Hello

Sorry I haven’t been around lately to say hi… I’ve been so busy! Work’s been keeping me pretty distracted from lots of other things during the day, and when I get home in the evening, my research essay has been screeching in my ear to give it attention. Plus there’s the usual cooking, knitting, watching Deadwood DVDs. It’s also been really rainy and weird-weathery lately.

Well, the essay is slowly ramping down (handing it in, in a few days!), and I actually went to my spinning group last night. I can see that light at the end of the tunnel!

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shhh…

I’m at my desk at home, and I’m meant to be working on my research essay. I’ve just finished the section on Tea From An Empty Cup, the part that goes

Yuki, likewise, discovers that in order to recreate Old Japan it is necessary for her to “open” herself to Old Japan, and allow herself to be controlled by three puppet handlers in order to perform bunraku, the classic puppet theatre of Old Japan. Unlike her earlier experience, bunraku is a different sensation, and has a different purpose:

Something rippled through her, like a sensation from someone else’s body, as if someone else were sharing the suit with her by some remote access. Except this time, it didn’t feel hideously obscene, like being invaded by a stranger from within.

There was a gentle touch on her shoulder and she looked up to see a large doll-woman in traditional Japanese costume floating in front of her on the table. It bowed and began to move slowly and precisely, with as much grace as a living person.

Not a doll. A puppet, with several living persons behind its movements. Her movements. Bunraku. Not a children’s diversion but the classic puppet theatre of Old Japan, as serious as Noh and Kabuki, a demonstration of skill and grace, control and cooperation. Now she could see the outlines of the people moving the puppet if not their faces. See them and feel them- (p. 219.)

The distinction between the two types of possession is important. The first type, as initially experienced by Yuki, as well as Konstantin’s victims, is a twist on any sort of lifeworld prostitution; while the second depicts nothing less than the manifestation of Levy’s knowledge space, Ryan’s potential, emergent worlds, Galloway’s social ‘control and cooperation’, and Hayles’ complex commingling of ‘disembodied information’ and an ‘embodied human lifeworld’. In short, the climax of Tea From an Empty Cup can be seen as a unification of each of these seemingly different approaches. Cadigan’s future portrayal of cyberspace does nothing less than to envisage a technical, cultural and spiritual unity, where virtual emergence is initiated through nothing less than a massive societal unity.

The problem, I’ve just realised, is that I want to discuss both Snow Crash and The Diamond Age, but is it tacky to have two books by Neal Stephenson, and just one by Pat Cadigan? Somehow it seems inbalanced, and well, just wrong.

9:41pm. Still in my work clothes, plus my Rosa sweater that I’ve been stitching together. I’m wearing it with one arm missing. That’s the sort of evening this one is winding up to be.

I miss traveling. I guess that’s one of the main drawbacks about living in New Zealand. James mentioned something similar in an email he sent me a few days ago. He really likes it here but it just takes so long to get anywhere.

When I left Dublin he gave me a CD of the Stone Roses, and a book of Kavanagh poetry. I like “Ploughman”:

I turn the lea-green down
Gaily now,
And paint the meadow brown
With my plough.

I dream with silvery gull
And brazen crow.
A thing that is beautiful
I may know.

Tranquility walks with me
And no care.
O, the quiet ecstasy
Like a prayer.

I find a star-lovely art
In a dark sod.
Joy that is timeless! O heart
That knows God!

Just got my secret pal!

I guess I really can’t say much more than that at the moment, in case he/she accidentally comes across this entry. What would be the odds though really? I’ll play it safe all the same, but I must admit I’m really excited about the whole thing! Already I’m making a list of my SP’s likes and dislikes, and mentally making a list of what would be good to buy. This is going to be awesome!

And to the person who’s going to be spoiling me: I’m looking forward to (slowly) getting to know you too! This is going to be fun!

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Secret Pal kickoff - soon!

yeah! Just found out that the Secret Pal 11 is about to kick off, and I’m on the list! Can’t wait to find out who I’m getting…

Last night was spent cooking dinner, trying to work on my research essay, and navaho plying up some alpaca singles. I’ll post pics when I’m done…

Oh, and P.S. my Interweave books arrived yesterday… they’re in pretty good condition all up.

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New Job

Things have been pretty busy lately, with the new job starting up last Monday, my parents coming down on the weekend to look at the new house, trying to do work on my research essay, doing a bit of sewing (some drawstring pants that I made a bit too baggy), knitting, spinning and pottery class! This week I am making myself do nothing but my research essay, as everything else has pretty much bumped it aside over the last few weeks. Was going to get up early this morning and do some work on it but before I knew it, it was quarter to EIGHT and we had to haul arse to get to work on time. As it is, Steve is home sick today, so it wasn’t the best start to the morning. Tomorrow, tomorrow!

Yesterday I went to the lunchtime yoga at the Yoga in Daily Life centre, with a few people from work. It was fantastic! It was a nice mix of relaxation and a bit of dynamic stuff as well. My muscles are really feeling it today, but in a nice way, not the crippling you get when you go for the first run in six months. Lidia, who I work with, teaches yoga, and is quite keen to start something up, maybe even here in the building.

Not too much else on. Got my new phone today though!

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more personality tests


Your Five Factor Personality Profile


Extroversion:

You have medium extroversion.
You’re not the life of the party, but you do show up for the party.
Sometimes you are full of energy and open to new social experiences.
But you also need to hibernate and enjoy your “down time.”

Conscientiousness:

You have medium conscientiousness.
You’re generally good at balancing work and play.
When you need to buckle down, you can usually get tasks done.
But you’ve been known to goof off when you know you can get away with it.

Agreeableness:

You have medium agreeableness.
You’re generally a friendly and trusting person.
But you also have a healthy dose of cynicism.
You get along well with others, as long as they play fair.

Neuroticism:

You have medium neuroticism.
You’re generally cool and collected, but sometimes you do panic.
Little worries or problems can consume you, draining your energy.
Your life is pretty smooth, but there’s a few emotional bumps you’d like to get rid of.

Openness to experience:

Your openness to new experiences is high.
In life, you tend to be an early adopter of all new things and ideas.
You’ll try almost anything interesting, and you’re constantly pushing your own limits.
A great connoisseir of art and beauty, you can find the positive side of almost anything.

what colour is my psyche?


Your Psyche is Yellow


You have a ton of energy - both physical and mental endurance.

You are rational and logical, and you can help almost anyone think clearly.

Optimistic and bright, you also have a secret side that’s a little darker.

When you are too yellow: You will do anything to get your way, and no one will be the wiser

When you don’t have enough yellow: you lack confidence, drive, and humor

Monday…

And already I’ve spent most of the day reading Salon.com and NeilGaiman.com and messing around with weird queries at work, having lunch with Steve, reading “Royal Assassin”, and wishing I was at home. It’s so boring at work lately - nothing much to do, no colleague to talk with and email and hideous boredom. I want a new job! It’s not even as if I’m just sitting around doing nothing - I’ve been applying for jobs, going to interviews, and always I seem to just miss out. I’ve been told “you were our first choice but we had to go with the internal applicant”, “we think you’d be too bored”, and even though experience wasn’t necessary “we went with someone who had more experience”…and on and on. It’s so frustrating. All I want is a change of scene, a change of pace, new thoughts to think, a different schedule. Every work day is the same - go to work, go through the paces, check clock every five minutes or so until the end of the day, drive home with Steve, make dinner, maybe go for a swim or write a game review or preview (more previews than reviews lately), maybe do some reading for class, scribble some notes, wind up bored in front of the TV (we should put an axe through it) or watching a DVD while drinking too much red wine. I’m so desperate to break out of the routine, but my whole life’s become a freaking routine lately.

Don’t get me wrong, some routine is good - helps to set habits and get work done. But frankly, there’s so little point in me coming in most mornings, it’s hard to work up some enthusiasm for the job. I’d be better off at home, planting cabbages in the garden or doing dishes or something. Going to the library, going for a drive somewhere, ringing a friend on the phone. Scribbling down ideas instead of keeping them all in my head.

I’m just not achieving anything.

Well, I’m 30 now.

And to be honest, I don’t feel all that different. I’m back at work, after a nice long Christmas break up in Taupo, and flew back to Welling-town this morning. Steve picked me up from the airport. It was so wonderful to see him again, I couldn’t believe how much I missed seeing his smiling face, after just three days away.

It’s a terrible day today. Grey, windy as hell, wet road and sidewalks out the window. I’ve been scouring the net for any interesting organisational software, etc. and didn’t really find that much. Something called PageFour, but I’m not really sure how good it is. I was reading about some dude on the net, a published writer, who uses this outlining software, but I really wonder how much of it is bunk and avoidance, and how much of it is useful. (I thought it could be a good way to do some brainstorming and general information gathering at work.) What I really need is some sort of note organiser. My desk is covered with notes - notes everywhere, stuff that I don’t want to throw out because it all seems important somehow. If I could compile everything together in one place then maybe I could clean up the mess a little.

Speaking of mess, Steve and I moved into a new place at the start of the month. There are still boxes everywhere (all my junk) and even though I have my own study now, I really don’t know where to put anything. I need some filing cabinets, I think. (Organisation, again!) Maybe I just need to get hard and throw everything out. I don’t know.

I’m really looking forward to getting home. Having a look around. Giving Sooty a wee tickle (O yes! My new cat! He is awesome!) I want to look out the dining room window out at the backyard, at the wet, dewy grass and dark green trees. I want to sit in my study and look out the windows at the next door neighbour’s huge ferns growing up and past the house. It has huge fronds as big as my fist.

I’m also really looking forward to trying out my new drum carder that Steve got me for my birthday! Yes, it’s an Ashford one! The drums are covered in this soft pink rubbery material, and the teeth are fine and shiny (even though it is a coarse carder, it’s nothing like the one I bought on TradeMe a while ago. Ye gods, that thing’s a monster!

I’ve also been lucky enough to find a notebook of morning pages from when I was living in Dublin. I started reading them last night in bed, but because I had to get up so early (5:30) to get my flight down to Wellington, I didn’t get the chance got have a good read. I was so organised, so creative, so hopeful about the future! I want to tap into that somehow. I’ve become…placated somehow.

(And I was also lucky enough to find in archives.com, some of the missing diary-x entries that I was never able to recover. Nowhere near all of them, but something small to remind me of what I was doing back then. I’ll try and add them to this blog, so I can at least have everything all together in one place.)

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urgh

Not feeling the best today - actually, I didn’t feel that great yesterday either. I hope I’m not coming down with something. Apparently there are a few people around at work who have been off sick. I can just see it getting piped through into all the different offices and rooms around the place. In particular, my eyes feel really dry and painful, even when I use eyedrops - the regular kind as well as my prescription ones. Maybe there’s just a lot of pollen in the air now that it’s finally spring.

It’s been a gorgeous day, and I’ve been stuck inside, very unhappily. Sunny, warm, people walking around in non-office clothing, wandering around doing non-office things. Who are these people? How do they make their money? I ask myself that every day. Like the old Talking Heads song - “how did I get here?” It all feels like some sort of slow car crash that I’ve been watching in slow motion. Work, that is. Everything else is so great at the moment that I almost feel selfish complaining about my job. I have to just keep reminding myself that I originally took it as a temporary thing when I first came back to the country. I have no idea what possessed me to stick around for so long.

One thing I did do, was finish reading Never Let Me Go, by Kazuo Ishiguro. It was a funny sort of book, a lot less dramatic and compulsive than I expected. Mind you, I’ve never read any of Ishiguro’s other books, so maybe it’s just that I’m not familiar with his style. At the same time, thought, it had a bittersweetness about it, a schoolgirl’s innocent commentary about her sheltered life. I found I put it down when I was somewhere around the middle, as I grew a bit bored hearing all about Kathy and her ongoing battles with Ruth, and finding about what made Tommy tick. I guess I kept waiting for the punchline, the decisive moment, the minute when all of the details would come to have a fuller meaning, but they didn’t… That said, I found when I finally returned to the book, there was something about it that made me continue. I guess I wanted to find out whether Kathy would finally become a donor, and what would happen to her. But you never find out, though Ishiguro does let it slip that Kathy will stop being a carer by the end of the year. Somehow despite my dissatisfaction with the novel, it had a lovely wistfulness and sadness about it that has stayed with me.

I’ve been doing quite a bit of spinning lately, not writing much though, not studying, just spinning and watching movies in the evenings. It’s nice but makes me wish I had more time to myself. The weekends just wash away, and then I’m back at work again. I wish I could work from home.

Maybe I’m just feeling a bit flat from Saturday night. We stayed up really late, drinking vodkas and looking out Alex’s window over all the lights and the ocean. But it is nearly home time - at last!

Have been Reading Mr. Blue

… my all-time favorite advice columnist (Garrison Keillor). This guy gives great advice:

To be a writer simply means to become an independent thinker, one without portfolio, and the world needs more such people, whether you eventually write crime novels, or poems about trees, or treatises on law, or blazing social commentary, or a cookbook. Independent thinking is a fine and worthy project for one’s middle years. Start out with exercises. Stake out the most radical position you feel you could possibly defend, that you would like to support, and argue for it. Write the most scathing jeremiad you can manage about something you know about. Write about your child. Write a homage to your favorite show, or your favorite shoes. Do these exercises for their own sake, to get you moving, to amuse you, to make you work, and meanwhile, look for what else you might put your hand to. And good luck.

A boy who loves to write should not necessarily be thrust into a school geared to turning out high achievers and happy test-takers who will push to the front of the professional treadmill. (I don’t know exactly what I mean by that last sentence, but it sounds good, doesn’t it?)

Conspire to give yourself periods of solitude. Rise early, if possible, to have an hour alone in which to think, read, walk, pray. Somewhere near you is a piece of land that’s comparatively wild: Attend it when you can. And put yourself in the presence of great art, whatever moves and delights you. This is what makes a symphony orchestra such a great community asset, or a fine art center, or a dance company, or theater — because they produce transcendent moments for hardworking people. You walk out of the hall after a great performance and you’re walking on air.

Don’t waste time in languishing — if you’re going to make mistakes, make active mistakes, not the small soggy ones.

Don’t settle for work that is less than what you can do. You pulled yourself up out of the swamp once, and you can do it again. You know what it takes. It isn’t selfish to want to find your life’s work. Figure out the finances, do what you need to do to make ends meet, sell the car and go back to school.

I just wish he was still at Salon. I’d write him.

I really, really, really, really don’t know what I want to do next. I was going to say “what to do with my life” but I guess that’s a pretty silly way to look at things. To imagine you can make one decision and then chart the rest of your life on that course. That’s just silly talk.

At the same time, though, I have no idea what I’m going to do next. On the one hand I enjoy working and having a daily routine. On the other, it’s pretty soul-destroying. I can’t stay here much longer. Things are really coming to a head, I think. I’d really like to do something totally frivilous for a while - work in a book store part time, or a bakery or something weird like that. Work some weird wee hours and have the days to myself. I don’t know what I want. Something meaningful, where I feel as if I really am making a contribution to the world. I was contemplating Ecology or Environmental studies earlier, after seeing that come up in a test I did on some careers planning site. And really, yes, ecology would be interesting. People who work in Ecology are dedicated, caring, interested, outdoorsy…

I guess I’m afraid to walk down a particular path, knowing that I will be essentially shutting the door on everything else. Mind you, sitting on the fence (stagnating in the mosquito pond, etc. etc.) is getting me absolutely nowhere.

funny sort of a catch up

I haven’t written, and it’s partly because when I think about it, I don’t know if my news is particularly interesting, and partly because I’ve fallen out of the habit of writing every day. It’s so strange, while you’re doing it it feels so natural, but when it’s been a while, the act of sitting down and just doing it looms up like this huge white wall. It’s not ‘writer’s block’, it’s impetus. Or inertia, depending on how you look at it. In my case - definitely intertia. To be fair, I have been busy with uni classes - Italian and Old Icelandic - but now it’s the break between semesters, and all I have to do all day is work (and not think too hard). I’ve made the resolution to beef up on my Old Icelandic grammar, and read some eddas over the break, but aside from that I feel a void in terms of creative output.

I’ve been sick for the last two weeks - ever since Friday the 28th of May, when I had Jeremy round for dinner. Aart’s here too, so the three of us had my cream of celery soup, and then chicken rendang, supplemented with beer, then champagne (I was nominated for an award at work, and just being nominated earns you a bottle of Deutz), and finally Aart’s Mohitos, which did the worst damage.

Then we decided to go out - I called Connie and she was at home, a bit drunk, and I texted Craig, who was at the Bristol playing pool. We stumbled outside (and this is where my memory starts to haze over) and wandered past Jeremy’s old house, knocking on windows, etc., realised we had walked too far and then had to climb back up the hill to Connie’s. Had a smoke at her house and then we wound up at JJ Murphy’s. Apparently I walked straight in, and the others just followed me. I walked up the stairs and into some back room, with the others thinking “where is she going?” One of the barstaff came in and retrieved us, and apparently I was annoyed because they didn’t stop us earlier.

Then of course some bright spark pointed out that we were in the wrong bar, so we left, walked up Cuba street, and staggered into the Bristol. Craig was there, and a few of his friends, and of course I must have bowled up and said “I want to play”. I remember playing pool - very, very hazily - and I remember kicking ass. I’m not kidding. I was as astonished at the time as I am now, thinking back on it. Only trouble was, they couldn’t drag me away from the pool table. Even when it was someone else’s turn I kept picking up the cue and going to take a shot. I must have been so annoying. Really. Then we went to a club, but I don’t think we stayed very long. Saturday’s hangover was the hangover from hell. I thought I was going to die. And that’s where this deep chesty pain and coughing has bred from. Fool.

I’m slowly coming back to life again, getting a little more energy. Last week, though, was a wipe out. I had a half day off on Monday, and all of Friday off sick. Then we had a long weekend, so this week (after all the days off, and feeling shitty) feels a little surreal. It’s hard to get back into the work rhythm though. And the no writing bothers me. I blame it on Aart (poor sod), not in a nasty way, it’s just the truth - in my wee place there’s no room for me now to spread out and feel safe to write anything. He’s always there. Hey, he’s good company, a good person to share a house with, but where writing is concerned, he’s making it difficult. So - I have to find a new place to do this. The library would be good if it wasn’t that little bit too far away. I suppose I could take a slightly longer lunch break, work a little later, or just throw it all into the wind. I need an outlet though, and it’s starting to get frustrating.

That said, I’m feeling pretty optimistic about things in general. Yeah, so maybe that’s an incredibly vague thing to say. It’s weird, maybe it’s because I’m in that break between classes and I have less to do - but I’m really enjoying ‘life’ at the moment. Walking to work, walking home (pity about the part in the middle), having coffee at the Aro St. cafe, reading, doing general stuff with friends (went to the Zoo on friday with Jeremy and Aart), talking to my parents on the phone, feeding my fish in the morning - I’m happy. Happy because of the little things. It makes a nice change from stressing about something or other, and nothing in particular.

the low down

Hey there. I’m sitting here at work, listening to Metric, Franz Ferdinand and Camera Obscura. I’ve had a morning of work, then an Italian A/V class, and then Old Icelandic. I’m at work till 6 and then I’m meeting a friend at the Aro Street Cafe at about 6:30. I was off work yesterday with the worst allergies I’ve had in a long time - I looked in the mirror at one point and the whites of my eyes were completely red. I just lay around at home (well…I lie, I went to a lecture), sleeping and doing Old Icelandic translation. Ate leftover Chicken Rendang for dinner. Played some Elder Scrolls III, which is a new purchase. A new time-waster. But it’s a good way to unwind from staring at text and flicking back and forth through a glossary all day.

Oh, and on Friday night we celebrated James’s birthday, down at the Brewery (of course). I had a few after work drinks, and then went home, had dinner, etc., then went back into town at around 9:30. Alan and James were fairly twisted by that stage - Lisa carted Alan off home shortly after that, and James lasted only until about midnight, when he started taking his clothes off and doing his Mick Jagger impersonation, after which John (one of the regulars) bundled him up into his car and drove him home. I stuck around talking with some people I had never met before - really the first time I’ve ever sat around in a bar after all my friends have gone home. It was actually quite nice. You just find yourself rattling on about nothing in particular, not really caring what the other person thinks. Kind of like writing an online diary — just just prattle for the sake of hearing your own voice. Terribly, terribly self-centred. At least you have a chance of scoring when you’re in a pub.

Egad. I’ve been thinking about that lately (scoring). Not in a particularly fixated way, but more as an abstract concept. I’m going out with Aart, right? Well, it’s such a strange thing, I really don’t feel ‘attached’, even though we are basically a couple. I feel quite single. I’ve hardly been out, scouring the pubs for a different lover every night, it’s just that I don’t feel attached in the sense that I feel…single. I realise I’m repeating myself. I don’t feel part of a relationship. We send each other emails and things but that’s really not a relationship. It’s just so weird. I don’t know if it is going to work out or not. I know that’s hardly positive thinking, considering he is yet to even place a toe over here, but at the same time it seems like a difficult thing to switch off and on again. It just seems so abstract, so theoretical. There’s no practice to the concept. We are ‘a couple’ in name only, really. It’s more than a little bizarre. Probably not a good idea thinking about it too much.

Things are quiet at work, too - the new person has started, who will be taking over my role. She’s trained to the point where she’s doing most of the work and I’m twiddling my thumbs. I will be taking over some other work for other people, but they’re either busy or not around. It’s quite strange.

Jeez, look at the time already - 4:15. Less than 2 more hours to go. My, but the day has flown. Actually starting to feel quite sleepy right now. Oh yes, I nearly forgot, I have a new strategy for coping with the upstairs neighbors. I don’t know if I’ve written about this but there is zero soundproofing between my flat and the one upstairs. I hear every creak and groan in the floor - it is highly annoying. Everything sounds so loud too, BANG - you know? Voices aren’t so bad, because they are usually so faint, and during the day I’m moving around and making noise of my own. But when you lie down to sleep, you really hear every little thing. It’s been making falling asleep quite difficult. Even with earplugs. Each sound just stands out in contrast to the silence that you tend to dwell on it anyway. And the more you try to ignore it, of course, the more you wind up listening out for the next one. So last night I put my stereo on its ’sleep function’, where it plays for an hour and then turns itself off, playing really quietly, but just loud enough to hear through the earplugs. It worked like a dream. Sure I didn’t fall asleep straight away - I wasn’t really relaxed enough, I kept thinking “is this going to work?”, but I think I slept better than I have in quite a while. It also means that I won’t feel so ill-disposed towards the neighbors.

Perhaps harping on about sleeping patterns isn’t an interesting writing topic, I don’t know; but missing out on sleep, being tired all the time and not able to catch up on it can completely affect your reality. You get cranky, ill, feel lethargic…so I guess it is a major ‘thing’ for me at the moment, getting enough sleep.

It’s nearly daylight savings soon, rather, the end of it. I think we go back an hour this weekend. The nights are getting longer. When I woke up this morning I couldn’t make out the face of my watch; I’m going to have to start using my cellphone in the mornings to figure out what time it is.

It looks like it’s going to rain. Heavy dark cloud outside, with strangely illuminated white buildings across the road.

my daily routine

There are quite a few things I’ve been experiencing, and thinking about lately, that I’ve really wanted to write about. Trouble is, whenever I sit down to write, I can’t remember what it was that was occupying my thoughts so much. So I guess a general overview will do for now. Hopefully that will lead to something more specific.

I think I’m settling into my house now. Maybe it’s a physical action - the furniture sinks further into the carpet, you settle down into a rhythm, a little routine. You know what time you need to get up in the morning, you know what you want to have for breakfast. I like my little fridge, and my shelves in the kitchen with all my stuff.

I wake up in the morning, around 6:30. Well, my alarm wakes me up. Because my alarm is really just my stereo set on a timer, I usually lie in bed for a while listening to music. I keep my watch on the bedside table so I can put it on and then I know exactly how long I have to luxuriate before dragging myself out of bed. I know I could just set the clock half an hour later, and get up straight away, but there is something necessary about this little morning lie-in. Maybe it says something about my personality, maybe I am just lazy. Maybe I just like to listen to a little music first thing in the morning.

I usually try to shower in the evening, so as to maximize morning lie-in time. So I get up, turn up the music a little, and then get dressed. Lately I’ve been having a Berocca first thing. I’ll brush my teeth, brush my hair, maybe put on a necklace. Put on my shoes. Then I get out two pieces of toast from the freezer, plus an avocado and tomato from the fridge. I put the bread in the toaster, and usually go do something else while I’m waiting for that. Once the toaster pops, I have to put it down again. The first session defrosts the bread, the second one toasts it. Usually after this, I’ll slice the tomato and get out the salt and pepper. When the toast pops again, I scoop out some avocado and smear it on the bread - like butter, only thicker. Then I put a few slices of tomato on, then grate lots of pepper and sprinkle a little salt on top.

By that stage I’ve only got about five minutes left until I have to leave the house (7:30), so I sit on my bed, or at the table, and munch on my toast and read at the same time. At the moment I’m reading Nicholson Baker’s A Box of Matches, which I’m sure has somewhat inspired this entry.

Then I walk to work. Last week, during the flooding, I caught a ride to work with Daphne and Graeme a few times. Daphne works right across the road from me, as well as living across the road from me. Rather strange how these things work out. But I walk usually. I walk down my hill, then down the next street, until I reach Aro Street. I walk along until I get to the crosswalk by Patel’s and Aro Video, then I cross to the other side, past the Aro Street Cafe (-which has lovely lights outside. I love walking up Aro street once the sun has gone down), past where the gas station used to be, and is now probably being turned into some sort of housing. I walk through the Aro park, past the pigeons, and up the steps that lead to the Abel Smith Street/The Terrace intersection. From there I walk along the Terrace. It takes 15-20 minutes to walk from the far end of the Terrace to where my work is. By the time I get to work I’m usually fairly warm, no matter how cold it is outside.

Then I get to work. I catch the elevator to the 13th floor (spooky!), and turn my computer on. I do a little bit of work, plus check my emails, and then I go get a cup of coffee.

The morning usually passes without event. I like to take my lunch at around 1-1:30, so I have a smaller chunk of work in the afternoon. I find it more manageable somehow. If I don’t have anything to do (no letters to post, no shopping to do), then I’ll sit up in this room off the kitchen, where there are a few leather couches. I’ll have my miso soup and read for an hour. It’s really great. Otherwise I’ll meet a friend for lunch, or just go for a stroll, usually ending up in some bookstore (Parson’s, or Dymock’s, or Unity Books) or a music store (The CD Store, usually). Today I have to mail a cheque (funny how I’ve started spelling that the kiwi way, rather than the american way - “check”) to pay for my insurance, and I have to buy a birthday present for a friend of the family. I hope I get some reading time in there.

It’s funny how I don’t want to write about my work stuff in detail. I don’t even want to explain it. Needless to say, I get back to my desk at around 2-2:30 (usually later if I’ve been having lunch with a friend), and then the afternoon usually passes pretty quickly. Then I walk back home, the same way as when I walk to work. Sometimes I’ll stop at Patel’s or at the greengrocer’s across the street to pick up a few things for dinner.

Then it’s the climb up the hill, up the steps, to my house. Tickle the cat who usually sits up there. Check the mail. Up to the house, step over the plants at the door, take off my sweater. Read mail or generally tidy up. Put groceries away, etc. Check phone for messages. Get changed into slobby home clothes (e.g. blue cords, beatles t-shirt).

Then I’ll either read or fire up my computer to kick off some downloading, or to do some writing, or just to mess around. Maybe hunt for caterpillars in my bok choy. Sometimes I pop over to Daphne’s place.

Sometimes, if I’m hungry, I’ll start cooking straight away, but usually I don’t eat until around 7-7:30. At some stage I’ll have a beer, or a gin and tonic.

I listen to lots of music.

Sometimes Jeremy comes round for dinner. We’ve got a very loose agreement that he comes round for dinner, then I go over. Maybe every few weeks or so. Still, it’s nice to cook for someone else. Daphne has me round every once in a while too.

And that’s pretty much it. I like to take nice long baths and read and drink beer. Tidy up. Do laundry. It’s all fairly domestic and solo. I leave the weekends for the crazy stuff.

Have I even mentioned that over the last two weekends I’ve seen David Bowie and Billy Connelly? I haven’t? Shame on me! I’ll have to save those for a later entry. Don’t let me forget.

busy busy busy

I have been really busy lately, a state of being slightly off-kilter with my normal mode of existence. Ever since Friday, basically, I’ve been on the go. It’s a little distressing, really. I’m really starting to crave some idle ‘me’ time. It just doesn’t seem to be happening, unfortunately.

On Friday I caught the 7:50 bus to Taupo, arriving there at twenty to two in the morning. My poor father had to drive to the bus station to pick me up (though he insisted he was really quite happy about being able to sit up and watch the late-night movies), and then we arrived home, Mom was up, had a chat, played with the cats and then went to bed. The next day consisted of trying to sort through boxes to find all my stuff from my flatting days in Wellington - four years ago. Managed to find most of it, though I think there is an elusive box of good stuff still out there somewhere. We (Mum & I) went over to my grandparents’ (which is in the process of being sold) and she basically emptied out cupboards and gave me all sorts of things. An electric frypan, martini glasses and a bartender’s guide. A set of seventies teacups (black on the outside, green inside) and saucers. A glass packed with my nana’s collection of swizzle sticks. A bottle half full of Pernod. A yellow hand-mixer, to match the yellow electric fry-pan. One of those long-handled cast-iron pans, also yellow, to make omlettes. A mixing bowl. Six wooden salad bowls, with large wooden platter to arrange them on. Two green wood (rather ornate) trays - one large, one small - made in Italy. Three crazy candle holders in increasing heights with circular plastic bottoms and a glass cup that fits into them - complete with orange candles inside.

These things are wonderful - it’s a real treasure trove, going through the boxes I brought over with me - but there is still so much of my grandpa in them, so much life still lingering in these things. And of course, of my grandma too, who is of course still alive. It feels wrong to use these things, even though I know had he been alive, my grandpa would have wanted me to use them. He was too alive, too real, for him to be dead now. It just still doesn’t seem possible. Out of all the people I know, his death just seems the unlikliest. Maybe it’s because when I was younger I used to fixate on the idea of my parents dying. I’d try to imagine what it would feel like to be alone, what life would be like without them. It was (and still is) one of my greatest fears. I guess I just never thought about my grandpa dying.

It’s a crap argument, and I know it, even though I still write it down here. Just because I used to obsess about the death of my parents when I was younger doesn’t mean that I’ll be any more prepared for it when it does happen. And note that “obsess” doesn’t mean I was hoping for it to happen. It’s more like the fear you get sometimes in the night - the fear that something’s in the walls, that someone’s broken into the house, the fear that the ghost of your long-dead grandmother will come visit you that night - the fear that you can’t stop thinking about, the fear you can’t shake loose. That’s what I mean when I talk about obsessing over the death of my parents. It was, I suppose, what all children obsess about when they start to think about mortality.

I have noticed that since November 17, most of my entries end with some sort of rumination on death. It’s not even as if I sit around thinking about death all day long - it just seems to creep into my thoughts as I sit here writing. I read something somewhere lately that quoted from Peter Pan. Apparently Peter says death will be an “awfully big adventure.” If that’s the case, then I think my grandpa will still be happy - somewhere, somehow.

P.S. Feb 20 - my 3 year D-X anniversary!