World. Oyster. Stage.

how lovely

2009-11-08T08:37:00.004+11:00

It's 8.30am on Sunday and I am reading yesterday's papers. I have already clipped some articles: one about two sisters born to an aboriginal father and Dutch mother; one about the tradition of literary salons; one about the fear of mental illness and one about the suicide issues the Yolngu people are facing in their community.

Then I came to an article by Peter Craven, presumably about Australian theatre according to the headline. It's not an article I will read or clip. Lots of stories I just flick over. I'm not interested in clipping anything about wars, current or past. I am interested in Holocaust stories. I am interested in mass murders and things like that, but I don't clip them. I do clip stories about children dying at the hands of their mothers. I clip interesting articles about animals and especially if there is an unusual intersection with humans; recently there was an article about a family living in Melbourne with an autistic boy who was displaying very extreme behaviour. They read about and got a dog (from America I think it was, because none are trained here) who now lives with them and is companion and "helper" to their son. Their son's behaviour has modified, or become more moderate; he doesn't have as many tantrums, doesn't wander as much (and if he does, the dog follows him and stays with him.) It appealed to all my latent Lassie fantasies and I cried as I read out bits to the family. My daughter thinks I'm weird, I'm sure. The mother who is close to tears.

This photo above appealed to me. It made me think about men and how they generally aren't physically affectionate with each other. Possible Rush and Armfield are in a lineup to take a bow? This was my first thought. But no, the caption to the picture says they were photographed as they were preparing for Exit the King. Also Armfield's other hand is in his pocket. What strikes me is the way Geoffrey Rush is looking at Neil Armfield and how completely comfortable he looks, in holding another man's hand. Armfield is displaying some body language of discomfort, but he might just be laughing at something completely unconnected to the fact that he is gripping the hand of a man.

It's a lovely photo and it makes me wish we saw more men holding hands, with arms across shoulders, kissing each other on the cheeks. When I first went to Turkey, I was surprised to see men walking arm in arm along the street. Young men, old men. It was a very real cultural difference to me. I'm not sure it still happens; in later years I don't remember seeing it, but in 1990, it was very apparent.

The only time I see men kissing each other hello, and goodbye, is when I'm with two of my gay friends. Maybe it's up to gay men to start the revolution. They need to start bringing the kiss hello to their heterosexual male friends.

If we could all touch each other a little more, maybe we'd all be happier.

Fridayrama Diarama oh yeah good one ah ha ah ha

2009-11-06T09:34:00.003+11:00

It is 10.40pm on Saturday 17/8/85. Fucking long day. Yesterday, college was ok. Went out with Jeanette last night. To bed at 3am at Ashburton. Then this morning:

Sat: arose at 5am. Out to Tullamarine. [Sister] to New Guinea. Brekky at airport. Home. Watched Sounds. To town. Met D. (Will fit in stuff later.) Went to Monet exhibition at the Art Gallery. Now it's 10.40pm and after only 2 hours sleep last night, I am fucked. Goodnight.

PS D is staying the night.
PPS Lots of work tomorrow.

*

Greetings! It is 1.30amish on the morning of Monday 19/8/85. Just returned de Helen's in Fitzroy where for the last 7 1/2 hours I have been slavishly writing my Language Log Book and Drama Impro Essay. Not bad going! I thought I'd be working all night. Had a good evening - grouse good and a nice joint. When Helen was cooking dinner, I listened to Brian Eno - that song. First time since I left South Yarra. I was so emotional about it. I wrote all the images that were in my head down. Anway... yesterday was ok. Early night, woke this morning. D and I read magazines, had brekky and procrastinated silently over our work. (She had work to do also.) Eventually I drove her home then to Helen's. Dad's not home. I'm gonna climb into bed and read. Ciao.

*

Hello. It's 12.30am on Tues 20/8/85. I'm in Orange Bed. Today was the first day of my holidays! Yay! I drove to college about 10.30am and handed in my essays etc. Home. Read a bit. [Brother] rang. He came over. Went to Ashburton with him. Dinner. TV. Mucho tv. Return to Eden. He drove me back home here.

Bungalow man rang up tonight at Ashburton. They're putting the slab down on Wednesday. Tomorrow I'm gonna get the beetle serviced. Then I'm going to go around looking for stuff for the bungalow. I need a few things (desk, paint for walls, roof, bookcase etc.) Bed. Fridge.

Now to read Garp which I reread last holidays (May) at Inverloch, and am rereading with mucho pleasure now. Ciao.

*

It's 3.40am and I am drunk. On Wed morning 21/8/85.

Today:

- woke
- went to Camberwell
- saw K in her Trans Am van
- coffee with K caught up on all the goss
- bought some clogs for $10
- home
- washing
- tv
- out to Market Bar with K, L, D, T and M.

Good night. Played Spin the Bottle at M's house. Wooah. Now to sleep. Man putting bungalow slab down in the morning. Ciao.

*

Now it's the next morning. It's 10.34am, I'm sitting in the sitting room at Ashburton. Al is on my lap and being super affectionate. Listening to Prince's Purple Rain. It's so good. I haven't heard it for about 5 months or so.

Last night was good fun. At the Market Bar three tought looking lesbos were eyeing us girls off. It was funny. They were behaving just like men. Dressed like men. Sleazy like sleazy men.

Then we went back to M's place, had a gin and I was so drunk. Played Spin the Bottle. I escaped unscathed. K had to doff his clothes and stand in front of the window. T had to show me his dick. D had to flash her tits. Then L got upset and we stopped playing. Then we went home and I crashed. Went to sleep as soon as my head hit the pillow. Amazing.

Aldous is so super affectionate. Mega affection is being ladled onto me. Now "I Would Die For You" is on... Then "Baby, I'm a Star" which is fab.

Now it's 3.29pm still the same day. Still sitting here listening to records. At the moment it's "Syncronicity". D should be here soon. I've listened to so many records:

- Prince
- Madonna
- Police
- Clash
- Adam Ant
-Midnight Oil

No Beatles as such. Mum came home for lunch and she rang [brother] at work. When she was dialling the number, she said to me that she should pretend to be an old lady. I suggested she ask if she can claim her pet food because the doctor said it's good therapy to have an animal. So, she gets onto [brother] and says, in an old lady's voice:

"I'm 90 years old, and I have a kitten... I was wondering if I could claim for pet food... my doctor told me it's good therapy to have an animal."

In between all this she was laffing so hard, all red in the face, tears skidding out of her eyes, trying not to laugh out loud. I was sitting there laughing. Apparently, [brother] thought it was someone from another department joking around and he advised quite sincerely that it would depend on "what you do to the cat." He didn't know it was mum! God she's good fun! I love her so much!!!

I've been sitting here reading through all my diaries from Vol 1 on... Fuck I have to get [sister] to read my 81/82 era. I was so angry, frustrated, depressed, anti everything. Negative. Grumpy. Tortured. Self-piteous. But in a real rut. I think she's going through the same thing I did, only earlier. I am so pleased I've kept my diaries, they're so full of so much. When I finish this one, I'll get another blank-paged one cause then I can do drawings as well. It's a vivid one, the big blank one.

The bungalow is being started on Friday. It's reality now... so bloody exciting. I'm gonna work so hard and make it look good.

*

Now it's 5 mintues prior to midnight, the same day. After last writing, D came over and we went and saw Mad Max III, Beyond Thunderdome. It was good. Then, I picked up the car and he's in excellent nick. Drove to Ashburton which is where I am now. I'm in El's bed, about to settle down and read Garp. Tomorrow I have to saw some trees, go through the newspapers and listen to records. The bungalow's almost here. Yay. Ciao.

PS Mum and I just watched the conclusion of Return to Eden. Very funny. Mr Reyne, ha, poor chap had shithouse lines. Wonder how Patrick's going in his examens? Well, I hope. I hope he's ok. Wonder why he wants to see me? Mmmm. "Time will tell" and "we'll see".

*

It's around 12.30am on Friday 23rd August, 1985. In [sister's] bed. Just got home de the Market Bar. Went there with D and Kim. Saw (by chance) T and L. Chatted. Had a few beers (not many at all! 3) Came home via 7-11 and CCs. After dropping D and Kim off, I confess wholeheartedly to the crime of driving past Patrick's house - yes. The moke was there, some lights on... a flash in the night. Mmmmm. Today I went through the newspapers, sawed some trees and branches and supervised the unloading of the bungalow bits. It's so exciting. Tomorrow Peter starts putting it up and I can't wait to paint it and move in man! Now for Garp. Bye-bye.

*

Now it's a wee bit past 10.30pm on Fri night (23/8/85). I'm in [sister's] bed and it's a super duper early night. Just watched HG Wells' The Time Machine which was ok. I'm getting a bit inward (well, today I was). Wondering what to do when/if I see Patrick. There's such an impulse to protect myself, but somehow I feel I'm doing that automatically and subconsciously anyway. I'm looking forward to Inverloch. The bung is coming along well. It's going to be so big. Party tomorrow at Donvale; I'll pop in and see B and P. Hope they're there. It'll be ok. She likes me and Pat said she'd love to see me. So I will stop by. If there not there, I'll leave a note. Anyway, Miss Broodo, now to Garp. Bye.

*

It's almost 1.50am on Sun 25/8/85. My evening:

Drove to Donvale. Knocked on B's door. Door answered, B on phone to Pat. I spoke to him. He failed maths and failed TOP. I talked to him for a while. Then hung up. Talking to B and P... me thinking of Pat. Decided to visit him with tinnies. Did. Drove like a madwoman to see him. Friendly and funny to begin with then huggy and emotional to end with. I told him I'd ring him to come down to Inverloch with me. I dunno. I still want him. he told me he still wants me... misses me... fuck!

*

Many days have elapsed since I last wrote and now I take it upon myself to fill in the big gap accurately and with style! It's now Friday 30th August, 1985. 9.31pm. At Ashburton, in the sitting room, the tv is on, some music show - live. Last time I wrote in here was last Sunday morning at about 2am. I slept...

Sun 25/8: woke 8.30amish. Drove to Romsey with [brother and his friend M] to do some heavy cow labour. Arrived up there about 11amish. [Brother] and M went on the tractor to move the cows, using hay as bait. I tried to join them a bit later but the kids told me a magpie attacks. Cool Melba shrugged off the threat saying "I'll be alright, I'll take a stick and hit it if it swoops me."

Ha ha ha ha.

Armed with a measly excuse for a stick I marched outside. I made it to the front paddock, opened the gate and secured it behind me. Then... SWOOSH, FLUTTER, SWOOSH.

I looked up and there was indeed a magpie, climbing the sky, taking aim, then diving towards my head. I waved my stick and screamed a bit - I was scared. Somehow I managed to get the gate open with one hand while juggling my defence weapon. I ran back to the house and sat down, heaving and panting, stick clutched in my fist. Everyone just laughed at me. Eventually, Dad and I walked down to the yards and it started raining. We fed the cows into the narrow stock gates, and injected them with drenching stuff. The piece of equipment looked like a ray gun, attached to a plastic tube which ran into a plastic pack of liquid. I was like the nursing sister assisting the doctor in surgery. Dr Dad would hand me things he didn't want at the time and if I got overloaded, I'd pass them to [brother]. [Brother] would stand there with the "Rambo" gun, legs apart, hips thrust forward, head angled jauntily, looking as if he was about to open fire.

The yard was mega muddy and sometimes I got stuck. We laughed alot. It was good. Dad also had to ear tag some of the calves who'd lost their other ones. One particular calf was at the front of the next batch we coo-bahed* into the gates. He got trampled into the mud by some big, fat cows and struggled to his feet, mud all over his pretty white face. Then, because he'd lost his ear tag, Dad had to staple in another one. The little bugger struggled and the tag didn't go in properly. Bleeding ear. He got injected with drench. The gun is positioned against a hollow in the cow's side, towards the back of the cow. The gun is shoved against the cow, the plastic tube springs back and the needle slides in. Mmmmm....

Then this particular little cow was discovered to be a boy and Dad had to mark him. This involves putting tight elastic bands around his little balls. The contraption for this looks medieval and savage. A pair of scissor-type things with elastic bands around hooks. When the scissors are pressed closed, the rubber bands open. They're slipped over the balls and then released, and whammo, the little feller has been marked.

It was so funny, Dad had never done it before and to watch him groping while I held the tail up was novel.

Dad talks to the cows with more affection and interest than he demonstrates towards us children. It's funny. "Come on girls! This way! Turn around, that's the girl. Good girls!"

We sludged up the hill for lunch, cold and wet.

Up at the house, thawing out I was thinking of Pat. My mind darting, thinking, formulating, rejecting, approving. I came to the conclusion that it'd be a good idea (impulsive yes) to go to Inverloch the next day rather than the next week. My rationalisation for this decision lay in the thought that this week I could do nothing with the bungalow, so I may as well go to the beach. Then, my brain going crazy, told me to Inverloch that very night! (Sun.) The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to do it... So I made my excuses and left. I drove like a madwoman (again!) back to Melbourne. All the way, thinking of what I was gonna say on the phone to Patrick, wondering what he'd say etc....

I arrived at Hawthorn and rang him. He was pleased to hear from me.

"Do you still wanto to go to Inverloch?'

"Yes."

"Do you want to go now?"

"Aaaagh, yes!"

So I picked him up at 8.30pm. It was raining and black and really stormy. We set off. I drove to Cranbourne. We talked alot. It was good. At Cranbourne we had Chinese take away and got the last can of Leed in Australia. A collector's item which I won't open. We set off again, Pat driving. Laughing all the way down. It was so dark and Pat said it was like an obstacle course, one of those slot machines, driving a car through tunnels, oil slicks, over jumps etc. They'd been doing road works and so signs would loom towards us, lunging rapidly telling us to KEEP LEFT!!! It was like Dukes of Hazzard.

We got to Inverloch at about 11.30pm. I rang mum to tell her I'd got there safely. (I'd left a note for her at Ashburton, saying where I'd gone, with whom but not why! Explanations to follow.)

We had a bong and went for a walk. It was nice. Then I had a shower and then Pat did. I snuggled on the couch wondering what would happen next. After his shower, Pat came in, snuggled up to me and said "Well" and I said "well?"

"When are we going to bed?" he said.

It was really sweet, he hadn't assumed we'd be sleeping together. I said "Do you want to sleep in my bed?" and he said "yes, please!" It was so cute. So he hopped into the bed and then I did. Eventually I told him I wasn't on the pill, and I was mad at myself. I was weak and let him penetrate but I wanted it! It was great. Then we slept. I didn't sleep very well. I'm not used to sharing my bed.

Mon 26/7: Slept in a bit. Packed some food and drove to Phillip Island. Lovely weather. Went to
the Nobbies. Cowes, had a BBQ. Talked to the seagulls and magpie, played on the swings. Went shopping, looked at all the shops. Spent a while in the newsagency. I bought John Irving's The Water Method Man, and Pat got Rambo: First Blood. It was so good. We clicked again just like we always did. Good friends. Walking towards an Amcal chemist, Pat looked at me and said "Will I get some?" and I said "Yes!" with a big grin on my face. So he went into the chemist and I went into a milk bar. He told me that he went in and went right up to the girl at the counter (she was about 16) and said:

"Do you sell prophylactics?"
"What?"
"Prophylactics."
"What are they?"
"You know, those things you use during sex?"
"Oh!" [giggle] "They're over here."

She took him to where they were and while he crouched down, surverying the variety, she stood waiting. Looking up at her, Pat said "I think I'll just have a look if you don't mind." Miss 16 giggled off.

Near the Nobbies, there was a shell house, with the walls and whole house laden with shells.
We went back there after Cowes to see the penguin parade at dusk. We were early so sat in the car and laughed at all the tourists (like us). A little boy was uninhibitedly looking at us, face almost pressed up against the beetle windows.

[Insert: now I am listening to Help!]

We kicked the football on some grass while we waited for sunset. Then we went and checked out the penguin parade. There were heaps of people there and it was really cute! After that, we drove back to Inverloch. Had one drink at the pub (no one else was there). Played a few records on the juke box, laughed, left and got some take-aways. Back home we watched Yes, Minister and Clive James. I enjoyed. In bed, reading novels, fell asleep. Tired.

Tues 27/8: Woke 6.30am. Made love. Slept. Woke again, noonish. Drove to Wonthaggi. Leisurely stroll around "CBD". Two beers in pub. Played darts. I won. Bought $8 earrings in hippy shop. Home. Footy on oval. Shops at Inverloch. Bought some mince and stuff for spaghetti. Home. Cooked tea. Garlic bread. Watched The Young Ones. Funny. Bed.

Wed 28/8: Drove to Korrumburra. Yucky weather. Then to Leongatha. Beer in pub. Me a bit quiet. Pat and I talked about reality, what we want etc. He asked me what I want to happen when we get back to town. I said I want to see him, but I'm not sure on what level.

He said "Do you want to see me?"

"Yes."

"Above anyone else?"

"Yes."

Me: "Do you want to see me?"

"Yes."

"Above anyone else?"

"Yes."

He told me I don't need him. That there was a time when I thought I couldn't live without him, but now I can and I can be happy without him. I agreed, because it's true. But I said I'm glad I know I can live without him, and that he should be glad too because it means I'm not super dependent on him and weak. I said as a matter of choice I'd like to be with him because I feel good when I'm with him. I also told him it's bullshit that he has nothing to offer. After a pause, he agreed. He said he'd been wondering why I'd invited him away. Whether to see what it'd be like and come to the decision "is this what I got so upset at losing?"

I said that's rubbish. So it was all cool and comfy and relaxed. He said we click and we do! Anyway, in Leongatha there was a daffodil festival and all the shops had window displays with daffodils. It was great. In the chemist, Pat was looking at cameras, and we were really enjoying each other. A lovely holiday.

Then home. Had a super bong. Then walked to the pub for a counter tea. Yummo. Then home. Bed. Love.

Thurs 29/8: Got ready to go and slowly drove back to Melb. Stopped off at Ashburton, had a look at the bungalow. Wow! It's up and it's growly! So big and impressive! Then we went to Pat's and watched a bit of Simon Townsend's and Happy Days then I left. Pat said he'd ring me on Sun night. Then I went home, spoke to D on the phone, then mum and explained to mum about my spontaneous holiday and reassured her that everything is cool, man!

I got ready to go out and went to D's. From there, we were picked up by T, with M and L. To a Greek restaurant in Swan St Richmond. Stuffed our faces. Then to Inflation. Boogied. Got pretty pissed. Pretty bad. K moaning about L, L raving about how good it's going with T. Home about 4am . Slept.

Now, today, woke 2.40pm. Drove to Ashburton. Checked out the bungalow. One more day's work. Electrician coming on Monday. Bought some paint. Visited Aunty J. To Camberwell with [brother.] He got Hoodoo Gurus new album. Then, home to Ashb. I cooked my tea and started writing here. Now it's 11.45pm and I have achieved my objective to fill in the manay-day gap in this book.

*

Back again. It's only a few minutes later. Reading the beginning of this books and I must say I'm glad Patrick didn't ring me when I was feeling down. Shit. I dunno what's going to happen, we'll see. But in the meantime, I'm ok mate!

*

Greetings. Don't know what the time is... 11.30pmish ? on Sun 1/9/85. It's the first day of Spring. Shocking weather, rained all day, windy and stormy. Anyway, to fill in today and yesterday:

SAT - [brother] had a jam with the band at Ashburton. I painted the bungalow and they did Bittersweet (Hoodo Gurus) and it sounded pretty damn good. Went to a party in Glen Iris last night, a going away bash for K. (See details on loose sheets.) Stayed at Kim's falt that D's minding. Sleep at 5am. (I slept in the room of the guy who manages I'm Talking, wow.)

SUN - slept in super late. Got up. Chatted with D. She drove me to Ashb. Talked with [brother.] Bummed around. Mum came home. Me wondering when Patrick would ring. I drove home to Hawthorn. Eventually spoke to P. He's going to ring me tomorrow night. I'm still pretty unsure about the whole thing, but I'm not going to dwell. Now I'm going to continue Water Method Man which is really good. It's really windy outside. I watched Network tonight on telly with Peter Finch, William Holden, Robert Duvall and Faye Dunaway. It was powerful, bizarre and enjoyable. Bye.

* 2009 note - obscure National Velvet (tv show) reference. Anybody not a nine-year old girl at the time it was shown, or a very camp young boy, would not get this. These are the only two demographic groups I know who remember the coo-bah thing that Mi used to say.

Diarama Monday. A bit more poetry and a couple of new developments.

2009-11-02T09:48:00.003+11:00

Friday 8th August, 1985. Working my way through a bottle of Seaview's finest, transcribing poetry from Norton's Anthology.

*

Ode on a Grecian Urn

Thou still unravished bride of quietness,
Thou foster child of silence and slow time,
Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
What leaf fringed legend haunts about thy shape
Of deities of mortals, or of both,
In Tempe, or the dales of Arcady?
What men or gods are these? What maidens loath?
What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?

*

That's my last duchess painted on the wall,
Looking as if she were alive. I call
That piece a wonder, now. Fra Pandolf's hands
Worked busily a day, and there she stands.
Will't please you sit and look at her? I said
"Fra Pandolf" by design, for never read
Strangers like you that pictured countenance,
The depth and passion of its earnest glance,
But to myself they have turned (since none puts by
The curtain I have drawn for you, but I)
And seemed as they would ask me, if they durst,
How such a glance came there; so not the first
Are you to turn and ask thus. Sir, 'twas not
Her husband's presence only, called that spot
Of joy into the Duchess' cheek: perhaps
Fra Pandolf chanced to say "Her mantle laps
"Over my lady's wrist too much," or "Paint
"Must never hope to reproduce the faint
"Half-flush that dies along her throat": Such stuff
Was courtesy, she thought, and cause enough
For calling up that spot of joy. She had
A heart - how shall I say? - too soon made glad,
Too easily impressed; she liked whate'ver
She looked on, and her looks went everywhere.
Sir, 'twas all one! My favour at her breast,
The dropping of the daylight in the West,
The bough of cherries some officious fool
Broke in the orchard for her, the white mule
She rode with round the terrace - all and each
Would draw from her alike the approving speech,
Or blush, at least. She thanked men - good! But thanked
Somehow - I know not how - as if she ranked
My gift of a nine-hundred-years-old name
With anybody's gift. Who'd stoop to blame
This sort of trifling? Even had you skill
In speech - which I have not - to make your will
Quite clear to such an one, and say "just this
"Or that in you disgusts me; here you miss,
"Or there exceed the mark" - and if she let
Herself be lessoned so, not plainly set
Her wits to yours, forsooth, and made excuses
- E'en then would be some stooping; and I choose
Never to stoop. Oh sir, she smiled, no doubt,
Whene'er I passed her; but who passed without
Much the same smile? This grew; I gave commands;
Then all smiles stopped together. There she stands
As if alive. Will't please you rise? We'll meet
The company below, then. I repeat,
The count your master's known munificence
Is ample warrant that no just pretense
Of mine for dowry will be disallowed;
Though his fair daughter's self, as I avowed
At starting, is my object. Nay, we'll go
Together down, sir. Notice Neptune, though,
Taming a sea-horse, thought a rarity,
Which Claus of Innsbruck cast in bronze for me!

*

Because I could not stop for Death -
He kindly stopped for me -
The carriage held but just ourselves -
And Immortality.

*

There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet
There will be time to murder and create

...

And time yet for a hundred indecisions
And for a hundred visions and revisions
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

...

Do I dare
Disturb the universe?

And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and
ways?
And how should I presume?

...

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

...

Would it have been worthwhile,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it towards some overwhelming questions,

...

I grow old... I grow old...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
... I have heard the mermaids singing each to each.
I do not think they will sing to me. *

*

Hello! It's me again! The time is now 11.47pm on the same evening and it seems to me a good time to end. I have completed looking through "The Norton Anthology" and have recored all I want to be included in this terrif little word book. The champagne bottle has quite a bit left in it. I don't know if I'll be able to finish it. I'll try but I don't want to be sick and I haven't had a substantial meal either. Tomorrow I intend to work really hard. The same with Sunday. I have to ring T tomorrow and arrange to do our Drama piece for Monday. I think I'll find something to read (I finished Setting Free the Bears - it was enjoyable) and take me champagne to bed and read. ciao.
PS Today I spent $100 on clothes but I got 4 expensive items - a real bargain!
1. some lime-green American baseball jeans/pants ($25)
2. a check, tartan, lined, double-breated baggy jacket ($25)
3. a big, floppy, roomy, double-breasted coat/jacket (light blue) ($25)
4. an orange, vivid big shirt ($25)

I'm rapt. Bye.

*

It's 11.30am on Sunday 11/8/85.
I have just stepped out of a yummo hot shower. I'm afraid it will take me a long time to record what happened to D and I last night. D and I have had some adventures together, but this one takes the cake, for sure.

At about 8.30pm (after doing my drama essay and having a hot bath) I rang D and we agreed we wanted to go out. But where to? D said she'd ring a friend and I said I'd ring L for ideas on where to go. Neither of them were home. So we thought we'd go to the Chevron. I chooffed over to D's and we set off. It was still rawther early (9.30pmish) and D said people didn't go to the Chevron until midnight or 1am. So we thought, where can we go for a pleasant drink before the Chevron? Driving through South Yarra, we stopped at the pub where J works, but she wasn't there. We considered the Cricketer's Arms, Hatters and one other, then I said "I know. The Albion." So we burned off in the beetle to Carlton. It was fairly full, and there was a live band playing '50s muzak and jazz 'n' stuff. D and I were talking to two bee-keepers and that was a fairly bizarre convo. Then, I was asked to dance by a man, so I said yes. We danced and danced. D danced (briefly) with an Aborigine who was very drunk. In between dancing, we sat at this lad's table with his friends, who turned out to be his employees. He told us he was Assistant Manager of BBQs Galore. "He gave me his card." We danced more and got romantic. It was lovely. He made me laugh on the dance floor - playing the fool and so forth. It was terrific fun. Back at the table I sat on his knee and we shared beers and cigarettes. He kept saying things like "You still like me?" (when I returned from the toilet); "Are you still enjoying yourself?" and "I feel so comfortable with you."

"Would you want to see me again?" etc etc.

When we were first dancing he told me I make him feel fresh (not as in horny; as in new.) He really enjoyed dancing with me. Asked me if I had a boyfriend. I said no. He was making confessions, like he's not a trendsetter etc. His name = Ron! He was nuzzling me and gently kissing me... it was so lovely to be held and smothered with affection. He was really polite - holding out chairs, doors etc. Then me, Ron, D, Brad and Charlie went for food and coffee to Lambs restaurant. We walked there and Ron was being a real loon. Reeally outgoing - refreshingly so. At Lambs, we all talked and it was relaxed, friendly and fun. Ron kept saying he's going to take me fishing on his boat. I guessed his age to be 26 years old. I guessed his starsign - you'll never guess! Capricorn. Born 1957 which makes him 27, 28 in Dec. It blew me away that he's Capricorn.**

After eating dips, lamb and drinking cappucinos, we walked back to the beetle (Ron swaggering and singing - good voice). We jumped in Kon, Ron had given me a carnation from the restaurant. He held my hand on the gearstick as I drove, and then he was doing the gears and me the rest. Drove to BBQs Galore. Went inside. What an environment for a small, intimate party. Heaps and heaps of BBQs, wood stoves, heaters, outdoor furniture, fancy fringy umbrellas, a pool (with water in it) and lots and lots of tents and sleeping bags.

Ron showed D and I around. Discussed the range of sleeping bags. We lit a log fire in one of the heaters at the front and drank some beer in front of the fire. It was nice. Then Ron invited us to stay the night there. D and I were unsure as to what to do. We almost left, but then we took the risk, each chose a sleeping bag, found a big tent, dragged some big lilos in, and settled down for a slumber party. Charlie, at one stage, tried to pep Ron up by making him sniff salts unexpectedly. I got them in my eye and Ron in his mouth. I sprinted to the toilet to wash my eye, weaving and dodging between tents, hammocks and garden furniture. Ron charged straight for the pool and hurled himself into it. After washing my eye, which surprisingly didn't sting, I returned to bed. Ron joined me, and stripped off his wet singlet and undies. We snuggled up and held each other. It was great. We started mucking around and it felt so good but I stopped it because I couldn't relax and get into it properly (because D and Brad were in the tent too, behind a flimsy curtain) and also because of the contraceptive problem or lack thereof). So we eventually settled down at about 6.30am. I didn't sleep, Ron did. He held me all the time. None of this "turned his back on me." At about 9am we got up. Packed up the sleeping bags, tidied up and drive to Ron's flat. There we had coffee, water, met his obnoxious flat mate. Ron was cuddly and it was great. I really like him. I said D and I had better be going and Ron asked me for my number. I gave it. He asked when he could ring. It's so exciting. Outside his place there's been a car smash. D and I got in the car and immediately started pissing ourselves laughing... couldn't stop. We were so high. I still am even though I haven't slept and I'm exhausted, I don't feel it. Big week ahead of me... my God. I'd like to see Ron again. He was fun and seems to be just what I need!

PS Just been on the phone with mum and [sister] and I remembered that at one stage, Ron was riding a motor bike around the store and also, he has tattoos (mmmm). A big eagle on his back, a dragon on his right arm (upper), a flower on his left breast, and a heart (?) eagle on his left arm. Shit...***

*

It's 10.35pmish on Sun 11/8/85. Wow. I think this is a marathon record for me - going without sleep. Haven't slept since Sat morning, which is pretty incredible for me. I awoke at 10.30am on Saturday so I've been awake for 36 hours instead of the usual 12??? Incredible!! Well here I am. I have just returned from T's house/flat. I rang her about 5.30pm re Drama language thing tomorrow. We got a bottle of wine, and ate cheese sauce spaghetti and smoked heaps and raved! And then T concocted a potion of warm sherry, fruit cordial, lemon, sugar, water. It was pretty potent. Thinking about Ron. Last night was so much fun. What a fucking trip! I really like T. We click really well man. Anyway, now to sleep, sleep, sleep.

*

It's a smidgeon after midnight, so the date is officially Tuesday 13/8/85. Today college was ok. So 1/5 of the week is over. Lunch with T and we put together our language presentation. Could have been better, but I liked it. I'll write it in here one day soon. When I've got 3 weeks off. Kept telling people about BBQs Galore and me Saturday night. It's so exciting. Hope he rings. But, I'm sick of waiting for me to ring (ie Patrick) so I'm not holding my breath. If he doesn't ring by Friday, I'm "doomed." Dad's sitting in the other room with K, J and T. He's got a big fat noive to have K and J in the same room. K has to pretend she's never been here before. She's doing well too. I just finished studying for maths. Now for another installment of sleep...

*

Greetings, it's 11.00pmish on Tues 13/8/85. This morning, there was a rail strike. So I drove to Kew Junction and caught a bus to Lygon St. Looked in Portobello windows, spied a ring I wanted but the shop was shut. It was 9.30am and sign said it would be open at 10am. So I went to the cafe opposite and looked over my maths and had a coffee and waited. When the shop opened I went in and bought the ring. $30. Pretty dear! but it's great and goes with my silver Hong Kong bangle. Maths test = ok.

Went home after that. Worked very hard today at home. From about 3pm to just now (11pm) 8 fucking hours which is a whole day in itself. Wow. Spoke to [sister] on the phone, made her laugh by echoing her laugh. Spoke to D on the phone. Had a good chat. She said she saw Pat yesterday, talking excitedly to a chap. Said he was looking really good - healthy, relaxed, happy. That's good! I'm pleased he hasn't dropped out and I'm pleased he's looking healthy, happy and relaxed.

No sign of Ron. We'll see. Ciao. PS PE test yesterday will be interesting.

*

Hello. Don't let the stolid nature of my script make you believe I am in a normal state of mind. The truth of the matter is I'm feeling shaken, shocked, pleased. For you see, I received a phone call tonight... no, not from Ron. From Patrick. As they say "could have knocked me for six." FARK!

What can I say? We had a good chat. I was babbling on, gushing a wee bit. But he was listening and it was good. Then he said he hadn't rung for a big conversation, that there was a reason... I thought in a flash, "shit! he wants something, he wants something of his that I've got..." then he said "I was wondering if I could see you in about a month?"

I said "why not?" Why not indeed? Because he might fuck me up again. He might stuff me around. Make me fall for him all over again. That's why not. At least I've got a month. And I won't sleep with him. But it was great talking to him! I feel really pleased. Excited. It's made my week. He said he tried to ring me last night here and at Ashburton but no one there (we were out for dinner.) He said it's great to hear my voice, called me a dag and it was lovely. Thing I like about this new development is that he's trying not to be impulsive or rash about it. He's said he'll be in touch in about 3 weeks, and there was no emotional pressure. Mmmm.... shit, fuck, bugger, poo, wiss, fark!!! I'm stunned. He said he hadn't written although he's been thinking of me. he said he didn't write because he had nothing more to say or add, it had all been said, as it was at the time. What's changed? It'll be so fucking interesting to find out. I can't keep up with it all but it's soooooo good. Yay. I'm all excited, my god. After speaking to him I ran [sister] and raved for a while. Watched some telly. Had a shower. Then got out of the shower and dad said Patrick had rung again and wanted me to ring him back. I first rang D and raved for a while, then rang P back.

He said "I've written letters too." (I'd told him during the first phone call that I'd written letters but never sent them.) So he wanted me to know he'd written letters to. He said he hadn't sent them because they'd been written for the wrong reasons. What wrong reasons? I asked. When he felt low, he'd written to me saying how he missed me and if I were there now he'd talk to me. Sweet. Ringing me back to tell me he'd written letters to! Sheeyit. What'm I gonna do? Why do I feel so good that he rang and wants to see me...

* At the time, that was my favourite poem of all. Not sure why I didn't write it all out. It's long, maybe I just picked out the bits I liked best.

** Perseus, before you start ranting, I was young!!!

*** I hope "Ron" doesn't get in trouble 24 years after the fact, if he or his boss reads this. But if he does read it, why the fuck didn't you call me??

fridayrama diarama oh yeah it's poetry time

2009-10-30T08:07:00.002+11:00

8/8/85.

When we left young Melba she was working her way through a bottle of champagne and transcribing poetry from Norton's Anthology.

Though I am young, and cannot tell
Either what Death or Love is well,
Yet I have heard they both bear darts,
And both do aim at human hearts.
And then again, I have been told
Love wounds with heat, as Death with cold,
So that I fear they do but bring
Extremes to touch, and mean one thing.

Ben Johnson

* * *

Let us roll all our strength and all
Our sweetness up into one ball,
And tear our pleasures with rough strife
Through the iron gates of life;
Thus, though we cannot make our sun
Stand still; yet we will make him run.

A. Marvell

* * *

When lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can soothe her melancholy,
What art can wash her guilt away?

The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentence to her lover,
And wring his bosom - is to die.

Oliver Goldsmith

* * *

Alas, how soon the hours are over,
Counted us out to play the lover!
And how much narrower is the stage,
Allotted us to play the sage!
But when we play the fool, how wide
The theatre expands; beside
How long the audience sits before us!
How many prompters! What a chorus!

Walter Savage Landor

* * *

Dying Speech of an Old Philosopher

I strove with none, for none was worth my strife
Nature I loved, and next to Nature, Art;
I warmed both hands before the fire of Life;
It sinks; and I am ready to depart.

Walter Savage Landor

* * *

When lovers parted
Feel broken-hearted,
And, all hopes thwarted,
Expect to die;
A few years older,
Ah! how much coleder;
They might behold her
For whom they sigh!
When linked together,
In every weather,
They pluck Love's feather
From out his wing -
He'll stay for ever,
But sadly shiver
Without his plumage, when past the Spring.

Wait not, fond lover!
Till years are over,
And then recover
As from a dream.
While each bewailing
The other's failing,
With wrath and railing,
All hideous seem -
While first decreasing,
Yet not quite ceasing,
Wait not till teasing,
All passion blight:
If once diminished
Love's reign is finished -
Then part in friendship - and bid goodnight.

So shall affection
To recollection
The dear connection
Bring back with joy:
You had not waited
Till tired, or hated,
Your passions sated
Began to cloy.
Your last embraces
Leave no cold traces -
The same fond faces
As through the past:
And eyes, the mirrors
Of your sweet errors,
Reflect but rapture - not least though last.

True, separations
Ask more than patience;
What desperations
From such have risen!
But yet remaining,
What is't but chaining
Hearts which, once waning,
Beat 'gainst their prison?
Time can but cloy love
And use destroy love:
The winged boy, Love
Is but for boys -
You'll find it torture,
Though sharper, shorter,
To wean, and not wear out your joys.

*

Short and sweet for today. I have things to do. I've said before I don't like poetry. I do, I really do. I just don't like most poetry I guess, and I certainly don't like bad poetry.

Maybe later tonight, someone will be reading the above out from the screen to someone else, as they sit together, enjoying each other. Or maybe you will read it to yourself, and like it. It's sad, it's beautiful, it's wise.

Happy Friday.

I-N-D-E-F-E-N-S-I-B-L-E

2009-10-28T08:49:00.003+11:00

From the Age today, by Jason Koutsoukis.

Israelis accused on water front

Amnesty International has accused Israel of discriminating against Palestinians in favour of Jewish settlers in the occupied West Bank when it comes to daily water allocations.

In the report, Troubled Waters - Palestinians Denied Fair Access to Water, Amnesty says Israel uses 80 per cent of the water from the Mountain Aquifer, the only source of underground water in the West Bank.

Israel also uses 100 per cent of the surface water available from the Jordan River.

The West Bank is home to 2.5 million Palestinians and 300,000 Jewish settlers.

According to Amnesty, Palestinian residents get a daily allocation of 70 litres of water.

"Water rationing is common, especially but not only, in the summer months, with residents of different neighbourhoods and villages receiving piped water only one day every week or every few weeks," the report said.

Jewish settlers, on the other hand, are entitled to an allocation of 300 litres of water a day, which enables them to sustain intensive irrigation farms and lush gardens.

The report condemned water conditions in the Gaza Strip where it says that 90 to 95 per cent of water from the strip's only water resourse, the Coastal Aquifer, is contaminated and unfit for human consumption.

Despite this, Israel does not allow the transfer of water from the Mountain Aquifer in the West Bank to Gaza.

Israeli's Infrastructure Minister Uzi Landau said the report was "biased, superficial and false."

***

Wow in a city where I'm encouraged to use no more than 155L of water a day, this is impressive. 300 litres? Just wow.

There are lots of other impressive things about Israel that I didn't know. Check it. The first ingestible camera. Wow.

***

I'm not Palestinian, obviously. And I'm not Jewish. So I'm kind of like Amnesty, aren't I? Impartial? Except my impartiality is not really so. I am biased towards Palestinians (people living in inhuman conditions) and away from Israel (the government that is being so mean).

I think it's really shitty that there are some people getting lots of water and some people getting heaps less water. They can't get to work if they have jobs (walls), and if they try to rise up against the oppression they get bombed back down. Surely from where I stand, I can see both sides of the thing? I read, I'm aware, I'm intelligent.

So how am I not seeing Israel's side in this? How come every argument that comes on this topic that is pro-Israel just sounds hollow and unconvincing and screechy? Why does this bother me so much? Why does it stick in my craw? I can't swallow it, and my throat is even larger than a bird's (yes, I looked it up.) It's just not fair. It's mean. It's cruel. It's punishment? It's the nasty side of power. It's bully boy.

So Friday yawn, what do you hold for me?

2009-10-23T13:16:00.002+11:00

There is sunshine but I am not feeling a hunnerd percent.

Must take dog for run in park, though.

Have finished my final read through, will make changes laterrrrr.

Pompeii. Tonight. Oh yeah.

Finished the book. The second half was better than the first and seriously I would have stopped reading if I didn't have to read it. I just didn't like it. Not at all. Oh well.

Browning bananas in the fruit bowl demand attention. I'm thinking cake.

Dinner tonight? Can't be fagged. But last night's was a treat. Spaghetti with fresh tomatoes cooked with garlic and anchovies and pitted kalamata olives, and chopped parsley. Then fried freshly-made breadcrumbs, cooked in olive oil and tossed through the pasta. THEN loads of grated parmesan cheese.

OH IT WAS FUCKING DELICIOUS.

Sick kids this week. One on Tuesday, one on Wednesday and the third one home today and yesterday. I still managed to make it to work.

Taught yesterday, Year 10s.

Is there anyone else who, in the course of their daily work, has to say things like this:

"Can I get my three penises back please?"

"There was a guy who fingered a dog, he became known as The Guy Who Fingered A Dog. He couldn't get a plumbing apprenticeship. So think before you do stupid things."

"I need to collect my penises now. DON'T TAKE ANY CONDOMS HOME!"

I bid you good weekend.

Lack-lustre diarama. I'm just not feeling it people. Am flat and lacking energy and sick of this fucking weather. Anyway, enjoy whoever...

2009-10-18T14:06:00.013+11:00

Hello. It's 12.25am on Wed 24/7/85. Fucking pen looked like it was going to die on me. I'm in Orange Bed, and not wallowing anymore.

I feel today has been productive and I've decided nobly that days in which things are done are far superior to days in which nil is done.

Today I...

- started off rawther badly by sleeping in and therefore missed English which puzzles me not (nor perturbs)
- arranged to get the script of Helkovitch tomorrow (yay)
- got my work organised (double yay)
- did some maths hwk. I've just finished a masterpiece affort in the form of a maths poster. Whoopee. Actually, it's quite good. How I love drawing and doodling - it's great fun.
- went to Ashburton for dinner and to get Aldous' stitches out. She's dear to me. Very precious.
- went through some newspapers and cut out some cuttings. Read a short story by Helen Garner, it's great. (Reminds me, I have to go and see Peter W this week. Even if I don't enter the competitions, I know one day I'll be published.)

The beauty of what I'm doing lies in the diversity of optoins open to me. Journalism. Authorism. Teaching of course. Travel.

Reading Oscar Wilde's letter from prison to Lord Alfred Douglas, his lover. De Profundis. A letter of 25000 words. A letter sculpted with love and affection, with blind forgivemness that only love seems to evoke. A letter that espouses Wilde's views on religion, morality, art, happiness, sowwos, life, death, love. A letter sent to a man who had sent him to prison. A letter pathetic in its tragic vulnerability, a letter wondrous in its strength and wisdom. Honest. Powerful. Aware. A letter that was burned by Lord Alfred Douglas and not read. Symbolic. That letter sems to represent a token gesture, an offering of Wilde's soul and heart, a desperate sacrifice to one he loved so much that the love never ended. Lord Alfred burned th eletter, and ultimately rejected Wilde's understanding and friendship. It was like the final slap in the face, the last of many. Fucking unreal writer, this Celtic "poof." Me likest his words.

I have to arise at 8am, no later in the morning, so now I will away to Oscar and bid yieu adieu.

PS Still hanging out for my bungalow. Keeps me going. I'm going to write a lot on the September holidays. Try poetry. I'm feeling really good.

*

Greetings mon cher! C'est 9.40pm (approx) on Thurs 25/7/85. My god! Time's wings beat on infinitely! Now to bring this journal up to date...

WED. Went to college. Phys Ed ok. Came home. Got on my little bicyclette for the first time in about 4 months and rode down to Glenferrie Rd. Returned the Robert Ludlum novel to Readings (you know, the one you were reading and enjoying thoroughly and then you discovered 30 pages were simply "not there"?) and exchanged it for John Irving's Setting Free the Bears. I've started it and the recurring themes are all there - Vienna, bears, motorbikes, halitosis.

I then went to the chemist and purchased some clothes dye (black and mauve) then to the Op Shops and for $10 (a song) I got a Roger Daltry fucking hippy fringed Indian Western cowboy suede leather studded vest. It's grand. Then I cycled home through the Rocket Park. At home (the flat) I got me gear together and drove to Ashburton (via the wool shop where I picked up 2 darning needles - different sizes - one with a big hole and the other with - you guessed it - a little hole.)

At home, I dyed my white pants "black" (well, sort of a dark grey, actualement.) I read my book, watched some telly, played with Aldous and ate food. Cooked dinner that night and watched The Greek Tycoon whilst sewing some of my jumper. (I also cried watching Neighbours. Julie was so good. Moving stuff.)

Eventually to bed. Read some of Setting Free the Bears. Talked to [sister] about Patrick, indulged in a spot of wallowing, and went to sleep.

WHAT A DAY!!!

This day (today that it) THURSDAY. Went to school rounds. RE, Drama, Creative Writing (my lesson). I enjoy teaching so much. It's fab! Home quickly for lunch. The school won the soccer final against Chaddy Park. Home. Tried on clothes. Mucked around. Fiddled. Pottered. Diddled. Watched tv. Ate. Talked with [sister]. Then, after doing some of my story (beach story) finishing it off, I chooffed back to Hawthorn, which is where I am now. I've just had a hot, hot, hot bath and I'm just about to get into bed and write my wind preface to the story. Go see Peter W tomorrow. All is well.

*

It is 12.50am on Sat 27/7/85. I have just returned from a fun evening out with my dear brother. We went to the Albion for dinner (in Lygon St) consumed Italian food with a nice, crisp bottle of Houghton's 1984 White Burgundy, then we raged to the live band. Some nights, nothing happens to you, other nights, so much occurs.

At the pub, there was one good-looking guy who I had rawther extensive eye contact with for a rawther long time. He kept looking over and catching my eye. Once, when he walked past me, we grinned at each other. He was nice. Then, there was the smooth dude, resplendent to be seen in silky cravat, singlet and intense face. He was funny. There was a camp man in a turquoise top. A businessman in a suit, sporting a weathered "I'm used to being rejected" look, who caught my eye as he was leaving, said "hi" and when I politely said "hi" back, promptly returned and set up an observation post to "check out that girl there who said 'hi' to me." He kept trying to find an opening to talk to me, but I chatted away to [brother] and after constant hopeful staring and one blatant wink, he admitted defeat and went away.

Also, the alternative hippy man, sitting down, who caught my eye and raised his eyebrows at me. I laughed and looked away, the way girls always do.

Back to Cravat Man, who by this time had arranged his necktie over his face in the style of a Great Train Robber. I laughed at him too.

On the way out, a black man patted my rear, and a tall lanky hopeful moved out of my way, and called me darlin'. Oh I love going to pubs and being attractive.

[Brother] and I had such fun. We've never been out like that together before and it was terrif! Driving home down Johnson St, we stopped at some traffic lights and I pulled up alongside a car teeming with tough Italians. We looked at them, they looked at us. Then, one wound down his window and flicked a cigarette but onto the beetle's bonnet, and started abusing me.

Tough Melba asked "what's your problem?" and while he was in mid sentence, telling me to "Shut your mouth, you slut!" the lights turned green, and my handy peripheral vision told me it was time to burn, man! So, much to their astonishment, my little car shoots ahead, passes the parked cars on the left and pulls in front of Big Wog Car. They were spewing, and set off in hot pursuit. I played it cool, they overtook me, and started playing funny buggers by slowing down in front of me so I had to brake. I kept my distance, but indulged in a spot of whingy tooting. At the next set of lights, I stopped quite a bit behind them, and the reversed back to scare me into thinking they were going to hit me. But me and the beetle don't know the meaning of fear, and we tooted them some more. Eventually they fucked off. It was fun. Now, I will away to Orange Bed and SFTB. Ciao!

*

Time = 11.45pm. Day = Saturday. Date = 27/7/85. Situation: on the Orange Bed. Just returned from a "Rock and Roll gig" at Middle Park with [brother]. Went to see Tom's band play. It was fun but not that crash hot. I enjoyed last night better. More distractions last night. Not too many tonight so I thought about Patrick a lot. Drove past his place. Moke was there, P's bedroom light on. What was he doing? Damn! A thousand times damn!

Today I chooffed off to Ashburton. Knitted a bit. Watched [sister] play netball. Spoke to D on the phone. Briefish chat. Saw Desperately Seeking Susan with mum and [sister]. It was good, I enjoyed. Now to read John Irving and sleep. Bye.

PLEASE SEE NEXT VOLUME FOR CONTINUING SAGA OF MELBA'S LIFE.

***

VOL 10. YES IT'S MORE... ANOTHER NON-PRETENTIOUS LOOKING LITTLEL BOOK THAT HOLDS QUITE A LOT.

Welcome... I am afraid that this book, like the last, will not start well. It will, however, start immeasurably better than the last. Time = 10.50pm. Date = Sun 28/7/85.

Now, for a brief gripe session.

I am feeling angry and emotional with myself.

1. My skin has gone bad again, which is highly upsetting as it was improving each day.

2. I have not done my English Assignment. The data is due in on Tues, there is a lot of work involved and I just haven't done it. I'll go and see the teacher tomorrow. I have no real excuses. Except that I'm not enjoying English and am finding motivation a scarcity at the moment.

Fuck. I'm feeling pretty ratshit at the moment. Ratshit and ugly. Damn Patrick. Damn him. I'm feeling angry and bitter towards him. Even though it's emotional not logical. Even though I understand it all (mostly) and I don't want him back now.

*

Mmmmm. It's 9.50pm on Mon 29th July, 1985. I've just been vegetating in front of the fucking idiot box. I've managed to do a skerrick of my drama essay, but not enough. I'm feeling immobilised, shitty, disgruntled, discontented, cold, ugly, frigid, empty, passionless, bored, cold (again? yes, again.) I want to go away somewhere and have fun. When did this new mood come over me? I've been "keeping my chin up" for four long months now, maybe it's catching up with me. I feel I want some love - new love, fresh love. I'm shitty. Hanging out desperately for my bungalow. Sick of being unsettled. Sick of living the way I am. No routine. All messy and unorganised. Maybe I'm feeling low because I'm not into the book I'm reading (SFTB). It's not as entertaining as Irving's other novels. Why don't I just climb into my bed and hide from the world. I've had enough of it today. Where's my energy? My spirit? My touch of derring-do? Bwavado?

Self-pity is not very enjoyable at the moment. I have to get off my fat arse and do heaps of work this week. Goodbye.

PS Patrick I'm missing you like hell. Missing your warmth. Your hugs. Kisses. Love. What happened to it all? Why did you screw me up and throw me away? Why couldn't you love me and relax? Why couldn't I? Shit I'm tired. I need a break. A holiday. But no matter what, I'll keep on at college trying to do my best, under the circumstances of abandon. (Oh, wallow, wallow, wallow, wallo...)

*

Can't talk for long. It's 11.20pm on Tues 30/7/85. Pissed off with myself. So much work to do, so little time, eating too much, unfit. Why compound it? Get your act together. Does it take a fucking broken heart to make you lose weight?

*

It's 12.30am on Fri 2/8/85. Sorry I missed writing yesterday. The first of August and all! Marking the end of my 4th month of singleness.

Yesterday, college was good. I laughed a lot in PE. Last night I was at Ashburton doing my jumper, watching Sybil, then slept. Today at school, I took the spelling test and poetry. I did some laundry and mum and I finally finished my jumper at midnight, about an hour ago! Putting it on was so exciting! It looks good. I'm proud of myself. I did it and stuck to it and did a good job.

Got an incredible letter from D2 today. It's so good to read her words. I sat down as soon as I'd read hers and wrote 8 pages back to her (both sides, foolscap.) Should keep her reading for a while. I'll send it tomorrow or Mon when I can get my short story back from Peter W.

Spoke to D on the phone. She's well and I'm going to see the Bay City Rollers with her on Tues night at RMIT. Should be fun! I can wear my new purple jumper! Going skiing tomorrow. Yay. Excitement plus. Now I'm going to read Setting Free the Bears which I'm enjoying more. Glad I persevered. Bye.

*

Hello. Can't spend much time on this. I shouldn't but I know I will. It's almost 12.30am on Monday 5/8/85. Just returned from Hotham. It was great. In brief:

- arrived about 1.30 am Sat morning
- I woke at 7am Sat morning. Skiied.
- Sat night ate the yummiest home-made pizza (care of James) and then went raging at the Arlberg Disco. What a buzz! I danced alot and thoroughly enjoyed myself. Danced with a bearded chap and at the end we arranged to meet at lunchtime tofay. We did and had a drink and a chat. He was a graphic artist, designed mags like Home Beautiful, work full time for Herald and Weekly Times and part time for his own business. He'd travelled a lot and was about 30 -35. He had said I danced divinely (on Sat night.) Today he mentioned he'd been rawther drunk and so I think he was trying to give me the message of lack of interest. Perhaps he was put off by my youth which I in no way try to camouflage. I just am me and don't try to bullshit people. We parted with a smile. He had asked me to ski with him in the afternoon but I only had a morning ticket. He seemed disappointed. And that's the end of that. Can't even remember his name. The lodge (Valhalla) was pretty lusho! I loved skiiing - it was great. I want to go for a day trip to Buller. Could the beetle make it? Should ask Erin if she wants to go. Could catch a bus? Who knows? NOw to read my book - SFTB.

I've got so much fucking work to do.

When we drove through Bright on the way up I felt a real pang and remembered how happy I'd been last year at Bright with Patrick. Ultra happy and we had such fun. Dinner at the Crazy Kangaroo, strolling through the park holding hands, finding some money ($5 or $10?) Then driving home tonight I was dozing and all of a sudden Ti Amo came on the bus loudspeaker, very gently, and it played for a while, and then faded. It all seemed so symbolic. Snatches and snippets of thought. I dunno.

*

Greetings. It's 1am on Tues 6/8/85. As expected, this morning I slept in and so "unfortunately" didna make it to Fitness! I went to Drama lecture at 10am and missed SSA lecture (but apparently it was some ballet, and not that important - or relevant - anyway.) At lunchtime, I went to the Melb Uni bookroom and bought The Empty Space by Peter Brook, and sent my chunko letter to dear D2. When I finished college, I came home and rang mum and instead of doing heaps of study, went to Ashburton and watched The Main Event on tv. It was good but I should have been working. I've just done some work, but not enough. I have heaps to do and on the Sept hols I want to go to Inverloch to get drunk, relax and write.

Wrote out some poem segments at Ashburton tonight. They're good. Why do I still check the letterbox for news of PDO? It's been 5 weeks, and frankly, why should I still be waiting? Why does he still invade my thoughts? Why do I devote so much time and energy and brainal space to someone's who's destroyed (temporarily) my life? Well, upset it greatly. Unsettled me. Am I just hanging on? Before I didn't wallow so much but now I am. Probably because I didn't accept it before , but now because I'm being forced to accept it, I'm reacting! Shit! Fuck! Damn! I'm feeling bad because my room's a mess and I'm in limbo. Pooh!

*

Allo. C'est 2.35am on Wed 7/8/85. I'm in Orange Bed. College today = good. Missed 1st class (English lecture). Came home. Worked. Then D and I chooffed off to see Bay City Rollers (scream!) at RMIT. It was great.

I danced like crazy. Wonder what PDO did tonight? Screwed some whore?

Tomorrow - PE (4 hours) then tomorrow arvo, work = heaps. Tomorrow night go to Therese's and have funno. Ciao.

PS Setting Free the Bears is really good en ce moment.

PPS D is a terrifico friend!

*

The time is verging on 11.30pm Thursday 8th August, 1985. Lying/reclining/spread on Orange Bed. Dad is chatting on the phone. Yesterday at college = ok.

Last night at Therese's was a combination of the following adjectives:

- exciting - bizarre - freaky - new - interesting - weird

I got there and she (T) wasn't home yet. A girl called Mary invited me in and looked after me. Then this boy arrived who lives there. Then another boy from Israel who was freaking me out with his serious, negative, depresso life. Later he made a collect call to Israel after casually asking T "Can I use your phone?" Fuck!

These 2 girls came around. Mary was transposing music with an ink pen. T cooked dinner for 3 hours or so. We went to another place for dope and to pick up a friend of T's. Had a bong then drove back to T's. Heavy dope. Me really stoned. Champagne. Yummy dinner - chicken wings, vegies, garlic bread and salad. Milo and minimal milk for dessert.

The actress friend unzipped her jeans and was lolling on the carpet with a chubby white belly. I couldn't handle it, it almost freaked me out. I mean I'll go back there, but they're a group of very intense, extrememly friendly, warm, welcoming people but I felt freaked. Drove home super stoned and the trip down Toorak Rd seemed to take 2 hours. Windscreen wipers not working so me driving like a granny. Eventually, after days, I got to Ashburton. Flaked. Dreamt that I saw Brad and we were consumed with lust and started kissing. It felt good, but awkward and uncomfortable.

Today - woke feeling quite fucked. Took half a day to wake up. School ok. Can't be bothered with details. Did a lot of my play essay tonight which is good. Watched Edna Everage on the teeve. Now, to bed and read. PS I can't wait til the hols. I'm gonna immediately take off for Inverloch and wallow blissfully down there. Get healthy again - on the physical and mental level. Bye bye.

PS Truly, ruly hanging out for me bungbillow.

*

Hello. Tonight will lbe an unusual entry. I have opened a solitary bottle of Seaview Brut Champagne and have just taken my first sip. I intend to get drunk all alone. I haven't done this in such a ritualistic manner before, so why the fuck not?

It's 9.54pm on Fri 9/8/85. I am going to read poetry and copy good bits in here. Then, I'm going to fall into bed and have a deep, heavy, wonderfully inebriated sleep. Here we go. I'm perfectly sober and I'm going to start my poemathon with the following appropriate words. So read on...

Drinking
The thirsty earth soaks up the rain,
And drinks, and gapes for drink again.
The plants suck in the earth, and are
With constant drinking fresh and fair.
The sea itself, which one would think
Should have but little need of drink,
Drinks ten thousand rivers up,
So filled that they o'erflow the cup.
The busy sun - and one would guess
By's drunked, fiery face no less -
Drinks up the sea, and when he's done,
The moon and stars drink up the sun.
They drink and dance by their own light;
They drink and revel all the night.
Nothing in nature's sober found,
But an eternal health goes round.
Fill up the bowl, then, fill it high,
Fill all the glasses there, for why
Should every creature drink but I?
Abraham Cowley.

pretty exciting

2009-10-16T17:40:00.003+11:00

Clokes has just handed me a heavy wad of papers.

There are 236 pages single sided, 1 & 1/2 spaced, in 12pt font. Not sans serif.

This is my baby. It is almost finished. It is exciting.

What next?

Do I leave it a while and then go through?

Do I start letting members of my family read it? (I have three volunteer readers; sister, mother and friend.)

What do I do?

*

Thoughts are moving to the next one. Oh fecund brain, it is a joy.

I suppose I should do a diarama but really, I can't be bothered.

Maybe over the weekend.

x

Friday

2009-10-09T11:29:00.004+11:00

I've started the book and while the cover text talks about friends and time passed and is enough to give me the heebies, I am liking it so far. There are too many cliches for my liking but I like the way she writes. Because it's the way I like to write (ie 3rd person, omni narrator, one central POV character. It might switch but I hope not. One reason I hated The Slap.)

It's cold today and I am so sick of it. Sick of being cold and lethargic and flat.

I want to wear light tops and thongs and summer skirts.

I want to go swimming in the heat.

I want to eat out on our little balcon, and watch the summer sky-line with its streaks of pink as the sun goes down.

I'm also annoyed I missed Germaine on Q & A last night. My mother told me it was on. She rang again to remind me. I wrote a note to myself, and put it on the coffee table where it was forgotten.

Maybe it's online somewhere?

Happy weekend to all.

UPDATE: Saturday morning and isn't it lovely and sunny?

Well, I've started the AG book and I fear that my good reading self and this book are not going to become lovers. Thus far, it's something about the scattered nature of her narrative that is preventing me from gelling. It is incredibly wordy, and while I like her 3rd person omni narrator with drop-ins to various character POVs, it's like she is trying to write everything about everything in this book. We have the history of the characters, and I think she is going to try and fill me in on all that has occurred in each of the main 5 characters lives from when they were undergraduates, to now (mid-40s). It is an overwhelming idea. Also, thus far, I'm not really digging any of the characters, except perhaps the one I'm not meant to? The one who may be revealed to be a machiavellian puppeteer. He is the most interesting of a fairly dull bunch.

The narrative style - the telling instead of showing, and oh, how she does tell - seems to numb my brain, so instead of feeling that I am being invited into a beautifully interesting world peopled with characters I want to get to know and like, or dislike, connect with, instead of this, I am sitting in the front row of a lecture theatre, and the person standing at the podium is droning on about an obscure part of DNA genetics or botany or sports medicine - all areas I have no real interest in.

My eyes are simply skimming across the tops of the words; they aren't sinking in. I like to be able to sink into a sea of words that are wonderful and compelling; even swamp-like. They can be heavy and dark and ugly. But they can't be dull.

Her turn of phrase is ok at times, even good. But other times it's like she hasn't worked the manuscript - it's like she's just gotten it all out on the page in a rush and didn't go back to check much. Maybe she found it as hard-going to re-read as I do to read.

But I shall persist. And I am going back and taking out the reference to the book. I'm thinking if I'm going to be critical online about this book, and might be in this course next year, I don't want this to come back to haunt me. The tricky thing is too, she is coming to talk to us next month. In the meantime, we have been set this book to read. I do hope we won't be expected to discuss our responses in front of her. I bet we will though. Either the book manages to come good in my eyes, or I am going to have to be honest in my thoughts about it, to her face if necessary. Oh well. One way to get noticed.

Happy Saturday to you.

Quick Wednesday morning recap

2009-10-07T10:20:00.005+11:00

No work out of the house today. On my list of things to do, (some already completed):

1. Help to save a possum and its baby from being attacked by a blackbird and a honey eater next door. The possums were trying to get from tree to roof and we could hear the racket of the birds and see the distress of the possums from our dining room and bathroom windows. Princess and I were in paroxyms of anguish. We clapped our hands to try to distract the birds from their pecking assault, and finally baby possum got onto the roof to safety. Then mother possum was trapped in the eaves so I threw pieces of bread to stop the bird cornering her. They have all gone away now.

1a. Get all children out of the house. This includes cutting up apple and pear for Princess who has braces on her teeth and getting contact lenses into her eyes because she has sport today. She is the high-maintenance one. Lucky she came from my body and I love her beyond reason. Also I feel guilty because the bad eyes are from me, as well as the bad teeth. She's got all my bad stuff; fucking DNA is a cunt.

2. Have coffee.

3. Walk the dog.

4. Read the paper .

5. Pick up book on order from Readings. It's one I have to read and I'm not entirely looking forward to it. Why aren't I looking forward to it? Because it's one of those "a group of people come together and rehash over the past and their mistakes and can they forge a way to future happiness" scenarios. I think. I may be completely wrong. I've never read any of her books but I am keen to find out what she's like.

6. Resist reading Coetzee's Summertime and the new Niffenegger book. Must read the Goldsmith one first and complete brilliant dialogue piece for next class. Lewd Bob, can you help me? And isn't Niffenegger probably the most unfortunate name around?

7. Submit passport renewal application.

8. Stop looking at blogs.

8a. Desist in giving Perseus love advice. There's only so much a busy-body like me can do.

9. Cook dinner.

10. Go through my story and insert bits I have pulled out of research notes to do with fairytales and mother/stepmother stuff.

Did you know that "According to Tartar, the wicked female fiends are some of the many faces of maternal evil in fairytales representing the obverse of all the positive qualities associated with mothers"?

AND

"various cooks, stepmothers, witches and mothers-in-law with voracious appetites for human fare, even for the flesh... of their own relatives.... (are) cannibalistic fiends [known in] German [as] Menschenfresserin (devourer of humans)"?

AND

Biological mothers are replaced by these fiends, because "the fantasy of the wicked step-mother, witch, mother-in-law and other female villains not only preserve the good mother in tact (usually dead in these stories), it also prevents one having to feel guilty about one's angry wishes about her."

AND

"The monster of fairy tales and psychic fantasies is the murderous mother in disguise. She is the one who figures in our nightmares, or as Gilbert emphasises, our nightmères."

I don't know who Tartar and Gilbert are but as I'm not writing a thesis, I dont' care.

11. Cut out all the unnecessary words in my story.

12. Decide whether it needs to be more than the 82,000 words it is now. Or less. Any advice?

13. Decide whether to submit for a competition. I hate competitions because I never win them.

14. come up with a better surname for main character and family in the story. I'm thinking Lovelock is good. It's real too. I heard someone called Lovelock on the radio the other day. Her first name started with L and ended in Y. Cool name.

15. That's about it I think. It's enough.

diary goodtimes, it's Friday oh yeah, giddyup, yee-haw

2009-10-02T16:42:00.006+10:00

12.20 am Wed 3/7/85. Hawthornus.

College today was inimitably enjoyable. Went to Erin's for tea tonight, yum. I played Acey Ducey (backgammon) with the others. Had grass. Then drove kids home. Then me home via Patrick's house. Moke there, lights not on. I want to know what's on in his head. I want to know how often he thinks of me... this is a queer situation. Both missing each other, both not wanting to lose each other, both unsettled, discontented, SAD. I'm such a patient lassy. See you, ciao.

Hello. It's 11pm on Thurs 4/7/85. Back in the Orange Bed with Teddy, Romeo and Juliet and Monkey Grip. Yesterday, college was good (4 hours PE). I went to the Media Laboratory and studied my little arse off. Only 50 points to go!!! Yay! It seems neverending. Then, on my way to Ashburton I slipped a note under Patrick's door. As I was leaving, I saw the light on and Pat's boofo head, so I marched back impulsively and knocked on the door. Had a personalised tour of the house. It's lovely. A cup of coffee and a chat. John was there too. It hurt to see Pat. A mixture of pain and pleasure. Why can't I forget him? Because I don't want to. Then I left and we talked out by the car for ages. We hugged and kissed but I couldn't enjoy it like I used to. He said he doesn't feel whole and he wants to. He said I'm the most likely person to marry a Dean. Shit. It's not fair but it's my own fault for seeing him. I respect what he's doing.

Today at school was good. The maths lesson was ok. Tonight, [sister] me mum went and saw Romeo and Juliet at the Valhalla. It was good. Then I went back to Ashburton to get the play to read. AWe watched From Neck to Knee to Nude, a sicko "documentary" on tv. Am going to see [brother's] band "Hilton's Garage" tomorrow night with [sister]. They're playing at a Venturer's Dance. Yay. Now I'll go and wallow in Monkey Grip. It really describes how I'm feeling so well. Unbelievable. Ciao.

Mercutio - True, I talk of dreams, which are the children of an idle brain, begot of nothing but vain fantasy, which is as thin of substance as the air.

p55 Monkey Grip - It was still all an absurd fantasy. I remembered only the good and loveable things about him, and not the wretchedness he caused me, and the dope and the resentments and silences and the half-crazy outbursts. I rememberewd his smell and the colour of his eyes and his head thrown back to laugh; these things were a second away, in time, but the others I dredged up dutifully, knowing I must, for the sake of truth and sanity, try to keep the balance.

Here amst I. In a freshly-laundered bed, freshly-laundered clothes folded neatly, freshly-organised and tidied desk.

What a weekend!!!

Friday - drama good, 2-4pm. We read our pieces, I did Halfway Down from AA Milne. I wasn't nervous at all, strange considering there was a professional microphone and 26 people watching. HA! Then home. To Ashburton. [Sister] and I trekked off to Doncaster. Hilton's Garage were great. I thoroughly enjoyed myself. Then we went and saw Erin and B at the Greenman. Dropped them home... then us to Ashburton. Stayed night.

Saturday - 11.45am, awoke. Went to flat (Hawthorn), organised myself. Drove to Dava Hotel, Mt Martha and met S, R and others. Drank and went to S's place. Ate. Talked. Played cards - Black Bitch. I won. Then sleep.

Sunday (today) got up about 9.30am. Left 10.20am. Drove to Melbourne (stopping on the freeway, it started raining and I had to stop and put the fuse in to get the windscreen wipers going.) Arrived Ashburton 11.20am. Had quick shower. Then me, [sister] and mum went to MCAE Open Day. Good. Then back to Ashburton, picked up knitting, watched Countdown and had some vegie soup. To the flat. Did laundry at laundromat. Back. Tidied room. Did maths homework. Wrote letter to D2. And here I am. Now Monkey Grip.

Hello. It's fast closing in on 1am on Tues 9/7/85. I'm sitting on my bed at Hawthorn. Just been watching heaps of tv. I also knitted rawther alot tonight. Today - college was good. I enjoyed it even more than usual if that's possible. Came home. Got Sophia's spaghette for dinner. Watched Arthur, had a laugh. Dad came home. Then I watched Unfaithfully Yours (another Dudley movie) on video which was really good. I just love watching Natassia Kinskji act. She's so beautiful and so talented. Dad's taken himself off to bed with my short-story to read. Hope he enjoys it. No word from Patrick. So what's new? Thinking about my bungalow and can't wait. Not much else to say except goodbye!

Hello. It's fast approaching 2am on Wed 10/7/85. I am pissed. Run down of today -

- college = good

- Dad 'n' I burgled. AGAIN! You ask Kemosabe. The CIB men were funny. [Sister and brother] were on the phone when they came. I'm so glad I burnt those photos because they'd been tucked in the bottom of the overnight bag the crooks used to carry out the electronics in!

- dinner with Dad, [his friends, including ex-con.]

- me thinking of buying a house/horse*

- I love Dad

- me just wrote some more of my short story

- me fucked

- no word from Patrick (no big deal!)

- me meeting Helen Garner (fabbo!)

- me very cold today, more clothes tomorrow

What else can I say? Cept ciao.

Hello 11.10pmish Thurs 11/7/85.

I am soberer than when I last wrote in this here book.

Wed 10/7/85 4 hours phys ed. Went to a bar with D for her birthday drinks. So much goss:

- D and dinner with Tony

- D and J

- Paul T dropping Cindy

- what more can I say?

Jo M there too. Good to see her. Apparently D told Cindy about my connection (ancient) with Paul, and she said he's mentioned me and that's she's jealous...

Um today the State Bank in Ashwood was held up. The police shot the man in the arm ("just a flesh wound") he had hand grenades. On Eyewitness News they showed a man on the ground with piles of police on top of him, he was yelling out "You've got me, GET YOUR FOOT OFF MY HEAD!!!"

How excitingly bizarre and unusual for our quiet little Boringville suburb!

Back to yesterday. Came home from bar. Did more preparation and stuff for today. Realised I'd left something I needed here (at Hawthorn) so I drove over here and got it, drove back. Got to bed finally at 2am.

Thurs (today). Got up, went to school. Religious Instruction - boring, boring, boring. I took maths, spelling test, handwriting and reading. So the kids were under my thumb from recess to lunchtime. Home for lunch. Stuffed my face. In the afternoon we had inter-school sports at Chadstone Park.

Home. Watched teeve. Finished reading Monkey Grip. My god. Terrific. Now, I'm going to read Oscar Wilde. Yes, that is correct. Going to Inverloch on the weekend, that will be heavenly. Ciao

PS No sigh that PDO exists any more. I understand his silence. If I don't hear from him in another three weeks or so, I'll write again. A letter saying I expect nothing from him, that I just want to be able to write to him to let him know what I'm up to. That I've accepted it all and am feeling good (which I am.) A no pressure, no hassles letter.

PS Met Dad's new tonight, Kay. She's ok.

Bonsoir. It's 11.05pm on Fri 12/7/85. Ok day. Drama ok. Drove to college today. First time this year. One fabbo thing to report: I've finished fucking Media! Yes, it's true. Yay!

I came home about 4pm. Rang the vet and booked Aldous in for desexing next Tues. Rang Paul but he not home. Tried to ring Brad and Kerryn but couldn't find their number. Pat said he'd send it. (If he writes that is.) I'm not worried. Things'll be ok. Then, back I drove to college for 2 plays that were on.

Helkovitch - which was tremendous, written by a 4th year drama student and directed by him. And Courtesy Doesn't Pay, which was interesting. I'll write up my impressions of them tomorrow. I don't think I'll go to Inverloch tomorrow. I'll stay in Melb (got work to do) and go babysitting with [sister] tomorrow night and finish my knitting. Well... now to Oscar Wilde. Bye.

Greetings. It's 11.20pm on Sunday 14/7/85. My. Time is fucking flying past! I'm at the flat. Alone... Saturday (yesterday) I awoke when the ex-crim rang at 10.15am. Went to Inverloch. Last night went to the Rose Restaurant with Dad then boogied to the band in the pub. Back to the house, played backgammon then sleep.

Today - slept in. More backgammon. Then drove back to Melb. I went to Ashburton for tea. Watched Grease with [sister] it's so good. Val just dropped me home. Now I'm gonna do my teeth, do some knitting, and read some Oscar - The Picture of Dorain Gray. I can't wait for my bungalow.

I wrote a letter to Pat today in the car driving back. I think his silence indicates confusion. He doesn't know what to do or write. Or maybe he thinks the letter doesn't warrant or need a reply. Who knows. If I don't hear from him in a few weeks I'll send it and that, my friend, will be that. Ciao.

Well, hello. It's midnight on the eve of Mono 15/7. In bed. Just been doing my maths homework. What fun! Today college = ok. Quite good actualement. Took Aldous to be speyed tonight. Hope my babe is not too scared. She'll be find. Pick her up tomorrow night. Looking forward to college tomorrow. Don't know why. Go to see Laura's play on Wed. Get ticket tomorrow. No sign whatsofuckingever of PDO. J rang tonight - all sugar and spice and all things nice... mmmmm. Now to Oscar. Bye.

Hello. It's 11 something pm on Tues 16/7. College ball tonight. Yours truly (Cinderella) didn't go

tonight, didn't get tickets in time. I'm in Orange Bed now. Today I slept in a touch. I didn't too drastically but last night I couldn't get to sleep (thinking of Patrick.) Then this morning the fucking shower wouldn't settle so I stood there freezing while it alternated between scalding hot and freezing cold. Off to the station. Just missed a train. Got told off by the station master for almost knocking someone over in my haste to get to the train. I was coldly, arrogantly, smart-arsey to him. I don't like being chastised by anyone. If someone challenges me, it makes me so stubborn. Finally, got to college. Missed English only to find out that the class didn't happen anyway. Went to maths at 11.30am after oozing around college. Couldn't see anyone I wanted to talk to. L nowhere to be seen. At lunchtime I went and saw Peter W and he told me to see if I could writ emore, like the last bit in terms of "highly imaginative." I went to the Eng tute and got frustrated by K C anf the rest of the group. Then home. Did some knitting (here at the flat) then was struck by inspiration. Started a story about young boy and his dad on the way to Melbourne to see mum who's in hostable to have a baby. Then dad came home. We drove to D and ex-crim's. Joan there with the kids. At about 7.15 I went to get Aldous from the vet. Poor darling she was so groggy and strange. Shaved side and stitches. Dropped her off at Ashburton. I felt a heel pissing off and leaving them to look after Aldous and I bet mum and [sister] talked about it, but that's just me. I'm trying to get my life back together again...

Back to dinner. I was so tired. Now I'm going to add up how much I've spent per week since TEA started, write some of my story, read, forget about Patrick and go to sleep. I'm not going to sleep in tomorrow. Ciao.

it's 11.10pm on Thurs 18/7/85. Hello. After I added up how much money I've been through so far, I nearly fainted. No, not really. It wasn't too bad, considering I've had a few unusual expenses (license, $54; cat injections and operations etc.) Checked my balance tonight it was $912 ($200 more than I expected, which was very nice indeed.)

Yesterday (Wed) I went to college. Did 4 hours sport. Not too bad. Lunch with L. Home. Got stuff together. Drove to Ashburton. Read. Talked to Aldous and nearly fell asleep about 4.30pm. Watched heaps of tv. Prepared class for today, slept... eventually.

Today - Thurs - went to school. Only 11 kids in class, rest at music concert. RE boring. I took Creative Writing - went quite well. Stimulated the kids. In the afternoon, played soccer. I was defence (?) and I got right into it. David laffing at me. Kids yelling "Miss, Miss!" for me to pass the ball to them. It was great fun. Should've seen me, sprinting up the muddy field in boots and tight dress. Barry told me I looked like an old lady when I run. I just laughed. Home. Chatted and giggled with [brother]. [Sister] came home. Drove [bro] to guitar lesson at Box Hill. Gig tonight at Melb Uni. Town-Planners do. I came back here to the flat, at about 7pm. Watched tv. Then back to Ashburton with cheque for [sister]. Just about to get into bed and read Oscar Wilde. Been thinking of P a bit today. Damn him.

'Tis approx. 12.20am on Sat morning 20/7/85. Well. I'm sitting on Orange Bed after a really fun night out with H, D and L. We went to Lord Lentil (a vegetarian restaurant in Rathdowne St North Carlton.) It was really funny. Food was delish! We had guacamole dip for entree, then I had a cheese and spinach pie, yum. And then apple crumble, beer, a bottle of Houghton's White Burgundy, 1984. "A nice drop." We talked about college and laffed alot about the coffee. We all ordered coffee, and before I could taste mine, H said it tasted like Pea and Ham soup. David laughed into the ashtray, and blew ash everywhere, including into my coffee. Joking about nuclear fallout with the ash everywhere, David kept saying "Funny coffee... peculiar coffee" and kept breaking up and laughing. It was so much fun. Highly enjoyable. Then we went to a coffee shop in Brunswick St and had proper coffee (cappucino in those Italian glasses) and shared the yummiest banana cake and David shouted us a drink each made of Tiger Nuts, (funny name, like Chufa, Chufi?) Tasted good anyway, then we bid adieu, and came home. Terrific night.

Today at college was good. Handed in my PE Fitness details and 2 PE assignments. Now I'm going to read Oscar and sleep in tomorrow. I bet the phone rings in the morning and wakes me. I'll close both doors and I'm not getting up for anything!!!

PS I've just taken off my jeans and noticed how ultra hairy my legs are! Haven't been shaven for about 2 whole months. Thought it was worth a mention. When I report that I've shaved my legs it'll either be summer or a lover.

My goodness! It's 11pmish on Sunday 21/7/85. I've just had a blissful shower and am lying on Orange Bed. Bring you up to date on my life:

Sat - went to Ashburton after sleeping in. Beautiful day, glory of sun, but bitterest of winds. Cousin was at Ashburton. We went to watch [sister] play netball. They won against the top team. Cousin filled me in on the gossip. M is going out with a 35-year-old aerobics instructor who has an 8-year-old kid. Good on him. That's great!

Mucked around at Ashburton. Knitting etc. Back to Hawthorn. Dad and I drove to J's about 7pm. Me babysitting. Shithouse. For some reasons I thought I had to stay awake to let them in. Only about 4am did it click that they must use a key to get in. So I went to sleep on Glenn's bottom bunk space shuttle doona etc.

Woke about midday. Then today (Sun) bogged around. Read. Tried to start sewing up the jumper, coulnd't do it. Couldn't wait to leave and get home. Dad and I drove home about 3.30ppm. I did some very brisk homework here, then zoomed to Ashburton and watched tv. Measured out size of the bungalow in the sitting room/dining room - it's fucking big! Watched Now and Forever which was highly cliched but highly enjoyable. Romantic. What I sometimes lust after.

No wordd from PDO front. Baffles me. If he felt nothing reading the letter, he would have written back and told me point blank to forget it. Same if he didn't want me at all. His silence is strange. I'll find out what it means eventually. In the meantime, I'm cruising. I think the ultimate exorcism of him from my system will come when I meet someone else. I won't fall out of love with Patrick until I fall in love with someone else. Then it will be properly over. Bye!

It is 10.30pm on Monday 22 July 1985. Sitting once again on... you guessed it. Orange Bed. Smoking a cigarette and writing with small letters. Why? you ask. Because. Simply because. Just feasted on Boeuf Bourgignon (Spelling?) Yummy. Anyway. Watched The Outsiders on tv. What a cast! Matt Dillon, Rob Lowe, Tom Cruise, Leif Garrett, Emilio Estevez, Ralph Macchio. Quite a good movie. Today at college was ok. Nothing special. I'm in the good ole mid-year slump that humans are famous for. I've got work to do but motivation isn't oozing forth. Lucky I wasn't like this 3 1/2 months ago during the first crisis of my life. It's odd. I'm going going to contact P. He'll be first. I'll send a friendly, crazy card at Christmas and his birthday but it looks like he's put me on the shelf with the others.

I'm still so excited about he bungalow. It's like I'm waiting so hard for it and making the excuse that I can't organise my studies properly until I'm settled. Well, it has been a pressure situation man! No fucking doubts there. This particular volume of my diary is filled with pain interspersed with busy wonder. I want to discover more words and feelings. I feel my writing tends to slip into cliches. Even the use of the word "cliche" is a cliche in my diary. I use it too often. I allowed myself to think of that first week after I moved out of South Yarra - the toothbrush, those fucking balloons, fuck them! How could he do that? Silly question. I know how. Why do I ask such fucking dumb questions? I feel like a break. I feel like some fun. Some outrageous living, some flirtation, some romance, love...

It's amazing how my body doesn't allow itself to miss the physical love I took for granted for 1 1/2 years. I don't think about sex, because when I do I miss it really badly. I wonder how P is doing. Is he fucking her? He'd see her every Monday night at Sociology. He'd probably be too weak to break away. Knowing how he's been behaving, how vulnerable he's been... I wonder if he ever thought of me, wished it was me he was with, does he think of me every day, like I do him. Is there something wrong with me that I still think of him so much? I don't even fantasise - I just think of him - not as he was or we were - just him, existing, being, and daring to do it without me. But I feel so fucking patient and unnerstanding - so gloriously good. I can't wait to go to the snow in 2 weeks. At least I'm better company now than I was 3 1/2 months ago. I remember moping around college. It was fucking dreary - a really ball of laffs.

Season of mists, and mellow fruitfulness

that swells the gourd, and plumps the

hazel soft... Keats.

I'm reciting To Autumn for Language in a few weeks, how exciting. Not even my old, most intense phobia can thrown me. I can think of being oral in front of lots and lots of people and not even feel the slightest bit clammy. What a hero!

What's P doing right now? Why doesn't he write? He can't be waiting to hear from me. My letter encouraged (even begged for) an answer. It'll be three weeks on Wednesday that I saw him and it seems like years.

Stop wallowing.

* 2009 note - unclear writing, either possible, neither happened.

Disappointment

2009-09-29T22:32:00.002+10:00

Disappointment surely is a bitter swill that fills the mouth and forces you to spit or swallow.

Tonight, for me, it was Fame.

Yes, Fame.

In long, it was humourless, no actors had any charisma, actoring talent or presence. The characters were dull, uninteresting and uninspiring. None of the teachers were marvellous. In fact they were all shit, Kelsey Grammer and that nasal woman included.

I found it insufferable, tedious and grim.

They'd changed the names. In this day and age, clearly, there can be no black character called Coco. Oh no no no. And Bruno? That's too old-time-Italo-ethnic. Let's make him Carlo, because the Hispanics came after the Italians, swarmed into the great melting pot that is America.

Fuck that. He should have been called Hussein.

Oh, but wait. There was a Malik - a black dude. To me it's a good Muslim name, but there was no reference to religion. He was a rapper/actor with anger issues about his dead sister, shot at 11 in a drive-by.

Oh cliche-ridden piece of shit that you were, Fame.

I turned to my daughters carefully as the credits were rolling afterwards. I waited until they told me what they thought. Great, good, I liked it. I held my tongue until I was pushed to say what I thought.

"My one was better, I thought, the old one. But it was from my time."

They nodded at that. They understood. I am an old dag, and I can't appreciate that wonderful movie that unfolded in front of them.

"I remember the old one being funnier. It was heavy in parts, but there was also lightness and joy. This one was just so serious for most of it."

Silence.

"Didn't you think?"

Silence again.

Then Princess said, "But they were under so much pressure. Of course it's going to be serious."

'Yeah," I said. Wanting to let them have their Fame.

But they don't know what they missed out on.

This for one:

Monday

2009-09-28T21:37:00.003+10:00

Well, it all went brilliantly. BRILLIANTLY I TELL YOU.

Tooth settled with some quick Nurofen and I got onto the antis.

And we drove, oh how we drove. The weather was filthy for most of Victoria. It took us an hour and a half to even get onto the Hume, fucking hell, my inner voice was going, while don't worry, we'll get there my outer voice was going.

Stopped for petroleum and food about 3.5 hours in. Then a coffee stop for about 10 minutes after another couple of hours. Princess talked the whole way; her story idea for a book. So not only am I to try and write my own books, I have to help her with hers.

God help me.

We managed without music or any other diversions for hours. It was only as it got dark that we put some on. First we listened to a truly atrocious CD called Great Driving Songs or somesuch. It's Clokes' and because most of our stuff is in storage still, we are light on for CDs. We skipped through most of the tracks. They were woeful.

Then I tried to introduce her to Fat Boy Slim. She liked the first song, then wanted to skip the bit where the lyric is Fat Boy Slim is fucking in heaven. Fair enough. Then we listened to the Beach Boys. The good old reliable Beach Boys.

It was dark and my night vision is not great. We crawled along, driving very carefully, also cause by now my tooth was hurting again. We got there. We checked into our very clean, nice motel, about 5 mins drive from my bro's house. We ordered in food, had showers and slept together in the Queen size bed, using the single as our vertical wardrobe. Am I the only person to do this?

Next morning we decided not to do anything. The weather was cold, so we woke up at 9am to feast upon our breakfast tray, then lay in bed watching tv (her) and reading (me.)

I had texted my sister the night before, with no reply. Then I texted my brother-in-law cause he's usually good with his phone. No reply. Then I'm starting to worry a bit that their plans had changed. Imagine if they'd all driven to Melb? I had checked they'd be there through the week, so was fairly confident but when you do wild and crazy things, sometimes your brain can make you second-guess stuff.

So I called my brother on his mobile. He answered and was happy to hear from me. I asked if the others were there, I hadn't heard, yes, they were there, he said, sitting on the couch. They were all getting pretty excited. The bbq was going to get fired up, and they had a couple of other friends arriving to have lunch and watch the game.

"Oh ok," I said. "Well, I'll call later, to talk during the game, have fun!"

He he he.

Then I set about making mini floggers for the kids. Then we got ready and went and picked up some bbq meat stuff and two bottles of champagne and a box of nice chocolates for my bro's long-suffering partner. When Melba and her sibs get together, we can be a little much for other people.

We drove there. Princess said she was nervous.

"What if they're not happy to see us?" she asked.

"They will be!" I almost shouted at her.

"But how can you know?" she asked.

"Because they're family, and they like us. It'll be good, don't worry."

So we managed to get to the door. We rang the door bell, Princess hid behind me, scared. They opened the door and we jumped up and down shouting "SURPRISE!! SURPRISE!!"

It was awesome. My brother was really moved, I could tell. They couldn't believe that not only were we there, but we'd driven up the night before. Sneaky!

We had lunch, cracked the champers and settled down to what was a fantastic and exciting game of footy. It would have been bad if Geelong had lost and we'd been a miserable little cavalcade back down the Hume. As it was we flew our Scarf of Victory, only pulling it inside the window once we got to St Kilda Junction. We wore our Hats of Victory for most of the weekend.

I got back last night to a table full of newspapers, oh joy. Reading through them, still not finished. I have sheets of newspaper stuck to the wall with blu-tack. My father is incredibly happy, not least because of my sneaky plan. My brother is happy we went up, and my sister cried when she saw us, and then again when the Cats won. We jumped up off the couch, we shouted, we stamped and we howled.

It was great.

And getting a text message from INC was great as well. Thank you friend. Thanks too to everyone who asked about my tooth. It really is a bastard but it's behaving itself now. I'm so glad we went. Surprises are good like that if you have the right family. And Princess really jumped on board and got into it as well. She hates long car trips, but there was not one complaint. She is the acest of all.

Friday

2009-09-25T08:35:00.003+10:00

Things facing me today.

In a little while, I am going to pick up Princess from my mum's place and we are going to drive to Canberra. My brother lives in Canberra and my sister and her family are there visiting. I had planned to go up this past week but couldn't because I was working.

But then the Cats got into the Grand Final.

And I know everyone will be at my brother's watching. Us three kids haven't ever watched Geelong in a GF together before. My sister and I went to the 1995 Grand Final. There is a photo of us and our devastation afterwards. When Geelong played Hawthorn in the 1989 Grand Final I was on a road trip to Lake Eyre with two friends, and on that Saturday we drove four hours or so to a pub that was showing it. We sat in the mostly empty front bar and drank beer and then went and kicked a footy with the aboriginal kids outside afterwards. Two years ago, we were in Istanbul and couldn't find a tv showing it. There were phone calls to my dad and brother who were both there but not sitting together. And last year, we were at friends' watching, and that of course was depressing.

So I figured this might be the last chance for a long time? It would be a really feel-good moment to all be together if they win.

So I formed a wild and crazy plan to drive up there, check into a motel nearby, lie low and then about an hour before the game, ring their doorbell and just be there. Mad and spontaneous.

Great plan, innit?

Booked the motel, printed out google maps, have a little bookshop to visit half an hour out of Canberra tomorrow morning, a little side activity.

Princess jumped on board and is very excited. I had to tell my mum, and yesterday my Dad (because he asked me and Princess to the Parade today. Never been to the Parade, never want to go) and I swore them to secrecy.

I want it to be a complete and utter surprise and my sister and her husband and children are all very loud people so it will be effective and satisfying.

EXCEPT for my fucking tooth.

I went to the dentist Wednesday morning for further work on a root canal. I wasn't in pain, just having to floss frequently because the tooth had chipped. But it wasn't bad, he said, luckily I hadn't cracked the tooth, blah blah blah. He cleaned it out (again) and while it didn't hurt, it was unpleasant. I'm not good with things in my mouth. I think I've mentioned here before I used to have dreams of my mouth and throat being filled with cotton wool or barbed wire or broken glass and me having to breathe around it all the while trying to pull the stuff out.

If I believed in previous lives I would think I was probably buried alive, with dirt filling my nose and mouth and throat.

I also have a fear of me or someone I'm with choking on food and dying.

The tooth was ok when I left. It was ok for the rest of that day. A little tender but I wouldn't say painful.

Yesterday I went to work, and it was still the same, ok but not terrible.

Then last night, Clokey and I went out to dinner.

We went to a new place in Fitzroy Street called Waldorf diner (they really shouldn't call it a diner, just Waldorf would be fine) and enjoyed the food. Sausages, bread, all made on the premises. Slow-cooked food, beautiful pork-belly, divine beef carpaccio. Only one mention of "foam" on the menu and it wasn't really; more a potato puree and yummy.

The tooth was fine. I chewed on the other side, but no real problems there.

We came home, to watch the Footy Show (I couldn't bear it, what a horrible show it is, all the prancing around of the "hosts" it's like watching a neighbourhood kid's concert) and we had some ice cream.

Maybe it was the ice cream, but my tooth has gone from not terrible to very terrible.

Before I turned my light out in bed last night, it was so painful, I couldn't read my book. I took two Nurofen, and that must've helped because I managed to sleep until 5am when it woke me up.

Since then, I dozed, and now I don't know what to do.

I am miserable right now with this tooth, and I am in the comfort of my own home with my dentist virtually around the corner.

What will I be driving off to?

Is there dust in Canberra?

What will the weather be like?

Will the Cats lose?

Will it be worth it or will the whole weekend be a disaster?

Is my tooth a bad sign?

I feel a wreck, so tired, with a headache (referred pain?) and a tooth that's killing me.

All I want to do is crawl back into bed, but I need to get in the car and drive all day.

Was it the ice cream that triggered it?

Will it settle down again if I avoid ice cream? (Easy enough to do.)

What should I do?

I'm a stubborn person. Once I get an idea in my head, I don't want to change a plan. Especially when it involves such delicious surprise and fun.

UPDATE - my lovely dentist rang back, he is going to organise some antibiotics and Panadeine Forte for me. He thinks working on the tooth has stirred something up, and the antibiotics will help. I am anti the antis, but in matters like this, I will take them happily. So yay, let me go now. Get ready, get the drugs and head off. Will report back Monday.

Go Cats.

Diary Goodtimes

2009-09-18T21:45:00.004+10:00

Hello. 1.15am Tuesday 18/6/85.

Yesterday - went to college 9am. PEA Fitness, 1/2 hour jog to Princes Park. Then Drama Lecture, SSA, PE Lecture. At lunchtime I went to Lygon St and bought 4 cards. Sent one to Pat today. Not heavy, just casually welcoming.

Home. Dinner at Sofia's avec Dad. Then to Mum's. Tape from D2 in Greece. Played it. It's so good. Did knitting. Back to Hawthorn. Wrote letter to D2. Now read. Ciao.

It's 10 to 1am. Wed morning 19/6/85. College = ok today. Came home after mucking about reading in the city for 3 hours or so. Then D rang. Spoke to D, L, Erin (Massie's coming over) and Mum. D, L and I went to see "An Indecent Obsession" it was wonderful. Very well done. Wendy Hughes was the best I've ever seen her. Then... back here. Read a letter from D2 and played the tape. D2's letter hit me hard. She's living on a Greek island with hippies and other travellers. They built a shanty out of bamboo etc and she's having the best fucking time. I'm going as soon as possible. I cannot wait. Her letter was so poetic and verbose - very descriptive, superb. She sounded so inspired. I want to go!!!

I'm also looking forward to the bungalow. I can't wait to furnish it and paint it, that will be fun and keep me oh so busy. I must go now. Four hours phys. ed. tomorrow. When will P read the card? What'll he do? I have nothing to lose. The worst is he could either tell me/write to me to leave him alone, or ignore it and not reply. I've been thinking less of him and feeling less sharp pain - I think it was seeing him on Queen's BD that set me off because I was so casual and neither of us felt casual. I feel torn and trapped. I've been thinking a bit about whether I could cope going out with someone else. They'd have to be able to make me laugh and laugh and laugh.

I was happy before I knew P existed. Someone else will come my way all in good time. Ciao.

Hello. It's 5 mins to midnight, 19/6/85. I'm in bed at Hawthorn, flushed red, eating pizza. I just had a smashingly hot bath whilst drinking claret and writing a letter to D2.

I'm still reading "Lace" and I'm enjoying it. No word from PDO. What a loser!! (Ha!)

Tonight I smoked, knitted, read, watched "American Gigolo", pondered the idea of having a wonderful lover, and then a spider crawled on my arm. Shriek, scream, brush off, glass over the top. I waited for dad to come home and rescue me. I waited... waited... waited... I became lonely and resorted to chatting amiably with my arachnid acquaintance.

College today = boring. I'm finishing my pizza. All gone. Now to brush my teeth. And read. This morning I slept in to 9.15am. Damn it.

HI. It's 11.45pm Thurs 20/6/85. College = good. Tea at Ashburton. Got another letter from D2. I'm just writing a reply. Bye.

Hello. It's 1.30am on Saturday 22/6/85. Today - drama was very enjoyable. Media with L this afternoon. We computed until 5pm. Excitement!

She drove me to Burnley Station and I trained to Auburn. Got the beetle, drove to Ashburton. Knitted with [sister], like a pair of grannies. Watched "Cool Hand Luke" with Paul Newman.After that, we trotted off to the Greenman (coffee shop, Malvern) to see Erin and B perform. It was terrific. Very impressive. Erin said she was nervous but she looked very relaxed and severe. Her fiddling is excellent. I could have listened to them for hours... but [sister] had to get home to sleep. Her examens start next week, so she has mucho work ahead of her.

So, here I am at Hawthorn. Dad is "elsewhere". I love Aldous alot. I'm so glad she's mine. I can't wait to get my bungalow and live with Aldous and my wonderful, wonderful family. I keep thinking about the bungalow. It's really going to happen. Mum's sent the order in, so in 6-8 weeks it'll be there, man. So over my September holidays I can create my own little habitat. Terrific. Things to think about:-

- white venetian blinds

- carpet or floorboards and rugs

- divan

- coffee table

- white shelving

- lighting

- paint bookcase white

- filing cabinet (painted white)

- clothes rack for walk-in wardrobe

Yay it's so exciting.

Things I have to fit into it:-

- divan/bed

- pine habitat scatter cushions*

- bookshelf

- coffee table (?)

- desk

- stereo

I cannot wait. It keeps me going just thinking about it.

I'm going skiing on 3rd/4th August to Mt Hotham avec the ski club at college. Paid my money today, that will be fun.

(Not a peep from PDO... interesting. He'll never forget me. He'll always be comparing others to me and I'll shine forever in his heart. No one will be able to live up to my humour, my love for him, me. I am me. He'll never find anyone the same.)

I finished "Lace" today and now I embark on a Harold Robbins saga "Memories of Another Day." Ciao.

I see... it is a touch apres midnight on Monday morning 24/6/85!!!

Well, I am on the top bunk at Ashburton. Yesterday I slept in... Went to Ashburton. Got ready for the Leader do. Drove to Joan's in Rowville. Went to Park Orchards The Chalet. Smorgasbord. Yummy. Danced. Someone's husband said "Who's the goodlooking sort in the purple dress?"** Someone said "I think it's - -'s daughter." Then the other person said "I'll shut up then."

Then back to Joan's. Went to sleep eventually. Slept in again. Awoke.

Sunday (today) read my book. Drove to Hawthorn. Burnt all nude polaroids of me... packed me bags then drove to Ashburton. Went through all the newspapers and cut out clippings on education. I intend to be a very good teacher.

At x Primary School tomorrow. Grade 5. I wonder if Patrick will ever waltz back into my life (try to.) I don't think about him as much - it's good. I think writing that card and ringing him was good. I like to have the final, controlled say. It helped me, sending that card. Now I don't expect anything from him and I can trot on with my own life. I'm getting there and it feels good. I'm feeling confident and I'm really feeling right and good. Ciao.

Hello. It's 11.45pmish on Mon 24/6/85. On top bunk, in semi-warm bed. [Sister] is talking to me about looks and what age it is when a woman accepts her looks (if ever.)

School today = ok. I have to think about being tough and using my voice more authoritatively.

Watched "One Night Stand" on tv and it was surprisingly ok. Made me think about Patrick. That if we were all to die soon, the time we would have missed - the last 3 months or so. How dare he forsake me??? He lost faith, I didn't. He'll learn, burn, squirm... and I won't care. Bye now.

It's approx midnight the night of Tues 25th June, 1985. In bed... yes. Predictable! I've just been doing a wee spot of organising. Notes, reading course objectives, etc.

School today was good. Better than yesterday. The kids are getting more used to me and me to them. I took 1/2 the class for an English activity - went ok.Came home for lunch and stuffed my face. Knitting's going ok. Dropped tape off to Jim. Drove past Patrick's house tonight with [sister]. Moke there, and as we passed a light was turned off in the house. Made me go hot and prickly; sweaty. Funny. Damn him!!! Damn life! But it's ok. As [sister] said, he probably doesn't want to admit or feel dependent on me which I only too well understand. Trying to live independently - which is good for both of us in the long run. As long as he really is ok - not pretending to be. As long as he can talk to friends etc. If she's living there with him, he'll learn. Everything'll be ok in the long run. Everything's in terms of "the long fucking run."

I'm feeling good about myself though. Dreamt of P this morning. We were being sexual and it felt good - like coming home. Sting was in my dream too, and I was discussing [sister] with him, saying to him "You know what it's like when you feel alone and no one understands you..." I was almost laughing in my dream cause of all his lonely songs, he really indentified with how I was describing [sister].

Tonight, Mum and I invaded the laundromat to dry clothes. We sat there like two chooks, eaching knitting and chatting about the manifestations of paranoid schizophrenia. Amazing. Now, to read. Ciao.

Well, it's 11:05pm on Wed 26/6/85. Half way thought this ugly and beautiful year. Today at school was good. It's improving. I'm taking maths on Friday... teaching the kids about Tessellations. My god. I didn't know what they were until the teacher told me about them. I screamed off to the college library and found some books and pictures on tessellations. Wow.

Got my essay back from Peter W... I was a bit hesitant... not knowing if he'd reject or appreciate. Well... the comment on the story:

Melba, a very talented work that deserves to be promoted.

He told me I should enter it in a short story competition and that it's really very good. I'll see him next week, so that's exciting. He's into editing and publishing and knows what he's talking about. One day I will be in print, man!!!

Tonight, I knitted, ate, and watched telly. Laughed with the folks. On the way into town, it started raining. So I stopped at a petrol station and purchased (for 35 cents) a fuse for under the dash that works the windscreen wipers. There you go...

I'm putting on weight. I don't really want to. So, I'm gonna have to be very careful. More exercise. It's because I'm not having any sex, as well as my increased appetite... I don't think about sex much at all which is off considering I was used to a very active and enjoyable sex life. I think that means it's an integral part of love and deep emotional feeling for me, and so any strong attachment I have with a person seems to ensure fidelity - unlike others. Also, my ego's strong enough to withstand lack of sex and physical affection. It'll all happen again one day. I'll probably be more ready, and stronger within myself next time. Anyway, enough. That's all over and done with. Even though I still love my ideal and knowledge of P as an entity, I don't think we could ever make a go of it. He's too weak for me, and insecure. Unless he strengthened and his ego became more secure, there's no hope. I need someone (and deserve someone) more together. A whole person, who can understand me as I am and offer me what I want, and not just take. P just wasn't a whole person like that. He didn't like himself, was too unsure and questioning about everything. I hope he's ok. I don't care now about anything except that I'm ok and that he's ok. We will be - separately. Now to read. Ciao.

MY GOD!!!

Greetings. The time must be verging on midnight. Date Thurs 27/6/85. Place = the Top Bunk, Ashburton.

At 10.15pm I was doing my Ball Skills Assignment when I heard a hestitant tap on the front door. I answered it. It was PDO "back from the dead."

"You could've knocked me over with a feather!!!"

Sweet Jesus. My heart nearly shot out of my chest. I went all hot and cold and hot and cold. He gave me a letter and a kiss and left. The letter is very informative. He's seeking help with a counsellor for his drug/alcohol problems. He says he may be an attractive, together prospect by the end of the year. He says he misses me. He says I'm still the best person he's ever known and it's a lovely, warm, funny letter. One I'll treasure for ever. What a fucking shock! I'd forgotten about it (sort of.) Accepted he wasn't going to contact me for a long time (if ever.) I'll write back... a funny, nice, warm letter. Also he mentions that it'll be impossible for D to see him holding hands with his "girlfriend" walking down Swanston St, meaning he's not seeing her any more. I'm glad. Fuck, I am glad. I had terrible visions of her moving in with him, and making him happy. Oh, glorious day!

School ok. Bye.

It's around about 12.30am Sat 29/6/85. Today, I... went to school, had a blind flash of panic at recess (just before I was due to take the maths lesson.) I felt like really chickening out, but somehow i got out there and did a damned good job for somebody who's

1. done only 6 months of the three year course

2. has always had a phobia (almost always) about "public speaking"

3. has never taken a class before.

The teacher said I should be pleased with how it went.

I am really stoned right now. [Sister] and I just returned from Erin's. It was good fun. I am so fucked.

Hello, now it's the next morning and I'm not stoned so I can fill in the gaps. On the way to Erin's last night, we stopped at Glenferrie Rd Malvern to get some $$$ from ANZ Night and Day. I nicked into the milk bar and saw Jim (from D2's going away thingo at that pub.) I said hi and we had a very quick chat. He was working until 12 midnight and said he was about to cry. I told him not to cry and just work. We connected (again) like at the going away thingo. I rushed off back to the car (Mum was driving) and as we drove past him, we were all staring at him, and he waved. I didn't think he'd bothered to look to see where I'd gone, so that was funny. Immediately, mum started saying "how can we engineer a meeting?" ha ha ha. He is cute though.

Also, yesterday when I took my PE assignment in, I went and saw Peter W about my story. He didn't say much, except that he wants me to sit down this weekend, and write more on that story, if possible. Try to get back into it, how I was feeling when I wrote it. Bye. I'm getting up now to eat and do some homework. Also, tonight I'm seeing D. Yay.

Now it is 14:09 which translates to 9 minutes past 2pm on Sunday 30/6/85. I didn't write last night.

Yesterday, I blobbed at Ashburton and knitted. Came back here to Hawthorn and knitted. Last night I went to Sofia's with D and J, then to a football "shirts only" party in Hawthorn. I was so stoned I was just sitting staring at people and space man. Then, we all came back here (and Jim) and crashed at about 5am.Woke up this morning (11.30am) and had brekky. The others left about 45 minutes ago. I did the dishes and had a shower and now I'm going to do my drama.

Now it's 10 to 1am on Monday 1 July, 1985. My God. It's exactly three months since April Fool's Day, when P and I split. Well, well, well.

This evening I dropped a letter into P's letter box. We'll see. I still love him. I can't help it but it'd take a bit of work on his part to win me back. Went to Ashburton to get my jumper, work and "Garp." Rang L tonight and we decided to go to Drama on Friday which gives us all week to prepare. I watched most of "The Sting" tonight. I knitted too. Lasagne from Sophia's. Spoke to SW. I'm going to Mt Martha next Saturday for the night, so that'll be fun.

How does Patrick feel? Is he as preoccupied with me as I am with him? I'm not going to mention I love him unless I'm sure of it... I mustn't make it all too easy for him, but it's so damn hard! I've got stomach cramps, not period I don't think. I'll look back and see when my last period was.

Hello. It's 11.25pm on Mon 1/7/85. School ok. Home. Watched The Exorcist tonight. Ok. Knitted. Ate. Now I'm going to read. I feel exhausted after 3 months withouth Patrick Dean. Exactly 3 months. Sheeyit. I wonder if he realises? Bye.

* I'm fairly sure this is a joke (courtesy of Alexi Sayle in the Secret Policeman's Other Ball.)

** I thought the purple dress was at the other shindig. Funny. Here I am, hanging with the olds.

I'm thinking Fridays are a good time to do diaries. Except it's Thursday. Woo hoo.

2009-09-17T21:01:00.004+10:00

So hasn't it been wet today? What the hell is going on with Beyonce and the dude who interrupted Taylor Swift? I haven't really caught up. And the evil father who incested his daughter, for fuck's sake. At work we get all these emails that have been filtered IN for sexual content, either socially, psychologically, medically and so on. You guys at work have filters to get rid of this shit, whereas our servers allow all kinds of stuff. We have to go back to work and look up "felching" and "choat."

I get to go to my desk at work and there are all these alerts from the librarian pointing me towards articles about everything you ever wanted to know about sex but were too afraid to ask.

[Apologies to Woody.]

Today, I was busy explaining to Year 9 girls how head lice and pubic lice are DIFFERENT and don't use the head treatment "down there" or you will burn that shit. Did you know that pubic lice cannot live in your head hair but it sure as fuck can migrate to your chest hair (general menfolk, non-body-builders) and underarm hair (general menfolk, non BB and non-European laydees)?

Does that even make sense. I don't care. My weekend starts TONIGHT.

Also, we had condom balloons being patted around, girls in a huddle at my "kit" pulling out all manner of ribbed, warm heated and tight-fits. I had one girl fit a condom over her entire hand and she was licking the end of it. All I could think of to say was

"Doesn't that taste yucky?"

During my short time in the job, I have already used the expression "If you were my daughter, I'd say you should..."

I have already used the expression "We know that girls are giving oral sex - or head jobs - to boys more than they are receiving. It. Why is this so?" and I make my eyebrows beetle at this point.

I have already used the expression "slut-stick" for the Implanon contraceptive rod. In a purely homey, I'm down-with-it way. I think I'm not "comfortable" using that term so I won't any more.

Today I was told that a "blue veined cigar" is another name for... you guessed it PENIS.

Did not know that one but I worked it out pretty quickly.

I am no longer a sex-ed virgin. I have masterfully handled the hot-pink dildo, and parried the question:

"Is that a sex toy?"

with

"Yes. It most certainly is. But it's not mine. I got it from work. But I chose the colour!"

I am loving my new job. It's fun, it's honest and it's important.

And there are statistics!

Looking looking looking

2009-09-15T21:20:00.005+10:00

Things that are pretty much a deal-breaker for me when looking at houses to buy.

- spa baths

- hot tubs

- pools

- gazebos

- feature walls

- sponged feature walls

- low ceilings

- stupid fucking floorplans

- cross-hatch parquetry flooring

- any parquetry flooring really, other than the very tasteful, very expensive type, which is rare

- floating floorboards

- aluminium window frames

- vertical venetians

- gravel or stones on pathways or driveways

- wood panel bathrooms

- slate flooring

Sorry if I've offended you, but really no one will know if you have any or all of these in your house. Most are cosmetic and can be dealt with, but things like this

you know the owners are thinking it's a major feature, especially when it's the hero shot for the ad.

Suburbs we are looking at circle Melbourne. It's too fucking hard and it's giving me a headache and I think I need to eat some cake. Luckily, there is some in the fridge, thanks to Princess turning 13.

I am mother of a teenager. How did that happen?

Fridayrama Diarama. Yes, she is a fool, and kidding herself? You betcha. Join me on the journey back to 1985. It's a trip.

2009-09-11T13:16:00.009+10:00

Hello. It's about 9.50am on Monday morning 13/5/85. I woke about 8.30am.

I feel shithouse.

I'm feeling sad but I can't cry right now. Pat was crying last night because he thought he had really loved me and I'll never know how much, and that it's still there deep, deep down.

I do know he loved me.

And I know he hasn't fallen out of love with me.

It's so fucking horrible.

I suppose we'll keep writing letter until one of us loses interest. I'm so scared... I'm me. Why can't he just love me and tell me? Why has it always been me who's forced to walk away from him?

Last night I was almost begging him to take me home with him. He refused - didn't want to drag it out. He was talking of it as The End, then I started talking of it as The End, then he started saying "It's not the end." Oh fuck!!!

This is killing me.

Last night Pat made a choice between us staying together and destroying whatever we've got and losing it forever

AND

Splitting up, preserving what we've got (trying to) and not jeopardising a possible future reconciliation.

Last night Pat said "I don't think there'll ever be an end."

Last night he said "Don't think of it as the end. Just think of it as another change, different."

*

It's 12.17 am on Tuesday 14/5/85. I am in D's sister's bed and I have a headache. I am fucked. I am going to Inverloch tomorrow. Tonight it was good to speak to Marine. She was very adamant that I should live it up and be free without Pat.

But I love him.

Tomorrow D and I are going to Inverloch. It will be most welcome. I might stay a while.

*

Hello. It is about 6.55pm Tues 14/5/85. I am lying on Dad's bed at Inverloch. D and I drove down today. We are going to the pub for dinner. Yay.

* Pat said he thinks of us as natural partners, meant to be together.

I hope he becomes happy. I hope he doesn't "go off the rails." I hope he doesn't drink too much, get into drugs too heavily.

Mum rang just before and said she'd been worrying about what she said to Patrick on Sunday. Wishing him well and stuff. She said she'd gotten choked up and was almost crying. He asked what was wrong, and she said it was physiological? She was hoping Pat didn't take it as she never wanted to see him again or didn't expect to. She'd been wanting to say something to him but felt it was all none of her business.

Pat said he started crying cause he was thinking of how much he'd loved me when we were living together, and that I'll never know how much. And that it's still lthere, deep inside.

He said it will be good when we can live together and "you can look into my eyes and love me - really love me - and me love you."

He said "All these things won't mean anything, once we get through this."

I told him it'd be easier for me if he could tell me he'd fallen out of love with me.
He said he hadn't even thought of it like that. He couldn't do it - he didn't even try. He couldn't look me in the eye - he felt embarrassed that he was crying and I was just sitting there. I can't wait to write him letters - I'll be able to tell him everything I feel because I write better than I talk. I know he loves me. If he didn't, all this would be easier for him. And I feel good knowing he loves me - but for how long? How long will I want it?

I told him I'm scared of losing him, and scared of becoming less scared of losing him.

When I went to get out of the moke, and unclicked the side panel, I said "The last click."

He almost yelled at me, with such fire, "It's not the last click!" Staring right into my eyes.

"What if I want to take you on a picnic?" he said.

Also, I got a bit tough.

I said "I'm just trying to be tough" and he grabbed me and said "Don't ever be tough with me, Melba. You can be tough with everyone else, but with me, always be Melba."

I just don't know.

I'm feeling OK about it all because I know he cares about me and all my care and feeling is not being rejected.

- - -

In bed now. It's a little after 9pm. D and I had a yummo meal at the pub. We were approached by a strange man who was nice but very, very shy. He left. Good. Thinking of Patrick non-stop. I never think of what he might be doing. I want to protect myself from that. I never imagine what he's up to. I defend myself by thinking over and over the last time I saw him and how I feel positive about this break. Neither of us wants to completely lose the other, so with that in mind, I am now going to read The Killing of Karen Silkwood. It's raining and I'm all snuggly. I wish P was here beside me. FUCK.

*

Hello. I have no idea of the time, it must be after midnight. Had a terrific day today. Slept in until 12.15pm. Sat around doing New Idea crossword. At about 4pm, D and I drove to Wonthaggi and then onto Phillip Island. Drove around. Had tea at the Isle of Wight Hotel. Talked and talked. Then back to Wonthaggi at about 8.45pm to see The Flamingo Kid with Matt Dillon which was enjoyable. Home. Listened to some music, read some mags. An enjoyable, cold day. Fuck it's cold. My hands are freezing. D's going back to Melbourne tomorrow and [sister] is coming down I hope. I'm gonna stay as long as poss.

I carry P in my heart wherever I go.

*

It is 16/5/85. About 4.40pm Thursday. I am sitting in front of the heater, listening to Men at Work, reading Wuthering Heights.

How is Patrick? What is he doing? Is he laughing with Susannah? Is he having fun? Is he thinking of me? Is he feeling relief or remorse?

FUCK.

I'm feeling ok. Independent. Free. Vital. Beautiful. Me.

I am Melbourne Girl no matter what happens in my life. I'll continue growing, feeling, experiencing, loving. I refuse to shut down and block out what I'm feeling.

I'm enjoying the solitude here. A couple of times I've said out loud "I can do whatever I want."

Even though I know I'd get upset if P rang, I want him to. I want him to be thinking about me, wanting me, worrying. Why do I persist in torturing myself? It's better this way. It's better not to see him so I can think clearly, and he can do what he has to do.

He's a victim of his groin.

I'm a victim of his groin.

If he settles down with S then I don't want him. I don't want someone who's that weak. It seems so dumb but when two people love each other, everything fucks up. Love seems to be very little at the moment. I probably don't even love him any more. I'm probably just hanging on to the way we were, and my dreams of the future. Shits me.

PS Fact time. D left around 2pm and [sister] and Dad are due down here at about 5pm.

*

Hello, now it is 10pm on the same day and this texta isn't working. IS this one working? Yes!!
[Sister] is lying on the floor reading New Idea, Dad is laughing on the phone with Joan (?) and I am getting a touch depressed. We've just been to Tabener's pub in Wonthaggi. Yum. When D was here, I was ok about Pat. Now that [sister's] here, I get morbid and depresso. I wonder why. D's convinced there's light at the end of the tunnel, [sister] doesn't really say much. I wonder if he's written? He'll start thinking of me when he's working this weekend. I hate not knowing what the fuck's going on. It's not fair. I feel so tender towards him sometimes, other times I just want to kick him.

Hello now it's abotu 11.30pm. [Sister] and I had the giggles before, it was great. I've got to keep on feeling positive about life. Pat is trying to do what's best for him, and I've got to think about what I want. I can do anything in the world!

*

It is 5 minutes to midday on Friday 17/5/85. I've just eaten some toast and now I wish to record my dreams:

I remember I was going out with Mark "Jacko" Jackson and he was really keen. He said to me "Will you sleep with me tonight?" and I said yes. But I can't remember getting around to it. There were crowds everywhere we went. He took me to his place and it was like a punk squat, and there were 16 cats and they were everywhere. I remember putting theatrical makeup on and being overly concerned with my appearance. I remember thinking "Pat will be jealous because I'm going out with someone rich and famous."

Then I was in an ice-cream parlour with an attractive girl and we were getting horny. But it didn't go very far. I smeared some ice cream on my leg and licked it off and this girl started doing likewise.

ENOUGH!!

Now it is 1.15am on Saturday morning. Date = 18/5/85. I am in Dad's big bed. Had a fab day...

Woke up. Recorded my dreams. Went for a walk on the beach. Saw Choong and Flicker in the rock pool. Good. Then to shops. Home. Dad had left at about 1pm. [Sister] and I planned our itinerary. [Sister] did a poo. I read Wuthering Heights. Did crosswords. Listened to music. Read.

Then to pub for Friday Family Deal. [Sister] ate wiener schnitzel and I had scotch fillet steak. Some kids put the juke box on while the bayand were playing. We got embarrassed and left. Came home. More crosswords. Then we did a "concert." [Sister] did a long reading from Wuthering Heights, where Heathcliff says "I love my murderer, but yours? How can I?" etc. She played all the parts - the foaming Heathcliff, the manic Cathy, boring Nelly and wimpy, poofy Edgar. She did well, it was fab. Then I did a sicko rendition of Sherlock Holmes which I found difficult to pronounce as my saliva production was excessive. Then I read a passage from Garp, the spastic stiff-arming an old man, the blind man married to the flatulent woman ("a keen, treble fart.") Excellent. Then [sister] and I philosophised re life. Now it is raining. Shit it's cold. My bowels are sluice gates to the sewerage of my body.

*

Woah. 12.15pm Sat 18/5/85. Just woke up. More sexual dreams. Dreaming of teaching and an older man teacher I was attracted to. Wanted to fuck him. Dreamt about caravans, Patrick (abstract) and sex. Bugger!!!

*

Greetings. It is after 11.30pm but still before the ghoulise hour of midnight on Sat 18/5/85. I am where I normally am when I bid this fair record "greetings." What a day filled with excitement and adventure. [Sister] and I set off for Wonthaggi at 3pm. We caught the 3.10pm bus, arrived in Wonthaggi about 3.30pm. Had some food at Dutchies then went and saw The Everlasting Story. Fabulous man!!! It was so good. Then, we spent some time (an hour or so) in the laundrette reading (me Garp, [sister] mags.) Then to Tabener's for tea. [Sister] correctly guessed the last 3 Super 66 numbers (5, 3, 1.) It was uncanny. We screamed!!!

Then (the adventure continues) we caught the 8.52pm bus home to Inverloch. Did a crossword and now we are in our respective resting places. Now I'll read Garp which is the most incredible book. I love it. Bye.

PS This morning I masturbated for the first time in ages and the first time since breaking up with PD.

Sun 19/5/85

I am approaching the end of the The World According to Garp. I am feeling sad. I don't want it to end. I cried tonight, the first time in a week about Patrick. I wrote these words:-

It's not so much the thought of you making love to anyone else that kills me; it's the thought of you holding hands with someone else, hugging them in a moment of spontaneous affection, kissing their face and saying "Oh god, I love you!!!" laughing at their jokes. Oh sweetie, I miss all of that!

I could continue... pressing your face into theirs, smelling their hair, whispering of having babies and getting married, saying how soft their skin is, how smooth, saying how much you love them, how it will be when you are both old and still laughing together.

One day you will read all this Patrick. At this moment, I love you so much. I feel so much in my heart. My eyes are brimming with tears, I blink them away... I feel you've propped open my Door of Hope with a brick, and you've nicked off on me - left me holding in my arms a skerrick of hope. Why didn't you just tell me you didn't want me anymore? Because you would have been lying?

Heathcliff says: Because death, and degradation, would not have separated us, you of your own choice did it... What right had you to leave me when you loved me?

Pat... I don't know what to say except I feel wronged even though I understand everything. You'll never have another like me. No one else will understand you. I know you, the real you. And you've fucked everything with your confusion. But still the scream in my head - "But I understand!! I truly do."

I don't even know what I want myself. All I know is I want Patrick Dean. Just seeing the name makes me want to cry. I feel alone. Abandoned. I feel you've given up on me. I feel as if I'm being replaced with nothingness.

Don't laugh with her! Don't love her! Not while I still love you so much. Not while I still care so much. I will always care... always love.

"It's not easy to live in just a piece of the world when you used to know it whole." ("Me" by Anonymous.)

*

Well. Now it's early on Tues morning (am) 21/5/85. What a day. Slept in. Crosswords. Ice creams at 7pm from milk bar. Messy tea (soup/toast.) I read [sister] The Pension Grillparzer from Garp; she read me the last part of To Kill a Mockingbird. Good. I wrote some more of my story today. It's coming along well. Tonight, Leonard Cohen was on Mike Walsh and I got upset. I feel angry that Patrick has even dared to do all this. I think he's lost me. He must know it too and he doesn't care. Doesn't give a shit. But he will one day.

But by then it will be too late. I won't want him.

Fuck!!!!!!!!!!!!!!*

Hello. It is 10 to 4 (pm) on Tues 21/5/85. I am perusing a book called The People's Almanac Presents THE BOOK OF LISTS.

It has some funny bits of trivia. Under the heading of "Celebrated Animals" I found the story of Bibs.

"Heroic canaries are surely rare. One of them, Bibs, lived - and died - in Hermitage, Tennessee. Bibs belonged to an elderly woman known as Old Aunt Tess. When Old Aunt Tess fell and injured herself severely, Bibs went winging down the road for help. She banged against the window of a neighbouring house until she aroused the occupant. Old Aunt Tess survived but Bibs died from excessive tapping."

25 Wonderful Collective Nouns for Animals:

A murder of crows.
A clowder of cats.
A leap of leopards.
A sloth of bears.
A rafter of turkeys.
A smack of jellyfish.
A skulk of foxes.
A labor of moles.
A peep of chickens.
A crash of rhinoceroses.
A paddling of ducks.
A siege of herons.
A rag of colts.
A drift of hogs.
A charm of finches.
A trip of goats.
A knot of toads.
A shrewdness of apes.
A parliament of owls.
A troop of kangaroos.
A gaggle of geese.
A pride of lions.
A watch of nightingales.
A muster of peacocks.
An exaltation of larks.

A palindrome = a word or sentence that reads the same backwards as forwards.

1. Lewd did I live, & evil I did dwell. (the first palindrome recorded in the English language.)

2. Madam, I'm Adam.

3. A man, a plan, a canal - Panama.

4. He goddam mad dog, eh?

5. Able was I ere I saw Elba.

6. "Naomi, sex at noon taxes," I moan.

7. Doc, note, I dissent. A fast never prevents a fatness. I diet on cod.

8. Step on no pets.

9. Never odd or even.

"Do good? I? No! Evil anon I deliver: I main mine more hero-men in Saginav; sanitary sword a-tuck, Carol, l-lo! - rack, cut a drowsy rat in Aswan; I gas nine more hero-men in Miami; reviled I (Nona) live on. I do, O God!"

Tongue twister:

"Iquqa laziqikaqika kwaze kwaqhawaka uqhoqhoqha." Translation - "The skunk rolled down and ruptured its larynx."

---

I am just about to go to bed. My last night at Inverloch (this time). Spent today reading The Great Book of Lists and enjoyed it thoroughly. A touch depressed/introverted/thoughtful about Patrick. What am I waiting for? A letter of course. We said we'd write. We said we are mates. So can I trust him to be my friend? I don't know. Maybe it would just prove too painful. I think it's inevitable that I begin to care less and less. Because if he's not loving me, hugging me and holding me, I can't continue with it all in my mind. Is my love dying? Is his? Is it all dead already?

-

Now I'm going to read Ulysses by James Joyce. I'll go to bed before Leonard Cohen comes on Rock Arena and sings SUZANNE.

*

Hello. It's between 2.45am and 3am on Thurs 23/5/85. I am in bed at Dad's place (Hawthorn.) Arrived back from Inverloch (got to Ashburton at about 4.30pm.) Mum drove me over here at 7pmish. I watched tv from 7.30 to now. For the last few hours I've been watching video recordings of Fawlty Towers and Minder. Very good.

I can't stop thinking about Pat. It's as if I'm just constantly waiting for him to ring. Should I write him a note? I just don't know what to do. I know he'll eventually ring and I know in the meantime I'm doing things, not physically hanging aaround and waiting - but emotionally/mentally I am so loyal and ever ready. But I can't help it.

I'm feeling sick of myself. I want Pat. I want him to write first. But if he doesn't, I'll write to him. Now to read Cosmopolitan and an Agatha Christie book.* ciao

*

Now it's shortly after midnight, Saturday May 25th, 1985. I'm in my bed at Dad's. Didn't write for a while.
Thursday, slept in. Then trekked off to Glenferrie Road and bought 3 novels:

The Hotel New Hampshire, John Irving

The Acquitaine Progression, Robert Ludlum

The 158 Pound Marriage, John Irving.

I've already read the last, and now I'll start the first. I'll leave Ludlum until last, work up to it. Right now I feel like something eccentric, maniacal and funny and surprising, which John Irving's novel all seem to encompass.

Then "last night" (Thurs night) I went to a farewell sort of thingo for D2 at the Windsor Castle Pubbo. We had a room upstairs and lots and lots of people came to pay homage to dear D2. It was good. I was entertained by two very nice twin brothers, Jim and Alex. We chatted and laughed. Jim's a tram conductor and I had in fact noticed him on a St Kilda Rd tram a few months ago. Amazing. I was hanging out for him to get my number, but ... no. I have the feeling he's shyish with girls although he had no trouble talking to me. It was really good. Then a troop of people came back here to Dad's place (Dad's at Inverloch) and we talked, danced to Beatles, watched Fawlty Towers on the video. Then when all D2, her Jim and Al had gone, I quickly tidied up, and we jumped in a taxi and I stayed at D2's last night. It was good.

Then today I woke up at 8.30am after 3 hours sleep. Fark. D2's mother dropped me at Ashburton and mum and I went and checked out bungalows again. I feel we're getting somewhere now... Mum is more decisive and I'm eager and enthused. That was good.

Back to Ashburton. Mum and [sister] went shopping, I stayed and finished The 158 Pound Marriage. Almost fell asleep in [sister's] bed but my brain started thinking and stopped me. Then I sat in front of the fire in the sitting room with my little puss cat Aldous. She's really lovely now she seems to be more relaxed and settled. She's more sophisticated and classy - no more the manic kitten (cute, but deadly) of yesteryear.

Then Mum and [sister] home. We watched tv, ate tea, then set off to Brighton to see Maria's Lovers. A very tender, touching, powerful and well-done film. Excellent. But I won't dwell on that. Another time. I refuse to dwell on Patrick too. I give up right now. He doesn't want me so it's his big, fat loss. And my gain. Bye.

*

HELLO. Yes, it's me. Manic Melba. It is 8.25pm on Sunday 26/5/85, I just asked Dad the date and he told me and said it's also his and mum's wedding anniversary (23rd). Wow man!!!

Just got a phone call from... you guessed it, PD. Very friendly and chatty. What did he want??? After chatting a bit he asked me if I knew of any photos of Kristy or Keren could have of he and me. I knew nothing. Apparently John was at the flat and someone came to the door (it was Keren, cause she said she lives in Black Rock) to borrow Pat's rolling machine (cigarettes.) She said to tell Pat she has some "interesting photos of Pat and Melba." My god! I remember her taking some once ages ago, so Pat is going to get them. But the word "interesting" throws me a bit. Oh well, I'll find out. A couple of times P asked me why I always sound depressed on the phone with him. I denied it, saying I'm being a bit reserved. Just as I was about to go, he said he was wondering if we could see each other sometime next week. I said "Give me a ring, mate." He went a bit "funny" (defensive) and said or he could send me a postcard. I said don't chicken out, are you going to ring me or send me a postcard? He said he'll ring me. I told him to have fun at school this week and I'd speak to him later. Cheerfully, we said "goodbye." Very interesting. I'm glad he wants to see me, but he'll wait. I'm not going to sleep with him (I'm off the pill) and I can't stand being fucked around.

-

End of current news. Now to catch up on the rest of my life.

After seeing Maria's Lovers on Friday night, Mum drove me home. I showered hotly and crawled into bed for an earliesh night. I read Hotel New Hampshire and fell asleep quickly I think.

Sat morning 25/5/85
What did I do? I awoke at about 1pm. Too late, but I couldn't help it. Read a bit? I think. Then I sat down and watched Brigadoon which Dad had taped. It was marvy. Dad came home a bit before the end, and I cried at the end when Gene Kelly went back to Scotland and found Fiona and Brigadoon. It was beautiful. Then, I read and read Hotel New Hamp.Dad went out but before then I went to the shops. When I got back, Dad was about to go to Joan's and said Pat had rung and that he'd ring back soon. He rang back and we had a brief chat. It was ok. He said he'd call me next week. Then I read and read Hotel N H. Then D2 came and picked me up and took me to her place. J, K and L, J and her parents were there. We all talked, drank and smoked and it was good. Stayed the night. I couldn't sleep though I was tired. My brain kept turning over and I couldn't stop thinking about Patrick. Finally, I slept.

Sunday (today) 26/5
Woke about 9am. Left for the airport at about 9.50am, picked D up on the way. Got there. D2 checked in etc. Then to the bar and we drank a few. D2 left. I wish not to dwell on that.

We left after watching the British Airways plane zoom off into the yonder. D and I went to her place. Ate and laughed wtih her mum. Then we went to the Rivoli to see Paris, Texas, with Natassja Kinskji written by Sam Shepard (he played Chuck Yeager in the Right Stuff.) Good movie.

Then Do dropped me off at Dad's. I showered. Reading HNH when I received my sweat inducing phone call. What can I say??? Except BYE!!!!

PS Just after I got off the phone from Pat, I grabbed my smokes and went and sat on the step outside to have a ciggy. (I don't smoke here when Dad's around because he keeps the windows closed, it's cold, and I can't have him choking, he pays the rent.) Ha. That was a joke Dad if you ever read this!

I was sitting on the step, telling Dad that Pat wants to see me, and smoking and telling Dad how much I was sweating.

He said "Sounds like you need a beer!"

"Yeah!" I shouted.

But then I forgot about beer and was just sitting on the step, mesmerised by my reveries. Then Dad appeared at my side, handing me a cold beer, saying "Drinks are served."

He's sweet and I love him.

*

Hello. It's shortly after midnight (About 12.30am) on Tues 28/5. Today I slept in, read and did Maths study. Spoke to [sister] on the phone and watched Monkey Grip on tv. I like that movie.

Now I'm in bed after watching the Indy 500 (some of it, anyway). Tomorrow I'm setting off to [aunt's] to rescue KON, my mate, who I haven't driven for well over 6 months. Should be good. Bye for now.

*

Hi. It's 1am on Friday 31/5/85. In bed at Dad's (Hawthorn.) Spent the last couple of days at the farm (aunt's place.) Really good (see extra pages).** I have KON. Dad and I had a fab chat tonight about life. He really likes Patrick Dean. I do too. He hasn't rung that I know of. Why do I keep thinking of him? Because I love him? I think I do. FUCK!!!

---

Now it's between 3.30 and 4am Sat 1 June (morning). Just arrived home from J's 21st 'DO'. It was good. D, however, told me she saw something "awful" today at RMIT. She saw Patrick walking holding hands with a short girl. He was leaning over to hear what she was saying.

CUNT.

I really and truly think that's it.

Inevitable.

Bastard.

*

It's approx. 3.30am on Sunday 2 June, '85. Dad's bd soon. Ohmygosh, got to get him something.
Just got home (Dad's) from Sue's 21st. Good night. Chatted to some people from school.

Today I shooted off to Ashburton in the afternoon and chatted to Mum about the latest development in the "Melbourne Girl Life Story." Boring. I don't want to make it easy for Patrick any more. I'm going to get my stuff from the flat, and that's it. I'm sick of the whole thing. Bye.

*

Greetings, it's 1.35am on Monday 3/6/85. At Dad's in yummo bed.

Today I slept in. Rang Patrick and arranged to go and get my stuff from the flat. A difficult goodbye. Pat showing more emotion than me. He was so resigned to the fact. I think he accepted it a long time ago, and yet he's found it more difficult to let go. He helped me out to the car. Most of the time I was there he was fighting back the tears. At the car, I said goodbye and asked for one last hug, a friendly, goodbye hug. He grabbed me so tight. I told him I cared, and for him to loko after himself. He was all choked up. Said (again) he's sorry for everything that's happened to me. I was sad. I drove away...

-

I went to Ashburton, had tea and we watched Ordinary People. Very good film.

There is a letter I wrote Patrick today but I didn't give it to him. No more letters. I'm feeling pretty wretched. Resigne to the fact. Relieved I won't be waiting for him. Goodbye Pat. I love you!

*

12.40am ON Wed 5/6/85. I just got into bed. I've been sitting up writing my short story (Choong and Flicker) I'm pleased with it.

Today was good.

Good chat with David about Duntroon. Very funny indeed. Maths test ok. Lunch ok. Eng tute good. I feel I'm really making way with getting to know people. It's fab.

Came home. Organised school notes. Listened to radio. Cried and cried at Laura Branigan's Ti Amo. My god. I couldn't help it. I needed a cry.

Went to dinner at the Dragon Phoenix. Yum. Good conversation with [brother, sister] and Dad. Back here. Did short story, now to read Ludlum. Ciao.

*

Good evening. 2am on Friday 7/6/85. In bed. College today really good fun. Dinner tonight at Indian Harvest Restaurant (Glenferrie Rd) avec Dad, Joan and K (from LDR) Yummo. Got home and finished short story, ready to hand in tomorrow. Going to Ashburton tomorrow night. Goodnight.

PS Finished Aquitaine Progression. Now reading Sad Cypress by Agatha Christie.

*

What a day Melba Hey! 2.45amish Sat morning 8/6/85

Woke this morning about 8am. Much to my displeasure. A true battle to leave my warm bed. Went to college. Did Drama (Impro/Theatre Workshop). Very good! Went and got PEA Human Body Test mark, I thought I might fail, got 7/10.

8/8 for Org & Admin Assignment, 7.5/10 for Dance Assignment. Nice. Dropped off short story to Peter W's office. Home. Got changed. Drove to Ashburton where I lazed with Aldous until [sister] came home. I really enjoy Aldous, she's a lurvely cat! [Sister] told me about Romeo and Juliet film by Franco Zeferelli. Fabbo.

News of the day: Alex Montagu claiming the title of Duke of Manchester. Should I ring the Age and tell them I've seen His Grace's balls and that he asked me to marry him when I was about 11 years old?

Then D rang. Had tea. Went to Hawthorn. Showered and changed. Off to D's. Went to the Seaview Ballroom, "our old haunt." It was good. Huxton Creepers playing. After noticing the guitar player, I realised that behind the fluffy hair and largish side-burns stood Paul Thomas... the one and only Paul Hughey Thomas! My primary school lover, the recipient of my first kiss on the lips., extended for eons. Wow. Then, I was being chatted up by a little lad who turned out to be Keith W from [posh school] who knew [brother] and the gang. Wonders will never cease.

D and I taxied back to her house, then I drove home here (Hawthorn) talking out loud to KON about my evening. Trying to get the key in the door here was a touch scary... had me going for a while, frantically considering alternative sleeping arrangements. KON, laundry, Ashburton.

I'm not drunk at all but the fucking key wouldn't go in. And then it did.

And so here I am. I will finish now, and curl up under my freshly-plumped doona and read Christie.

The only other points I have to mention are:

* D saw Patrick near RMIT with a guy (John?) and he saw her. Apparently it was very sudden and quick. She said "Hello Patrick" and put her head down and hurried off, not looking back. I hope he twinged. I hope he burned and felt bad. So he fucking should. It shouldn't be easy for him if it's not for me.

Also, today, I to the Ashburton Oppy Shoppy and purchased the best fucking crusty leather bag for $1. Unbelievable. And a pink lace dressing gown thing (summer) and a purple, satin cushion for my bungalow that I am eagerly awaiting. It's very cold in this room. I'm going to snuggle down and read. Bye.

*

Hello. It's 11.15pm on Sun 9/6/85. I'm at Hawthorn. Yesterday I slept in late. Then went to Ashburton. Mum and [sister] there. Watched tv. Hey Hey, then What's Up Doc?. Good evening. Stayed the night. Last night [sister] was half asleep, I was on the top bunk avec Aldous. As I was reading I distinctly heard footsteps walk past the window. Aldous jumped down off the top bunk and up onto [sister's] desk looking out the window. Scary! I went and checked the rest of the house... everyone else in bed and lights off... Mmm...

Then today, slept in late. Late breakfast/early lunch. Off to the movies. [Brother] drove the Beetle to Dad's place so I could get my purse, then we met Mum and [sister] at the Rivoli and saw The Purple Rose of Cairo (Woody Allen's new film.) It was very clever. Me home. Dad and Joan here. Sofia's for tea. Back here. Watched Fame on tv. I have a cold so I don't think I'll go to Barwon Heads tomorrow.

The Dutch Ball is this Friday, and Joan's dinner party is on the 15th. How exciting. Now I'm going to read The Naked Face by Sidney Sheldon.

Just remembered, the other morning I was asleep and telling myself really funny one-liners, and laughing physically, aloud in my sleep. Bizarre!

*

It's 10 to 10pm on Monday 10/6/85. In bed (early) at Hawthorn.

Had a surpise today. Patrick bought my bike around. Chatted superficially for a while. He was quiet but pleasant. I'm afraid it took me by surprise a bit. No time to compose or prepare myself; but I came across friendly yet casual. He's moving into a house with John and quitting
7-11 to drive taxis. He said school's shithouse. I just don't know.

- - -

Now it's 11pm. Seeing Patrick has sparked off thoughts of wanting him. It's not fair. I can't forget him... ever. I feel plagued by him.

He seemed down and tired. I know him so well. I know if he wanted me to think he was ok he would have put on a front that was up and funny. (I would have seen through it anyway.) But for him not to even try and cover it; he must be feeling really shithous. It seems all his defences are down.

Poo... it wasn't necessary for him to bring the bike over... it wasn't necessary for him to tell me he's moving... I think he still loves me but that doesn't mean a hell of a lot to me at the moment.

*

Hello. It's 11pm Tues 11/6/85.

Damn Patrick. Why am I thinking of him all over again? It's not fair that when I'm settling down, I should get upset again. I couldn't get to sleep last night... the worst bout of insomnia I've had ever since I moved away from South Yarra. I can't help it. I still care deeply for him. I still love him and want his love and care for me.

I don't ever want to be "strangers" with him. I don't want to desert him. I'm scared he doesn't know how I feel, but he must! Watching Molly dying on A Country Practice tonight made me cry. I wish I could just hand him my diary and let him read me. Let him know everything. The pain recorded in minute detail. Does he think of me much? Yes! I know he does. Why are we doing this? Why are we torturing ourselves? It was all so blurred yesterday when he came around. I just blabbered on like a fool about superficial, silly things. Crap. He seemed to be hurting and I just kept on with my blabber. What else could I do? I want him to write to me. Please write!

I feel I can't write first. I cannot make first contact. If he really wanted me, he would do something. If he accepts all this passively, and does nothing, that's his loss. But no matter how much I say "it's his loss" I feel I'm losing so much too. Why should I?

Because it's what he wants.

I feel so helpless - just standing by, watching all the goodness and love slipping through my fingers.

What do I do?

*

Now it's 10.40pm on Wed 12/6/85. This morning at 4am I woke up feeling very sick and hot/sweaty. Went to bathroom to throw up. No go. Back to bed. Felt sick again. Off to bathroom again and put fingers down my throat. Vomited. Human fountain. It hurt my stomach it was so violent and retching. Back to bed feeling better. Sleep. Alarm sounded at 7.45am. Didn't get up. Had already decided not to go to College. Four hours of phys. ed. would have knocked me out. Drove to collegge at 1pm to meet mum. The windscreen wipers on VW were fucked, couldn't stop them). So had to go to the garage and get the fuse taken out. So now they don't work. BUMHOLE!!!! Made it to college. Met mum. Went for lunch in Malvern. (I had 1 mineral water adn 1 OJ). Then to woolshop, to get wool, knitting needles and a pattern for -yay - me. Beautiful purple, mohairy wool. Then, to Ashburton where I blobbed with [sister and brother]. Went for a quick drive with [brother] to the shops. I couldn't stop laughing, he is very funny.

Country Practice tonight was very moving. I cried quite violently. I wonder if Patrick watched it. I wonder if he felt anything. I wonder... am I going to wonder for the rest of my fucking life?

I'm so preoccupied with him. I forgot to tell mum and [sister] I got 41/45 for my maths core test. 91%!!! And I forgot to boast about it. What's wrong with me? I was ok until now. I'm probably just depressed cause I'm sick (and as mum said) feel I want a bit of loving attention, affection, caring, warmth. I feel angry at Patrick for deserting me; betraying me, FORSAKING ME!

*

11.15pmish Thursday 13/6/85. I refuse to wallow about my current emotional state. Suffice to say, I wallowed at college, trained home, wrote a note tot he object of my wallowings, and drove to his new place to see if I could spot the moke. No go. I walked up to near Gardiner Station. All of a sudden, I saw him on the station with "her." I'm positive it was him. They started walking towards me, and I ran... feeling like an espionage spy. I briskly walked back to my car and drove away. Note undelivered and mission aborted.

I drove to SY to see if the moke was there. No. I drove him and knitted while I listened to tv.

Why?

If I still feel this way in a couple of days, I'll ring him and get his new address (I have to anyway to send his Group Certificates) and send him a fucking manual of my feelings. Will I? Won't I? Is fate against me? Stop fucking wallowing!!!! FUCK!!!!!

*

It's 11.13pm on Sunday 16/6/85. I haven't written for ages. First I'll fill in the factual bullshit.

Fri - staggered off to college. Drama was excellent!! I really enjoyed it. Took my mind of PD for a while. Then home. Watched tv. Showered. Went and met dad at the Blackburn Hotel. Then to Joan's. Got ready for the Dutch Ball. Off to the ball. Picked up one of Dad's mates. It was like I was an "oldie" going out with teenagers. Dad and Ron were drinking tinnies in the car adn everyone was so loud and giggly. Got to the ball. Danced avec Dad... waltzed properly and everything. It was fun. I danced wtih a young man (Phillip) who promptly had an epileptic fit after we danced. I looked over and there was a crowd around him on the dancefloor. It was terribly dramatic. What caused it? The excitement of dancing with me... my beauty...

Then, eventually we went back to Joan's with Dad grabbing the steering wheel from Joan (who was driving) because he was scared. At Joan's, she and I chatted on while Dad slumped on the lounge suite, listening to the cricket through his Walkman. What a sight. The tradition of Poppa dozing off in his armchair, his head sleepily rotating - Dad does the same thing, BUT there's a high-tech difference, a Walkman!

Then

Saturday

After snuggling down on Glen's bottom bunk avec the Space Shuttle doona, feeling like Jeff Goldblum in The Big Chill with the aeroplane bed. I awoke to the sound of children and cartoons on tv. Got up and read The Neverending Story which is great (I still haven't finished it.***)

I'll buy it tomorrow. Then... because the night before at the Dutch Ball, Joan and I had been talking about me and Patrick, I rang him. She says "If you love him, fight for him."

I've got nothing to lose; I can't be hurt any more. I love him and I've got to let him know I still care and I'm here if he wants me. So I rang him and asked him to Joan's dinner party last night. He was stunned - pleasantly. He was really pleased by the invitiation , but declined because of homework.

He told me not to be rejected by it... I said "Never mind, just thought I'd ask you... " I was cheery throughout. I know it confused him. He offered me his phone number, but I didn't have a pen. I'll send him a card every now and then to let him know I still care. I can't get him out of my system or forget abou thim until I stop loving him or he says "Look, fuck off, I don't love you and I don't want you."

We'll see.

Then... the dinner party was good. Di and Luke, Theresa and Michael, Dad, Joan and moi. Theresa was nice. I silently started crying when Joan played Ti Amo and Theresa came up and held my hand. She could tell I was feeling emotional. She read my palm and said I have a very straight, honest, fulfilling, happy life ahead of me. She said I've got a rare palm. Then, eventually I retired to Glen's bottom bunk and his Space Shuttle doona...

Today (Sun) I read "Neverending Story" - it's such a wondeful book. Then... I left. Dropped in at Ashburton on the way here. Nanny at Mum's, good to see her. [Sister] not home (studying at Monash). Then home. I went to laundy and did Dad's and my washing. Back to flat.

I washed my face, changed my tampon and brushed my teeth. And here I am. Writing to you. I'm reading Lace at the moment, just started (Joan lent me 3 books to read.) Now I'm going to keep reading so I don't think of Patrick. Bugger. Why do I still love him? I don't even need to know why. The very fact is enough. That's all that counts for me. I can't rest until I know one way or the other how he feels and what he wants.

* 2009 note: I love the way Ulysses lasted a day. Notoriously hard to read. I think I've tried about 3 or 4 times and can never get more than a few pages in.

** 2009 note: can't find these pages.

*** 2009 note: heh.

Our Quentin - response to Inglourious Basterds.

2009-09-09T08:07:00.006+10:00

Quentin Tarantino is a special type of boy. I reckon he's probably the large version of a kid only a mother could love. You can tell he would be annoying as shit socially, professionally and if you were unlucky enough to happen to be in some kind of intimate relationship with him.

Scene 1: red carpet, cocktail party, awards night.

Quentin: So, you know, huh, what's your favourite movie?

Me: I don't know.

Quentin: HOW CAN YOU NOT KNOW? WHAT ARE YOU A FUCKING LOSER? WHO ARE YOU ANYWAY, WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE? ARE YOU IN FILMS ANYWAY?
[insert one hour diatribe of his top 10 of the best and the worst movies, ever, in the whole world.]

Me at intervals of 8 minutes: Where's the drinks waiter?

* * *

Scene 2: on the set

Actor 1: So, I think I got it. You want me to [insert interpretation of script here, character attributes, foreshadowing of plotline, consideration of subtlety of facial descriptions] and you want my tits out, when I die.

Quentin: NO, NO, NO. NO TITS!!!!! MUMMMMMMEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Actor 1: Sorry. I thought you said you wanted boobs.

Quentin: No. I. Said. That. I. Wanted. You. To. Die. In. Bits. That means when the soldier shoots you, there will be alot of bullets. A humungous lot. But no tits. IN BITS.

Actor 1 to actor 2: God he's a fucking pain.

Actor 2: That was short, Diane, what are you talking about? He storyboarded me dying. He's got my head getting stomped and beaten with a bat by "The Bear Jew", the baseball wacko, I get shot, and before that I have dialogue so I have to, you know, foreshadow my death.

Actor 1: Yeah, I know. Subtly.

Actor 2: No. Not with subtlety. Fuck, is this your first Tarantino movie?

* * *

Scene three: with a girlfriend, or a goat, in bed.

G: So, what's your thing, babee?

Quentin: You know what I really dig? If you talk about movies while we do it. But it has to be one of my movies. And it has to be a really intense scene, you know, like when John and Uma are eating burgers or when Pumpkin and Honey Bunny are about to do the holdup. I wanna get some of that tension going, right here baby.

G: ...

Quentin: OH, AND CAN YOU LUBE UP MY ASS?

* * *

I think Quentin would be fun to be around for about five minutes. Even if he was being fun and loose and not all intenso-man-about-film, I'd probably still get sick of him pretty quickly. When we were kids, my brother had a friend who was so in your face, so annoying. He would get in front of us and the tv we were watching, to annoy us. He would be really loud, using "funny" voices, mucking around. The thing was, he was amusing for a short while. Then he got annoying and he wouldn't stop. As an adult, he was obsessed with movies and emailing forwards all the "funnies." He didn't know when to stop. I get the feeling Tarantino is a bit like that.
-------------------------------

I love Quentin Tarantino's movies. If it's made by Tarantino, then rest assured, I will be buying a ticket and sitting there to squirm and peek through my fingers. Even my mother went and saw Pulp Fiction.

"It's very good," she says. "Violent, but very good."

Reasons I loved Inglourious Basterds:

1. the opening scene is filled with tension. He plays with the audience, he really does, and you know something is going to happen, but not what. It's agonising, and sad, and tragic.

2. that a character who kills Nazis with a baseball bat has said this about the backstory:

My guy is a guy from Boston who gets every Jew in his neighborhood to sign his baseball bat with the name of somebody they're worried about in Europe. The thing is that he doesn't want a machine gun, he doesn't want to shoot Nazis, he wants to beat them to death with a baseball bat. He wants to feel it in his hands when he's busy pummeling them to death. This character thinks of himself as a Jewish warrior, who is fighting on the behalf of those who can't fight and for everyone who can't be there. When I kill that guy, I didn't want people to think, "Oh, this is Eli being a psycho with a bat," I want you to really feel that pain and that rage, which is very real. There were branches of my family that were wiped out in the Holocaust. My roots are from Poland and Austria, Russia, that's where I'm from, and my grandparents who got out and survived, all the other relatives didn't and got killed, so it was very real to me. It was a very real, very personal role, and I held a great sense of responsibility in doing it. It wasn't just an acting job.

3. Christoph Waltz as Colonel Hans Landa. This is the guy everyone is raving about. He is amazing in this movie. He is the most sinister villain for years. What a dab hand he is. How cruel he is and the strangling scene where he rides Kruger like some demented jockey as she bucks and splutters under him; he shows how personal it is.

4. Melanie Laurent who plays a French girl whose family are slaughtered by the Germans. She has the opportunity for revenge later on in the movie.

5. Diane Kruger. The fact she doesn't have the requisite retrousee nose-job nose. Refreshing. A good portrayal of an actress-spy under pressure.

6. The cinematography. Beautiful. Just exquisite, particularly in the opening scene.

7. The music. An overlay of spaghetti western music. It worked.

8. The use of German and French, and subtitles. For such an American guy, you might have expected them to all speak with American accents, or bad European ones. Not so. The change to English in the opening scene at first seems like a convenience.

Oh, let's get rid of the subtitles. They've had a taste, we've made a point, but now let's do it in English.

No no.

There is a reason for the change to English. Fucking brilliant.

Subtitles appear in the rest of the movie.

9. It goes for 2 and a half hours and my arse did not notice.

10. Sylvester Groth as Joseph Goebbels was very good. He is a Nazi film buff and there is a scene where is he excited about the screening and he does something with his hands that is very comical yet touching. He is a baddie, but he's obsessed movies. Very Tarantino.

11. Brad Pitt and his jaw. Nice to see this matinee idol was happy to distort his face for the sake of art. A tick from me.

12. The shoot-out in the bar. I love Tarantino's extended scenes. Some might get bored with them, but he just builds tension, layer upon layer, and you can appreciate the actorly skills as he probably shoots them in one shot? That's a big assumption, maybe I'm wrong, but it would be a Tarantino thing to do, n'est-ce pas? I can't be bothered researching. At the end of this scene, there's only one survivor, and she doesn't last too long.

13. Having the idea to have two plots to destroy the cinema and everything in it. And neither group knows what the other is doing. In the end, the Basterds get to them before the fire does. Have they cheated Shoshanna out of her revenge? Little matter, she is being dispatched upstairs.

14. The scene where The Bear Jew and his sidekick break into the upstairs box. They prepare in the bathroom, strange weaponry strapped to their hands, and the slo-mo action of them getting past the guards is very Tarantino; his mark is all over it. Or his spray.

15.The fact that there is now a movie where Jewish people are not portrayed as victims; they are the aggressors, they are someone to be feared. These basterds have the Nazis scared, wtih stories getting back to Hitler, making him concerned. And then they kill him, and Goerring and Goebbels and

Things I could pick at if I had to.

1. Brad Pitt. Let's face it, the man is a distraction. It was fairly difficult to see him as Jewish and as a Nazi-killer. He is always Brad Pitt which is a bit hard for him to get away from. I think he was the weakest of the main characters. A pitty.

2. Hitler. I guess he had to stay in the stereotype range of how Hitler has to be portrayed. Anything less and there is the risk of being accused of showing him in a human or even sympathetic light. Better to stick with the parody, I understand it, and the dude did well. He was only a small character anyway, a small but central character.

3. Mike Myers plays a general who is obviously an uncle of Austin Powers. I wonder if that was deliberate or the only way Mike can "do English." Knowing Quentin, and the crazy guy that he is, it was possibly an intentional reference.

4. The scene at the showing, beforehand where the Basterd crew pretend to be Italian friends of Bridget von Hammersmark. It was a comical scene with underlying tension because you know Landa is a master at sniffing out the falsities.

5. We don't see what happens to Shoshanna's man. He heroically tossed his smoke onto the pile of celluloid at the back of the screen to start the fire. Did he go down with the ship? Not important? Probably.

6. The way von Hammersmark and war hero Fredrick Zoller come to an end. I would have liked to see her seduce him, or allow him to take her instead of them killing each other. But that would be against the NO TITS rule, and also would mean a smaller body count. Also against Quentin's code of operations.

* * *
Things that unsettled me:

The violence. To have it shown, a man's head being beaten with a bat, bodies being pummelled by bullets, a woman strangled most graphically. And at the end a close-up of a swastika being carved into Landa's forehead.

At times I couldn't look, I had my hands up and peeped. The old cushion on the couch trick from my childhood. To think that impressionable young people (and they are fucking impressionable, they just don't know it nor how much) are seeing this movie. It's a bit of a worry, but that's just me being old and motherly and teacherly I suppose.

The trickiness of the subject matter: Nazis and Jews. While I love the idea of rewriting the Second World War, there would be some (and not just on the Jewish side of things) who might see this is sacrosanct, not in a good way, but somehow untouchable, and that it shouldn't be tampered with even in fiction. Everybody wishes that Hitler could have been killed or taken out of the picture, and the war ended earlier, or not happened at all, that the Holocaust hadn't happened. I looked around to see what the Jewish commentary might be.

There's a page here where someone has gone through a range of sources which have published articles.

And this article which refers to the problems of revenge. There was a screening at the Museum of Jewish Heritage in New York, attended by the Weinstein Brothers (makers of the film) along with director and major actors. Some people in the audience commented on feeling satisfaction when they saw the cinema being burned down with Hitler et al locked inside. "With Hitler there, and all those high Nazi officials—how great would it have been?" one said.

But the final word best goes to Tarantino's producer, Lawrence Bender, who said that he read the first draft and then told Quentin:

As your producing partner, I thank you, and as a member of the Jewish tribe, I thank you, motherfucker, because this movie is a fucking Jewish wet dream.

Taken from this article here, Hollywood's Jewish Avenger.

My Friday

2009-09-04T08:56:00.007+10:00

Today I have to:

- drive son to school. It was the concert last night, he is going to school late

- get Father's Day present for hubby at Southland. I fucking hate Southland. I hate any and all shopping centres, but if I have to go (ie to appear normal to girlfriends) my choice is Chaddy, darlings.

- this picture represents what disturbs me most about fashion people. Can you see any skerrick of embarrassment in this picture? Any trace of self-awareness of how shallow and parasitic this industry is? I see no cynicism in this picture, and there should be. Lots of it. I am having trouble reading one of my favourite blogs because of pictures like this, and particularly because of the two dudes on the right. The blogger is light-on whitebread, and can't punctuate to save her life, but she is pretty and wears fab clothes and she posts pics of herself. I like to watch.

These people should look like Grace Boddington from Vogue magazine. In my opinion she was the star of September Issue, the biopic about Anna Wintour, editor at Vogue.

Anna

Grace.

Grace is a tough old bird who is a stylist, so she arranges the pictures and the models and the clothes and the props. She's been doing it for decades, used to be a model herself. She's still in the biz because she loves it. Those boys above, why are they in the biz? To look like that at parties?

Movies I want to see:

Inglourious Basterds

Blessed

Movies I've seen:

September Issue - good bit of fluff but actually I think it put Princess off wanting to be the editor-in Chief at American Vogue. A good thing?

Coco Avant Chanel - ok

Beautiful Kate - disappointing.

I have much to do today. Get ready for tomorrow's writing thang, including a pitch. For fuck's sake. I never want to pitch anything to anybody. I've stalled and gotten back on track about five times in the last month. I have too many ideas and go around in circles. I'm sad I'm almost finished the final Maria Hyland novel, which is her first one. I've read them backwards, why I don't know. But I love her. And where am I going to get the goodness now?

Happy weekend. Be good, be nice, don't king-hit anyone, don't kick the cat, don't belittle a child. But swear all you like, and eat some cake. Or some fish and chips from the shop in Glenhuntly Road. It's near the intersection with Orrong, up from the supermarket going east.

Best. Chips. Ever.

Good thing about today:

2009-09-02T14:52:00.003+10:00

The sun is sunshiney and it feels good on the face.

Bad thing about today:

Having to pull a bit of poo out of Gigi's bum.

Also, yesterday went well, thanks for all your good wishes. It all went smoothly. Onwards and upwards.

Hello

2009-08-31T12:15:00.003+10:00

So, today I am preparing for tomorrow. Not working today. I woke up with a ratshit headache. Lay there wondering if it was lack of coffee? (no shouldn't be, but Clokes made it really weak yesterday), period? (possibly, I'm due for a bleed, but I'm no headacher. I give 'em, don't get 'em), stress? (don't think so, not much stress in my life at the mo. Which is good. Touch wood, be grateful, the buddha says the only thing that is permanent in life is impermanence.)

Is it because I didn't drink over the weekend and haven't since sometime last week? I don't think so. But how about that people? After I got my rant on I decided it was time to dry out for a bit. Almost wavered Saturday night but Clokes reminded me of what I'd said, for him not to bring wine near me.

I had ground to a little bit of a halt with my own writing. Annoying, at 65k words to start having thoughts like "I don't think this is any good" and "what's my fucking point?" I think my problem is too many ideas, then I get immobilised or go around in circles a little bit. Anyway, I've pushed through and am back on track. Have to pitch it to the class on the weekend.

I have taken 2 Nurofen Plus, eaten a slice of toast and am feeling better. I have to take the Gigi out for a run, move the car out of the clearway and get to the chemist before picking up the Princess at dance. I also have to cook tea because Motherrrrr (Norman Bates voice there) is coming over tonight.

I've noticed that my relationship with my mother is strained the last few years. I feel like I'm not the daughter she would like to have, and any time I'm critical of my sister, I am just proving the point. My sister is kinder than me, though she would probably argue that she is not kind (but compared to me, she might grudgingly accept it.)

The thing is, young people, (and I noticed a new person reading, a 15-year-old-babe, makes me think I need to be motherly, teacherly and responsible. Does your mother know what you are reading online?), you don't ever really Grow Up. Of course, as you get older you DO grown-up things, but inside, you are still just a snotty kid. Of course, there might be real adults out there, who are as they look. But I don't feel like one of them, which is very disconcerting because I look old.

Managed another blogger eyeball last week, with the divine Miss Magical_M. I have "known" her ever since I first started blogging. She was living in Sydney then, but now is living in Melbourne. We went and had coffees and toast at Orange in Chapelli St Windsor, and we just went blah blah blah non-stop. We didn't even really talk about blogging. Next time!

Back to my comment about preparing tomorrow. It's my first teaching session with the new job and I will have to do the following:

- say "pre-cum" and possibly "head job" when talking to front of Year 10 studentos in front of my boss
- wrangle a dildo and put a condom on it correctly
- make the students practise in small groups and make sure they don't nick any of the condominiums
- try to scare the boys, telling them that an unplanned pregnancy at the age of 17 or so with someone you may not even like and just drunk-fucked would have a big impact on their lives too, especially if the girl chooses to keep the baby, there's nothing they can do other than fork over 17% of their wage. Once they're earning, until the baby turns 18.
- possibly talk about sexual arousal if it's appropriate
- talk about consent
- talk about the laws and sexual activity
- talk about different types of contraception
- talk about safer sex, and prevention of STIs.

Fuck there is so much I have to cover in 50 minutes I'm scared, but I'll have a powerpoint thingo to give me the structure.

Wish me luck!

What's the message? Warning - high level of preaching follows, and a low level of editing. A somewhat serious post.

2009-08-28T09:06:00.005+10:00

Melbourne's street violence is on the rise, and going out on the weekend in certain hotspots seems to be a "taking your life into your own hands" proposition.

It's scary out there. Sometimes it feels like I'm living in that wonderful old Chuck Heston movie, The Omega Man. There's been an apocalypse, there is no one else except me and mine, and you have to be indoors by sunset otherwise faceless mini-beings in hooded cassocks will fix their red eyes on you, and get you. Yes this movie was remade recently with Will Smith, yeah it was ok, but it had none of the impact for me of Omega Man. Probably because I'm a woman now of mid-age instead of an eleven-year-old, skinny-legged girl.

So we huddle in our home, in one of Melbourne's Danger Zones and we hear the drunks rolling up the hill, and down the hill. But things haven't been as bad as several years ago. On once occasion I hung out the window in the middle of the night and told a man who was abusing a woman to fuck off, and that I was calling the police. He wasn't touching her, yet, just yelling at her, really ugly stuff. He told me to fuck off. Another time I hung out the window (this Mrs Jessop lives upstairs) and told a guy pissing in our garden to fuck off and piss somewhere else. I got invited down to give him a headjob.
Apparently, it's the fault of the baby boomers who have "over-indulged their kids to the extent where they think they can do whatever they like." (The Age, today, page 11.)

So who are the baby boomers and how can we tell them off?

Wiki has a good page, which lays it all out, but of course you go somewhere else, and there are different year cut-offs.

Baby Boomers, the generation that was born just after World War II. So my parent's generation, although my dad possibly slips inside the Silent Generation, being too young to have fought in WW2 (like about 2 years old at the start and 7 at the end of it.) It makes sense him being in the Silent Generation because he really doesn't say that much.

So it's not me and my friends out on the streets fucking it up for everyone else. Which generation is out there being dickheads and who are their parents?

It's the late Generation Joneses, on the cusp of Gen-X. Oh those guys.

Parents are indulgent, don't say no to their children, want to be friends instead of parents and are scared of their children not liking them. They are hanging on to their own lost youth, desperately trying to stay hip, and that includes procuring alcohol for their underage kids and their friends, and drinking far too much themselves.

This week I was at Princess' school one night for a Drug and Alcohol educational parent info night. Parents were there, as were Year 7 students. A speaker from a foundation spoke about the dangers of alcohol, about harm-minimisation, and encouraging our adolescents to delay their drinking as long as possible. All well and good. Then we split off and did activities, kid-run games and competitions with the topics of drugs and alcohol.

Then, after the fun and games, we went back to the hall. For the alcohol presenter to clarify a point.

He took to the podium again and said [I'm paraphrasing]:

I just wanted to clarify something from my presentation. I didn't want you to think that drinking more than 2 glasses of alcohol is binge drinking. Our message is that to lessen risk to health etc, drinking less than 2 standard drinks in any one sitting assists that, and to maintain those lower levels of risk, over a weekly period, blah blah, women this much, men this much. But binge drinking is drinking to get drunk, where that is the purpose, people going out thinking "I'm going to write myself off."

Do you see what he did? He just undid a lot of what he'd said earlier, where he was talking about safeR levels of drinking.

Do you know why he clarified? I think people in the audience, or even just one person (a rich, powerful parent?) had complained. They didn't want their kids to say to them the next time they have more than 2 drinks, "Hey, that's binge drinking." So the message to young, impressionable adolescents was tainted for the sake of the adults in that room.

We all fucking binge drink. But not according to his revised statement, in order to get drunk.

There were jokes made by parents in the activity sessions, it was all light-hearted and fun, with quips about "where's the refreshments" etc.

I'm not a wowser. I drink too much as a rule. I use it like medicine, a reward, it's a habit to drink, I was brought up drinking. Anyone reading my old diaries will appreciate the amount I have put away over the years. It's a wonder I can function, my poor old brain has been soused and pickled. It's a wonder I've never had an unwanted pregnancy, gotten any nasty sexual diseases, been raped, had a car accident, run over someone else, been in a fight, a punch-up, a stabbing. I've not been kidnapped, fallen off a balcony, drowned while swimming drunk, been hit by a car while crossing the road at 4am.

I'm not saying these things happen if you drink. I'm just saying there's a much higher risk of injury and Bad Things Happen if you are drunk. Not just tipsy, but drunk.

People don't like to be told they drink alot. People joke about getting to Friday and collapsing onto the couch with a glass of wine, they've made it. They don't drink through the week, and feel that they are on top of it, then drink way too much over the weekend. And then it becomes Thursday that is the marker.

We are all lying to ourselves. And our kids are seeing this. Of course they are going to go on to drink, and abuse alcohol. When I was a kid, my parents divorced when I was about 14. But before then, even though I can't remember, Dad would have been drinking beer every night. Mum didn't, and still doesn't. She came from an abstemious family. Even as a teenager, going to my friends' houses, I don't remember parents casually drinking. Like lollies for kids, it was something that was for a special occasion. Like lollies and chips and other party food, these things have become every day things, not just treats. Party food is packed into kids' lunch boxes for school. Adults go out for lunch and have a glass of wine almost automatically. People who don't drink are noticed and wondered about. They are suspect.

I don't know what the answer is, but parents have to realise they are not being hypocritical if they drink alcohol but are not permissive when it comes to their young people wanting to drink. Parents have to realise that the notion of introducing alcohol at home, such as wine with dinner for example, does not (according to studies) "help" their children learn better how to use alcohol in a responsible manner. It even be can be counterproductive.

In our home, we are conscious of our drinking. I am the biggest culprit. Values and attitudes are transmitted to kids within families without sitting them down and telling them stuff. It happens by osmosis, and by modelling behaviours. Parents are the greatest influence, until kids' peer groups become more important during adolescence. You can be the greatest parent in the world (I'm not, I just aim to be "good-enough") but you can be sure you will fuck up your kids some way, some how.

The question is. What are you doing in front of them, that they are learning? They take it all in from a very young age. Then they will act it out, and pass it on to their kids. These can be good things and bad things. What are these young people seeing at home, or wherever, that makes them king-hit someone in the city, and stomp on their head when they are on the ground? Is it just the alcohol, and then the testosterone? What is it?

Monday Diarama, how about that, stick that in your pipe and smoke it, yeah.

2009-08-24T08:15:00.008+10:00

VOLUME EIGHT - Warning:
Indulgence Levels at 100%; Repetitition Levels HIGH.

Greetings, it is just after 2am, Thursday 18-4-85. I have just enjoyed a fab evening with Pat. (It's freezing by the way.)

I met Pat at the South Yarra Arms at about 9.20pm. I didn't know what I was going to do when i saw him, but as soon as I did, I hugged him and he kissed me. It felt so true and good and right. The whole evening felt "right." He held my hand, kissed it, kissed me... kept staring at me. I was so happy just to be with him. Then we went for food (bought a bottle of wine) and went to Amigos (Mexican) in Chapel Street. We just kept looking at each other - gazing and smiling. He kept kissing me - my hair, my face - and I was aching for him, melting. We went back to the flat and I cried listening to Cindy Lauper When You Were Mine. He told me he loves me. He doesn't want to lose me. That I'm perfect for him. I'm the one he wants.

He still wants to have babies and get married (in the future). He wants me as his girlfriend. When I cried, he held me so tight. I was so ripe for him, it was so gradual and tender, so gentle yet passionate. He was feeling good and happy to be with me - like I was with him. He drove me home, we didn't say much at all. He said "I'll give you a ring." He said he wanted to save for a holiday and send me a paid-for ticket; buy me a ticket to Leonard Cohen (before he wrote the letter and didn't know how I feel.)

He feels everything will be ok and work out. He's happy that he hasn't lost me. He told me I haven't lost him either. What do I want?

I don't want him to feel he has to ring every night to keep in my "good books." It was so fucking good tonight. I loved it. We touched the whole night and it just felt so natural to behave as we used to. We held hands. He said he never thought he'd see my smile again - I said I never thought I'd see his dimples again.

Bye.

*

It is 1.30amish the next night (Fri morning 19.4.85) but it feels like Thurs night. Today at College was good. Came home. Sitting watching tv when the phone rang, it was Pat. I wasn't expecting him to call tonight at all. I was so pleased. He asked me over for dinner - he and John were to cook rump steak. So I drove over in the rain, dropping [brother] off in Kew to jam. Lovely tea. John went. Pat and I talked and laughed. It was good. After dinner we made love, it was so terrific. Fell asleep about 10.30pm. Woke at midnight. Apparently I'd been talking in my sleep about staying. Trying to justify why I'd fallen asleep.

It felt so good to be spooned by him.

We were talking about our future careers - he was asking me how I'll handle his millionaire status. I told him how I'd thought "after all the groundwork I put in, some other bitch will be wearing the minks." We laughed. He said he'd thought of that too. I'd like to stay next Wednesday night cause I have Thursday off. When I speak to him next, I'll ask him if he gets Anzac Day holiday.

P had a car crash and is living at his mum's so I'll give him a ring. Apparently the girl he was with during the week he broke up with M is pregnant, so he's got hassles at the moment. Pat and he are good friends now and I think it's good.

I'm really fucked. "Tired" is not the word for it. I was going to have an early night tonight but of course I wanted to see Pat. When I left he said he'd keep contact. It all sounds so cliched, but he will.

*

My goodness! What do I write? Date = Saturday morning 20.4.85. (3.40am.)

Just been to a party at Erin's. Fancy dress SOD party (Something Outrageously Different). We got dressed up in some of Erin's clothes. I wore a tutu, blue top, blue pantyhose, white French knickers and woolly knitted socks with pom-poms. [Sister] dressed up as a schoolgirl. There were quite a few people there. We danced, smoked joints and had fun. There was this guy Brendan who was funny and nice. Then, when I was dancing, one of his 5 or 6 mates (Malcolm) came up to me and said "Me mate Brendan's really rapt in ya. So is it yes or no?"

God!

I said "Well if that's the case, he can tell me himself!" and kept dancing.

So he got up the courage to ask me to go for a walk or something. So, along with a 1/3 bottle of Lilydale Cider we went out to the parked Falcon station wagon for a Puberty Blues session in the back, complete with mates coming out and interrupting. I just kept laughing. It was really strange. It was good. I thought if I was ever with anyone else that I'd be really quiet, serious and inhibited. But I was laughing and chatting away and it was really quite comical.

[Sister] is funny with me. Probably thinks I've betrayed Pat; she probably thinks I'm a bit off now but I don't feel concerned or guilty. Pat always talks about experience and freedom. He made my life Hell for two weeks while he pursued his "thrills." Why should I now feel guilty? I don't.

I wonder how he'd take it. Worse than I did about him.

Will I tell him?

I really don't know. I do know what Pat means when he says "this girl is nothing." This guy was nothing. Very drunk but nice. Anyway. Bye.

*

Hello. It is midnight, Saturday night. 20.4.85. Just been watching Hey Hey It's Saturday Night. Good.

Had a good talk to [sister] about last night. Told her everything and she understands. I'm going to avoid telling Pat. It's not necessary for him to know and I'm not going to use it as a "weapon" to pay him back for his fling(s). It's something I did that I don't feel bad about. I enjoyed it so that's all that counts. It doesn't hurt Pat and doesn't hurt me. I'm even a bit proud of myself. It was easier than I thought. Maybe I'm just vulnerable and was open to it. Ripe for approach. I was attracted to him. We laughed and had a bit of fun. Because I don't feel guilty about it, I'll be ok tomorrow night when I see Pat. I really think he'd blow his top though. Will he ask questions about the party? I bet he will. If he probes too much, I hope I can not give it away. It's none of his business, he's done it, more than Once. Why shouldn't I? He's almost encouraged me.

Anyway I had a wonderful night, been thinking about it all day. Now to read Taming of the Shrew by Old Will.

PS I did stacks of work today. I'm looking forward to staying tomorrow night at South Yarra.

*

11.30pmo on Monday 22nd April, 1985.

I am on the top bunk in Ashburton. Last night was lovely. Arrived at SY at about 8.20pm. Watched Yanks. Pat cooked spaghetti and salad. Then to bed.

Then eventually to sleep about 2am. Pat is talking about wanting to grow old with me - but in a casual, not-too-committed way. That's ok with me. I want to know what his expectations of me are. Does he want/expect (2 different things) me to not sleep with anyone else? I think he'd be most shocked to know I've done it already. I'm glad we're taking it slow.

I'm gonna live in a caravan at the back of mum's! I was excited all today thinking about it. How cute! I'll have my own stove, fridge, "bar-type-area." Double bed... I'll get a lovely doona cover, pillows, sheets, stereo, tv. study area, wardrobes. I cannot wait. Pat said he'll come and visit me.

I'll get a job and save for a bomb of a car. I'll set up nice lighting. Have a candle supply - my lovely candlesticks.

I hope Pat loves me. I hope everything turns out ok. He said for me to relax. It'll take time, but "everything's cool." Last night I told him I love him. It took a bit of guts to say it out loud, in the dark, after dreamy sex, with Pat half asleep. I told him not to say anything back. He didn't. That's good. If he does tell me he loves me, it'll be for real. If he wants me, however, he'll have to earn me, I think. I gave myself totally to him (a "bad" thing?) and it will be a while before I do that to anyone again. He knows how I feel and I think he's feeling as happy as possible under the circumstances. We're both feeling our ways.

He seems a bit casual. He said before he's not ready for any relationship. Maybe he's just not ready for me? It all depends on what I want. If I accept this long term. I'll play it by ear. Nothing else I can do except thank God (hellelujah) I am seeing him, touching him, and I haven't lost him.

*
I'm sick to fucking death of thinking about this fucking thing! It takes up so much fucking time and energy. I'm going to relax, tune out.

But can I?

Rang Pat tonight. He in the middle of his Biology. Why does it always seem to be me who fucking crawls? I'm not going to do it any more. I'm going to think of me and what I want:

- to set myself up in a caravan
- do excellently at college. Get into it!
- get a job and save some money
- eat well, sleep well, exercise
-see my friends.

If Pat wants me, he can fucking well earn me. He's the one who doesn't know how he feels, what he wants. I know who I am more than he knows himself. I'm going to cruise on and he can do a bit of chasing. If I see him on Anzac Day I'm going to say what I think. I can't be scared of "losing him." I haven't "got" him. Although he told me I haven't lost him.

I'm feeling tired and shitty. Tonight on the phone, I was down and he was up. He'd had a bong. I asked him where he gets all the drugs from. He said a girl at school gave him these ones. All airy fucking fairy. He seems remote. I feel remote. I don't even know if I love him the same.

That Wednesday was so fabulous. I basked in the glory and the attention. Maybe he just wants me to be free and independent. Well, that's what I'm going to do. If he wants me, he can ring me. I hate ringing him, feeling so expectant. It seems all the endearments have gone. No "honeys" or "little buggers" or "sweeties" or "I love yous." It's all friendly "mate" and "take it easy." That shits me. It's so superficial.

FUCK FUCK FUCK! NO MORE!

*

2.45AM "Thurs night."

Today Mum and I went to Emerald, Cranbourne and Nunawading in our "quest for a caravan." Exciting. But me extremely nervous all day for tonight I was to meet Pat at the South Yarra Arms and lay bare my soul. Put my cards on the table. It was a risk cause I thought he'd probably be cold and defensive.. We talked really well. WE listened to each other and thought carefully. It was calm not emotional. I told him about Brendan - he said his reaction (emotional and physical) told him he must really care about me - he's never felt that way before. He said it really upset him. Made him feel scared. Emotional double standards.

All I can say is everything is wonderful. I'm relieved. Can't go into details, it's too late. Bye.

PS I'm feeling very, very happy.

*

About 11.30pm on friday 26.4.85. School good. Had 4 hours sleep. Went to college. Did my mask for Movement in 1/2 hour at lunchtime. Then after lunch, we presented our masks and makeup. I did a clockface and recited:

"Hickory Dickory Dock."

It was good. I was so proud of myself for doing it so coolly and quickly. Then I went to Liz's place for coffee and we watched Happy Days and Perfect Match. Then she drove me to Burnley Station in her Rambler. Got home 6.45pmish. Pat had called. I rang him at work at we had a good, relaxed, loving chat. He asked me what I was doing tonight. I said nothing. Asked me if I'd like to go over - I said no. I want to have a good sleep and see him fresh tomorrow night. He said (when we were saying goodbye) "I love you."

I'm pleased. He said last night he was so scared I'd give up on him and he's lose me. I said "Fat chance. You won't lose me because I don't want to be lost." He said he felt like asking me to come back and move back in. He wants to live with me again soon. He wants to marry me and have babies. Do everything with me. He asked me what I want from him and I said he can do what he wants when he's not with me "out of hours" so to speak. But I expect when he's with me, not to be casual and slapdash. He said he couldn't handle me seeing others and sleeping with other guys.

He asked me what I want - would like him to be like - ideally how I'd like the relationship. I said I'd like us to be girlfriend and boyfriend and neither of us sleep with anyone else. He said "that sounds good to me" in a really choked voice. He's going to help me buy a car; we want to go to Inverloch on May holidays for a couple of days "just us two." I'm seeing him tomorrow night and I love him.

PS I am really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really, really happy.

*

Hello. It is about 11.30pm on Monday 29/4/85. I spent Saturday night at Patrick's. We cooked tea, listened to Beatles, I danced and we loved each other. It was wonderful!

Sunday. I came hime. Did study. Sun night I trammed to Sth Yarra for dinner, movie and stayed night. This morning I chuffed off to college. I wonder if Pat is alone tonight? He said he promised not to sleep with any one else, but was that a rash promise? He's impulsive.

This girl (Susannah) sounds neurotic and demanding. They see each other tonight in Sociology 5.30 to 9.30pm. Knowing Pat - if he felt lonely... Also knowing Pat, if he's feeling good about him and me, feeling committed, he'll go home by himself. Do some study. And go to sleep alone.

Did he only promise that so I wouldn't sleep with anyone else?

He wants me to wait until he's ready for me full-time!

Such a fucking saga. All I know is I like things as they are at the moment - it feels balanced. As long as we can remain balanced. I don't know what I'd do if he said he'd done it again. It's his choice. There's no one forcing him if that's the case. I've already told him she sounds like trouble. He agreed.

But - I cannot save him from himself. I'll just wait and see... and "during the whilst" - look after myself.

Now to look over my PE book and then read "Monkey Grip." I'm finding it so much more relevant to me this time around. The concept of loving someone so much, so doggedly and consistently, sometimes almost on the edge of hate or dislike - but even still loving on that edge; self-destruction both in Jarvo and Nora. Jarvo LOVES drugs, Nora loves Jarvo. Fucked.

*

What can I saw? It's about 10.30pm on Tues 30/4/85. I'm on the top bunk (not the Red Bed unfortunately.) Tried ringing P tonight, no answer. Makes me suspicious. Phone off the hook? S over there? Fucking each others brains out? I don't know what to think, say or do! We'll see what happens.

*

Hello there. It is almost midnight 1st May, 1985. One month since Pat said I should move out. So much has happened in that month... Tried ringing him once tonight, at 7pm... no answer. Tried this morning at about 1/4 to 8... no answer. What the fuck is he doing? How would he feel if he were me? Can he comprehend what he does to me? He can ring me. This time I'm not going to ring first. I'm prepared for him to have swung again.

Fuck.

One minute he wants me to move back in and to marry me - the next he doesn't ring me for days... and I can't ring him. Makes me angry.

Now to Monkey Grip. I feel like Nora.

PS I lost my purse tonight. FUCK!
PPS My back is aching and sore.
PPPS I have a sore, right wrist from Volleyball. Ouch.

I'm fucking mad. I haven't been able to talk to Pat. He used to kiss my sore parts better. He was always there for me. Now he's not. How can I compete with people he's seeing at RMIT? How can I fucking compete?!?

*

Greetings. It is 10.30pm. I can honestly say:

I HAVE FINISHED ALL MY WORK! My god, I can't wait until 4pm tomorrow. Now it is 11.25pm and I've been reading the whole of this diary for the last hour. Reliving it all in a way. It gives me strength to know I feel better within myself, to know I am me, and I'm OK.

REALLY OK.

Pat rang tonight, yay. I didn't ring first. Said he's been at the library studying at nights and has an English exam tomorrow. He's going to be incommunicado over the weekend and he'll ring me next week on Mon or Tues. He's got exams next week. We chatted and laughed. He was a bit tense but I was normal and chatty and cool. He said that I should go raging this weekend. I expressed enthusiasm, yeay! He asked what I was doing tonight. I said study. I think he was going to ask me over. When we were saying goodbye he told me to have a good weekend, and to think of him. The way he said it meant - please try not to fuck anyone?

Bye

SEE NEXT VOLUME, for new, startling developments.

*

Volume 9

It is almost 11.50pm on Friday 3/5/85. I am on the top bunk, extremely drunk. I can't spell. What a night! What a day! What a week!

School was hectic but ok. Tonight I was to meet Liz at the Esplanade at 8.30pm. I popped in an saw Patrick Dean at 711 at 7.45pm or so. He said he loved me. Then to the Esplanade. Then I felt an urge to see Pat so I drove to South Yarra at 11pm. I waited outside for him. He told me he'd invited "Suze" for the night.

Just as I was leaving, she drove up in our Moke.

I told him he was a "fucking cunt" and said I hope he'd have a good night, and left.

*

Now it is 1.15pm on Saturday 4/5/85. Sitting at the kitchen bench. Had a shocking night's sleep. Torrid dreams of mum frying Aldous in the frying pan - bits of her flesh sticking to the pan like hamburger meat. I threw up last night. Stuck my fingers down my throat. Finny - the first night I met Pat I threw up, and the last night I saw him (?) I threw up.

Didn't sleep very well. Got up this morning feeling shithouse - redundant, lost, immobilised. Wandered around. Sat out the front in the glorious sunshine. Had a wee cry to mum about last night. Anger.

Rang Patrick to ask him to bring over some stuff from the flat - Mum's eiderdown, my bike etc. He said he'd drive them over next weekend, then silence. I was cool and businesslike "divorce proceedings." Then we each waited for more words. He asked: "Is that all?"

I took it as meaning things I wanted, even though I knew he was prompting for some emotion from me. I said: "Yes, I think that's about it."

Then we talked. I said I'm not going to compete or play his game. I'm backing off and he can ring me if he wants to. I said he's a food seeing S because it complicates his life, and it's a typical, cliched, rebound situation. She's trying to hook him. He's falling into her trap, even though he says he's not.

I said "You know how you are. You know what she's doing."

He got very scared at the thought of losing me. Says he doesn't want to have to make a choice. I said there shouldn't even be a choice. He should be on his own. I told him I don't want to cut off completely. I still feel strongly about him and I invited him to ring me if he wants. He said he ill. He said he felt bad all last night. He said "for what it's worth, I'm sorry." He almost started crying a couple of times.

I feel I'm in the stronger position. With me withdrawing from the battle, it does put pressure on him to want me. I already know what he's up to - how he's living his life. He doesn't know what I'm doing or who I'm seeing. He'll get very insecure and paranoid. He'll think of me all the time. He'll torture himself. He'll become less and less content with S. He'll compare her to me and I'll shine in his mind because he knows I'm right and good and the best person he could know. Because he wont' have me (through me backing off) he'll want me all the more. He'll be curious, suspicious, and feel lacking. Am I hanging onto Pat as a person or Pat as a concept, an image, an ideal, a partner - someone? Anyone? I don't know myself.

I am amazed at how we can still talk. He said I'd been good up until last night but he didn't expect me to be like this.

I told him I don't want to accept total loss.

Maybe I am playing the game by backing off. Tactics? Quite possible. Trying to make him miss me and want me more. Not having me out of my choice will make him want me. What a saga.

*

Hello, it is 2.15pmish. I'm at Ashburton. Just got a phone call from a man who found my purse!!! Money still there!!! Yay. That makes me feel a lot better.

I'm feeling lowish about Patrick. I want him. Things have been complicated by this bitch and he's probably too weak to fuck her off.

----

Just went and picked up my purse. Everything intact - even the $40

"I want him!! It's not fair!!!" Sound familiar? They're the sort of words I had screaming in my brain about a month ago. Shits me. I have to do some homework!

***

I want to belong to Pat. I want to be his little bugger. I want him to love me. I don't want to lose his heart. I want his heart to be mine. I want him to commit himself emotionally.

I've got to leave him alone. When he comes to me I'll be so very vulnerable. What will I do?
I don't know.

*

Time 9.40pmish On the same day as above, Sunday 5/5/85. Not feeling as down as before. Pat is constantly on my mind (almost.) Today I did lots and lots of theatre workshop. Tomorrow I go to the primary school to do a round.

Why can't Pat just love me? Simply. No big fuss. All he has to do is say "Yes, I love Melba. I want no other."

But... that's life. He's said that anyway (that he loves me and he wants no others. But that was then, and this is now.)

Nothing lasts forever - yes. Things do. Why don't I just give up on him? It may happen that I slowly stop caring. But even when I hate him, I care about him. He knows he's not happy at the moment. He admitted it to me. I hope he does will in his exams. I hope he wakes up to S and gets out of it. He'll find she doesn't replace me. He'll realise again and again how important I am to him.

He'll learn, burn, squirm.

He told me he's been through hell too. I believe that. It's not for me to say whose hell was worse. Of course, I identify with my hell more. Pat has been making choices and decisions the whole way - I've had few. So my hell has been inflicted on my through no action of my own. Patrick admitted irresponsibility towards me - towards everything.

*

THE MORE I THINK OF YOU
THE LESS I THINK OF ME

*

IT WOULDN'T BE SO BAD
IF IT HADN'T BEEN SO GOOD.

*

I ONLY MISS YOU ON THE DAYS THAT END IN 'Y'

*

WHILE I WAS BUSY HOLDING ON
YOU WERE BUSY LETTING GO.

Depresso woman I'm not. If Paat fucks up, it's his loss. I'll still be friends with him, but I won't love him the same. I'll find someone my leve. Someone who's ready to love me FULL TIME!

*

Hello there1!! I am feeling wonderful. It is 9.10pm on Monday 5/5/85. I had a fab day at the school. I was in the Preps "Miss Melba" My god! They said good morning to me in that slow, drawling primary school way. It was so good. The teacher involved me a lot. I had to read a book to the whole class after lunch. It was good fun. I even enjoyed all their attention. There was one kid who soon became obvious that he was the class "troublemaker." I helped him and talked to him, and he was "bored." Not interested in what was happening. I got him to do a few things he wouldn't have normally done I don't think. A few times I had to choose "helpers" and once I chose him and gave him some responsibility. Funny in the staff room, gossiping about the kids. Chatted to my teacher about the "old days."

At about 7pm the phone rang. It was Pat. My god, I was stunned. I didn't expect to hear from him so soon. He said a lot of things I'd been desperate to hear from him... like every time he's spoken to S it's felt all wrong and bad. He's felt really, really unhappy and horrible. He's ringing tomorrow night or Wed. He said last night that he wanteed to drive over and leave me a Good Luck card for today, and a flower. He kept saying he wishes we could go back to how we were. How wonderful it was, etc. We were such a team. I do too. But I can't go back. We'll have to go forwards, and it'll be better.

*

Hello, now it's almost 10.45pm. And I feel good (still.) Bye.
PS Now I'm reading "Tom: A Child's Life Regained." I finished Monkey Grip this afternoon and it's depressing. I'm rapt I got my purse back too!!!!!

*

Hello, now it's about 10pm. I'm on the top bunk. School was cool. Pat didn't ring. I'm going to see The Tempest tomorrow night at College. Bye.

*

Greetings. It's a little after 2am on Thursday morning 8/5/85. Just got home from Pat's. I can still smell him, yum!!! Had a good night, lots of laughs, beautiful sex. Absolutely. School today was fab too. It was so good to see Pat. It felt wonderful to laugh with him and hug him. I'm feeling good tonight.

*

Greetings. It is 9.45pm Thursday 9/5/85. Pat didn't ring like he said he would. First time he's not rung when he said he would. The phone has been busy tonight. He may have tried and been so fucked from the exam and celebrating that he crashed. I tried ringing SY - no answer. Phone off the hook? Pat not there.

[Insert written later - No. He was fucking Susannah!]

We'll see. I'm not worried. But I will tell him off for not ringing. I'll be able to tell if he's lying. School was good. I'm going to be with Grade 5s for term 2 and a specialist term 3. Exciting. [Sister] went off to the dance tonight. It was so sweet when she was picked up. R and a bunch of flowers. I'm going to write in her diary telling her how good it was. I've just noticed I don't keep writing "I love him so much" anymore. Do I? Don't I? Who knows?

*

Hello. It is 11pm Friday 10/5/85.

MUCH HAS HAPPENED.

But chronological order is imperative!

School today was good... I was with the art teacher and I had to read a story to a couple of classes about aborigines. It was good. I even enjoyed the attention... I really enjoyed the art classes. So much fun. Then home at lunch time. I quickly wrote up "My impressions of..." The Tempest, then back to school. In the afternoon, we just cleaned the art room, then after a brief "rage" in the staff room, I came home. Chatted re [sister] re Pat, her dance last night etc.

Pat still hadn't phoned me. Should I ring him and tell him off or not???

Then eventually [sister] and I went shopping at Safeway's. As soon as we got there a little grade 2 cutie latched onto us and followed us the whole way round the supermarket. [Sister] was just laughing at me as I asked Jackie what type of stock cubes her mum uses. It was so funny. [Sister] said Jackie was just looking up at me in such an adoring manner... it was so cute... like being famous! Then... home.

I think Pat rang then... at about 7pm. Oh no. First I took Aldous to the vet for her vaccinations. All went well. When we got hime mum took [sister] to babysitting. Then mum and I were talking about Pat (mum was laughing at Aldous' doped out look) and then Pat rang. Up until then, every time the phone rang, I clenched.

He rang, mum very friendly. I spoke to him and he was good. Said he didn't ring yesterday because he got very drunk! Fair enough. He had a cause to celebrate, the end of term. We had a chat. He asked when we were going to Taco Bill's. I said "when are you free?" He said tomorrow night, I said ok. I'll book. So I'm seeing him tomorrow night. It'll be fun. Then, just as I was about to leave for dad's. J rang. I told her I'd call her back from dad's. Mum drove me. On the way we stopped at the ANZ Night and Day bank, and bottle shop, where I bought a cask of wine... this explains my fucked writing. I got here, lighted a ciggie, opened the cask and rang J back. I told her I was pissed off she hadn't rung me. She told me her and T are having problems. She's going to Sydney for a week so we arranged a dinner next Sun week or Monday. So... here I am at dad's residence. I'm seeing Pat tomorrow night... I'm quite pissed and I'm gonna re-read Wuthering Heights, which I'm really getting into. Dad's not home.

Tomorrow morning I'm going to Camberwell market to get:

- some food for me
- hair shampoo and conditioner
- hair dye (one shade lighter cause my roots are showing)

I wanna look really nice when I see Pat tomorrow night.

*

2.35am on Monday morning 13/5/85.

I've just been sitting out the front in the Moke. Pat and I are not going to see each other. Full stop.

He was still talking about getting himself together and then picking up with me. We'll see. He's going to write to me. It's all horrible but I feel remarkably calm. Maybe because I know it's for the best. If we kept going we would have totally destroyed what we have left. So... no more little bugger. It's not fair but it's what has happened. Taco Bill's last night was good. I stayed at Patrick's. Today we went to Donvale and that was good. It's all been too fucking up and down. I'm scared of being replaced. I'm scared of losing him/losing his heart... I'm also scared of stopping being scared. Of stopping caring.

FUCK.

We loved each other so much.

I hope Pat is ok. If anything happened to him I'd die. I feel he's mine. His heart is mine. He said he feels the same, but that he just can't give me what I want right now. He says he dreams of me and him getting married etc. Because he feels comfortable with me... we're mates. We left it tonight as being mates and not lose contact. Fuck. I'm feeling really emotional and scared in side, but outside I'm cool.

I'll just carry on.

Many distractions today

2009-08-21T10:44:00.007+10:00

Today it is so windy, unbelievable. We've had a bit of wind in Old Melbourne Town recently, but today takes the cake.

Which leads me to my next distraction. Cake. Yesterday in my new job I saw the same video twice and there was a scene with cake in it. It looked like a really nice cake, and people were eating it. Then, on the Sopranos last night, they had birthday cake.

So it got me thinking about cake.

The other distraction is a website (in addition to blogs, twitter and the newspaper).

It's called This is Why You're Fat and I only got up to page 14, looking at all the food.

This is a place where dishes like this

look NORMAL.

It's a place where bacon is the leading ingredient in many of the recipes, followed a close second by Spam.

It's a place where dreams of eating something called The Fat Bitch [cheese steak topped with 2 sticks mozzarella, French fries, bacon, tomatoes, ketchup, mayo and marinara sauce] can be seen to be reality for some.

You can find toasted ravioli, bacon tempura and The Pink Panther - a brioche (sweet) bun filled with Fairy Floss.

I even saw reference to zillion island sauce.

But this takes my gold medal for best lookin' dish. The Rubix Cubewich.

Other distractions today. I've been hearing mention of something called True Blood. I have decided to look it up and find out about it. Seems it's a show also books. I saw the trailer for Season One and it looks interesting. The Sopranos are getting a little yawn for me.

Happy weekend everyone. May you stay out of the wind and away from underneath trees, especially gums.