curious and curiouser.

we don’t have a phone line in rozelle yet. even though sherry from optus came round to our door offering a fantastic internet deal. she had one of those hongky americanish accents which i found slightly endearing, even through the pushiness. she felt that it was very important to have a home phone. she also believed that though we didn’t have a phone or internet right now, at some point we would want both of those things. pat ummed and ahhed and tried to get her to leave, saying that the other housemate wasn’t home at the moment, and he didn’t know when she would be home, and that he himself had to leave very soon, he didn’t mention the thirty dollar tart in the oven. sherry said, ok, maybe i’ll come back later. say…. seven? pat said he’d already have left, but sherry said she’d come back at seven. they knocked and i ignored them with loud music once. then they came again (sherry had a shock-haired boy with her this time). i told them the other housemate still wasn’t home, and no decisions could be made without her consent. maybe she could leave me a brochure. she conferred with the spikey boy, who was suss on leaving anything, but she convinced him that they could leave the small one, and she wrote down her name and mobile for when we’d discussed things. i told them i had to go back to my study. i had glenn gould playing the goldberg variations really loud, so i could sit in the living room (which is a very different thing to the lounge room) while i played the music in my bedroom.  you listen to piano? sherry asked. sometimes, i said, when i’m studying. we both play piano (spikey boy included), she said. it’s shocking, she said. i thought about how shocking was too strong a word. about how it’s a kind of unbalanced word, because shocking as an adjective is heavier than to shock as a verb. later, i thought about how we should use curious more. as in, how curious, or, it’s curious that you listen to piano.

stay tuned for housewarming details.

 

fill-in, not in chronological order.

- my mattress is breaking/ no it’s not.

- we can hang our cutlery on the hooks!

- parramatta. le calin plus long.

- don’t go away.

- telediario, followed by vingt heures.

- body loathing all day sleeping.

- skin pain. you know what i’m talking about.

- so… have you guys got our bond money yet?

- tap aerator.

- stomach dragging, opposable thumbed cat.

- sorry, i haven’t logged off.

- you’d better be posting on your blog.

 

to think

to think, a few days ago sitting in the toilet in my place of work, half crying. the hard close of my throat clenching clenching, the wet eyes, the way that breathing seems to make you ten times lighter with each breath. and not at all because the chef had told me to fuck off, i couldn’t actually give a shit about that. maybe half because i hadn’t told him to fuck off back. but the other half for everything else.

and then yesterday, a few embellishments and photocopies, and suddenly, in the afternoon, a new house. the one we had hoped for!

 

almond-ing

as i picked things from the floor, desperately searched for places to stick piled up clothing, strange containers and junk, my breathing actually lightened. the more i managed to slightly de-clog my room, the easier air sucked into my lungs. all i can think of is having a new house, and the first night leaving my window wide open, lying on my bed and sucking in through my nose, my body almonding out, the skin going soft as i exhale. it feels like advanced nostalgia.

 

a public announcement.

i don’t know how much longer i’m gonna last here in surry hills. i don’t fit into this room. and i would like to live somewhere that i like. don’t get me wrong, there are things that i like about this place and this house. and i will always be so greatful to surry hills for saving me from engadine. but it’s like being saved from pain by an analgesic. it’s not real relief or happiness, it’s numbness, a lack of feeling. and if i’m going to write a thesis next year (though that remains to be seen) i don’t think i can do it here. i can’t stay here. people are rippling out and i’m treading water, but i can’t stay here. i can’t.

also, the standout search terms that led to my blog over the last two days:

~ “ken done” dead

~ fuckatrds

~ drunk pug (this is oddly common)

 

on the way home

on my way home today, i passed the cop shop, and there were seven  shopping trolleys lined up against the wall, upside down, like terror suspects. their little wheels dangling innocently.

later, in the devonshire st tunnel, there was a man with hair receding in an orderly fashion, walking methodically. but his hair [what was left of it] was trying to fly away, collectively. with each step it rose and descended.

flapping, flapping.

 

a late night call

so late, for a tuesday night, that it was almost an early morning call. in the dark, and being able to be hazy, and act like a baby, a doona on me like a nappy, and giggling. then coughing. the call ends and the pillows are awkward. i check something on the net and my eyes are burnt open for the next two hours. still foggy, but with light. still foggy.

 

crown st.

the wind was so strong this afternoon that it blew down a tree on crown st. looked light it had fallen slowly, rupturing the asphalt. pulled down the power lines, so they had to close off the street while they waited to take it away safely. the whole episode excited me because for the first time surry had that pregnancy of suburbia or even regional towns. muggy air, worried with wind. no movement, no cars. and the radical inaction of emergency staff. waiting in front of the obstruction. it felt like when there’s a bushfire and people just stand around looking across the valley at the flames, sliding their hands between their pants and their buttocks, thinking things through.

 

the opposite of the angsty post

finally, differently located. in a bigger, better bed. we fitted everything in one loading of the two small cars. i love loading. for some reason, i am good at loading. because i’m narcissistic, i like doing things i am good at, and don’t like things i am bad at. e.g. ice-skating (exception to rule, sex. i still like that). have posters up. don’t have a bookshelf yet so i still can’t arrange and categorise my books. but hey, gratification works better not all at once.

 

amidst the death of larrikins, a satisfactory day

i got up at 7:30 with full intent of making my 9 o’clock french class. but with buckets of rain being blown down and across by gale-force winds, i thought, no, i don’t think so. not today. so i went back to bed for a little while. i chased down a job opportunity (doubtful), did some readings, replied to an email, charged some batteries, made some anally prepared food with the little resources available in the house. took a couple of painkillers to tide me over until the antibiotics start doing their thing (i think they’ve started). i found this fantastic wharfie’s jacket (that’s the name i’ve given it) which is just perfect for a windy day. and, it looks like i have a house. small room, good house. trade-off.