this week i ave mostly been...

...feeling a bit sorry for meself again, it must be said. But I think I'm past it now, + thank jeeesus for that. I bore myself silly when I'm low, so hate to think how bored everyone else must be. This week saw a lot of unnecessary napping, chocolate eating + general grouchiness. I tried to balance it with Being Good To Myself stuff - long walks at the beach, plenty of vegies, Mewi's rescue remedy (go the placebo!) - but have accepted that sometimes I just need to wallow. It has to be done even if it doesn't necessarily achieve anything, no matter how good the Reasons To Wallow are. Maybe, at very best, it achieves a little balancing out of personality + renewed realisation that I prefer myself/my life/my experience of the world when I'm positive.

And there was still plenty to make me smile. Largely the people around me who I love + feel blessed by. (I posted some of this week's email banter because it demonstrates how little it takes to make me smile... a mere thimbleful of friendship, care, silliness.) A great dance class today where I got to literally shake off some of my blues. Having dinner snatched out of my hand by a cheeky seagull on Tuesday night. (Nature has a sense of humour and no respect for any of us!) Getting an invite round to Shady's + cementing a new friendship with someone gorgeous. Making the choice to stay home on a Saturday night - it might make me a geek but it's what I need + I'm getting better at recognising my needs. Manu. Margarita therapy with the work gang last night.

On that note, I'm posting the photo in spite of myself. I do hate it Bez, but I've been documenting you all week, looking silly for your conference presentation, so the least I can do is reciprocate. Next time we need to work harder on styling the Claire Looking Like An Idiot shot, so that I at least look like an idiot without a goofy hunchback and such prominent tuckshop-lady-arms. Ooops... I guess that's just what I actually look like... learning to live with it... still. Please note that I spilt the margarita prior to drinking any + only sucked it up off the table because everyone was egging me on (plus the fact that it was probably worth five bucks). It was that kinda week. New lows all round.

word of the week

punctate

1. Marked or studded with points or dots; having minute rounded spots, or (esp.) depressions resembling punctures, scattered over the surface; of the nature of or characterized by such markings.

2. As punctate-scabrous, scabrous with minute dots or points; punctate-striate, having striæ or streaks marked with dots, or formed of dots arranged in rows; punctate-sulcate, having furrows marked with dots.

3. Path. Having or coming to a definite point.

4. Having or ending in a point; pointed.

babay pig tigers

ME: You know what... I feel mildly better! Special presents and visits from Smokey, Bez's super-special shoes, morning coffee, a trolley-load of cake and birthday celebrations to plan. Thanks guys. You're the bestus! Grumpy Claire

S: B's shoes are fantastic however I heard that the shoes are made from the skins of baby (sorry babay) pig tigers who didn't make it i.e. eaten by mummy not-pig tiger.

B: hehe. s yr funny. i had to recycle those babay tigers because they were so special. don't be sad claire, there are lots of unfortunate people in the world, and you have lovely people around you, and you have lots of lovely shoes.

DISCLAIMER: All good ideas in this post blatantly stolen from Bez + Smokey.

me + mr t do philosophy

ME: Bez says there's something freaky going on with the stars. Any more news?

MR T: Yeh, I'm not sure. I'm more of a star enthusiast than expert. How’s things?

M: I've moved past my momentary interest anyway. I checked the Herald horoscopes + they told me I was feeling enthusiastic + energetic. Couldn't really be more wrong. Last night I decided that 2007 will be my year of accepting aloneness. No more pursuing of boys from 1 January.

T: We're all alone deep down no matter what, hanging out for those brief moments of intimacy... sigh…

M: You've come over all buddhist on me. I'm not too comfortable with the concept of embracing aloneness. But I'm learning to cope.

T: Just a case of getting to point where you enjoy your life well enough.

M: I live in serious anticipation of "enjoying my life well enough". Any advice on achieving that one, oh sage master? I don't think that baking in my own juices here in aircon deficient library land is aiding the cause.

T: Yeh I dunno, to me it seems that you've got everything in place how you want it, you're just craving some sidedish of man gravy to accompany it. You love your job (deep down), you dig wollongong (even more), + you like your place. So that's all pretty solid. You could take up big game hunting maybe?

M: You're right, as usual. I don't want to want the gravy, but I do. The merciless killing of large creatures could be the answer I guess. So could a good slap or my cold turkey approach. No one round to slap me so leaning towards the latter. I should have auditioned for that nunnery reality show after all. That would have made non-pursual of boys much easier.

word of the week

This week we have a toss up between envenomation and interconnectivity, both courtesy of Crazy Nattie + both beyond proper definition by the OED. Nat is a wonderful flame-haired
colleague of mine. As far as I'm concerned, every office should have one. She's an unashamed sci-fi geek, a font of curious knowledge + a speaker of her own mind. She's seriously dirty + brazenly honest. She peppers my day with such gems as "Are you on the rag yet Claire? Cos I'm overdue.", "Jesus people are full of shit." + "Have I told you to fuck off yet today?" (directed at her boss), exclaimed in the loudest of tones and accompanied by a cackling laugh. All management exercises are refered to under the blanket term of "corporate masturbation" + all colleagues are referred too as "luvvie" or "that arsehole". When she laughs you can hear it through the whole office + as the sound travels people's faces light up. I've been feeling a bit envenomated myself this week, but Nat never fails to bring a smile to my dial. We love ya Nattie!

envenom
1. To venom (a person, an animal); to poison by contact, bite, inoculation.
2. To put venom or poison on (a weapon, etc.); to taint (the air, ground, etc.) with poison; to render noxious or poisonous.
3. To infuse venom or bitterness into (actions, relations, etc.); to impart bitterness to (the feelings or words of a person); to embitter, make virulent.
4. To impregnate with moral ‘venom’; to corrupt, vitiate.

inter
Denoting ‘Between or among other things or persons; between the parts of, in the intervals of, or in the midst of, something; together with; between times or places, at intervals, here and there’

connectivity
The characteristic, or order, or degree, of being connected (in various senses).

PS: Interconnectivity = corporate masturbation.

illustration friday: clear

Finding clear space to feel what I need to feel.

you must fight hard to shine the light of words upon it

I must say a word about fear. It is life's only true opponent. Only fear can defeat life. It is a clever, treacherous adversary, how well I know. It has no decency, respects no law or convention, shows no mercy… The matter is difficult to put into words. For fear, real fear, such as shakes you to your foundation, such as you feel when you are brought face to face with your mortal end, nestles in your memory like gangrene: it seeks to rot everything, even the words with which you speak of it. So you must fight hard to express it. You must fight hard to shine the light of words upon it. Because if you don't, if your fear becomes a wordless darkness that you avoid, perhaps even manage to forget, you open yourself to further attacks of fear because you never truly fought the opponent who defeated you.

From 'Life of Pi' by Yann Martel

mixed up...

I've been thinking about ideals + expectations. How pervasive they manage to be, regardless of how flexible we think we are or how loose our plans are for life. In the background there's always the unspoken recipe: the ingredients that we deliberately prepare + mix up, all a contribution towards a bigger whole. The hopes + dreams. Those little voices that say "if I head down X path, then Y will happen".

But sometimes Y doesn't happen.

Sometimes the recipe goes wrong, or you're missing a necessary ingredient. Maybe the sugar is left out + things don't taste as sweet as you'd hoped. Maybe - if the universal you is anything like me - you burn that last batch of biscuits + that makes you cry. All the frustration seeps out + the experience sours. Your cooking sucks! You'll never make a decent biscuit again! Why do you even frickin bother, when nothing turns out the way it's supposed to?! All fears + criticisms surface to spell out D-I-S-A-S-T-E-R. The internal Drama Queen springs from nowhere to box you round the ears. But as quickly as she arrives she's gone again.

A mate turns up to put the kettle on + dry your tears. She has a packet of honey jumbles in her bag + they taste just fine.

I'll have a pink one please.

this week i ave mostly been...

eating…
--mangoes. Thank you thank you thank you for summer fruit + the advent of mango season. I could eat ten of them in a row. (Or perhaps not, but I want to eat ten in a row… if only to see what happens.) I can never resist sucking the seeds, in an attempt to get at every last drop of goodness, and then I end up with stringy mango teeth. It is a price I am willing to pay.
--chocolate hazelnut nougat. Smokey bought an enormous bar of it at Legs11 on Friday night + it was divine. Mmmm… nougat. Thanks Smokey!
--hot lemon + honey. Too many colds going round for my liking. Stay away.

smiling at…
--Emma Magenta. I bought The Peril of Magnificent Love, an incredibly gorgeous book, + had a little cry when I read it last night. No wonder… our heroine discovers love’s path is fraught with illusion and strewn with disappointment. Nevertheless, [she] overcomes her disillusions and finds new possibilities and strength in the lessons she has learned. (Stolen from official blurb.)

This could be another case of Clairey succumbing to twee sentimentality, but it so isn’t. Magenta’s drawings are stunning – simple but rich + multi-layered. The kind of drawing style that I covet in intense + unspeakable ways. She speaks so honestly about the risks we take, + the rewards we find, when we are willing to love ourselves magnificently.

--my family + that bloody stubborn streak that runs through every one of us. I want to relinquish it but I’m fighting against the gods of familial conditioning. The alternative – as always – is to laugh.

--Ben. I’ve had a shitty morning at work. Showdown with the office dragon + lots of shifting of furniture. Stiff neck, headache, general grumps. I run into Ben + he gives me one of his hugs, his big embrace that makes my soul soar. I feel lifted. I feel like I could melt. And no, I do not want to get into his pants.

--Lady Adi. You go girl! I can’t express how good it is to be sharing this journey of re-discovery with you. I know it sounds cheesey but it’s the truth. I feel braver having you out in the big bad world with me, exploring the same ground + breaking those invisible rules. How free are we? How good does it feel? Long live the dirty thirties I say!

listening to…
--the pod on shuffle between la Gong + the Can. Lazy but so good.
--a fabulous country-ish mixed tape from Shady – no idea who any of the artists are but I will be grilling her when we meet next.
--Jose… when in doubt, still pulling Jose Gonzales out. Lord I love that man.

watching…
--Season One of Grey’s Anatomy with Weeze. Embrace the guilty pleasure.
--Laurel Canyon on DVD with me ma. When will I learn to pick raunch-free options for this kind of shared viewing? It was great though. Frances McDormand rocks + I could watch Christian Bale all day. As always, much empathy for tales of dysfunctional families.

word of the week

titivate
1. a. trans. To make small alterations or additions to one's toilet, etc. so as to add to one's attractions; to make smart or spruce; to ‘touch up’ in the way of adornment, put the finishing touches to. Also with off, up.

Sounds rude but I don't think it is. We're all titivating in front of the mirror all the time. To "titivate off"... well that's a whole other story!

Word of last week was molosser, courtesy of Big Brain Bez. The Oxford doesn't even know bout this one, although they do define molossian as "designating or relating to a breed of large dog resembling a mastiff, said to have originated in Molossia in ancient Epirus". How apt is that for describing a big bruiser of a dog? Try it next time you run into one + check out the warm vocab-enhanced glow it brings.

I am going to be good tomorrow + make time for a proper post. Damn you busy life/long but not-long-enough weekend/endless wasted hours in a car to Canberra/new boyfriend-type-person/giggly breathless phone conversations! I need double the available time. At least.

multi-tasking...

Attempting a fit-everything-into-a-half-hour-lunchbreak challenge. Typing + eating are not sympathetic activities though. Free-falling salmon and asparagus pie crumbs. Fingers sticky with freshly cut orange. Please don't consider the state of my keyboard or the bacterial ramifications of this post.

Now that I'm here I'm wondering what to say. A colleague recently commented that blogs are boring. And I concede that she's right. But here we all are. By 'we all' I mean me + the resounding silence that meets me when when I throw my bits n bobs out to the worldwideweb. It raises all sorts of questions, the most persistent being WHY? I'm having fun okay. Leave me alone. (Oh, hang on, you already are.)

This week's Illo Friday topic is smitten. I've had no big brainwaves about what to create, but it is a very appropriate topic because I have another crush. 500th for the year. At this point I need to confess that I've returned to the internet meat-market (please note: with many reservations + a sad sense of resignation). I've been bored okay? If there's no possibility of romantic spark in my life I go mildly insane... + if there's no possibility of a shag... there, said it. I can admit to these sad truths, high-disclosure queen that I am. So I have a crush. On someone I haven't met. The basis of the crush is that his name is Gus + he has a quirky sense of humour. That's all it takes. Decent name, ability to make me giggle in some unpredictable way. He's a bald Kiwi with creative writing aspirations. Sound familiar? Okay, so I have a crush + some alarm bells echoing in the distance. I'm meeting him on Saturday + pledging not to spend any more time thinking about it until then. Woops... too late.

There is something so exciting about a crush. They should bottle it + sell it.

illustration friday: trouble

there will be trouble

mixed media

this week i ave mostly been...

eating…
--pantry remnants. What is it with me + supermarkets? I cannot manage shopping at the moment, although I did at least pick up some fresh vitals this week. Oh fruit, food of the gods.
--embarrassing confession coming… coke zero. I don’t know why but stress + fatigue have lead me down the caffeine-+-chemicals pathway this week. I’ve done it twice now, very unlike me, + I will ditch it after today. Promise.
-- a great cous cous salad, with chicken, roast red peppers, lots of herbs + some dried currants + apricots.

smiling at…
--my gorgeous sister. It has to be said again, sorry! The check-in phonecalls + beautiful card saved me. What would I do without you Weeze?
--Bez + her outlook on life. ‘Nacho Libre’ was potentially the worst movie I’ve ever seen… but also an enormous bundle of laughs in your company mate. I haven’t giggled like that in eons.
--my idiot love life… still. Okay, so smiling + crying in equal measure, but that’s the nature of it. Thank you to CJ for summing it up so aptly with the phrase If you can’t live without me, why aren’t you dead?

listening to…
--back catalogue from A Tribe Called Quest. Good walking music. 'Bonita Applebum' remains at the top of my list of potential all-time-faves, even though I will never have the discipline to commit to one song.

watching…
--Jack Black’s unlikely facial contortions. See above.

illustration friday: quiet

falling (quiet after explosion)

watercolour + pencil

making luuuuurve

Don't get too excited!

I've been battling my burgeoning in-box over the long weekend, wading through long unanswered correspondence + trying to be a Good Friend. I have one from a mate who shall be known as the Notorious A.N.G. He is playing provocateur - as usual - + looking for a rise on the pseudo-philosophy outlined below. I can't even read it without my brain fuzzing out + going into the red zone...

Woman's subconscious dependence on the fluctuating sexual attention of men rules her choice of partner. She may go for either an exciting man whom she thinks she can control. Or an agreeable and safe partner whom she can quietly bend to her wants. Both kinds of partnership usually end in either disaster or boredom and frustration.

Male sexuality is put into woman in sexual intercourse and because it is substantive it stays on in her. It's effect is a periodic wispy shadow of depression that she can't explain but accepts as normal. It clouds her perception, making her feel emotional and not herself.

The same male sexuality is the active outgoing selfish drive which made the world a violent and loveless place. In woman the destructive shadow of man subtly influences her choice of a partner. So very seldom is he mister right.

The male shadow in her is doubt, and it is the shadow that chooses. While woman wants the right to choose, she has to make a choice. And then she must live with the shadow doubt, in the man and in herself.

Woman in her natural state is not dependant on man. She loves him and in love there is no dependence, no attachment, and no fear of losing. She is the passive attracting principle; she is an irresistible living magnet. She draws to herself a right man to love her truly and divinely. There's no choice in it.

For woman today to return to her natural golden state takes time. But having suffered enough from man's sexuality she gradually learns not to compromise where there is not enough love. Finally this brings her a man who can remove the shadow from his love."

Excerpt from "Making Love" by Barry Long (transribed from tape...)

I'd like to make some sensible comments A, really I would. But firstly I don't understand it, + secondly it just sounds like misogynistic bullshit to me. I dunno, maybe I am getting unecessarily caught up in self-righteousness.

I'm keen on the idea of reaching a natural golden state... as long as it doesn't involve golden showers... + I reckon our mate Bazz might just be headed in that direction. Would I have to wear yellow all the time? Cos that doesn't work with my complexion. As for not compromising where there isn't enough love... well if only it were that straightforward.

How does the old raincoat impact on 'substantive male sexuality'?

Any other thoughts?

more on making

Why is it that there is so much pleasure in all this bricolage? Barbara in her soap + furniture polish, me with the bread. The tracklements I love to make. The pickled oranges, the salted lemons + now the lemon chutney I'm about to make. I think it's really a form of play. It has a deep ancient connection to creativity. To change one thing into another is to make a person happy. There are some people who can barely take a look at a thing without having an impulse to change it into another.

Kate Llewellyn, 'Playing with Water', 2005, pp.217-218

i made this

During the sick + sorry space of the weekend I cast an eyeball over my endless To Do List. I can't help wishing that it wasn't occupied by quite so many unfinished projects. It's one thing to have an abundance of ideas. It's quite another to be surrounded by endless clutter. Unrealised dreams made manifest.

I am still trying to create a clear workspace in my newly-spare room. And I still can't wade through the bits + bobs. The Special Thing for a (now not so) recent Mr + Mrs. The cushions for a friend who's birthday is in December, + no, I am not working that far in advance. The tabletop waiting to be painted. The clothes waiting to be mended. I get so bored + despondent when I think about it all. I thought it might be novel to think about things I have made this year, rather than the stuff I nearly made, or wanted to make...


--three cushions for my new workroom
--hundreds of yummy meals
--lots of adjustments to op shop finds, some glamorous, many completely unsuccessful
--Sally's lemon + yoghurt birthday cake, which sank in the middle but tasted good
--a crazy lion softie for Olive
--a Flickr site
--a blog
--dozens of drawings + doodles

--several notebooks worth of word-drawings + word-doodles

--half an exhibition worth of art work
--a handful of birthday cards (although generally sadly neglected this year)
--some jewellery
--loads of lovely new friends
--a comfortable little cubicle at work that reflects me (it took a year + a half, but I got there in the end)
--a heap of crazy dance moves
--endless party decos, paper flowers, lanterns, flags
--some grafitti scribbles (blame Bez)

--another garden

Yep! I feel so much better when I look at it like that!

illustration friday: phobia

riding a giant snail out of the sea of fear + uncertainty

mixed media on found paper

Inspired by Nina's snails.

(I didn't actually get this up in time for IF. Beware the back-dater!)

miserable...

I have to be the world's worst invalid. I've always been pathetic when sick, + this is coupled with a few other unfortunate truths:

a) I am a hypochondriac, I confess
b) I have no patience for anyone else's maladies

So basically I have a desire to be mollycoddled through even the most minor of afflictions, + no ability to do the same for anyone else. I'm not even much schtick at caring for myself. This scenario doesn't work when I'm sick + on my own. No one to stroke my head + feel sorry for me; no one to send out for fresh supplies of ginger ale; no one to administer cups of tea + soothing words. Only me + my own bad company.

This is where I've been for the latter part of the week... in my own bad company, with my own nasty throat infection. Yesterday I slept for about 20 of my allocated 24 hours, + spent at least one of the remaining sitting in the bath - aching, sweating, crying. It's lucky that wishes don't come true in these situations, because I wish myself dead with most minor headaches.

Of course it's the weekend now, + that has to have some kind of positive impact. I'm about to drag my weary bones out for my own ginger ale + Deadwood therapy. Wish me luck + a shift in the malaise.

snails within snails on top of snails