For those without the joy of regular contact, you may have interpreted my lack of reflection about life on this blog to be characteristic of my intermitent interest in publically musing on my life’s goings on.
Unfortunately, for the past several months, I haven’t been able to find the words for what three men stole from me in the dark. The inventory of what was stolen was quite small, a wallet and a phone. Your standard late night mugging really.
However, the effect this had on me at a time when I was already highly stressed about finishing Honours was enormous. While, it’s true I needed to become some what of a hermit in order to focus on my work — this event forced me into the isolation of a dark abyss.
I am now 17 days away from thesis deadline. I now know that soon I will have time to build a life again. Oh, for the freedom to take a few “Life Days” to sort myself out! I’m excited to think that my life will never look the same.
At least throughout this extremely traumatic time — I’ve managed to produce some great paintings (even if they are all in fetal position!).
Filed under: blogging
Upon my recent decision to start recording my thoughts here, I made a few promises to myself:
a) I will update regularly;
b) I will not undertake long diatribes about the purpose/s of this blog;
c) Times when I found it difficult to update, I would be particularly disciplined and force myself to write even just a few thoughts.
Then IT happened.
Not some season of drunken debauchery or unriveled apathy, just a late night mugging, a broken relationship, a father hospitalised and a thesis deadline. And suddenly a whole winter has passed without an update.
i’ve been skipping roll call of late.
i was never one for marking my attandance — leave that for the archivist, i say.
So there is no evidence of my existence. This universe refuses to mark my place. The only trace i leave is held in the minds of those i entertain. As such, there are currently traces on almost every continent as we speak, but not a single ex marks the spot.
——————
To come at things from another direction, ThesisLand has been hell, mostly. It’s like a rollercoaster, as you approach the end the ups and downs are simulatneously streching and contracting. So, when things are good there’s weight behind that feeling, there’s concrete ideas and partially emerged products of real benefit. As well when things don’t look so shiny there’s the full weight of the ocean pressing against your frail body and you’ve been swimming for so long there’s no red and gold flag to guide your return.
Perhaps the abscence of my guides contributes to this sinking feeling. Never have i approached such a formidable goal post, one that doesn’t have a victory march already mapped. My mind is unable to comprehend anything beyond October 29.
i would like the terrain of this sprint surveyed, prior to the starting gun being shot, but past survivors tell me that no two races are the same and i will just have to watch my steps.
i’ll attempt to dispatch the odd missive, but please go gentle if they’re delayed in the post.
Filed under: blogging
well, one may ascertain from the lack of postings that my life is rather dull.
I am working way too hard, playing way too hard and probably eating and drinking way too much.
Thank f*** it’s a long weekend. Now instead of sitting here updating you all about my pitiful life I am off to frolic in the sunshine and hunt down coffee and possibly gifts.
music < >
I’ve finally started. Predictably, not while I’m swanning around europa or while I sit in a darkened room tending a broken heart. This is not the eve of some great triumph. There is no news. There has been no death or out – of -body experience.
I’m at home. Returning home always generates content for me. I slept in my bed last week for the first time since July 2003. Today, I felt the pain of returning home, it was as if I was just stepping off the plane into the glaring Australian sun. Everybody always says the light is different here. You don’t notice till you return and you feel the light in your eyes. But, everybody says that. Nobody could’ve prepared me for the tears that spontaneously erupted as I carried my first weeks shopping home from Woollies that first Wednesday. Or the sickening revolt that I feel now at how familiar everything is.
How I’ve let myself forget so much in six short weeks. But this is what I know:
Today it was not familiar. Today it bled with the energy of a new cut, attempting to flush clinging bacteria from its site. This is an attempt to not let myself forget. This is the first aid.
