My blog feels unfamiliar and writing strangely daunting. I give it yet another new face and hope that the words will flood to me when promised a quiet sanctuary. The new space takes on the peace and minimalism that I wish I could bring to my own head. There is so much noise; it will be days before the din quells into a quiet rumble.

I lose sense of time. My head throbs in pain and my boyfriend looks at me with fear and sadness in his eyes. My days are a blur upon reflection. I cannot distinguish the overarching feeling of the time; through the fog I remember long lunches in the sunshine, interesting conversations with strangers, nights spent cuddling and planning with my love. But I also remember letting five days pass without taking essential care of and sobbing quietly in the car home from my brother's wonderful 21st dinner when barely minutes before I had been laughing gaily and teasing my siblings.

An old friend picks me up and we follow the road to the sea. My father lived here once, not so long ago, but we do not pass his old home. Port Willunga has never looked so beautiful. I didn't realise how much I needed to see the sea and run around on the beach. The sun browns my skin as we wade out deep into the clear water. I cannot remember the last time I was in the sea, but I feel as though I could stay here for the rest of time. I sink down and let the water consume me. It is blissful oblivion and I could be the only person in the whole world. We splash and laugh and I am teased for my poor catching skills. I bond with my friend's twelve-year-old sister and carry her around on my back so she can catch the ball on my behalf.

Back at the house we delight in a long, lazy lunch and grand conversation. I am the only person at the table who has yet to live in a non-English speaking country and a burning desire to catch a plane right now comes over me momentarily. I remind myself that my adventures with Tom are only just beginning. I quietly plan our next adventure, caught by a lust for a change of scenery.

I wish every day of summer could be defined by such beautiful surroundings and interesting folk.

our perfect little road trip

Our little trip to Melbourne and back was a very last minute decision, but so timely. We had planned a longer road trip for this time, but Tom's new retail job put a spanner in those works and it looked like that plan was off entirely. It was so exciting when we realised that we could fit in an abbreviated version of that break. 

This trip proved to be a break that we needed more than we even knew. The distance we travelled distanced us also from the burdens and stresses of the day-to-day and brought us some perspective that we could bring back home. We were able to live fully and completely in the moment and it was a glorious reminder of the importance of time spent together, of time out, of time to just be. 

We sang to bad nineties songs and classic hip hop and bickered over lyrics (I still maintain that the words to TLC's Unpretty sound more like "but at the end of the day I have no self esteem 'cos I'm so stupid"). We stopped to look at silly things on the side of the road and I took a thousand unnecessary photos of Tom's hands as he drove. 

 

We managed to stop in a lot of different little towns along the way. On Christmas day we had a little picnic lunch in Tailem Bend and then continued through to Naracoorte where we spent the night in Tom's sister's house. We drank beers outside and watched the sun set and dreamed together about the house we will one day have and the black subway tiles I am desperate to install in the imaginary kitchen. 

We managed to stop in a lot of different little towns along the way. On Christmas day we had a little picnic lunch in Tailem Bend and then continued through to Naracoorte where we spent the night in Tom's sister's house. We drank beers outside and watched the sun set and dreamed together about the house we will one day have and the black subway tiles I am desperate to install in the imaginary kitchen. 

 

The sun was setting as we left for the last leg to Melbourne. It was something of a miracle that we made it to South Yarra, what with my poor navigational instructions, Tom's entire lack of an internal sense of direction and the fact that the gps and both of our phones were flat as we made it into the city.

We walked through Gosch's Paddock (which is not a paddock, so you shouldn't mislead me to believe there might be sheep grazing outside Olympic Stadium, Melbourne!) to Swan Street and had a beer at the Corner Hotel. 

I rose early the next morning, made myself a coffee and brought it along for a long meandering stroll through the Botanic Gardens. A lot of people were running around the Tan, but I was quite happy to take my time, sip my coffee, and stop to read about interesting plants I came across. Under those beautiful tall trees I felt so small and at the same time so connected with the world around me. I took a lot longer than I had anticipated; it was blissfully quiet and peaceful and I took some time to reflect on the year I'd had and the one to come as I explored. 

Upon my return, Tom and I walked to Swan again to have a coffee (dad has a great machine but we like to sit and watch people sometimes) and pick up a couple of ingredients for breakfast. Tom made the most delectable scrambled eggs with baby spinach, bacon, and slow-cooked tomato. I felt torn momentarily between a desire to fit as much as possible into our only full day in the city and a wish to maintain the relaxed feel of the previous two days of the trip. We opted to take our time and just bask in the lack of responsibility and the change of scenery. It was the best thing we could have done.

We walked to Chapel Street, cursed the after-Christmas sales for filling the street with teenage girls with a thousand colourful shopping bags hanging off their arms and settled into a nice pub for lunch and wine. We met a couple of nice guys who told us brilliant stories about partying in London and Berlin in the eighties and how the clubbing scene changed in the aftermath of the Wall coming down. After a few beers we were lazy and just took the tram to meet Tom's old school friend, Cushing, at Richmond Station. They saw De La Soul that night in St Kilda and I wandered back into the Gardens to see Gravity at the Moonlight Cinema. 

On our way home I insisted on spending some time in nature, so we went through Creswick again and found a forest to explore. An inexplicable wave of something rather like sadness overcame me in this beautiful place, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. What was that feeling? It was terrible and it was blissful all at once and I felt as though I might be rooted to that spot, lost in that moment, for all the remaining days of my life. And then, in a flash, it was gone and I was with my love and we were ready, so ready, for whatever the coming year might throw at us. This trip had cleansed us and readied us and we are so excited and determined and the rest of our trip home is punctuated with discussions and plans for the future, for this year and the many years to come. 

 

 

words and getting older

I feel like I've lost my way in regards to this blog. What was it that I hoped to achieve from this space? I've almost forgotten.

A small part of me always grieves for that girl. So young, she could never know how truly young she was. And though that time of crippling loneliness passed in what now feels like a blink of an eye, those months will feel like an eternity to her. How I wish to sit with her in that beautiful sanctuary that felt so many miles from the ugliness of the world. I would tell her tales of a wonderful life since her demise. But she is gone. Time has stolen her away from me and I will never be able to tell her how truly magnificent she really was.

I haven't been blogging much lately, things have been just slightly askew. I could not figure out what was missing, but something was off. It turned out to be more than just a little something. Purple and green are the colours of the aliens I used to draw as a child. How strange it is that as an adult I must take pills of those colours every day. This past week has shown me that my need for them has not waned. Not yet. I must be more diligent. I must be more responsible with my most precious of organs. I had forgotten that sadness. How did it not occur to me that my constant headaches might be a cry for help, for those synthetic hormones that keep me balanced. It can be hard to find joy when all you feel is pain. I cried to Tom today "it hurts so much" and he thought I referred to my head, but it is life that causes the most pain.