for weeze

for weeze

claire's writing book

my gals

catalogue of claire

I feel like I need a Chaser-style crazy warehouse guy to introduce this bit...

Yes! That's right! I'm emptying the bucket! Or half of it anyway. Keep an eye on the Catalogue of Claire for things that take yer fancy. Photos coming soon. Travel fund donations gratefully accepted as are bids of nought/nothing/nada... see how far it gets you... after all, it could be the best offer I get + it all has to go!

If you're interested in anything contact me or post a comment via the link at the bottom.

furniture etc.
--barbecue - pretty bloody average condition
--couple of mangy pieces of outdoor furniture - ditto condition
--white + yellow teapot cabinet - average condition but very cute (Annie + Genevieve?)
--large wooden dresser with mirror (Nat + Scott)
--two matching drawer units (Nat + Scott)
--solid wood door, painted white - used as a tabletop but could be happily returned to its original role
--two pine drawer units, painted white
--small wooden desk
--large wooden coffee table - surfboard inspired, very cute, but in need of a little TLC

appliances etc.
--microwave
--kettle
--toaster
--colour printer, Dell Photo 924

clothing etc.
--a large selection for any of the more curve-a-licious gals out there - contact me for more info
--two pairs Birkenstocks, size 39 - black clogs + brown sandals
--a range of other shoes, size 8-8 1/2

general miscellanea
--a selection of second-hand fabrics
--a selection of second-hand maps - mostly geological, beautiful, great for display/cards/general crafting purposes
--a selection of xmas decorations - orange fibre wreath, tinsel, assorted gold + silver baubles, gold bead string stuff, all pretty cheap and cheerful

claire's writing book

for weeze

claire's writing book

emptying the bucket

Phew… it’s a long one! I’m on the verge of a revolution (or at the very least a biggish change) and credit goes to Holley’s dad for helping me to articulate it!

Holley’s folks visited for her graduation last year. She’s one of those lucky sods who come from a functional, close-knit family and she clearly adores her mum and dad. I’d met them once before but felt like I knew them largely through her stories of home and growing up. I’m always curious about meeting friends’ parents, and even more so when they’ve created a family that works. There was no disappointment. Dave and Pam are lovely warm people who arrived with a big box of chokkies (great start!) and a willingness to converse for hours. If I had to pick one thing that Holl, Ethan and I all really delight in it would be a good conversation so – needless to say – everyone got along just fine.

Pam is quiet and reflective. She has a gentle, relaxed air about her, quickly settling back and taking it all in. She’s an artist and we spent time talking textiles and looking at my work. Dave is a bundle of boyish energy and makes it very clear where Holl gets her optimism and enthusiasm from! He kept us well entertained over the kitchen table. We soaked up his stories about making a way in the world and consciously choosing the less obvious path.

Dave and Pam have forged a creative life for themselves – working from their small property, selling what they can, living on modest means and with deliberately modest needs. It’s exciting to meet someone who’s walking the talk. As Dave puts it, they’ve chosen to empty the bucket. He wasn’t free to explore a creative life while he grappled with the responsibilities of fulltime work. He could only carry one bucket and it was filled up with the daily grind. There was no time or energy left for anything else. His only option was to empty the bucket and that’s exactly what he did. He gave up most of what he knew in order to make space for what he wanted. The act of emptying the bucket freed space for a more meaningful and satisfying life.

Serious de ja vu kicked in as Dave talked about making the decisions that I’ve discussed with friends one hundred times over but am yet to commit to. Several times Dave’s words mirrored my conversations with Ethan exactly and I had to laugh. It was hard not to feel as though the Universe was stepping in.

It seems like everyone around me is grappling with an overflowing bucket, trying to stuff more and more on top of what is already a crippling case of overload. I know I’m not alone in dealing with the problems that creates. I’ve been working with that bucket my whole adult life: attempting to perfect the contents, polish them to a high shine, rearrange them so they fit better. But the bottom line is that there is just too much in there. My life is crammed with superfluous stuff. I’m a hoarder, a collector, a magpie. I accrue mental and physical baggage everywhere I go and find it almost impossible to let go. I fear a future where I’m smothered by the lot of it. A potentially beautiful life buried under a mountain of meaningless accumulations.

Well I say NO! 2008 is my year of emptying the bucket. I’ve made the decision to leave Wollongong mid-year and take time out for myself. I want to pare my life down to something manageable. For a start I plan to get rid of at least 50% of my possessions before I head off. I’m daunted, I’m overwhelmed, I’m a little freaked to be honest, but here’s where YOU CAN HELP!

Check out my growing list of possessions to be pared [...COMING SOON...]. Fancy anything? Is there a nice nook at your place that could do with some sprucing? Always coveted my teapot collection? Now’s your chance fellas! Get in with your offers (a 50 cent donation to the Travel Fund, a willingness to collect me washing machine) and help me shed my stuff!

Over the next couple of months I’ll be extending the list, adding photos, and shipping things off to the highest/most deserving bidder. The whole process will probably culminate with a giant garage sale and birthday celebration in June. You're all invited!

blog blah blah blah

For me, the hardest part about writing is coming back to it after time away. There’s so much that I want to say, but somehow the overwhelming volume of it strikes me dumb. When I attempt to record something – however small or straightforward – I feel like I’m writing in Russian or Rubbish. My typing fingers clink + clank + don’t do justice to the white noise of my brain, or perhaps the white noise is muddling my fingers + not the other way around!? My head reels + my fingers reflect the reeling. When it comes down to it there's nothing to do but start!

for weeze

claire's writing book

eres un tiquis miquis

My obsessive-compulsive nature befuddles even me most of the time. It’s funny to have a part of my personality that I can’t make much rational sense of. But what can I say? Sometimes… thankfully less + less as I come to know myself better… my need for order steps in as my major driving force. Suddenly she’s the biggest, ugliest passenger in the late-model, fuel-guzzling car that is my brain… + she’s leapt into the front seat to take control of the wheel!

Case in point – I’ve got a pretty busy day lined up. I have to fit in a couple of hours work in the Gong (boo) before heading up to Sydney to catch an old uni friend for a drink + then see Sufjan Stevens with Mewi (yay). I’ve had a mini sleep-in + enjoyed a slowish start to the day, whilst being conscious that there’s lots to do + not that much time in which to do it. In the midst of making my morning cuppa I was hit by the sudden compulsive ‘need’ to clean the dishwasher. I could put up with its crusty residue not one second longer, in spite of having endured it for six months so far. So all deadlines + constraints are thrown to one side while I take time out to scrub the dishwasher. What a dork!

The happy side of this story is that – believe it or not – there are lots of other people out there battling the dark side + I know I’m not alone. I also know I’m on the sane end of OCD + lucky enough not to be a hand-washer or oven-checker. Plenty of us contend with a minor anal-retentive streak in some dimension of our lives, + learn to live with that in a way that doesn’t impair our existences too badly. Other people are completely controlled by a bigger, scarier streak. I suspect it’s a pretty fine line between the two, but I’m happy to be on my side of the line.

It’s a bit rough to be subjecting y’all to stories about anal streaks this early in the morning – sorry! But it’s also funny to think about how the word ‘anal’ has entered into contemporary vernacular + all the meanings this word has taken on. I have fond memories of discussing retentive tendencies with a group of girlfriends, somewhere quite public, + one of them calling out “Anal? I love anal!” to much general hilarity. You gotta watch those words!

I had to laugh when Bec sent me her latest Spanish catchphrase yesterday, translated as you are anal. Yes I am! But hey, I’m learning to deal. Now! Back to the day’s schedule. Better just check that I locked the door behind me ;)

golden

i'm living my life like it's golden
living my life like it's golden
golden

i'm taking my freedom
pulling it off the shelf
puttin' it on my chain
wearing it 'round my neck
i'm taking my freedom
puttin' it in my car
wherever i choose to go
it will take me far

i'm taking my own freedom
puttin' it in my song
singing loud and strong
proving all day long
i'm takin' my freedom
puttin' it in my stroll
i'll be hop-steppin' y'all
lettin' the joy unfold

i'm holdin' on to my freedom
can't take it from me
i was born into it, it comes naturally
i'm strumming my own freedom
playing the god in me
representing his glory
hope he's proud of me...

i'm living my life like it's golden
living my life like it's golden
golden

‘golden’, Jill Scott

my friend said stick to your guns, but instead I just got stuck

Forgive me for coming at this post with a little sadness of tone, yet another morsel of moroseness after such a long break. While I’m at it I should probably also apologise for this annoying alliteration habit of mine. Sorries on all fronts. You have once again been warned.

I’m sitting at my kitchen table, enjoying the green formica on the most perfect of Saturday evenings, the sun only just starting to sink on a cloudless sky. Doing my usual end-of-year thang… thinking bout the twelve months that have passed + what the next twelve might bring. Surveying the mountain of thoughts, feelings, symbols that spring up with this simple change from one day to another. I’m not attempting to explain the personal significance that the new year holds for me – I had a go at that last year – more just noting that it’s upon me again.

I’m not feeling the energy I’d hoped to at this point in my brief summer break. In truth, I was hoping for some big bright beam to shine down + make everything new again. The hand of the universe, the choir of angels, all laaaaaaaaa + light. Surprise surprise, it hasn’t happened. Instead I’m feeling mildly exhausted, as I suspect many do at this point in the so-called season of good cheer. And a little blue tonight, although I admit that three rotations of Radiohead’s newy, In Rainbows, isn’t helping. Hey I’m a true believer in the occasional wallow, + man this album is made for it… sublime + sexy + sad. Add a glass of wine + I’m away.

My chrimbo was a pretty good one + it feels wrong to complain. Home-life continued to shine, friends reached out with greetings + affection, material benefits were bestowed through some lovely thoughtful presents, family time was spent. But none of it has given me the lift I wanted. Probably because that lift can only come from inside. (Der Clairey, do you have to relearn this lesson every time?! Apparently so.) I’m low on self-love right now. That’s the crux of it + that’s what the lift is going to take. At this point I have no means of tapping into it but I’m still hopeful… not only of it arriving, all beam-like, but in fact of it already being there + simply being buried under some shitty 2007 debris.

Without descending into a self-help-esque diatribe, I do know what the lift needs to look like. It needs a kick-in-the-arse jumpstart which at this point will probably involve my…

--getting drunk
--getting more sunburnt than I already am
--watching a couple of trashy movies + crying, a lot, perhaps even stretching to sobbing + exhausting a large pile of tissues. I watched Sixteen Candles + The Notebook last night… seriously, that’s what it’s gonna take
--finding someone to give me a good hug
--getting drunk again
--dancing all night or at the very least until my feet hurt
--cutting myself some slack + not expecting perfection
--making a positive return to work in spite of hating the place right now
--faking a decent attitude until it builds its own momentum
--working my small piece of grit, aka The Plan (stay tuned), until it’s transformed into some kinda pearl

These are simple starting points + more will come. The main jist is a therapeutic wallow with a strict 24 hour expiry date, followed by the banishing of all negativity. 2008 is my frickin year. It’s the year of shovelling myself out of the shite + getting well + truly unstuck. It’s the year when I rediscover my guns + remind myself that they’re big + they’re fully loaded.

PS: No credit given to my limited creative prowess re: the title of this post please – love you M. Ward, you’re sheer genius.

PPS: This is my one-hundredth post... wowsers... fancy that!

gobstopper

I learn something new most days. It’s the nature of life in general, but also of life under the same roof as Expert Ethan. Every conversation involves imparting the wonders of a scientific or mechanical process; exploring something gross with boyish curiosity; or sharing yet another of his amazing colloquialisms. The latter seem to be inexhaustible. Supply of fresh ideas tapers off from time to time + he falls back on the standards… I could eat the arse out of a low-flying duck, hard as a honeymooner’s proverbial et al. But just when I think they’re running dry as a dead dingo’s donger, a new one finds its way to the fore. Last night it was something along the lines of “That heap of crap won’t make 90 without revving its ring out”. Ah… Ethan… life would be so dry + colourless without you.

Something new was thrown at me from an unexpected direction this morning. I walked into the tearoom + caught a group of colleagues mid-conversation… “she was wearing a short skirt +, honest to goodness, you could see her breakfast!” There was an audible gasp from the assembled crowd. Someone may even have cried out “No?!”

I had to naively refer the expression to Jen, Resident Super-Librarian, + yes, breakfast signifies the obvious. Neither the Oxford English Dictionary nor the Urban Dictionary can confirm this particular permutation but I’m going with it. More personality than downstairs, less offensive than anything you’ll find in Roger’s Profanosaurus. Good stuff.

escape

Self-indulgent rant alert... you have been warned...

Wanting to write again but not knowing how to begin without succumbing to maudlin depressiveness + self-indulgence. I’m going to wheel out the Drama Queen one more time. It’s been the policy so far + I see no real need to change that. I am – on the whole – feeling maudlin + depressed + self-indulgent.

The last few months have been crap. Revoltingly, mundanely shit. I’ve continued to battle multiple nemeses – depression, disempowerment, feeling stuck. STUCK is the serious one I think. I despise feeling as though I have limited choices or that it’s not within my power to make things better. Largely because my rational mind knows that I have myriad choices + expansive power, even as my emotive mind works desperately to undermine that.

The underlying causes of STUCK are unworthy of detailed exploration. Ongoing difficulties in letting go of the past; friends hurting other friends; people I love experiencing suffering which is outside of my control; things turning utterly shit at work; dissonance brought about by living in a town that I love + loathe at the same time; not enough space or energy for creativity. Boring boring boring. Boredom. That’s a bloody big factor in itself. Once STUCK sets in it’s a long, slow, boring death, and I’ve already spent too much of my young(ish) life dead. Dead to joy, dead to experience, dead to love, dead to myself. I refuse to play dead any longer.

A few weeks ago I had one of those wonderful expansive dreams that takes me away from myself + into new possibilities. It wasn’t big on detail, + I can’t remember much now anyway, but the crux was that I packed up + left, abandoned my reality for a solo trip around Australia. I woke feeling unbelievably liberated + free. That, to me, is a clear case of the subconscious wanting to be heard, expressing a strong desire to come UNSTUCK. And I’ve been daydreaming about it ever since.

big love to little holley

small things

Those little things continue to make the difference. Poetry, music, friendship, good conversation. I’m gradually feeling more at home in my own life again.

Music has gotta be a portent of good. I love it when I’m walking to work and the shuffle spits up something fabulous. This morning it was Daft Punk (always!), A Tribe Called Quest and OutKast. They shifted me straight out of morose tendencies and into a new place entirely. Everything felt suddenly energised and light. I went into one of my fun daydreams about being a super-athlete and traversing the path to work parkour-style, complete with flips and jumps and cartwheels. I’ll never do it but I love dreaming about it.

I felt good. The sun was shining. The tunes were fine. And I reminded myself that I must always shake it like a polaroid picture.

where nothing at all needs saying... but something still does

Sometimes loneliness tugs at the proverbial strings for the strangest of reasons.

I ordered a new book from my favourite poet + it arrived today. I was reading at lunchtime + suddenly thought that it would be lovely to have someone to read aloud to. Queue loneliness. There's no one occupying the read-aloud-to spot in my life. Sigh.

Maybe I'll give the girls an impromptu reading round at Toni's tonight. You gotta create your own romance, after all. If you don't so few other people will.

It is Born
Here I came to the very edge
where nothing at all needs saying,
everything is absorbed through weather + the sea,
+ the moon swam back,
its rays all silvered,
+ time + again the darkness would be broken
by the crash of a wave,
+ every day on the balcony of the sea,
wings open, fire is born,
+ everything is blue again like morning.
Pablo Neruda