybe I should go home and get some sleep. Maybe I should run away again, but that won't work. Maybe I should let go and drift away.

Dreams and thoughts dart like fish in a sea of words crashing through my mind.