Post Forty-Seven: Hark, My Obtuse Heart.

I've spoken before about Eulogies, but today during a particularly moving tribute a new introspection was hither born. Hither!

A theme pounced out into my brain that previously hadn't inspired too much personal reflection. It seemed that, by all accounts, the best thing that had ever happened to this man was that he fell in love. Big time. Once. Married a woman, and loved and loved and loved until he died.

Without getting too personal, I don't understand love at all. I don't think it exists as people generally construct, but I am interested in relationships that last 60 years or more...

I like the idea of happy and harmonious co-dependency. That is probably love, yeah? The way I see it, there is nothing harmful in wanting to 'hold hands' with implausibly beautiful people either. Combine the two, and that might be what's going on. As I get older, I think I generally get more fearful. Perhaps the fear of getting closer to death, and closer to fragility, will push me towards someone so much that cuddling only them and never leaving is the only way forward. Just a thought...

I think I've fallen in 'love' with every one I have kissed. It just happens. Again, it's probably too personal, but I've never been a pash n' dash girl. Trust me, I wanted to be, but that crown was already taken at school. Cripplingly awkward. And I have a screwed up jaw that makes things all the more awkward if a kiss isn't premeditated. Basically, I doubt my strengths and know my weaknesses.

I think about what it would be like to be romantically involved with most attractive people that I meet. Attractive, or funny. Equal measure is also great. Friends, neighbours, the guy that makes my coffee, the girl that works at the IGA, the cable guy... Is this weird?

It seems that before I have kissed someone in the past, I generally had pre-planned that if they were to make that move or vice versa, I could see myself getting seriously involved. It's because I think about my options so much. There has been a general agreement within myself that if I think the person is a lot of alright they are more than permitted to be up in my grill. Grill = face, just so we're clear. This is assuming that at the time I haven't been in a relationship, I'm no cheater floosy. But even in relationships, I still think about who would be suitable suitors. Ha.

The story goes, so far, that my instant love has seemed to be unoffensive . Co-dependency loomed closer and closer and closer until I shook hands with each lover and jumped across to the next footpath to the future. Always with honesty, always with intent, always with humour, but not with 'the one'.

When do you know to stop skipping in the playground, or do you need to?

P.S. And don't just answer "You just know."

Peace. x

Post Forty-Six: The Post.

I have a new plan. If I get sick of this whole mortuary/death thing, I'm going to be a postie. It was raining today and I imagined how fun it would be for me to be zooming around in the wet, delivering all sorts of shit. Bills aren't so cool, but postcards and ebay stuff would be a buzz, right?

I am not logical or sensible, and I love running around in the rain. I am excited by puddles and melting mascara. Dogs chasing me would be a fun game and I like scars.

This is all. Oh, no it isn't.

I booked a flight to Japan! I'm off to Tokyo for a month in February, which is very cool. I haven't been overseas in forever! I guess I'm not getting a new computer now.....but the adventures begin!

Peace. x

Post Forty-Five: You Tricky Trickster.

I hurt.

I severely overindulged on the weekend and my immune system is all like "Screw you bitch! So you think you can drink all night, two nights in a row!... flouncing around in the cold with next to nothing on....well, be prepared for the cactus that I'm going to plant in your mouth pipe, and that's only the beginning!..."

Thank you self.

Anyway, someone at work is fucking with my mind. It's either a staff member or a bad ass poltergeist. I think I've only told one or two people, and they don't even work with me, but I routinise most activities from 8am to 4pm to the minute. I think it's one of the only things I do that might lead people to think that I'm stranger than what I actually am.

I get up at about 7am and head into work pretty early. You see, I sit at work for a half an hour or so before I start so I can eat some breakfast, chill out and smash down some caffeine. I usually have either oats or two boiled eggs on toast....I know this is a stupidly boring piece of trivia but for the last couple of weeks someone has been stirring my psyche by messing around my morning ritual. It makes me a little tweaked for the whole day!

Firstly, my oats keep being moved so I can't find them. This forces me to go with the egg option. The egg part is fine, but my toast has been burning because someone moves the button thing (what do you call that knob, the intensity knob??? oh dear ) all the way up to the highest setting, to char to satans liking. Argh! I have been moving the setting down to a reasonable level after wasting about four pieces, and I put the oats back in the same cupboard when I find them again, but the cards keep being dealt. I always thought the cases were unrelated until today, when I realised how often this has been happening. I think it was the misery from the hangover induced flu that made me think negatively enough to string the incidents together.

So, after my failed attempts at a peaceful breakfast, me and my swollen glands had to get to work on some lovely customers that I'm sure saved up all of their gases and excrements for me....Nothing like a monday morning with a sensitive stomach and a banging head in a mortuary.

Peace. x

P.S. Congratulations to the boys from the Mercy Beat for the release of their debut album, 'How to Shampoo a Yak.' You played superbly, your supports were off the hook, and I love you. I don't, however, like how much you inspire me to undertake a character study of an alcoholic groupie. Yay!

Post Forty-Four: I Couldn't Have Stopped Him.

I'm totally bummed. It's so close to the weekend and I'm gearing up for some raucous behaviour, but at work today I couldn't really pull myself out of gloomingdales. I even turned down a Dr. Pepper with lunch, and I think I'm considering a diet. (My dentist told me to cut down my sugar intake because I'm holey, I'm getting fillings in filling'd teeth!) I have the gloomies. And I love Dr. Pepper.

Anyway, It's because I think I reached a new level this week. I've had at least one suicide case a day all week, and today I had two in a row. It tires me. I wish I could stop them from coming in, but in death stats they are a big morbid contender. Blurgh.

Mental Illness is prolific in our community. I think we are (very slowly) seeing a change in the way people view mental health issues. In the next elected government I hope more emphasis will be placed on support for those suffering from mental diseases, including aid for the families and carers involved. Go team, right? Bring in the troops.

I'm pretty pissed off with myself that I haven't involved myself in mental health related support organisations since I left uni. In fact, I studied alot about them, but did I ever help? Probably not. I'm going to get onto that. I'd like to help someone consider life instead of suicide. I want to braid peoples hair when they're alive too god damn it! (P.S. I'm a sloppy braider).

I understand pain and suffering, I think, enough to know that sometimes it feels like things will be easier when you're out of the picture. Things can get overwhelming to say the least. The world is shit a lot of the time. The truth is, life in unjust. I cling to Dr. Pepper.

A final thought, consider changes in perspective from sources of wisdom. Sharing is a start. People like me, across Australia, want to help.

Peace and love. x

Post Forty-Three: The Shameless Plug for Thems That I Love.

Ok, the only thing this post has to do with death is that, if you come to the above gig, you will die of awesome! If you don't come, you'll die with an unholy regret. Yup.

My favouritist local Brissie boys, The Mercy Beat, have made a stupidly awesome album. It's so good I feel like even if I didn't know them personally, I would stalk them down and make them love me.

Come along! They will shake your hand and write on your boob. I will also do this.

I'm gonna get me drunk! (responsibly?)

You can check them out @ www.myspace.com/themercybeat.....

Peace. x

Post Forty-Two: I Musn't Speak of This!

Wowsers! I had the craziest experience of my life today! What sucks a bunch though, is that because of privacy (and my own safety) I can't tell you what happened....crap huh!

I'll tell you loosely in about six months when things have settled down and the tale can seem more random.

It pretty much consists of violence and guns and emotions and lots and lots and lots of blood and....and of course....death!

Sorry to be so elusive y'all.

Peace. x

Post Forty-One: Poor Fido

How much do you love your pet?

Enough to euthanase it and drag it to the afterlife with you?

If you're on your death bed and you can't bear to be parted with your beloved pomeranian, I figure you can pretty much ask for whatever you want and people should try to provide.... but I just don't know how I feel about ordering it to walk the plank! Alack and a Lassie (lol), it happens.

It happened today in fact. A lady is going down in the dirt with her dog AND her cat. Double homicide, let's call Ace Ventura.

Peace. x

P.S. My computer is officially on its last legs. It's taken me two days to post this. RIP vaio.