My Dad is sitting outside on the balcony in the dark, drinking cheap wine and listening to Pink Floyd on a discman really loudly. It's slightly worrying. He was doing the same thing inside earlier, and this has pretty much been the blueprint for how he spends his nights for the last week or so.
It has recently come out (officially) that he and his wife of almost a year had split up, sometime right after Christmas. I met with Scarlett, my ex-step-sister, at a tram stop by the river. She seemed nonplussed by the whole thing, even revealing that her Mom took "like fifty pills" the day after Christmas.
I worry for him.
After dinner, my brain started itching. Words started battering the inside of my skull like fireworks; they needed to go somewhere. So I wrote two poems. Here they are.
The Sea Indoors
I thrash
Mackerel in a net
Balloon on the moon
My body is tethered and rubber banded into place
Motion is fixed in a slow, furious struggle against the line that separates us
I arch
Practicing a type of pain
I am not myself
As much as I am a mere part of everyone else
Slow winds shake through the concrete wasteland
Rippling unfortunate white trousers nearby and tickling my throat
Bared for the slaughter, if you dare
I decay
Gasping desperation
Hot tulips blister behind eyelids
An agile audience only an arm-span away
But there is an ocean between us as I sink amongst the sirens
Adopt me as your sister and I will be home
I surge
Snapping back
The lofty bedlam floats above
Livid blue babies mock and speak in mature vindictiveness
Snap at my heels but you will not have me, I cry fruitlessly
For my voice will bend and dissolve, and be only for me
Traipsing Off the Cliff
Leave me in my shell a bit longer? I am only
half-baked, and chill will swoop like an eagle
should I venture from safety into your jungles.
Come and rain your love down on me
so I might benefit from the vitamins. Rouse me,
my bones lay just beneath the surface, my love
the only red thing left from my collection.
That bicycle, that hair ribbon, that insouciant mouth
could be a liability or a pleasure, if you would stop
and rouse my bones. Sometimes you whisper
my dreams back at me, so much more real than
when I entrusted them to you. Let’s make them seven
of the seventh-seven like me, red like me, then
perhaps they can live in me, my love-dream.
Hand me pane e burro any day over this, grey
patterings, frightening me away from rest.
Why such flowings now? Months and days of
drought striking without consideration; now milk
and honey twenty-four-seven. Hopes and minds
reveal their fecundity without mercy. I know it’s
disappointing, my love. Your little one is no Atlas;
her shoulders shrink and snap like glass filigree.
If only this, if only that. She doesn’t try hard enough.
Peel her and maybe a diamond? No, I’m full of coal
and all the bitterness of generations, pent up in blood and
pretension. Why so close and unyielding, yet you are so far?
When you sleep, I swoon over your eyelashes. I could pass
a whole winter alone, but not this single week without you.
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Thursday, May 10
Sunday, April 8
Mini-Break
I’m laying in bed, sandwiched between sheets with a thread count several hundreds higher than the balance of my bank account, licking crumbs of Krispy Kreme glaze off my fingers and recovering from a Season 2 Sex and the City mini-marathon and thinking about how it is less than 24 hours until my huggle-bunny joins me and we can go frolicking and getting up to all kinds of mischief in the woods.... This is decadence.
It’s Easter, and it seems every year at this time I take a week long sojourn to the country; to eat extravagantly and constantly, put on pretty dresses and makeup everyday for nobody in particular, gossip continuously and consume unnatural amounts of chocolate. Such a description can only fit one place – Aunty Antoinette’s house.
It is nice to be spoiled sometimes. Even if it means I will return to Melbourne several pounds heavier than previously. Hopefully this will not happen – there is a treadmill here, and exercise bike and one of those jiggly things that you strap on and it ‘jiggles’ your fat away. They are all about to become my new best friends for the next three days, along with this laptop. I have been absent for a while, so here comes a big ol’ blog entry long enough to tide anybody over until I have more time and resources.
Something weird was happening here. For practically my entire existence, my Mother’s side of the family (Antoinette is my Mom’s sister) were all older than me and my siblings. We were the babies.
Now my Mom’s younger brothers have started having children, and it is hell. There were three little boys aged about 5, 4 and 3 and a 1 and a ½ year old girl. I suddenly feel a pang of guilt for having inflicted myself on my older cousins when I was between the ages of 1 and 6. It was detestable, but luckily all the children have gone now.
While they were all here though, it just confirmed once again in my head why I will never be a mother. The children just grated on my nerves. They would throw sandwiches on the floor and I wanted to yell at them for being so inconsiderate. They slapped and poked at my puppy until she growled at them, then she had to go outside. They climbed all over me, they decided what movie we watched, they smelt, they put paint everywhere and smeared chocolatey fingers over everything that would stay still.
But the worst part was their parents. Their parents are quite a bit younger than my Mom and some of the other siblings, so I always considered them a bit more fun. But honestly, I am secretly wondering whether parenthood actually has the effect of converting ones brain into mere gray mush. Sitting around the table, basking in afternoon sunshine and sipping Semillon, conversations would formerly revolve around… well, interesting things. Now it’s all crèche, toilet-training, stretch marks, et cetera. It is as if their children have become the only thing they think about. And even the rare, interesting conversations are brought to screeching halts with a, “Oh my God, Tommy, stop throwing pinecones at that bull!” or “Damn, her diaper is leaking again, can you change that honey?” Formerly intelligent, engaging people have become insipid sycophants, pandering to the needs of a small, inconsiderate, self-centred, unintelligent semi-being.
Sorry to everybody with parental aspirations. I suppose I’m just not built that way. My uncle challenged me today with the usual, “Oh, you’ll change your mind. Hormones will kick in and you’ll be baby-mad.” I guess I’m just going to have to disappoint everybody. There are reasons other than my severe dislike of children and babies which contribute to my sentiments. I, coupled with anybody with even slightly iffy genes in the mental health department, would produce the most genetically doomed child ever to exist. I am also an inherently selfish, sometimes unstable person prone to being jealous and holding a grudge – making me very bad parent material. Then there is the fact that I am pursuing a career where I would never get to do those little things that are oh-so-important in raising a child, so I would end up hating the thing once it grew up. All in all, even if I wanted to have children it would still be a bad idea.
So, there is only one thing to do: I hereby declare, adamantly, that I will never, ever have children.
Now, on to things that actually deserve to be written about! (here is the point where everybody who ever read this journal subjugates me to the ‘bitch’ list)…
I am already somewhat on the bitch list with my family though. At least for this weekend. In the long and tedious car ride to the house, several things happened and limits were pushed until I accidentally slapped my younger sister in the face. I had spent 36 hours being her servant, doing everything in my power to make her happy. I let her do a whole bunch of things in my house, I let her have grilled cheese sandwiches after she had refused to eat dinner, I put very subtle caramel streaks in her hair to cheer her up and I spent $50 on doughnuts to appease her. I won’t even go into what she did to me in return, but I can say that she probably would have treated Bush with more respect. So I lashed out - I meant to just push her shoulder roughly enough for her to get the point, but it was dark and the road was bumpy. I gave my 12 year old sister a black eye. Not exactly the proudest moment of my life. I since apologized though and she’s currently reading my books, eating my chocolate and in bed with me and our puppy about to watch a film with me. So I may be a bitch, but I can say sorry.
I was unsuccessful with The Grapes of Wrath. A year ago, I would have been devastated for weeks; crying to everybody I knew and trying to rationalize it in my head with a million different scenarios resulting in them picking someone else who was obviously inferior to me.
Last Thursday came and went. I checked my email a couple of times, sighed, and moved on. Afterwards I managed to say to Lucien, “That sucks,” but didn’t really think about it after that. I was proud.
The other day, Paul and I were discussing over pizza the role of emotions in how we live our lives. He told me of how easy it was for him to practice emotional detachment, whereas I had to confess to being completely ruled by my emotions. It is so stereotypical for a woman and I detest living up to it, but I am ruled by what my heart wants, what my heart tells me to do, et cetera. I am putting in a concerted effort to be a little less affected by everything though, and I think my ‘disappointment’ in not getting Rose of Sharon reflected that. I did want the part, it was a blow not to get it, but I moved on quickly and painlessly. Never before in my life would I have been able to say that, and mean it wholeheartedly.
On to issues less… well, deep, I have discovered a place that is becoming a bit of a haunt. Boheme on Bridge Road is a café-restaurant-bar that I am growing to like a lot. It is light, bright with incredibly high ceilings. They are unpretentious and very casual (something I am very glad of when it is so close to my house – it’s a place I can be seen with no makeup and bad hair days), like an upmarket pub with an emphasis on the food and coffee rather than the drinks. Lucien and I ended up there last weekend whilst looking for dinner; predictably, he ordered a meat-and-everything type pizza in the largest size they had. He was starving and not in the mood to order something subtle or something to enjoy on a sensual level. He just wanted his stomach to be filled as quickly as possible. I ordered a pizza too, and it was divine. Layered with fresh tomato, torn basil leaves, fresh mozzarella, drizzled with olive oil and cracked black pepper, it was topped with huge king prawns and scallops. I have never previously liked scallops, but these were lovely and quite edible!
I am aching to get out and experience more things; visit galleries I have never been to, drink red wine until I actually enjoy it, go to the Melbourne Museum, do things like go to random film festivals or exhibition launches, shop at the Prahran market every time I need food rather than paying three times as much at Safeway for substandard produce, actually go out with old friends for beer and buffalo wings rather than just talk about it. But there is the issue of means. I am realizing more and more that almost everybody I know has been… supported in some way. They live at home, their parents pay their rent, for their books, for their tuition, they have charge cards or trust funds, et cetera. My sometimes best friend Tasi seems to live on another planet nowadays, and is a good example of this divide. She drives a BMW and until recently lived at a $16000-a-year-plus residential college at university, which her parents paid for, of course. During her time at university, she decided she didn’t have enough time to get a job. She then whined to me, expecting real sympathy for the ‘tragedy’ that had befallen her – she had to do bourbon and cokes at her place before she went clubbing, because drinks at the clubs were just so expensive and she couldn’t afford to get drunk there. I think it was at this moment that I realized that the growing divide between us was insurmountable, unless she grew up or I went crazy.
Nowadays she doesn’t go to university anymore and doesn’t understand why her Mom won’t pay her credit card bills anymore. Also, despite living in a perfectly positioned and comfortable home, Tasi wants to move out and is angry that her Mom won’t pay the rent. I hope that the experience of having to work two jobs simply to pay the rent (with no money left over even for ‘pre-drinking’ let alone going out) will bring her down to earth a little and make her realize how ridiculously easy she had everything before she threw it away.
Meanwhile, I am trying to get on my feet in a way that I have never been before. I’m not sure whether I already talked about this, but I got a job. Irony of the century; I will be selling baby goods. But the pay is good for retail, I will be working three daytime shifts a week and it seems to be a quite secure working environment. I am hoping to eventually wangle my way into becoming Assistant Visual Merchandiser or something that I would actually be talented at. Simultaneously, I am halfway through the recruitment process for the cinema at the Jam Factory. Very hopeful – I volunteered myself for lots and lots of night shifts, if I’m successful.
In typing this, I was suddenly reminded by a comparison that Lucien once made. Upon watching Bridget Jones’s Diary, he laughed and said, “Oh, you two are like the same person!” This was a crushing blow; she is undoubtedly endearing, but ultimately it is not a favorable comparison.
But I see his point. For Bridget, she measured her life in pounds of lard, cigarettes smoked and alcohol consumed. I suppose I measure my life and progress too… let’s see. There is my job and how wealthy/non-impoverished it can allow me to be, being happy with my body and feeling occasionally beautiful, being academically brilliant (bah), my relationship with my darling boyfriend, my social life with friends (do I hear a death rattle?), how well I feel I am progressing with my brilliant career, et cetera.
So, in time the issue of capital will sort itself out, and I will feel better than all those people who can live at home or be supported by their parents because I will have worked harder for what I get.
Easter has been a hurdle in becoming Claudia Schiffer’s younger, thinner sister, but I will be back to my hour of exercise a day and no junk food routine tomorrow. I will go and actually get some things for my face so I don’t turn into a prune before I’m 30.
Essays are coming along, albeit slowly, but I am ahead of schedule and full of ideas. Words are flowing and I am so pleased with my brain right now.
Lucien will be here tomorrow night with bells on, and I am getting some ideas together for our little 2 ½ year anniversary weekend away.
Suki asked me to Click Click and I couldn’t make it, but I am determined to have her over for (this is sad, but we love it) a pint and trivia at the pub. Also planning on seeing about yum cha with Daniel, Lucien and Benjamin… could prove to be a stroke of brilliance. There is also a high likelihood that I will be somehow spiriting Paul away to my hometown for a trip down the coast.
As for career, well, I can’t force things. But I can try to create some luck for myself. I will continue hassling agents until they give me a go, I will continue going along to random auditions for theatre and film, and I will continue saving for the course at the Victorian College of the Arts.
I suppose measuring myself in these areas allows me a sense of achievement about myself that I couldn’t otherwise find.
This has been a huge entry… writing about myself is probably more interesting for me than it is for you to read, so I’ll try in future to either be interesting or talk about something else. Journalism/writing is my back-up career of sorts, so I guess I should try harder to be engaging. We’ll see.
But until then, I apologize in advance for writing trash.
It’s Easter, and it seems every year at this time I take a week long sojourn to the country; to eat extravagantly and constantly, put on pretty dresses and makeup everyday for nobody in particular, gossip continuously and consume unnatural amounts of chocolate. Such a description can only fit one place – Aunty Antoinette’s house.
It is nice to be spoiled sometimes. Even if it means I will return to Melbourne several pounds heavier than previously. Hopefully this will not happen – there is a treadmill here, and exercise bike and one of those jiggly things that you strap on and it ‘jiggles’ your fat away. They are all about to become my new best friends for the next three days, along with this laptop. I have been absent for a while, so here comes a big ol’ blog entry long enough to tide anybody over until I have more time and resources.
Something weird was happening here. For practically my entire existence, my Mother’s side of the family (Antoinette is my Mom’s sister) were all older than me and my siblings. We were the babies.
Now my Mom’s younger brothers have started having children, and it is hell. There were three little boys aged about 5, 4 and 3 and a 1 and a ½ year old girl. I suddenly feel a pang of guilt for having inflicted myself on my older cousins when I was between the ages of 1 and 6. It was detestable, but luckily all the children have gone now.
While they were all here though, it just confirmed once again in my head why I will never be a mother. The children just grated on my nerves. They would throw sandwiches on the floor and I wanted to yell at them for being so inconsiderate. They slapped and poked at my puppy until she growled at them, then she had to go outside. They climbed all over me, they decided what movie we watched, they smelt, they put paint everywhere and smeared chocolatey fingers over everything that would stay still.
But the worst part was their parents. Their parents are quite a bit younger than my Mom and some of the other siblings, so I always considered them a bit more fun. But honestly, I am secretly wondering whether parenthood actually has the effect of converting ones brain into mere gray mush. Sitting around the table, basking in afternoon sunshine and sipping Semillon, conversations would formerly revolve around… well, interesting things. Now it’s all crèche, toilet-training, stretch marks, et cetera. It is as if their children have become the only thing they think about. And even the rare, interesting conversations are brought to screeching halts with a, “Oh my God, Tommy, stop throwing pinecones at that bull!” or “Damn, her diaper is leaking again, can you change that honey?” Formerly intelligent, engaging people have become insipid sycophants, pandering to the needs of a small, inconsiderate, self-centred, unintelligent semi-being.
Sorry to everybody with parental aspirations. I suppose I’m just not built that way. My uncle challenged me today with the usual, “Oh, you’ll change your mind. Hormones will kick in and you’ll be baby-mad.” I guess I’m just going to have to disappoint everybody. There are reasons other than my severe dislike of children and babies which contribute to my sentiments. I, coupled with anybody with even slightly iffy genes in the mental health department, would produce the most genetically doomed child ever to exist. I am also an inherently selfish, sometimes unstable person prone to being jealous and holding a grudge – making me very bad parent material. Then there is the fact that I am pursuing a career where I would never get to do those little things that are oh-so-important in raising a child, so I would end up hating the thing once it grew up. All in all, even if I wanted to have children it would still be a bad idea.
So, there is only one thing to do: I hereby declare, adamantly, that I will never, ever have children.
Now, on to things that actually deserve to be written about! (here is the point where everybody who ever read this journal subjugates me to the ‘bitch’ list)…
I am already somewhat on the bitch list with my family though. At least for this weekend. In the long and tedious car ride to the house, several things happened and limits were pushed until I accidentally slapped my younger sister in the face. I had spent 36 hours being her servant, doing everything in my power to make her happy. I let her do a whole bunch of things in my house, I let her have grilled cheese sandwiches after she had refused to eat dinner, I put very subtle caramel streaks in her hair to cheer her up and I spent $50 on doughnuts to appease her. I won’t even go into what she did to me in return, but I can say that she probably would have treated Bush with more respect. So I lashed out - I meant to just push her shoulder roughly enough for her to get the point, but it was dark and the road was bumpy. I gave my 12 year old sister a black eye. Not exactly the proudest moment of my life. I since apologized though and she’s currently reading my books, eating my chocolate and in bed with me and our puppy about to watch a film with me. So I may be a bitch, but I can say sorry.
I was unsuccessful with The Grapes of Wrath. A year ago, I would have been devastated for weeks; crying to everybody I knew and trying to rationalize it in my head with a million different scenarios resulting in them picking someone else who was obviously inferior to me.
Last Thursday came and went. I checked my email a couple of times, sighed, and moved on. Afterwards I managed to say to Lucien, “That sucks,” but didn’t really think about it after that. I was proud.
The other day, Paul and I were discussing over pizza the role of emotions in how we live our lives. He told me of how easy it was for him to practice emotional detachment, whereas I had to confess to being completely ruled by my emotions. It is so stereotypical for a woman and I detest living up to it, but I am ruled by what my heart wants, what my heart tells me to do, et cetera. I am putting in a concerted effort to be a little less affected by everything though, and I think my ‘disappointment’ in not getting Rose of Sharon reflected that. I did want the part, it was a blow not to get it, but I moved on quickly and painlessly. Never before in my life would I have been able to say that, and mean it wholeheartedly.
On to issues less… well, deep, I have discovered a place that is becoming a bit of a haunt. Boheme on Bridge Road is a café-restaurant-bar that I am growing to like a lot. It is light, bright with incredibly high ceilings. They are unpretentious and very casual (something I am very glad of when it is so close to my house – it’s a place I can be seen with no makeup and bad hair days), like an upmarket pub with an emphasis on the food and coffee rather than the drinks. Lucien and I ended up there last weekend whilst looking for dinner; predictably, he ordered a meat-and-everything type pizza in the largest size they had. He was starving and not in the mood to order something subtle or something to enjoy on a sensual level. He just wanted his stomach to be filled as quickly as possible. I ordered a pizza too, and it was divine. Layered with fresh tomato, torn basil leaves, fresh mozzarella, drizzled with olive oil and cracked black pepper, it was topped with huge king prawns and scallops. I have never previously liked scallops, but these were lovely and quite edible!
I am aching to get out and experience more things; visit galleries I have never been to, drink red wine until I actually enjoy it, go to the Melbourne Museum, do things like go to random film festivals or exhibition launches, shop at the Prahran market every time I need food rather than paying three times as much at Safeway for substandard produce, actually go out with old friends for beer and buffalo wings rather than just talk about it. But there is the issue of means. I am realizing more and more that almost everybody I know has been… supported in some way. They live at home, their parents pay their rent, for their books, for their tuition, they have charge cards or trust funds, et cetera. My sometimes best friend Tasi seems to live on another planet nowadays, and is a good example of this divide. She drives a BMW and until recently lived at a $16000-a-year-plus residential college at university, which her parents paid for, of course. During her time at university, she decided she didn’t have enough time to get a job. She then whined to me, expecting real sympathy for the ‘tragedy’ that had befallen her – she had to do bourbon and cokes at her place before she went clubbing, because drinks at the clubs were just so expensive and she couldn’t afford to get drunk there. I think it was at this moment that I realized that the growing divide between us was insurmountable, unless she grew up or I went crazy.
Nowadays she doesn’t go to university anymore and doesn’t understand why her Mom won’t pay her credit card bills anymore. Also, despite living in a perfectly positioned and comfortable home, Tasi wants to move out and is angry that her Mom won’t pay the rent. I hope that the experience of having to work two jobs simply to pay the rent (with no money left over even for ‘pre-drinking’ let alone going out) will bring her down to earth a little and make her realize how ridiculously easy she had everything before she threw it away.
Meanwhile, I am trying to get on my feet in a way that I have never been before. I’m not sure whether I already talked about this, but I got a job. Irony of the century; I will be selling baby goods. But the pay is good for retail, I will be working three daytime shifts a week and it seems to be a quite secure working environment. I am hoping to eventually wangle my way into becoming Assistant Visual Merchandiser or something that I would actually be talented at. Simultaneously, I am halfway through the recruitment process for the cinema at the Jam Factory. Very hopeful – I volunteered myself for lots and lots of night shifts, if I’m successful.
In typing this, I was suddenly reminded by a comparison that Lucien once made. Upon watching Bridget Jones’s Diary, he laughed and said, “Oh, you two are like the same person!” This was a crushing blow; she is undoubtedly endearing, but ultimately it is not a favorable comparison.
But I see his point. For Bridget, she measured her life in pounds of lard, cigarettes smoked and alcohol consumed. I suppose I measure my life and progress too… let’s see. There is my job and how wealthy/non-impoverished it can allow me to be, being happy with my body and feeling occasionally beautiful, being academically brilliant (bah), my relationship with my darling boyfriend, my social life with friends (do I hear a death rattle?), how well I feel I am progressing with my brilliant career, et cetera.
So, in time the issue of capital will sort itself out, and I will feel better than all those people who can live at home or be supported by their parents because I will have worked harder for what I get.
Easter has been a hurdle in becoming Claudia Schiffer’s younger, thinner sister, but I will be back to my hour of exercise a day and no junk food routine tomorrow. I will go and actually get some things for my face so I don’t turn into a prune before I’m 30.
Essays are coming along, albeit slowly, but I am ahead of schedule and full of ideas. Words are flowing and I am so pleased with my brain right now.
Lucien will be here tomorrow night with bells on, and I am getting some ideas together for our little 2 ½ year anniversary weekend away.
Suki asked me to Click Click and I couldn’t make it, but I am determined to have her over for (this is sad, but we love it) a pint and trivia at the pub. Also planning on seeing about yum cha with Daniel, Lucien and Benjamin… could prove to be a stroke of brilliance. There is also a high likelihood that I will be somehow spiriting Paul away to my hometown for a trip down the coast.
As for career, well, I can’t force things. But I can try to create some luck for myself. I will continue hassling agents until they give me a go, I will continue going along to random auditions for theatre and film, and I will continue saving for the course at the Victorian College of the Arts.
I suppose measuring myself in these areas allows me a sense of achievement about myself that I couldn’t otherwise find.
This has been a huge entry… writing about myself is probably more interesting for me than it is for you to read, so I’ll try in future to either be interesting or talk about something else. Journalism/writing is my back-up career of sorts, so I guess I should try harder to be engaging. We’ll see.
But until then, I apologize in advance for writing trash.
Saturday, February 10
Hurtling Along
I feel like a snowball rushing down a mountain, picking up tremendous speed and getting bigger and bigger as I go along. No, I'm not getting fat (quite the opposite, actually) but things are beginning to kick into a much faster, much more furious pace. I'm handling it all quite well, and very proud of myself!
I've had a bit of a revelation in terms of my acting career. Until now, it has always been a case of "I'm going to be an actress when I grow up". I'm 19 and a half, I think that if there was ever a time for me to grow up.. now is it. I can't just keep waiting for things to happen; so I'm going to make them happen.
So.. new goals in life: 1) Become the bestest actress in the world.
2) Become successful in my art, moving to LA and doing great films
3) Marry *certain film star*
He's only.. about 27 years older than me! I think this is perfectly reasonable (Mum, who is 30 years older than me, disagrees)!
It's very simplistic, but I need to start working harder. There are a billion struggling 'talented' actors for every successful, well-regarded one, and I don't want to be one of that group. This post is probably much more helpful for me than entertaining for you to read, sorry.
In other news, I am officially moving on Tuesday. Nowhere near being completely packed, though it should all come together pretty quickly. So much of the things in my room are just junk that will be thrown away, so I'm not sure there is that much left to pack. Shall be fun, I love having a new room!
In other other news, something rather bad happened. My Dad and his wife split up, after only about 6 months of marriage. As much as I dislike the idea of my father being with a woman who is not my mother, I was sort of happy that he had found someone who made him happy. That way I didn't have to worry anymore about him being lonely or sad.
Apparently his wife was absolutely vicious and hurt him a lot in the last couple of months, so hopefully it's for the best. I'm just not feeling too good about the whole deal, and suddenly feeling incredibly obliged to take my Dad out to the theatre.
My stomach is rumbling. I've been ignoring it all day. I'm on a weight-loss crusade, and I will not rest until I am a mere slip of my former self. Right now I am best classed as curvaceous - no, not 'curvaceous' in the way that fat women say they are because saying "I'm fat" isn't quite as alluring on dating sites, but actually curvaceous. I simply do not like it, that's all.
So today I have drunk a LOT of water, had two pieces of organic millet bread toast with ginger marmalade, a small bowl of miso soup and four prawn and lettuce rice paper rolls. Erk, doesn't sound like a proper meal let alone a whole day's worth of food. Oh well, this is the way I will have to get used to eating.
My, this post has been boring. I'm on a self-improvement empowerment spree and I suppose this blog is getting swept along for the ride. At least I'll have a couple of people saying "Go Rose!" or scolding me if I ever pause in my quests to be thin, a movie star and Mrs. *certain film star*.
I've had a bit of a revelation in terms of my acting career. Until now, it has always been a case of "I'm going to be an actress when I grow up". I'm 19 and a half, I think that if there was ever a time for me to grow up.. now is it. I can't just keep waiting for things to happen; so I'm going to make them happen.
So.. new goals in life: 1) Become the bestest actress in the world.
2) Become successful in my art, moving to LA and doing great films
3) Marry *certain film star*
He's only.. about 27 years older than me! I think this is perfectly reasonable (Mum, who is 30 years older than me, disagrees)!
It's very simplistic, but I need to start working harder. There are a billion struggling 'talented' actors for every successful, well-regarded one, and I don't want to be one of that group. This post is probably much more helpful for me than entertaining for you to read, sorry.
In other news, I am officially moving on Tuesday. Nowhere near being completely packed, though it should all come together pretty quickly. So much of the things in my room are just junk that will be thrown away, so I'm not sure there is that much left to pack. Shall be fun, I love having a new room!
In other other news, something rather bad happened. My Dad and his wife split up, after only about 6 months of marriage. As much as I dislike the idea of my father being with a woman who is not my mother, I was sort of happy that he had found someone who made him happy. That way I didn't have to worry anymore about him being lonely or sad.
Apparently his wife was absolutely vicious and hurt him a lot in the last couple of months, so hopefully it's for the best. I'm just not feeling too good about the whole deal, and suddenly feeling incredibly obliged to take my Dad out to the theatre.
My stomach is rumbling. I've been ignoring it all day. I'm on a weight-loss crusade, and I will not rest until I am a mere slip of my former self. Right now I am best classed as curvaceous - no, not 'curvaceous' in the way that fat women say they are because saying "I'm fat" isn't quite as alluring on dating sites, but actually curvaceous. I simply do not like it, that's all.
So today I have drunk a LOT of water, had two pieces of organic millet bread toast with ginger marmalade, a small bowl of miso soup and four prawn and lettuce rice paper rolls. Erk, doesn't sound like a proper meal let alone a whole day's worth of food. Oh well, this is the way I will have to get used to eating.
My, this post has been boring. I'm on a self-improvement empowerment spree and I suppose this blog is getting swept along for the ride. At least I'll have a couple of people saying "Go Rose!" or scolding me if I ever pause in my quests to be thin, a movie star and Mrs. *certain film star*.
Friday, November 24
Bounce Me Higher
I guess I'm in recovery mode. Came close to a relapse, but no cigar - I won the battle this time. To admit this, I'm not saying that everything is peaches and cream, because that is so far from the truth that it is laughable. But things will be improving, and I am feeling more optimistic about it now.
Had to be said. I never intended this journal to become the scrapheap of my mental health issues and self-help mantras; I pulled the plug on my former journal because it became just that. However, sometimes writing something down makes it solid. "I will get better" in my head can just as easily change to "I'm fat" or "University is too hard" or "My father doesn't love me". But the same sentence written down can't morph into something bad unless I let it.
So I won't.
Oh, I decided not to audition for Beauty and the Beast. Auditions were encroaching, and I had a particularly hard week leading up to the audition weekend. I eventually decided that it was too much effort, pain, money and time for such little reward - with politics the way they are, there was no chance and no way that I would possibly get Belle. I might have gotten ensemble, but things are complicated and it would have been given begrudgingly.
I have decided a better option is to try for The Pajama Game, being put on by UMMTA, the University of Melbourne Musical Theatre Association. I might have a chance at a role, it will be closer to my base of operations and who knows.. I might even make some friends at uni.
When I was littler, my family would go to Apollo Bay for two weeks every summer. We'd stay there with most of my extended family (Dad's side) in this big, old beach house. There was a huge willow tree in the backyard with some kind of raft nailed to the branches - our treehouse. Nobody worried that we'd fall out of the tree or get polio from rusty nails. There were chickens in a little run at the back of the yard, and sometimes they would jump the fence. We would chase them with sticks until they got scared enough to jump back into their run.
Each day all of us children would go to the beach as soon as we'd been slathered in sunscreen, and swim and play all day until we were so tired we could do nothing but drag ourselves home to bed. We'd peel our sunburnt skin off and compare it, and poke our hungover uncle asleep under the pool table. We would beg the adults for money to run off to the carnival or buy fish and chips.
But the best part was the trampolines. Every summer, the highlight for me was going trampolining - usually we'd only do it once, but I would look forward to going to Apollo Bay all year because of the trampolines. They were big, Olympic sized trampolines set into the ground so I couldn't fall off and hurt myself. I would jump until I felt sick, whirling, flipping, somersaulting.. screaming and laughing the whole time. I loved the way my hair would swish around my face and I was weightless for a couple of seconds. Adrenaline and endorphines galore. I loved it when my knees would buckle after being on it for ages; I'd land on my feet and crumple down to my knees and fall over on the trampoline.. a giggling, jiggling mess of a girl in socks and leggings. I loved it.
I'm beginning to crave it again. Definitely literally, but maybe figuratively as well. I want things to happen. Good things. Things that are so intensely wonderful they make me laugh and fall over. Things that make me smile until my face hurts, and I feel like my chest is going to burst open and rain little love-hearts, stars and flowers on everyone.
My shrink suggested today that I should take a.. patron of sorts. Perhaps an older man to provide some sense of companionship, in exchange for some sort of sponsorship. Nothing sexual, nothing untoward, nothing like that at all. Nothing that Lucien would have a problem with, of course. I suppose I'll have to explore the option further with my shrink, he said there were more people looking for that type of companionship than I would think. The idea freaks me out somewhat, I suppose I have changed a lot in recent times. Lots of things that I thought I'd never be able to do are suddenly things that I have done without looking back. I guess I'm growing up a bit.
Had to be said. I never intended this journal to become the scrapheap of my mental health issues and self-help mantras; I pulled the plug on my former journal because it became just that. However, sometimes writing something down makes it solid. "I will get better" in my head can just as easily change to "I'm fat" or "University is too hard" or "My father doesn't love me". But the same sentence written down can't morph into something bad unless I let it.
So I won't.
Oh, I decided not to audition for Beauty and the Beast. Auditions were encroaching, and I had a particularly hard week leading up to the audition weekend. I eventually decided that it was too much effort, pain, money and time for such little reward - with politics the way they are, there was no chance and no way that I would possibly get Belle. I might have gotten ensemble, but things are complicated and it would have been given begrudgingly.
I have decided a better option is to try for The Pajama Game, being put on by UMMTA, the University of Melbourne Musical Theatre Association. I might have a chance at a role, it will be closer to my base of operations and who knows.. I might even make some friends at uni.
When I was littler, my family would go to Apollo Bay for two weeks every summer. We'd stay there with most of my extended family (Dad's side) in this big, old beach house. There was a huge willow tree in the backyard with some kind of raft nailed to the branches - our treehouse. Nobody worried that we'd fall out of the tree or get polio from rusty nails. There were chickens in a little run at the back of the yard, and sometimes they would jump the fence. We would chase them with sticks until they got scared enough to jump back into their run.
Each day all of us children would go to the beach as soon as we'd been slathered in sunscreen, and swim and play all day until we were so tired we could do nothing but drag ourselves home to bed. We'd peel our sunburnt skin off and compare it, and poke our hungover uncle asleep under the pool table. We would beg the adults for money to run off to the carnival or buy fish and chips.
But the best part was the trampolines. Every summer, the highlight for me was going trampolining - usually we'd only do it once, but I would look forward to going to Apollo Bay all year because of the trampolines. They were big, Olympic sized trampolines set into the ground so I couldn't fall off and hurt myself. I would jump until I felt sick, whirling, flipping, somersaulting.. screaming and laughing the whole time. I loved the way my hair would swish around my face and I was weightless for a couple of seconds. Adrenaline and endorphines galore. I loved it when my knees would buckle after being on it for ages; I'd land on my feet and crumple down to my knees and fall over on the trampoline.. a giggling, jiggling mess of a girl in socks and leggings. I loved it.
I'm beginning to crave it again. Definitely literally, but maybe figuratively as well. I want things to happen. Good things. Things that are so intensely wonderful they make me laugh and fall over. Things that make me smile until my face hurts, and I feel like my chest is going to burst open and rain little love-hearts, stars and flowers on everyone.
My shrink suggested today that I should take a.. patron of sorts. Perhaps an older man to provide some sense of companionship, in exchange for some sort of sponsorship. Nothing sexual, nothing untoward, nothing like that at all. Nothing that Lucien would have a problem with, of course. I suppose I'll have to explore the option further with my shrink, he said there were more people looking for that type of companionship than I would think. The idea freaks me out somewhat, I suppose I have changed a lot in recent times. Lots of things that I thought I'd never be able to do are suddenly things that I have done without looking back. I guess I'm growing up a bit.
Sunday, October 29
Legend of the Dog-Faced Woman
My aunt. I shudder at the very thought of her.. she's horrible.
Picture this - a short, wide middle-aged woman who lives in regional Victoria. In an effort to be 'trendy', she has orangey straightened hair cut in layers around her shoulders, clashing nastily with her rosacea-ravaged skin. She never wears any makeup and dresses in anything neutral coloured, box-shaped or masculine. Her voice is enough to strip the paint or flesh from anything and send me into spasms... but the worst part is what comes out of her mouth.
Never before have I met anybody so pig-headed, small-minded, selfish, stupid, unreasonably arrogant, racist, rude and idiotic as her. She's quite simply a waste of space.
Today at my cousin's birthday party, we were sitting on the patio talking about Al Gore. My Dad was telling the others about his views and what he had seen in An Inconvenient Truth about global warming. My Dad actually works in sustainable energy and has the EPA's phone number on speed dial, so it's all very relevant for him. He was talking about how dire things would be if the ice cap on top of Greenland did slip, how it would trigger major tsunamis that would affect countries next to the Atlantic, how the sea would rise 20ft resulting in many major city centres being underwater.
All my Aunt asked was, "What about R___ [the regional town she lives in]? Will it be underwater?".
My Dad said, "Probably not, it's a fair way above sea level."
She started laughing and said, "Good, because that's all I care about. Ha, imagine that.. I'd have a beach front property! Wonder how much that'd sell for.. two acres right on the beach!" She then started laughing.
I looked at her like she'd just shot baby Jesus in the head, and my other Aunts clued in and told her to shut up. What a cow and a half.. I couldn't believe that anybody could be so callous and stupid.
More happened though.. I have a new cousin, who I did not know about. She is apparently a couple of weeks old, and absolutely tiny. Everybody was commenting on how much weight she'd put on, and I felt sick. She was miniscule and very frail looking - her mother smoked and drank copiously all through the pregnancy. It's disgusting. She shouldn't have been allowed to have a child. At the gathering, she just foisted her baby off onto everybody else and sat around outside smoking and drinking again. Unbelievable.
It's petty, I know, but I am annoyed that she and I share the same middle name - Rose (yes, Rose is my middle name in real life). My grandmother's middle name is Rose, her daughter is called Rosemarie, and I (her granddaughter) has Rose as my middle name. When my parents had me, they asked my grandmother if they could use the name as a way of honouring her. Since me, two more of her granddaughters have had Rose as their middle name.. without asking, and it's ticking me off.
Grrr! Bad vibes everywhere!
Picture this - a short, wide middle-aged woman who lives in regional Victoria. In an effort to be 'trendy', she has orangey straightened hair cut in layers around her shoulders, clashing nastily with her rosacea-ravaged skin. She never wears any makeup and dresses in anything neutral coloured, box-shaped or masculine. Her voice is enough to strip the paint or flesh from anything and send me into spasms... but the worst part is what comes out of her mouth.
Never before have I met anybody so pig-headed, small-minded, selfish, stupid, unreasonably arrogant, racist, rude and idiotic as her. She's quite simply a waste of space.
Today at my cousin's birthday party, we were sitting on the patio talking about Al Gore. My Dad was telling the others about his views and what he had seen in An Inconvenient Truth about global warming. My Dad actually works in sustainable energy and has the EPA's phone number on speed dial, so it's all very relevant for him. He was talking about how dire things would be if the ice cap on top of Greenland did slip, how it would trigger major tsunamis that would affect countries next to the Atlantic, how the sea would rise 20ft resulting in many major city centres being underwater.
All my Aunt asked was, "What about R___ [the regional town she lives in]? Will it be underwater?".
My Dad said, "Probably not, it's a fair way above sea level."
She started laughing and said, "Good, because that's all I care about. Ha, imagine that.. I'd have a beach front property! Wonder how much that'd sell for.. two acres right on the beach!" She then started laughing.
I looked at her like she'd just shot baby Jesus in the head, and my other Aunts clued in and told her to shut up. What a cow and a half.. I couldn't believe that anybody could be so callous and stupid.
More happened though.. I have a new cousin, who I did not know about. She is apparently a couple of weeks old, and absolutely tiny. Everybody was commenting on how much weight she'd put on, and I felt sick. She was miniscule and very frail looking - her mother smoked and drank copiously all through the pregnancy. It's disgusting. She shouldn't have been allowed to have a child. At the gathering, she just foisted her baby off onto everybody else and sat around outside smoking and drinking again. Unbelievable.
It's petty, I know, but I am annoyed that she and I share the same middle name - Rose (yes, Rose is my middle name in real life). My grandmother's middle name is Rose, her daughter is called Rosemarie, and I (her granddaughter) has Rose as my middle name. When my parents had me, they asked my grandmother if they could use the name as a way of honouring her. Since me, two more of her granddaughters have had Rose as their middle name.. without asking, and it's ticking me off.
Grrr! Bad vibes everywhere!
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