It is amazing how much being well rested change your life. I have recently been marveling a lot at the human body and how we manifest emotionally the problems we are having physically. This week has been a classic example of this. I have had gastro, (and my birthday great combination) and an emotional rollercoaster of a week. The sicker I got the more inclined I became to do stupid things and plunge into situations with no fore thought at all.

This line of thought started six months with a realisation that being anaemic was changing my personality, and not for the better. I was irritable, unmotivated, depressed and quiet. When my iron levels started to normalise, I could finally see how much my behaviour had changed.

Earlier this year I had a head injury and for two weeks, I was subdued, vague, nervous and withdrawn, and I had no attention span at all. It was disturbing to be aware of how I was being someone else. That one is probably less of a revelation; I hurt my brain and then was weird, no news there.

The changes wrought by physical exhaustion have become increasingly apparent as my emotional armour falls away like petals drifting off a blossom. My resilience crumbles and I am destroyed by the slightest bump. I find myself falling into a heap at the slightest hurdle.

I am used to being a powerhouse of wellness, of having lots of stupid accidents and breaking, bumping, scratching, bruising my anatomy but not succumbing to germ warfare. This year of ups and downs, multiple countries, tropics and elevation, beaches, dryness, summer, winter, monsoon and everything in between. Of roadside food, and interesting concoctions, of water best left un-drunk and farm animals of every description. It has drained me in whole new ways. As my body has broken down, so too my mind has become more fragile.

All the lessons I learned so long ago, all the resolutions passed and masks created, all forgotten through a misty mind besieged by virus, bacteria, parasite, bruising, and all of the physical ailments. 

I have known for a long time about expectations and wearing my heart on my sleeve, I long ago came to understand how I was to be perceived. I have known my place, my rights, my social standing all to be abandoned thanks to a rash, a runny nose, a slight sniffle.

Betrayed by my own body. I think it may be one of the things that has led to my resolution to enter my next birthday healthier then I ever have been. quite frankly I have no choice. In order to survive the coming years, I need to be a lot stronger then this in every way.

I have quit smoking, I am slowly emerging as someone with a measurable level of fitness, I walk 20 kilometres a week. But I need to do more. I get sick I get sad. I fall ill and I fall into the traps of expecting things, I know I cannot have. Life is hard enough without having some strength to rely on, to not be able to trust myself to hold firm and deal with everything is not an option.

The body is an amazing place to live, it is so strong, yet weak, It is an amazing construction so easily destroyed. And if it is going to make it easier to stay strong and ignore my brain and its ridiculous thoughts, then I will treat it with more care.

I have often said; my body is a temple and I worship at the altar of hedonism. I will stand by that statement, for someone needs to take pleasure from it all. But now to find the balance between hedonism and emotional reserves. Toe the line between consumption and health

I have recently begun using a name brand shampoo and conditioner to control a hideous outbreak of dandruff that has left me shedding kilos of skin from my head, eww. I noticed after a couple of uses that my hair is not quite the same colour it once was. Now after 2 weeks of use my hair has gone yellow. No not blonde, yellow, I am starting to resemble a cartoon character. 

Sure enough when I read the bottle in the shower this morning; 'may cause temporary hair discolouration in people with dyed or blonde hair'. I am no stranger to this phenomenon. My hair has gone bright green from chlorine exposure, red from rust in the pipes, blue from the use of cheap hair products and grey from an unfortunate incident involving "temporary" spray on hair colour. This, however, is the worst! I can handle a little colour and mystery, but this shampoo is tar based, thats right folks I am starting to resemble a tar stained, nicotine exposed, RSL ceiling. 

So now I have to decide which is worse; looking like the inside of a pack a day lung? or showering everyone in 10 metre radius with dead skin cells from my scalp? I think I will switch brands and see what the results are, but based on previous experience I may have to go back on the tar, the others just aren't effective.

Ah the curses of having extremely blonde hair... I know I am lucky to have it, people spend hundreds of dollars dying their hair to look like mine, women would commit crimes to have this colour tra la la la, but you don't see brunettes walking around with ciggy head or Kermit hair, recessive gene? excessively whimpy I say! It may be culturally desirable, but it is impractical and annoying for someone who ranks low on the personal maintenance and commitment to beauty scale.

Any suggestions of cures/alternatives gratefully received.

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.

 <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?

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?

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.

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.