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The day of the latin exam. I left my lifeskills book somewhere, I revised for the wrong exam, I had a bass lesson, Emma told me that a weird lady on the apprentice does the same funny thing with her mouth...
I went to cubs, saw Rory, decided that large groups of small children are annoying, oh and I went to biology catch-up and, thank gods I brought Angela with me, because we were the only two there...
The guy in my class whose name I won't mention teased me about telling someone something again, my memory fails me...
Julia Hazelhurst crossed the street and walked into the cacophony of her metropolis. She stooped under awnings and peered into 3rd floor windows. She was 30ft tall, with huge glass eyes that winked in the sunlight. The rain washed her damp red ringlets, and dusted the lint off her jacket. She liked words, and used them whenever she could. Her world was fake - a doll's world, a make-believe. But it was real too.
Do you ever get it when the sea looks like bad graphics? Or flowers look like their petals are just material?
Julia was like that.
Friday - it was good. You text me when I was in the car, and we talked about journeys. Kinda ironic, but I made an effort not to translate it as a universal message. The story we read together had made me weary, afraid of seeing myself reflected in someone else's writings. Poor Julia. I guess I was sorta nervous about tomorrow. On the 9th I will be extremely embarassed by a video of me that my English class watched.
I'm sure the frost was beautiful. Cold and crisp, but faded in the fog of my short memory. Another day lost.
The Great Duck Quest.
We made it passed evil clowns and swarms of bees. We crossed the pipe that stretched over a bottomless cavern. We made it through snowy gardens, with no map and no sense of direction.
And yes, we found the ducks.
It was fun. I laughed a lot. I was sorry to cut it short. I was late (as usual). But there was that wonderful comfortable feeling that you only realy get when you're with friends. I discovered new places, new things. It was an amazing day. Thank you, for everything.
And I can't breathe but it
doesn't matter because I'm with
you, and we're all together so
what if I'm sometimes thinking about something
else? It's not that important because
friends come first. So I want
to make this friendship work. And I'll
laugh forever with them all because I love
them really. Even if I
have to leave it there.
Don't try to understand
this because my creativity just
died and I'm trying to get back from
tradegy on the radio thank
you Alice cake or
Latin Literature. An Assassin. No snow. A sing-along. An essay. My memory is slipping away.
This month is going to be unordered. My means of writing (the computer) are broken, and this is being written in a few spare moments of a lesson. We are writing anyway, a story in fact, but it is Tuesaday. My sory is about a detective, who is being chased by a clown at this moment in time. He has a cool name - Benedict Maximillian David Smith. I'm getting to know him.
Jazz piano. Red room. Pesto. That funny longing feeling. Christmas carols.
Today it really was a winter wonderland. Faerytale trees, complete with candy cane clouds. Icicle frosts, creeping spider-webs of the stuff curling round lampposts and windows. The early morning sun rose up, a burning ball of fire in the midsts of the snow. I love it when it's like this. The world is shielded and beautiful, curtains of ice rising from the stage. Clear ice blue. I shiver violently with cold, but I still marvel at the artistic talent of Mother Nature.
It's dark again now. These are dark days, so we have to treasure the light within...
I wrote the first of my christmas cards tonight. Nothing special, and not too many, but I still wrote them. It felt funy, as I'm not feeling very festive yet, to be writing them. I also attended my brother's nativity. It's his last one, and I went to be, you know, supportive. I haven't seen his classmates for so long - they've all changed beond recognition. I guess that's what my family is going to say about me when I go and see them this christmas. I haven't seen them for just under 4 years.
I've missed my cousin's toddler years.
Just read your words. I'm so irregular at this now, it's getting me down. I need to catch up, but I'll probably regret writing this so early in the day, in case something AMAZING happens later. Here goes...
Don't. The best conversations are the ones that don't make sense. That way you can make them your own and they'll last for longer. It's the getting there thay counts. We went nowhere, but we traveled so far. Into space, with the stars (and the ducks). And so what if we got a little lost?
I will try to be more... something.
She put her hand to my forehead. 'You're burning' she told me, a worried expression on her face. I guess I was, with a temperature of 38.9. I lay shivering on the bed, almost crying with cold. 'You're burning' she said again. I shook my head, and reached for the quilt. 'No, you mustn't - you're burning'. I rocked myself into a half-sleep, stomach clenching. I couldn't tell her how cold I was, my sandpaper throat bleeding.
The mirror showed me a face so pale it was grey. 'You're burning' she told me. I was unable to speak.
I spent the day in bed again. Restless snatches of sleep, constant tossing and turning, although it hurts to move. I had a lot of time to think.
So here are a few of those thoughts. One, thank you for the poem. And another soul mate has been added to the list, because she can read my mind (even when I don't know what I'm thinking...) so she has every right to be there.
I'll miss this proper winter, because it's a pretty season - but then, aren't they all. My little brother looked after me today. Little Angel.
I'm going to miss them at christmas. We've spent christmas and new year together every year since I can't remember when. I guess I have known them all my life. They might come to 6th form with me - but I'm worried as to how that would affect our relationship. As in, would we get closer if we were together all the time? Somehow I don't think so. We're not very similar, although we get on really well. I was coughing all day again, I can barely talk. It was an early christmas though, with presents and food and the like.
So we don't miss them so much when we're gone.
Another day, worse. Hacking cough continually forcing its way out of my chest. Is it secret, is it safe? Hobbit's feet. Nothing better to do with my time than lie still, concentrate on improving my health. It doesn't look like there's much I can do. We went to the doctor, who refused me antibiotics. That's what happened last time - I was refused, and caught pneumonia. I'll try not to let that happen this time (even if the cells don't really respond to my singing). This is confusion from a raddled brain. All I want is to get better. Please. Please.
A thousand tiny lights, like candles on a river of oil, flickering and floating through the dusted room. Swirling in a mass of confusion order, entering the soul through the eyes of the mind. Running pale hands along paler faces, red hearts beating. Jagged breaths and cracking lips, the steady shallow pumping through veins, the growing of fingernails and hair cells, desperately multiplying. The liquid noise of blinking, the gurgling of a tightened stomach, the creaking of a stiffened joint where the bones grind together as they move.
The body's symphony, original and creative in its own right.
Cradle me, I'll cradle you
I'll win your heart with a wit woo
pulling shapes just for your eyes
so with toothpaste kisses and lines
I'll be yours and you'll be
Lay with me, I'll lay with you
we'll do the things that lovers do
put the stars into our eyes
so with heart shaped bruises
and late night kisses
This song is called Toothpaste Kisses, by The Maccabees. I spent most of the day listening to it, humming to it. It's a good song.
Sirens. Blaring in my head. Are they getting closer or further away? Or is it just the breath whistling through my windpipes?
Oh, it's stopped. Maybe I was just imagining it. I'm going mad, trapped in this house all day long. Breathing stale air, greasy pre-packaged oxygen. I miss it. I will be up and about tomorrow, whether I like it or not; it's the last day of term. I can't miss it. Who knows what will happen?
Sad, isn't it, the way we enter these important points in life with the greatest expectation. Nothing ever happens.
It's a gibbous moon. A rather perfect end to the day I feel.
I am so glad I went to school today.
No one's ever said that to me before, except once via a badly spelt card (which didn't even say it really, so it doesn't count), but that was all just an excuse to my bad reaction.
My reaction should have been to say it back, but louder. I didn't say it very loudly. Nor did I laugh, shout or run about, except in the privicy of my head.
I love you.
The snow is ridiculously beautiful. Especially when it goes past the street light. It's like the stars are shedding.
You're right; I just went up to the village streetlight to check. Stopping to push a car up the hill on the way of course.
Only in this village, in this town, will you get communal pushing-the-car-up-the-icy-hill situation. Only here will you get the silhouette of the man throwing the stick for the dog on the common. It's like living in a fairy tale world every day.
It's pretty amazing.
The snow is thicker than a duvet now. Thicker than the wooliest jumper in the whole world. I'm meant to be leaving tomorrow, but the snow builds up new banks in the roads and blocks the runways and the tracks. I might not miss this white christmas after all.
That doesn't stop it being beautiful. That doesn't stop me appreciating this amazing wonderous landscape, fresh with flakes of milky ice. It doesn't stop that childish feeling inside, that makes you want to scream. I am buoyant with excitement.
And tomorrow I'll leave for a little while. But I'll be back.
Panic setting in through the zips and the locks on the cases. It's cold outside, but the bouncers on the door won't let you through without the final ticket. All important shouts echo across the hall, small chhildren cry or doze through the noise. A constant cacophany of hustle and bustle, all crammed together in the queue for the desk. Trollys shifting many a bag full of bermuda shorts and shades, as we all try to escape. Through security, pat down, passports ready, keep moving we're late, and find a half stained seat while we watch the message board. Airports.
Today... didn't happen.
Tuesday was stolen by the time difference. I spent it crammed up in a half worn seat, unable to move properly. Cloudscape view for miles and miles. Air miles. I slept, curled up tight with my ears popping painfully. We ran through Dubai, then onto a plane again. We flew through the night. The stars were no closer than before, when I was grounded. Stale air, pre-breathed. Plane food. Woken by the sun streaming through two inches of inforced plastic. Back aches, neck aches, no feeling left in my unused feet. Tuesday was stolen.
'Have you got the passports?'
rumage rumage rumage
'I... I can't find them'
'Well, where else would they be?'
'I had them in Sydney, then we had that awful plane ride here - they were in my hand at that point - but I don't remember having them when we were talking to John'
'And little Milly'
'Yes, and little Milly. And Tom, and Mary-lou. But if they're not in the bag, and we didn't have them with John, then they must be...
'... the plane!'
He stands proud, showing us all the plans he's got, all the building work still to be done. This traditional Queenslander house, on stilts for protection against the floods and the snakes, is in the caneland. Nothing but sugar cane, until the eye scans the distant hills.
I crawled inside and slept solid on the sofa, until shaken awake for some food. That's the jetlag, catching up. Milly took my hand and showed me her toys. Four years old, afraid of nothing. She's been bitten by a snake, and broken her arm.
Apparantly I looked the same, last I was here in this stange country.
I have swapped pigeons for parrots.
It's Christmas eve. The girls walks down the street, marvelling at the palm trees that line the road. Someone once told her that this was as close to being in America as you could get, without actually going there. It's very different to what she's used to. It's pretty, but it's not quaint. However, before she makes too strong a judgement, a noise makes her look up. Beautifully coloured birds, in green and red and yellow, sit in the tree above her. The parrots make her smile, as does the rain.
I sat in the large wooden chair, enjoying its scent. Hat upon my head, thoughts wandering to home. The steady drip drip of the rain lulls me, singing sweetly. There is much laughter, much peace. I stood for a while, in the warm wet rain. Let the drips shiver down my arms, my face. It's not christmas, not really. Christmas is in front of the fire, the smell of pine, the taste of sugared pastry. The thought of snow.
Not this warm wet drip on dry dry tongue. My thought wander again, and I smile to myself. Of course... it's in the rain.
They're family. Definitely. We're not related by blood, not at all. My dad's brother, John, married Mary-lou. Her family comes from Australia. Her mother is Liz, who is 6ft and travels the world. Her sister, Annalise, is married to Andrew.
Technically I am not related to them.
That doesn't matter to me. They are my family. I asked them if I could freely consider them to be part of my family. They told me that they already considered us a part of them.
My family grows daily, reaching out in an odd, but warm, embrace.
Warm and wet and green. Two trees entwined like lovers, an arch above a stone. A bird screams, and bats rustle in their cave. It's hard to breathe here, hard to live on this thick sticky air. Far away is the sound of the sea, but here it is mastered by the steady drip drip drip of the constant rain that filters down through the trees. This thudding, breathing forest is captivating. An endless mass of tiny leaves. Stick to the path or you'll never escape.
Open your eyes. Brethe this sweet sticky air. Marvel at the beauty.
She has the cutest giggle. Big hazel eyes, short hair for the heat. My little cousin Milly.
Mum keeps saying I was just like her, last I was down under. Which was 11 years ago.
My brother and cousin Tom are practically best mates this year. It's nice for them to be able to play together, while I chat or keep Milly amused. We took them to the pool (outdoors and still as warm as a bath) in the afternoon. Emily played until there was no one left. I'll miss them when we leave. I'll miss their childhood.
In shorts, welligogs, t-shirt, hat and big pink umbrella (no joke) I picked my way through the long grass. The creek to my left was murky, and filled with bracken. There was a cry of 'snake' from up ahead. I meandered over, peering over shoulders. He'd vanished into the grass. Never mind.
In the evening we were invaded by crickets, that squirmed on our plates and in our hair. I retreated inside, with a glass of bitter water. Although it's beautiful, I couldn't live here. I don't like the isolation. I'm a people person. But I can't deny the beauty.
Bright, brilliant turquoise.
The sea is only ever this colour in pictures. Maybe I'm in a picture after all. The beach is made of coral, and when you swim the fish swim with you, slipping through your hair, your fingers. From a vantage point in the blazing sun I snapped memory frames, as if to prove this is really real. Daydream Island. It really is.
The sea was flat as a pond for the boat home. The wind in my face, sunset on my left. Contented.
Now this is what I call the tropics.
Nothing special. Still hot, still warm, still happy. Hey Liz, if you're out there. I spent another night on Andrew and Annalise's veranda, watching the fireworks.
I reached 2011 before everyone else. Which is essentially timetravel.
I also started 2011 in shorts, which is more than can be said for anyone at home, with all your sub-zero temperatures. I had a good new year's resolution back in September, but I can't remember it. Maybe I'll just concentrate on loving life and staying young.
Today is the first day of the rest of your life. Live it.
The Tip Jar