This term gets thrown around a bunch, but the last twelve months have been a f*cking rollercoaster. A portentous, rough and ungoverned amusement ride with the occasional reportable injury, lost child and zombie infection. Let's take a walk down memory lane, shall we?
Rewind to New Years Eve, 2011. The one beyond last night, back before this years loops, the free falls and the corresponding bouts of vomit. I was new to the city. I had just started dating a pretty clever guy, so clever that he told me that under no circumstances was I to ever write about him. So I didn't and won't, apart from this, because the story is pretty entertaining. It's also pertinent to the general mise en scene of 2012.
We got ready to head out to a 70's themed party at some fancy Melbourne restuarant. I knew a couple of people attending, but the majority of the guests were strangers. Funny, smart folk who seemed to have their shit together. At this point in time not only did I not have my shit together, but I didn't even know where my shit was or if I was creating said shit from scratch.
I'm not proud to admit it but at that stage in my life I had no reservations about indulging in both legal and illegal intoxicants. My friends and family know this, but for some time I partied a little too hard and fast for a young woman with no 'issues' to pin the occasional substance use on. Not that everyone has a reason. I didn't. I was just young, bored and a maker of poor decisions. Never did I play with anything jabby. If there was fun to be had and mind states to be altered, I was smoking or snorting before anyone could find the lighter.
This was one of the very last times that I took a drug. It was a horrendous evening.
Proceedings were lighthearted. Merriment was in the air, yet not even two hours later my brain exploded and I lost all ability to reason. To ring in the new year I was in a gutter alone, crying, because some hot french bird at the table mentioned that she was missing her Parisian friends. I missed my friends, more than anything. In Brisbane people were interested in who and why I was such an oddball, but these people and especially my date were nonpartisan to what I could offer. It was not me at my finest. In fact, this was me at my worst hour.
Needless to say, I was dumped pretty quickly for being ridiculous. I lost, and was lost. I started the journey from January 1st to clean up in body and mind.
After that there was a period that stank of melancholy and loneliness. I felt split down the middle; I could go from feeling strong and free to insecure and fragile in the time it takes to shut the doors of the cremator. I had very little human interaction outside of work, which I've decided is just not good for anybody. I met the occasional fellow and had the occasional snog, but nothing was right and I lost all confidence in my ability to capture anyone's interest.
Baseball saved me from turning into a hermit. I ran around hitting shit and sliding in mud. It was a necessary outlet for the frustrations building from feeling forsaken. When you're in the game you're not in your head, and that for me was like a benzo. It was, and is, one of my favorite discoveries of 2012.
And then I felt good. I felt better than I had all year. And then it was July.
Oh, July. I fell in love thanks to this here blog.
The way I felt was like as if I'd never experienced live music, and suddenly a symphony orchestra was setting up their instruments in my loungeroom. I had to stop myself from saying that it was crazy, because it wasn't, and we damned well deserved each other. From the day we met I was devoted and all consumed. And then, just a couple of months down the track and after a phenomenal holiday filled with companionship and adoration, it fell apart with as much fire and gumption as when it begun.
December for me has been a time of very necessary scrutiny. From all the crazy business, the feelings of inaedquacy and rejection and deficit; I've brought that upon myself. There is just no need for it. No need, and no room for it in my plan to meet others and shoot the shit.
I spent this New Years in a bath tub (clothed, in case you got excited) with two of my dearest friends, of whom I met through old mate that I was dating at the 70's party. I lost contact with all of the other people associated in that circle, due to my erratic behaviour no doubt, but these two girls have stuck by me through all of the drama. I've been late to countless dinner dates and so forth because being in the funeral industry sucks a fat and is very good at interrupting my personal life, but they are patient, kind, and wise beyond their years and I love them for their advice and excellent laughs.
And so that's that. You know me a little more now. Probably too much. And don't worry, this is the start of being an excellent decision maker. I'm open. To everything (apart from spliffs).
COME AT ME DAWG.