Disaster and a Salamander

I left 40 minutes early to get to my training session last night, so eager to make a good impression and pretend like I really cared about whatever a Bugaboo is.
I caught the wrong tram. I realised too late, had to catch the tram back and then I caught another tram. This tram did indeed take me to Burwood Road, but only 100 - the number I wanted was more like 800. I started walking, getting later and later all the time, when I noticed a train line directly behind the street. I caught the train for two stops, got off and found myself in a completely different suburb.

By this stage I was 40 minutes late and I gave up and came home.

I didn't dream last night, but I stayed awake for too long staring at the dark shapes in my room. Without my glasses (which I never wear) I can barely see anything in the dark, but my imagination fills the blanks. The black kimono hung up on the back of my door turned into a long-haired ghost glaring at me and waiting to pounce. The radiator resembled an immensely fat metallic caterpillar gobbling up the shoes and books on the floor.
I pulled the blankets up close and surveyed the room with a sort of frightened intrigue - I have always been afraid of the dark to some degree.

When I was little, I used to imagine that ghosts, monsters, murderers, robbers or whatever was lurking in my room could sense fear. I would go out of my way to appear normal and asleep when really I was terrified. One night as an 8 year old, I was reading Oliver Twist when I was sure that I saw something moving near the far corner of my bed. I was so scared that I just kept reading, pretending not to have noticed, trying not to give myself away. I finished the book in a couple of hours and then was struck with a problem - what was the 'normal' thing to do? I read the whole book again. The whole time I was sweating like crazy and the room started really smelling bad. Not like body odour, but like burnt toast. Is this the smell of the fear of an 8 year old girl?

Eventually a huge salamander jumped on my window, causing me to scream and go tearing down the hall to my parents room.

Afternoon, Only Just Waking Up

On television, there was just an ad for a mobile ringtone that can't be heard by 'parents and teachers'. I can't hear it, yet I don't fit into either of those categories. Slightly depressing.. I suppose this means that, physically at least, my teenage years are over.

Lucien put a spanner in my new attempts at having scheduled days - on Saturday night he summoned me out of my pajamas and into a dry martini as he celebrated with his jiu-jitsu buddies post-competition. Being drugged up to my eyeballs on prescription medications, I just teetered, nodded, spoke too fast and flailed my arms about. I didn't actually drink anything, but I'm quite sure I looked drunk.

The reason for the drugs was a multi-day headache, stemming from my upper jaws. Wisdom teeth, perhaps? It's my reluctant guess. But it hurts, a lot, and I haven't been a happy madame for the last three or four days.

Tonight is a training night for my new job. We're learning all about the features of Bugaboo prams - I feel like a soon to be mother going to those information group-love sessions. The other people who will be there are going to confirm that too.
Last time I met with them, it was an initiation night for us to talk about the aims of the new store, et cetera. After the wine, mini sandwiches, speeches and introductions, people began chatting. I joined a couple of groups, figuring I could widen the scope of potential friends. Almost everybody started chatting about their kids, leaving me out of the loop. Not just their kids, but details of their pregnancies, what lactating breasts do, how children learn to use the toilet... it shocked me that these people would share intimate details of their and their children's bodily functions within 20 minutes of meeting each other. C'est la vie, I suppose this is the kind of person I'll be dealing with from now on.

Last night as Lucien lounged in my bed glued to a book, I was upstairs reluctantly being talked to on IM by his twin brother. He wondered what his brother was doing, and I told him that he was in bed reading Wuthering Heights. This is hardly an obscure work, so I was naturally shocked when James asked "Oh, what's that about?". After I told him, he asked if there was a film of it.
Ugh - I can see it now - he will seek out the film and watch it, then wish to discuss the literary merits of WH with us based on his viewing, and suddenly profess to be incredibly interested in literature. When Lucien played Courfeyrac in Les Miserables, James became obsessed. He watched a film version over and over, and assaulted everyone's eardrums by playing On My Own on his flute constantly. The part that also annoyed me was that he presumed to be on a similar level of 'expertise' on the subject as people who had read the book, studied the history and been in the musical. Now with my beloved Wuthering Heights, I am afraid that he will do the same.

Two girls in Belgrave killed themselves in a suicide pact. Now the current affairs shows are cashing in, having heavily edited interviews with psychologists warning that every teenager is at risk and that there are 'warning signs' to look out for. The media reaction wreaks of The Virgin Suicides, I can just smell the concerned parent's groups. I'm not exactly sure what I think about suicide, but I know that it is probably radically against the status quo. It's sad for the people they know, but it is a perfectly valid way of dying, perhaps even less tragic than other ways because they chose it.

I want a cat, or a puppy. Anzac day is Wednesday, and I will be spending it alone. Doing housework all day would be more bearable if there was some other creature to bask in the cleanliness I could create.

Lucien expressed surprise at how smooth my back was last night. I hadn't noticed until he said anything - perhaps it is the kind of thing that you need a before and after photo to tell the difference. Apparently I used to have acne on my back, and now it is "perfect". Nice to be called perfect, especially by one's boyfriend. But coming from someone wearing love-goggles, maybe it doesn't mean as much.
I think my body is growing tired of eating. Do people's metabolisms routinely change for no apparent reason? I hope mine has. My starving artist status doesn't quite work with my current level of .. 'curviness'.

Cough, Splutter

Somehow managing to get less-than-healthy, again. I've had a rather bad cough and sore throat all day, though I suspect it may be from excess consumption of glitter. The Christmas department at Myer is still up and running, and becoming a more bizarre place to be as the days go on. People are coming in and complaining that we don't have enough stock left - it's not Christmas anymore, people. They are honestly starting their Christmas shopping in January. It's beyond belief.

Certain supermarkets are already selling hot cross buns. Despite the fact that any bun on the shelves right now will be well and truly dead by the time it's actually Easter. I know people like to be prepared and avoid the rush, but this is insane.

Besides my disdain for retail practices, work is much fun. I had some fun and lovely conversations with a young (well, a lot older than me) man today - he manages another department, but was working in mine to make up numbers. Despite being almost the polar opposite of my usual type (he is barely taller than me, slender, long sandy blonde hair, a million piercings and a strange goatee, and constantly dressed like some strange emo homeboy that got mixed up in punk rock and fond of annoying me any chance he gets, especially in an Elmo voice), he is quite lovely. Let's call him Billy. Not sure whether this is a 'friendship crush' or whether it is even slightly rose-tinged, but we'll see. Lucien and I came to a sort of 'seeing other people' arrangement, but I still feel wrong about even admitting out loud to crushing on somebody who isn't my boyfriend. And even worse about admitting that if Billy were to make a move, I'm not sure I would resist him. Ah, if only I could be one of those charmed creatures who can breeze through life without ever feeling the pangs of guilt, uncertainty or regret.

And there is a dangerous twist of fate - next Saturday, the cool people from my department are running off to the far-eastern suburbs for an afternoon-evening of drinking and possible debauchery. And a lot of Jagerbombs. Billy will be there, as will I. Treading thin ice! Perhaps I should take Lucien with me to the party, as a sure safeguard. Ah - stress!

By the way, a random note: Lucien protested to his online psuedonym - "Why didn't you just call me Lucifer?". I happen to think Lucien is a cool name, like a slightly French version of like Lucius Malfoy (who I have an unreasonably ardent crush on, considering his fictional status). Keep in mind, I think Judas is a perfectly lovely name for a boy.. if only it weren't for all those unfair connotations.

Bleh, too late - I'm going to bed. Not going to be able to sleep in this heat, but I'll have to try. Going surfing tomorrow!

New Dress(es)

I bought a dress today. I love describing clothing, so I'll tell you about this one and the one I bought last week. Shouldn't be buying dresses right now - I have started at Myer, but I haven't been paid yet!

My last-week dress is shortish and full, made from cotton. It has thin straps that tie into bows at my shoulders and it is a sort of faded apple green with peachy coloured flowers on it. It comes in at the waist and flares out to end just below my knees.

My today dress is cream coloured cotton, and a similar shape to the last dress but much longer. This dress finishes mid-calf. The bodice and hem have periwinkle ribbon edging, matching the periwinkle sash. The dress has large (maybe 6 or 7 centimetres in diameter) polka dots on it in orange, navy, grey, green, and mustard yellow. The colours sound like they don't go together, but it makes me think of a faded rainbow.

I'll draw some little graphics of each of them for you, I think. I'm thinking about adding some tea-dyed broderie anglaise to the bottom of each of them, because I'm hopelessly addicted to floaty dresses and skirts edged with lacey stuff.

Working at Myer is fun, but exhausting. You sort of have to grit your teeth and count down the hours to each break. So far I've worked 3 shifts, and I have a slightly crazy shift tomorrow. 9am until 7pm. Because it's Christmas, and I'm working in the Christmas department too, it will be mayhem. It's already slightly crazy during weekdays. I'm oh-so-slightly worried - I'm kind of slow at the moment, because I'm not confident at all about my ability to work the cash registers. Hopefully they'll recognise that I'm not going to be that much help in that regard, and make me just stock shelves. I did that today and it's so much easier - I even got a nice workout in my thighs and butt from so much squatting and crouching. And it definitely gave my feet a rest, which was much appreciated! They are currently all bruised and rubbed raw.

As I was leaving tonight on my way to the Hyatt, I was walking behind a couple and their daughter. One thing that struck me as completely odd was the fact that their daughter was on a leash. Yes, a leash. She was strapped into a little black harness with a leash attached being held by her dad. The worst part to behold was that this little girl kept trying to hold on to his hand, but he would pull his hand out of reach and make 'shoo-ing' gestures at her while he and his plastic woman strutted down the street.
This shocked and astounded me. Not because I'd never seen a child-leash before, but because of how... unwanted this little girl must be feeling. I don't want children and I never have, and although part of that comes from purely selfish reasons, one important thing is that I don't think I have got what it takes to provide for a child. Not in a financial way, but I wouldn't be a good mother. I am not someone who can devote time and attention, someone that a child could look up to as a model for their own behaviour, someone who could help their child with homework and guide them through moral dillemas, someone who could love unconditionally and always have time. I'm selfish, and the task of keeping myself sane is something that requires so much effort that there simply would not be enough left over for a child. But I am glad that I can acknowledge this.
These people were treating their child like a person would treat a puppy that couldn't be left at home by itself, so they had to begrudgingly take it along with them (mind you, I would treat a dog with a lot less contempt than they showed for their daughter). The responsibility that goes with having a child is so much more than making sure they have clothes, food and schooling; a parent should be someone who makes an everlasting impression on their child, in the best possible way - they should be someone that their child can look up to, learn from and be able to turn to for advice, guidance and support. If people aren't ready for this, why on earth do they do it? Abortion is not that hard; people should wait until they are responsible enough for children, or not have them at all.. rather than putting children through pain, confusion and isolation.

I'm going to get flamed badly for that.

Cookie Dough

Whoever invented cookie dough, ready-made in a tube, should be shot. It is the reason that I currently feel sick and guilty and pathetic. Or maybe I should be shot for buying it at 2am and eating a fifth of the stick.

And Lucien said that I looked so thin today. I suppose that will all be changed by tomorrow morning.

Apart from random melancholy, today was rather alright. I started at Myer, in the Christmas department. They told me it would be busy, but I had no idea it would be this busy. There was a cue of about thirty people at each register when I started, and it didn't let up for two hours. Eventually it calmed down, and I could start doing some transactions all by myself. Tragedy struck at 5:40pm, just a little before I was meant to finish. I was carrying a box and I managed to walk briskly into the solid platform-stand, resulting in a mighty lump and cut on my shin.
Anybody who has hurt their shin would know, it hurts a lot. Not only are you hurting skin and the tissue underneath, but you hit bone as well. I told myself I was ok, but after about 15 minutes I had to tell my manager. She gasped and rushed me off to the staff room, called the floor manager and a first aid person. There were ice packs and incident reports, but I'm fine. There is so much fuss over OH&S, but I suppose it's for everyone's good.

It still hurts though. It's so swollen that it sort of 'jiggles' whenever I take a step. I've been walking very slowly and carefully.