hairventure.

in process. plasticated. soon soon soon it will be a nice light shade. possibly not all platinum, but the roots are... it's just this charmingly hideous shade of orange i am trying to deal with....
it's less challenging than i thought twould be.

little circles

hi-safari-using-mac-person!! you have been enjoying the bloggity blog, i see! please... oh, you can't note me, can you.... but judging from search terms, you do know my email address. say hello, safari-using-mac-person!

other news?

last week as a graduate this week.

thinking of a new Strategic Direction for my hair will be implemented in the week.

little bunny is chewing on something, quite ominously over a mountain of sheets. ah, it's just straw. yes, i have straw on my bed.

job wondering at the moment, oh directings come to me, silly mind work things out, but i have long term goals, yes, need neater ones tidier ones... directive ones finding my way ones, saving money ones.... this is the plan, my dears, the plan, forward onwards.
justine told me today, when she could see how canberra makes me feel - 'this place is a means to an ends. NOT the end.'

the sleepiness hasn't faded. had a weekend where i Did more things than usual though.

i saw a movie tonight that utterly delighted me, and ate an icecream. little bunny is increasingly more frustrated with me, due to my harvesting him progressively. sadly, as it's almost summer, and he's an angora, he needs to be completely done, and be a funny little pink squirmy thing at the end of it, but it'll stop him overheating.he's going to have to go to a kennel in a few weeks though, when i'm in melbourne, and i'm slightly concerned the other rabbits are going to laugh at him. at the moment, he has this huge patch on his back that's bald, slowly radiating out each day as i continue harvesting away. strangely, he's got a patch of very short, very dark brown hair on his back, that i thought was darker skintone until i'd gotten the long hair off... i think it's lop hair, and the rest is angora. who knows.

i'm being good with walking home, doing it a few times, usually three or more, per week - walking to work doesn't work as well, it never has - walking home is a wonderful way to unwind and get a simple mindless footstep rhythm going.

operation re-vegenation is getting better. i was tempted by lamb today, but returned to repeat in my mind the image of my bunnies faces. it's easy and emotive and stops me giving in, because the only reason i eat meat is because i am being self indulgent. i can live without the taste, and the stuff in it, and i just need to make sure i eat egg more often and take b12 sups. i have countless reasons for not eating meat, and the only way i can is by not thinking about the reality of eating meat. so i just need to focus on that reality, and the temptation goes.

right now, i am feeling a hell of a lot better than i have been, emotionally, the last week or so. it's been a bad one for me - i've been more drained, more tired, and more stretched in the last two weeks. but then i remembered. this week is the last week of the grad programme. i've been in canberra for over 9 months. i made it. i can do this. i can be a strong person. and i will be. i will be stronger, and more assertive, and more honest about what i want. and i will try and work out what it is i want too, because i do struggle with this. but i feel as though i can start handling it again.

hm

i've worn my ankh every day for the last five years. five? i got it at the end of 2003, so, yeah, five years. i haven't taken the chain off for... god... several years now. and the chain broke. i found the silver chain snaked around my neck, slipping down my back, and the ankh gone.

it wasn't overly expensive. i bought it from the temple of st john the divine in new york city, and i put it on that day, and haven't taken it off. it was a symbol to me of my freedom from an unhappy relationship, and my freedom from fundamentalist christianity. it was not connected to my spiritual path, it was quite simply a piece of jewelery purchased from a beautiful place, in a wonderful city, during a magical week. it reminds me of all of those things, and that is why i wore it. i bought it with lachlan next to me, i bought it with my own money... i fucking love that ankh.
it's just an object, it's no big deal, i know i know... it's probably on the floor, i am sure i noticed it when i got in the shower, and when i got out.. i would have noticed if it was gone, i am sure i noticed a matter of moments after the chain slipped... so the trinket is somewhere in my room buried under the layers of fabric i guess...

i really hope i find it.

so i was thinking...

what cheers me up?
BUNNY

so here is a photo of him. post harvesting. (which is when you gently pull on the hair so it comes out... with angoras, almost all of the hair comes out. i'm guessing that because little bunny is half lop, the lop hair hasn't 'pulled'... so he's not totally bald, just cute and sparse)



and now, i am going to sleep. yes, it is 8 pm. i could say that the excitement of the US election has overstimulated me, but it's just this stupid stupid sickness. sorry, i just need a whinge, and a blog's a better place to do it than to bother other people with it.

you can tell i am tired now that my rambles get shitter. doctor tomorrow will find out what's wrong. getting this dizziness in the back of my head, this tiredness that falls me down.

harvested little bunny so he's ready for summer... about halfway there. he's still fluffy and silly looking, only shorter.

i don't want images

right now because i feel like hell like hell like hell like hell.

and with writing i don't even know where to start, i stumbled home drunk yesterday afternoon over the big bridge over the stupid lake, and got over the bridge, and fell under a tree, shade, sky between branches and cried. it's not romantic, my face goes red and i get snotty and gross and i got covered in bark. i dusted myself off and kept calling lachlan until he called me back. i left another drunk stupid message on jule's phone, a ramble about how the way he says his name on the recorded message sounds like a kitten mewing helplessly, how i was walking home, how i felt miserable, how i would pay for him to visit me, the usual. he's used to drunk phone calls, and we both laugh them off. after you've seen someone passed out on a toilet, or yelled at someone furiously in a crowded bar, or had sex, or all three, and still remain on speaking terms.... not that we really are. i haven't spoken to him since the last time i was in brisbane. the last words i said to him were those hollered drunken abuse in a bar, when i rammed my fist into a wall, and curled up in a ball in the corner, behind the space invaders machine, and sobbed hysterically. i'm friends with the barmaid, she comforted me, and a dear dear friend from canberra, who happened to be in brisbane too, held me. he calls me, frequently, his voice breaking on the messages he leaves, but i can't, sober, bring myself to return the calls.

i don't want tags. i don't want identity. i feel that skin crawling desire to depart myself right now. it'll pass, i know it will, i just have to accept it, not fight it, accept it, not fight it... breathe my way through, sleep my way through, bleed it out, because i'll be ok.

...

....the last time i self mutilated was over five years ago. i was near hysterical in the middle of my first break up, gutwrenched in my bedroom at my parents house, and i cut three lines into my calf.

i got drunk and text messaged a friend in brisbane, saying i was drunk, and lonely and missed them. we dated early last year, and the second to last time i was in brisbane, i got drunk and had sex with him again. i miss him right now not because i have feelings for him, but because he is really tall, and really warm. his hugs make the world go away and get all swallowed up in how huge he is. i miss lachlan more, so so so much more and i cry just thinking about how much i want to go home right now. i can avoid how much i hate this place sometimes because there are things/people i love here. a few of each. but i want to go home so horribly right now. i want someone from two years ago here, or a year ago, or a long time. someone who has a solid knowing of me. i want past i want those memories i want substance.

....you might hate me, oh yes, but trust me. you have nothing on how i feel about myself. utterly nothing at all.

raintime lightning time happy time.

today.
i saw currawongs fighting and got swooped.
took bunny to park.
watched dr who with nemo
did sleeping.
did more sleeping
thought about craft. did sleeping instead.

listening to the storm now, it's light rain sudden thunder, softness good for sleeping.

slept all day, feeling much more sane, feeling...
my head hurts a little, the dull ache i constantly have from the stupid-whatever-it-is that's wrong with me.

today was a day for Big Bunny, tomorrow, little bunny goes with me to cafe and park. i sat with big bunny in the yard today, he dug little holes and ate little bits of grass, and played in the dirt. i had to dust him off before he went back upstairs because the dust had turned him a soft grey.

oh, and you? i trust you. and that's harder for me than i love you. but i do.

tired and angsty

the angst is simply a result of being so exhausted i fee like i could sleep for the rest of my life. this makes me vulnerable to the voices in my head.

the pathetic lame thing is that i do have voices in my head. i intellectually know they are me, and i know how to deal with it, don't worry. but the more exhausted i get, the more the voice, that feels disembodied and seperate from my mis-labelled 'thing' i call soul, likes to just holler abuse. it's usually along the lines of 'you are pathetic. pathetic. nothing. fuck, just fucking shut up. you are utterly useless.' i've learned after shitloads of therapy not to get into a mental debate with the voice, but to just let it rant, and watch it and not take it on board. accept that this is how i feel about myself. don't argue with it, because that gives me the idea that it's something external to me, and thus starting a fun fun path to disasociative identity disorder. i just need to not get into fights, let the part of me that's angry have a cry, listen to it, and then gently say it's wrong, and that i'm fucking great.

i get really, really fucking sick of having to have this talk with myself. honestly, yeah, it's no big deal, i can manage the voices in my head fine most of the time. but when i'm tired and sick and homesick, it's that much harder.
too sleepy to write more.

the mountain goats....glee-gleeeee

here's some true to life moments with elizabeth. that's what i look like in front of the computer in the evening, staring at the screen wide eyed buzzing whiteness into my retinas.
list time.

1. just impulsively bought tickets to see the mountain goats in brisbane in december, and plane tickets. i don't have to pay for somewhere to stay, and *smiles sweetly* might be able to get airport transport sat night. it's pretty much just to see them - i'm in melbourne when they play sydney, and back in canberra when they play melbourne. argh. it's messy. but! mounty-goats!

2. falling in love is more fun/mad/insane/normal when you do it in the wrong places.

3. OPAC's and databases are amazing. seriously. being a librarian before them would have been hideously harder. i've spent the last few days digging through every issue of australian rolling stone from 1989 to present, trying to see if there was one with Nick Cave on the cover. strangely enough, there was not. but this just made me overwhelmed with gratitude for the Internet, which makes finding information so much easier. god, i love the internet.

4. i don't do the 'librarian' blog thing well. mainly because i am a selfish little selfinterested cunt, that tends to think my internal rants are more worthy of being written and thought out than my musings on my profession. and also, i tend to like to leave work at work, and spend my spare time being self indulgent. such is the luxury of youth. speaking of which, i got Carded last night!! *grins* awwwwww. he thought i could be under 18! how kind.

5. i become more entranced with orange juice the more i listen to them. other bands i adore, like 'ambitious lovers' have a similar shambolic charm to them. but god, orange juice do it with such balance, such... panache.

6. being tired all the time sucks. the doctor called me today, well, receptionist, saying the doctor wanted to see me very soon. this means something Nasty showed up on the bloodtest. so, lets take a bet. -more severe glandular fever? - -b12 fucked up?- -hormone levels in hell?- take a pick... pick a card.... any card...

mmmmsleepytime now.

bouncing around to orange juice

not me, bunny. the second i started playing orange juice, he started running around in mad circles, doing the amazing little flying bounce in the air thing that he does. it's amazingly cute. i tend to feel bad that i let little bunny run around more than the Big One, but i'll offer an Out Of Cage Time for big bunny, and he shows no interest.

today, i had to go to the doctor, to get new scripts, check blood test results (no, i don't have HIV, Heb b or c, an iron problem....etc, etc... but i do have glandular fever. oh Joy.). while i was there, the doctor did the 'concerned doctor face'... looking at my acne, oh so sadly... 'oh, god, that's looking terrible at the moment.'

you know what? who fucking cares. it's my skin. it doesn't hurt. it's not burning. i don't care if there are small scars. it won't kill me, or, god, even hurt me. however, having it pointed out just makes me feel shit. and irritated. and very very dubious about doctors intentions. i clearly don't mind a great deal. but hell, you'll sell more medication if i need four topical applications, and a drug that might make me infertile, so that a couple of small lesions on my face, that no one other than me notices. better still was a leaflet i saw in the doctors office, explaining that the frustrating, socially crippling 'illness' of acne is TREATABLE!!! and CURABLE!

yeah. irritated.

in better news, ... um... i saw the PM today. he had hair. that's about all the observations i care for. and leonard cohen touring. that's ace.

feminism, not proust

the encyclopedia of australian feminism is the current reading material. he feels, now he is ball-less, that, like morrissey (who he seems to enjoy listening to) he should be spending his time in the women's section of the library. so he's starting on the encyclopedia. i dunno why, i recommended bell hooks's feminism is for everyone, but he insisted. i think it's because it sits open without needing to hold it. lazy little cunt.

amazingly awesome searchterms.

from someone in america today: "poo" "gmail chat" "how to do"

exactly what does this mean? that's amazing. how to do a poo using gmail chat? i can't think of what else this would be for. utterly baffling.

from someone in Armenia: dialogues about autumn

i'm sorry my autumn girl discussion was lame. and not a very good dialogue about autumn.

from someone else in america: superhero craft girl

from someone in california: pubic hair

hope you liked my rant.

and to end, on a Lovely note

from another american friend: beautiful raining day

walking

i ate a lot of garlic yesterday and today, and my sweat smells like garlic. it's not an offensive smell to me, but i'm fairly sure it's more offensive to others. god, i love garlic.

list time:
1. walking to work and home from work was great. i did mentally gripe, and verbally gripe, but it's actually a good thing. i liked doing it. i'm going to keep doing it. i feel better for it; more awake, more alert.

2. however, i feel profoundly grumpy. i think this might be due to cutting down the refined sugar in my diet, through aiming to eat better. it makes me feel very, very cranky pants.

3. little bunny chewed through my ipod cord. bad bunny. Bad. awww but his little face is so cute, gawd i love him.

4. speaking of, my own issues are frustrating me. yes. i don't care, that's how i feel, i'm not apologising for it. i wish i wasn't so terrified of emotional intimacy. that level of human-ness scares me deeply. i can fuck any stranger, but if someone wants deeper, god, i get like a shy little bunny and scuttle around head into holes. i am no longer an All Powerful Amazon Warrior. i get scared. i need to re-settle into a headspace. but a lot of things that were really, really worrying me - mainly the feelings of a third party in a situation in am in, have been clarified, and i feel so much better, so much less mean, nasty, stealer, than i did. it's all good in that respect. now the only thing i need to work my way through is my self. oh goody. you know what that means? Navel Gazing! with the fishy. he will help me. with his fishy, fishy goodness. mmmmfishy.

5. snortle snortle goes little bunny. snortle. he keeps chewing on my copy of 'intercourse' which is amusing. is he bitter about the depiction of intercourse in novels as well? or just bitter because he has no testicles? or does he just like the texture of the paper? i guess i'll never know. he also pissed all over my study guide for uni, which made me giggle, and give him a cuddle. we feel the same, there, little dude. totally the same.

6. sigh, i feel homesick at the moment for brisbane, something chronic. i can't go home til jan. it's almost november though. only two months. i can make it.

hungry ghost take too

he walks up to me, mutable; face shifting from visage to visage.
it settles quietly on wide eyes that move from dense to lighter, flickered and solid, back and forward. his hair light, drops forward to cover his eyes from time to time, gesture to gesture, lilt to lilt. lips damp and thick and soft... and all so memorable that i sigh at my imaginations gutteral repetitive nature.

he wears a tight black suit hung over a tall and understated muscular frame, slightly dirty as though he's been out all night with red wine and cigarettes, but still tidy. a bit tom waits maybe, wanting to be cohen, or wanting to be both.

i digress.

he wanders, laconic, juggling three strange liquid balls, oh so fluidly, effortlessly, loping along, a sly grin on his face. pause to look at me : raises an eyebrow.

: of course you want these balls, elizabeth :

:fuck off, whoever you are... god, why can't lachlan come. i know you're just going to talk bullshit at me, and leave me stunned in a corner:

: but i have carrots :

:and i, your mule?: i mutter :cunt: under my breath. he doesn't hear me.

: come on, elizabeth, take them.... see how shiny they are oh watch them fly... :

fingers slipping between them, and over them, oh they whir so fast. i get sick of his games, but i kind of know i'll play them anyway.

la la

these are getting less and less flattering.

i've been feeling progressively denser in the last few weeks, and today, i worked out why! i am a lazy, lazy shit. you see, dear audience, i used to walk 45 minutes to work every day. it would take that long if i was walking slow, but it was, in all honestly, about a 30 minute walk. today, i walked home from work. and realised, that at a slow, unfit pace, it took about 25 minutes.
i will save about $30 a week if i stop catching the bus, and start getting off my not fat, but unhealthy arse, and walk to work, and home from work. i mean, i'm not even out of breath by it. not even tightened slightly. and i feel more human than i have in ages. go team me!

i even got home, cooked dinner, did washing up, and now feel awake enough to blog and watch tiny-bunny being cute. he's flopping his little ears from side to side. sneezing a bit, which worries me still though.

walking is wonderful. i talked to all sorts of hungry ghosts. wrote a venting letter to my first boyfriend's ex wife apologising for being the other woman (despite the fact he told me they weren't together, i still feel strange about it all years on.) i vented to myself, i thought, i moved my feet one after another i mused and i ... felt more human again. so, walking yay.

lolita

i am actually starting to hate it, to the point of dragging myself through it. the lushness of the language is now more like overripe food, or something that's so overwhelming it's gross, because you can just smell that it is starting to rot. it is an ugly book for all the beautiful language. the relationships are ugly. the people are ugly. the setting is evoked wonderfully, lusciously, but through the eyes of someone so ugly as for it to colour the vision so thoroughly as to make it ugly too. haven't got that much left of it though, will keep marking time with it.

watching morrissey clips, in celebration of the fact he might.is touring australia in jan/feb. i need to pick a state.states to see him in - melbourne, cause the crowd would be good, the venue good, the excuse to go to melbourne good. brisbane, because it is home. both perhaps. now cure clips, to get over the pain of the .. underwhelming new album.found a wonderful, fast version of 'disintegration'.

tags

currently tagging old entries for the fun of it. see. i know how to party, mo fos.

it's early afternoon and i haven't eaten yet. this state of affair is more than slightly sad.

i am reading lolita at the moment, enjoying the lushness of the language, find the main character less repulsive than i do nabakov for the depiction of the child, still a problematic thing, because i remember being a 12 year old girl, and 12 year old girls are sexual creatures. they want to fuck. still, i am thinking the novel is more a stylistic exercise than an exploration of paedophilia, i don't know, i need to read more background i guess. the language is, however, undeniably beautiful, though i am finding it slightly purple at the time, and am given to skipping the endless description. so sue me.