Take a walk on the Flipside

It's been a while and I have but twelve minutes or so in which to unleash my thoughts! What have I done of consequence since we last spoke?

About eight champagnes, three fictional chapters, 200 emails, 20 meals later ... this could go on forever. For now I am stuck in the strange twilight of Tuesday evening, feeling tired and out of sorts. I am heading for another upheaval (I can feel it in my bones) and feel quite weary at the prospect. But still, living here makes me even more weary at times, with too much twiddle and twaddle and gossip for my liking!

Posted by at 5:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Ooh, that title sounds ominous. But you know, it's really not.

I have long been the kind of girl that does as she pleases, then hates herself afterwards. In recent years, mindgul of my own terrible limitations, I have walked the tightrope between should and would, tipping ever so slightly into the side of temptation then managing to veer back the other way. But faced with something delicious, I waver, I wobble. I try to balance my yearning - sexual desire, cravings - against my desire for sensibility, my desire to be loved by all and sundry, and I come up with nothing but turmoil and confusion.

My, how tempting it is to let someone coax me into sexy conversations, to let them titillate me with clever words that whip around my spine and snake their way into my cerebral cortex. Forget sexy thighs, rippling muscles and sparkly eyes, if you've got my mind, if you make me laugh, you have me switched on and quivering in anticipation. The kind of sex that follows these experiences is invariably fun, friendly and playful, the golden labrador of fucking, exciting and exhiliharating. And if you're sexy too, well oh la la.

Problem is, when someone belongs to someone else, it ain't just a spanner in the works. I have vowed to leave these ways behind. "How would you feel" I ask myself, "If that was you?"

Isn't it obvious?

If some femme fatale came and spun her tales around my man, I would want to claw out her eyes. If she was sexy, it would be like a knife to the heart. If she was tall and thin, a blow to the solar plexus. Cap it off with bright, blinking brown eyes, glossy hair and gigantic tits and I would be writhing on the floor. Plain, boring and dull? I would die.

So why, then, do I flirt? I have often wondered if it was something about me that encourages that sort of thing. That vein of sexuality runs hot through me, and I'm half turned on all the time. I am teased and tormented by the idea of sex - especially now - and when someone I desire turns their eyes on me, it's almost impossible to resist.

This isn't innocent, by any means, and if it goes too far I will again find myself on the otherside of accuations, distrust and distaste. I can go and kiss any man I want, so why is it the ones with flashy eyes and clever words that grab me so hard.

"...you are young, gorgeous, full of promise and sizzle with a beguiling eroticism," he says.

He may as be wearing the words "I WANT TO FUCK YOU" on his t-shirt. That turns me on more than it should.

Posted by at 4:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

She shook it violently, once, twice, three times, but the thin blue line was still there - definite, not blurred. Heart racing, she stared blankly at the back of the toilet door for a few seconds and exhaled deeply. Then - "FUCK!" - she stood, yanked her knickers violently over her thighs and kicked the door open.

Outside, the sun beat down harshly on the backyard, Shivering despite the heat, she sank down onto the prickly grass and tried to imagine how he would react. Plucking absentmindedly at a weed, she pictured the way the corners of his eyes would crinkle as he processed her words,

Posted by at 6:22 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

I feel like I have come late to this CD burning revolution - natch, I believe the technology has entirely passed me by. So over the past week, as I have fed shiny CD after shiny CD into my hungry laptop, I have had somewhat of a revelation! She who scratches CDs almost without fail now has a method of protecting all the fine tunes.

Addendum: Also discovered the "joys" of music downloading. After assurances from my housemate that it was safe, two albums later my computer was in possssion of a nasty trojan that switched off my virus protection and tried to eat through my files. Damn that illegal thrill of saving a few dollars - it's a sticky path to walk indeed.

Posted by at 4:44 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

In keeping with this new habit o'mine and with an hour to spare, I am pleased to find myself again sitting here, buttons chinking annoyingly on the keyboard and brain all full of fizz. I was lying in the bath just then, trying to read, when the bubbles started hissing new possibilities into my damp, cloggy ears.

"Go and live in the country!" they hissed. "When they ask you to do it, grin and say aye!" Contemplating the porcelain, I pictured myself wearing saggy clothes and caked in dirt, wiping my beleagured brow covered in the salt of the earth, staring at the sky and praying for rain. ah, how melodramatic. I saw myself being hesitant, signing up for a local netball team under the watchful gaze of big, strapping country lasses with scarred knees and elbows.

Scooping up my cats like a pair of furred, clawful handbags, I will be able to put myself wherever I wish. The future stretches out ahead like a searing white blue sky, hard to study ... I cast my eyes askance. I have made tentative steps and now my soul demands more. The months are suddenly shimmering, fluid - if i poked them they would wobble uncontrollably.

I have spent the past few days feeling clingy and even lonely, at times. I have spent so long building this warm, encompassing space around me that on some level it seems like madness to leave it all behind. But in new environments there are stories, and I'm not ready to draw on this space for inspiration. I can see myself in years to come, one of those batty old ladies drifting the streets of Mt Lawley and collecting people's souls to exchange for stories. But now, I can see myself drinking pastis in Paris, shimmering my hand across someone's shirt in Melbourne, floating quietly in the warm waters of the Balearics, hand trailing a lazy path and sweat collecting in pools in my belly button.

I was not born rich, but these experiences can be mine. All I have to barter with is words, and I want them to be my livelihood and my currency. Leaving home needs a deep breath, a brave leap into the unknown, a series of goodbyes. But somewhere out there is my next hello, and I want to find it.

Posted by at 5:03 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

Oo er there's a big bad world of blog out there, it seems. I feel like a slow learner! And I'm only here because I'm bored and waiting for 'Who wants to be a millionaire' to start ..

Oh, that reminds me ..

Ahh, bollocks. Another $8.90 down the train and the capitalist train derailed once again. It never ceases to frustrate me that I am rich only in imagination - sometimes. I actually believe I am going to win occasionally, feeling lucky when I walk past a lottery kiosk and conveniently forgetting about all the deliberate placing of imagery to sucker me.

Strange though. I feel like the stars/god/universe/deities are smiling on me recently - work is going well, people are giving me dirty smouldering stares that shoot pangs straight to my naughty bits, I won clothes and hair dos and hair stuff (!!) and people are coming out of the woodwork to offer me money for my work. Makes me feel terribly cautious - my maudlin edge demands that I regard luck or good fortune with suspicion. It never seems to last.

I think I had better not read other people's blogs - god knows I spend my life measuring my shortfalls and the last thing I need is for an exercise as peaceful as this to become laboured and competitive. This is mine alone. If I want to say "and then I got up, and then I scratched my butt, and then I brushed my teeth" then that is perfectly allowable, if a little unsavoury.

Interesting - the noise I had attributed to cats on the roof is actually blistering rain and thunder.

Dinner was delicious - I don't remember the last time I sat and ate my way through about 20 king prawns in a legitimate setting. This diet is certainly weird, and feels wrong in many respects. Don't get me wrong, I love chowing through a piece of animal as much as the next girl, but this lack of vegetables is starting to make me crazy.

F texted me today to say that he had been accepted into his massage course. I was clearly the first person he told, which made me feel good and terribly sad at the same time. I can only be happy for him. As I was saying to K the other day, something in me has changed - for the better, I must be sure.

I went round there the other day wanting to make him feel bad because I was hurting at the inevitable rejection from friends. But lashing out at him made him cry and made me feel like a piece of shit. I derived no pleasure at all from upsetting him - it didn't make me feel better, or powerful ... just cruel. There was nothing for it but to back off and soothe. I felt so strange afterwards, as though I had finally moved away from the me of old, the angry, bitter ball of fire determined to wreak havoc on the external in response to the internal. Actually, it left me feeling tired and unsure. I can't hate him - he doesn't deserve it by any means - so I have to let it go. How strangely empty that feels.

Posted by at 6:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)