Blah

Haven't posted in awhile. Haven't really felt like writing. There are a few reasons for this:

1) I came home last week to a typed formal letter on my desk, informing me that I need to move out in 4 weeks. Shit. Did I mention that I've only been here a month?! Seriously I hate the world sometimes. So now I am super stressed and for the hundreth time searching for somewhere to live. Seriously not enjoying it.

2) I often feel my writing is somewhat craptacular. Which is a shame. Because writing used to be my passion. Words used to flow from my pen so easily. Effortless. Now it's a struggle. I seemed to have lost my creativity recently. Where did it go? Writing used to be my thing. And now in the age of blogs and twitter it seems to be everyone's thing. Alas I am no longer special. Nor particularly talented. Even now it's difficult to find the right words. It pisses me off. So I'm going to leave it there with this pointless entry and come back at another time.

farewell.

Today

Today I feel bettter.

I feel alive.

I feel awake.

I feel like laughing.

I feel like anything is possible.

I feel like there is never enough time.

I have been here before and every time I feel the same thing; grateful and hugely pathetic.

I didn't go home last night. I was so exhausted I just didn't know how I could handle anything.

My employer, (mother of whose children I babysit), had dropped me off at the station after my shift so I could catch the train home. It was only after I got out of the car and she drove off that I realised she had forgot to pay me. This normally would have been fine, apart from the fact that I didn't have enough money to then get home. That's right people, I am THAT poor.

So in fit of panic I ran to the bus stop, hopped on, (I had $1 in my wallet. Lucky me!) and headed to the primary school where her daughter was currently having a music lesson. Did I mention by this poing that I was crying?

By the time I found her and told her I needed to be paid, she promptly sat me in the car, turned the heater on and told me she was kidnapping me for the night. She then proceeded to take me back to hers, feed me, clothe me and sent me straight to a warm comfortable bed. Oh I should also mention that I have been horribly sick for weeks and am still not well.

I am incredibly grateful to her and her husband for reaching out when I needed it. But the other part of me does not know how to deal with such kindness. It makes me feel slightly pathetic that I need to be taken care of. That despite my best efforts, I am not superhuman and that I do in fact need to be ...loved. There I said it.

What bothers me the most is that I have been in this situation far too many times before. Unable to cope anymore and relying on strangers/friends/aquaintances to care for me. It saddens me that I don't have that place called home, where my parents still live and where I can pop in anytime and say, "I'm sick, take care of me, here is my washing." It's not that I don't have parents who love me, I do. I just don't have that familiar place to return to.

But in the meantime I am thankful, for the warm bed, soft pajamas and a good feed.

I hate Mondays.

It's going to be one of those weeks...

I know this because it's only Monday and already I am exhausted. I feel like I have run a marathon. My spirit is weak. I feel like someone has died. But of course no one has. No crisis has occurred. The world is not ending. But of course my brain does not seem to know this.

Why is it everything has to come along in massive waves?

I can handle a little bit of stress, but then things go wrong all at once which would be bad enough but to add to the situation my head decides to a 180 and dive into straight into madness. I find myself saying far too often, "Seriously? Seriously!"

I wish it were Friday.

Please Note*

I have to apologise to my readers, (all 3 of you,) for my gradual and disappointing decline in correct spelling and grammer.

It appears that I have forgotten all I learns in high school English and as such my writing has suffered greatly. So please forgive my atrocious, (is that how you spell it?) spelling and poorly constructed sentences, (ances?).

Perhaps I should consult my old English teacher for help...

Oh how disappointing!

What day is it?

I have these huge gaps in my memory. For example I can't remember most of my life until I was 16/17. I remember bits, Various postcards over time.

Watching tv on the living room floor on a Saturday morning with my brothers. I was about 12. Reading under my sheets late into the night at 10 years old. My first crush. Playing cricket in the driveway. The rest is a blur.

People ask me astonished how it's possible that I can't remember most of my life. The simple answer is that I wasn't there. My body was present. But my mind had learned to disconnect itself.

I remember a few years ago (I cannot specify dates/times) visiting my brother in Melbourne. I was reading a book. I had caught the train to the airport, collected my ticket, handed in my baggage and boarded the plane. It was not until not until the flight attendant asked me if I would like a drink that I realised I was in the air. For a moment I forgot where I was and what I was doing. I knew in my head that I had caught the train etc etc but I did not experience it. I may as well have been back home on the couch, reading my book and not have moved.

I do not, for example remember much of my HSC year. Or the year following graduation and during my hospitalisation. There is no clear cut timeline. All I have are snippets of my life.

The memories I have are powerful and detailed. For instance I can remember every inch of what my childhood home looked like, the smell of hospital sheets, the feel of someone's hand on my cheek. These memories play out like movies, in full technicolour with high defintion sound.

It is interesting to me which memories stick out. There is a photo of me as a 10yr old girl, healthy and happy at an afternoon bbq in my new two-piece swim suit. I am smiling widely, my arm around the person next to me, happy healthy normal. At 22 I still remember thinking then that I should suck my stomache in so no one would notice how fat I was. I was not a fat child. I was perfectly sized for my age and height. Yet 12 yrs later this memory burns in my mind and that concerns me. Strange what things we choose to remember and what we choose to forget.

I don't remember much.

I wish I were a box.

Not an elaborate, overly decorated box with an enormous bow on the top. But just a regular box.

Or rather I wish I could fit my life into a box.

Most people hate being labelled, marginalised. I long for it.

You see nothing makes sense in my world. I do not meet the criteria to fit into any catagory. I am a maelstrom of contradictions.

I am quiet and introverted. Lound and uncontrollably wild. Passionate and passive. Raging and numb. I am happy. I am angry. I am lonely. I am excited. I am afraid. I am confused. All at the same time.

I wish I were a box.