Things I have learnt in the past week

-I can be an “active” person

-getting out of bed when ones alarm goes off IS actually possible

-I crave approval like I crave hot beverages

-cheese; yes

-beer is still awesome, though

-when one comes upon a beer named “black lung” one should follow ones instincts and walk away

-protests can be tricky and rough and odd and divisive

-giant demon babies populate my city

-I am not as good a dancer as I think I am

-intentions don’t write essays

-the heady thrill of making friends with fun people is still like a drug to me

-balloons are magic

-tram inspectors are people too

-naps get better with age

-my memory is shit

-Paul Mercurio checked me out

-that last one was a lie

-flight booking ladies (I can’t remember their name) are very personable

-married men are good company (and I don’t mean that how it sounds), though

-being bid on and purchased by a married German is not not awkward

Things I’m average at no. 763: Being Academic

(I wrote this after assignment time around two months ago and was unable to finish due to shame induced blog amnesia so it’s a little out of date now. Here it is.)


I’m having essay regret. Not the regret that comes around every assessment time shaking its head saying “what the frick are you studying for anyway, you should have stayed stupid”, although I get that too, this regret is the regret that comes from handing in a piece of work you know is shoddy, you know is under researched, you know is basically a ramble of thoughts and words so loosely related to a topic they may as well have just brushed past it in the shops. I’ve handed in a pile of Arial fonted shite.

Oh God Oh God Oh God. Why.

Every time I think about this essay my mouth does this thing. It goes into a line, a thin tight line that pulls a little to the left. Like a wee little stroke of shame. My mouth is trying say “oh god oh god I can’t believe I handed that up oh god” but all that  is appropriate for most social occasions is the slight twitch.

Also, I liked my tutor. I don’t want him to think I’m a git. We had drinks together, he listened when I spoke, and now, inevetably he’ll read my essay and think “why in the hell is that seemingly intelligent girl handing in what is essentially a tenth grade book report?” Oh man.

You need skills to be good at this study thing, I guess. Time management and all that shit, but also, the ability to do it. To put down the remote, or the novel, or the table tennis bat (I don’t know) and turn to What You Need To Do and friggin DO IT. I have a very limited grasp of this skill. Even now, I’m on holidays and I’m not doing that right. I have books I want to read and stuff I want to write and I’m watching a shit load of Greys Anatomy because I am so crap at telling myself to fucking DO IT.

I honestly believe I have some undiscovered form of learning disability that manifests in a squirrels attention span, a large lump of brain play-dough that sits in front of a concept I need to grasp making it nigh on impossible and a near complete inability to express thoughts that I do understand.

And the thing is, is I did understand this. I listened to my tutor and read the books and got it but when it came time to get down.. holy shit. Everything broke and I submitted the academic equivalent of Twilight.

Oh God oh God.

Anyway, sorry to whinge. It’s not so bad. Luckily for me this grossly malformed learning gene hasn’t stopped me from memorising copious pop-song lyrics, hundreds of movie references and the way to the toilet. I’ll be fine.



Things I’m average at no. 24: Talking to strangers.

I’m on the nine pm tiger flight to Adelaide. My tray table is upright, my knees unbearably close to the seat in front, my lower back humming with the beginnings of the almighty ache I will have when I disembark in an hour and a half. I have the aisle seat, we’ve just begun to taxi.

Seated to my left is young man, probably 24 or so wearing thick framed glasses, a white tee and dark skinny legs. He is fiddling with his phone. I have buried myself in my Stephen Fry bio immediately after boarding but as I read a part of me remembers something.

No. 35: Talk to Strangers.

Dang it.

I’ve noticed he has begun to use his phone as a mini skateboard and is doing little flips and stuff off his lap. I should talk to him. I will talk to him. I will put down my book under the pretence of having a drink from my water bottle, and then I will say “So what brings you to Adelaide?”. Aw yeah.

The plane has come to a bit of a stand still when I finish my chapter and serenely close the book, wondering if there’s any way the hipster next door could anticipate the verbal fireworks that are about to explode right in his face. I reach down, clasp my water bottle, unscrew the lid and take a drink. I put it back in my bag. I gently nudge the bag a little bit more under the seat. Now nothing stands in the way. I look at the pouch in the seat in front of me. Now it’s just me and you, little man.

We idle lazily on the runway.

I stare at the back of the seat.

I look slightly to my left, then to my right. I look down at the book closed on my lap.

talk talk talk talk talk you can do it what brings you to Adelaide what brings you to Adelaide whatbringzzyuutoadelaaaide

I study my fingernails for a bit.

The guy’s phone does another trick, a spectacular mini spin in the air over his right thigh.

I clear my throat slightly, then move my head to my right.

We move forward slightly, then come to another halt.

I pretend to be interested in the cement I can see out of the window, as though I need to visually verify that no, we haven’t taken off yet.

He looks downward, at his flipping mobile, adjusts his position slightly.

talk talk talk what brings you to adelaide what brings you to adelaide say it say it what are you waiting for? what is he going to do? rip your face off? plunge his phone into your eye socket?

I summon my courage and open my mouth. I close it again and look out the window opposite.

We are still on the ground.

The guy is reading the inflight menu. For the second time.

I feel physically ill.

I have now thought the words “what brings you to Adelaide” so many times they have lost all meaning.

Stephen Fry is smirking consolingly at me from his book jacket. Yes you can smirk consolingly. You have to know him.

The guy is looking out the window as well. Probably confirming we’re still on the ground.

I look back at Stephen. My heart pounds in my ears.


Dude pulls out the in-flight emergency instructions.

He begins to read them.

He needs me.

The plane is still not moving but is now making a loud buzzing noise from the rear.

A sweat breaks out on my forhead and I turn jerkily to my left. In a voice that is aimed at casual but probably hitting strangled and teary I say


He looks at me and shoots back in a low and slightly awkward voice “Yeah, pretty sure it is”. He is attempting to be reassuring.

“right right,” I say “it’s pretty weird though..”

He again assures me in his short, deep voice that all is well, clearly thinking that I’m on the verge of hysteria.

Loud buzz continues, sounding like an elephantine mosquito has landed on rear of plane.

Anxious, now that we’re off to this magical start, to make sure he knows my intent was relaxed convo not mindless panic I spout brightly that I’ve never heard that particular noise before at which point he looks at me sharply and asks if I fly a lot.

“Oh yeah, loads!”

Dude now looks as concerned as he thought I was.

Smiling manically, as though alarming young men on stalled flights is something I’m quite cheerful about I happily trill “Oh but, like, I’m sure it’s not a problem. hahaha!”

We are still on the ground.

I shouldn’t talk to strangers.

Things that are not my friend

  • My brain
  • Any man, woman, child or animal who has any part whatsoever in the production of Two and a Half Men in any way
  • Johnny Depp, despite indications to the contrary within narrative of recent dream
  • Kate Moss, see above
  • Self’s lack of appropriate time management skills
  • My necks, arms, legs and torsos refusal to act like they are in fact attached to a rock god and not reduce me to limping feebly about my house after a night out
  • Child performers whose uncanny skill and warbly vibrato leaves me twitchy and uncomfortable
  • Self’s debilitating obsession with Wonka’s chewy gobstoppers
  • Scatting
  • Apparently carbohydrates
  • Reggae
  • Bloody pollen (bloody being in this case an expression of my distaste for said pollen, not a description of state of pollen)
  • The apparent learning disability that rears its head around assessment time and causes my brain to behave like a startled pony trying to read journal articles
  • This conversation: “Geez, it’s cold today!” “This? This isn’t cold. You don’t even know cold.”
  • Tammin Sursok.
  • My ovaries, odd non pimple that never goes away and ridiculously unfounded crushes on people I will never meet
  • Snot

Some stuff

I have too much in my head. A small taste platter of what lurks within:

The world is so lovely, so lovely. And I spend a lot of time on facebook.

I jest about my mediocrity, but am concerned that it means I will fail at the things I find most important.

I read some of the work of this girl in my short fiction class and nearly disliked her based on envy alone and the envy threatened to close my throat.

The smell of rain today was wonderful and heavy.

My tooth may be in serious peril.

Opinions are important. Maybe. I don’t even know. But I don’t have mine all laid out like some people do and I wonder if that’s a big deal.

I love Melbourne.

Sometimes the wish that I could lose some weight nearly overtakes the wish that everyone would realise how cool they are and stop hating things.

My friend made some caramel slice and it’s basically just condensed milk with chocolate on top and it’s awesome.

I want to go away somewhere and think and breathe for like a week. Without facebook there to observe stoically.

Do you ever wish you could just tell people when you want to be mates with them, and ditch all the “oh, hey maaann..” bull? Me too.

I want to research anarchy and the bible and to start sticking shit up in public places.

I don’t feel well.

thanks for you time, interweb! You’re a doll.