Moments like this...

So here I am, sitting here with my banana bread toast and a glass of yummy local apple juice, it's Saturday morning and everything is cool and clean and fresh after the storm of last night. There's my new Rory McLeod CD on the player, and BRM's just left to visit his parents (a four hour drive) and retrieve his mountain bike. And, to parpahrase the Whitlams; "There's a lizard on my shoulder and there are stories in my head".

After I do the email and board thing, of course. ;)

We drove over to Yackandandah last night despite the appalling weather to see Rory McLeod perform as part of the Yack Folk Festival (lots of the place names around her are multisyllabic, so we always end up abbrieviating them for the sake of sanity) Dinner at the local pub was very good, although a bit rushed - the show started at 8.30, and food didn't arrive until 8.15! Yack's a nice little place, just the main street really, with two cute little gold rush era pubs (around the mid-1800's) and lots of "Olde Worlde Shoppe" antique places aimed at the tourists. The bakery does damn fine coffee, too, just the thing after riding up the accursed hill to the place. ;)

Rory is a legend. He's not a folk muscician per se, more like a storyteller who happens to use music. And you can hear the influence of his travels - he's been all over the place, and there's everything from Celtic to South American influences. And he provides his own percussion with a raised board and his feet! He played until midnight, and only stopped because the kids and the older people were falling asleep. ;)

One thing I noticed - it's hard to listen to love songs when sitting next to your ex. Around us people were smiling at each other, nodding and holding hands or hugging, but I'm sitting there with tears in my eyes. He has a song called "London Kisses", about a young couple walking aroud London and well... kissing. And I realised that kisses for me are going to be few and far between, at least for a while. I doubt I'm going to meet anyone up here - there's a fairly high bogan element - and it's a bit like being cut off in the midst of a raging drug habit. One minute the supply's there, whenever you want it, the next it's gone.

*shakes self sternly*

I'm not going to make myself miserable, not when I started off in such a good mood.

Two more reviews for "Afraid of the Dark" on FF.net: kudos to my posting team. It more than makes up for that creepy Bud person - I can't even delete his reviews, which is a bit annoying, because everytime I check "Fish Out Of Water", I have to read his slime. *brr* I complained, but I don't expect anything to come of it. Freedom of speech and all that - what about my freedom to not have to put up with creeps like that? I doubt he even reads the stories, just writes smut based on the title. But other people are reading, and liking my stuff, and I guess that's what counts.

Talking with BRM yesterday afternoon, he gave me another perspective for "Flagstaff" (which reminds me, another to add to the "To Do" list. I'm glad he's beginning to take my writing seriously - actually reading it may have helped! - because he is good to bounce ideas off. And he's a good editor, at least for the non-fic stuff. That makes three original stories in progress; I don't count "God's Local", since that doesn't seem to be going anywhere much at the moment. Now I just have to finish something! Curse you interestign Net people!

*laughs* "When Mum And Dad Made Me" is the song that just came on; a nice happy song to leave on. *dances away*

Theme songs...

Isn't it funny how sonme songs become themes for aspects of your life, from the first hearing? And I don't mean in that lame Ally McBeal sort of way. ;P

Music is like reading - you interpret it according to your experience. TV and film don't give you that option.

This one pretty much sums things (certain things, any way) for me. Or at least how I want things to be, in the end. It certainly echoes the advice a friend gave me long-distance. ;)

"Un-Learning Song (No Regrets)" - Rory McLeod.

No regrets...
but I'm glad I had what I've lost.
I've no regrets.
I'm so grateful I had what can never return,
what could never return.
Nothing ever died inside of me,
but always ran free.
Wild rivers still sing.
Wildfires still burn in me.
Wildfires still burn.

But I'm unlearning all,
I'm unlearning all,
I'm unlearning all the ways I laughed with you.
I'm unlearning all,
I'm unlearning all,
I'm unlearning all the ways I held you.

The love that made me never died,
but grows, the love I have come from.
Joys have sunk deep, deep into me
and all that might be moves me on

and I'm unlearning all,
I'm still unlearning all,
I'm unlearning all the ways we slept together.
I'm unlearning all my ways of kissing you,
and the ways I heard you whisper "Forever".

But I can't push away the hunger
that you came to me with.
And I can't take back all the love I gave to you then, again and agian,
and again and again.
I've no regrets, but I can never forget you,
your voice and your laughter,
they haunt me for-ever after."

Turn and turn about is fair play

Apologies for the quality of this post - I spent the evening over at my parents' house, and they got me drunk. Giggling at nothing, not making a lot of sense drunk. Perhaps in the morning when I sober up I can edit this. ;)

Mum and Dad have this idea that I don't truly relax, be myself, unless I'm intoxicated. Which is a scary thought. Have I become so constrained, so mindful of what BRM or others might think of me that I have to be drunk before I become myself? Or maybe it's because alcohol plays such a major role in their lives: they accept it if I don't drink, but they can't imagine a social outing that doesn't involve drinking. They respect my choice not to drink when I don't, but when I do, they seem to accept me more. Although tonight's debate about Aboriginal rights wasn't exactly peaceful. ;P

That's what frustrates me about Mum and Dad. They have this attitude that because they didn'tcomplete high school, they don't need to read more deeply into things, that they're not clever enough to criticise the information they receive through the news. Which is ridiculous, because I know they're smart. They also tend to treat me with a mixture of pride and condescension. The pride comes from my education, as does the condecension - they seem to think that because my knowledge comes from books, it has no basis in reality, and so I don't have the perspective to argue about certain topics, such as benefits for Aboriginals. Like I said to them tonight, we exterminated approximately half (and that's a conservatove guess) of their population. I think they're entitled for some kind of compensation for that.


Curse these damn mood swings. One minute I'm almost hyper, the next minute I'm sobbing my eyes out. What the hell is wrong with me?

I feel alone, in a way I haven't felt for a long time. I feel so pathetic for whinging like this, for being so week, but just when I think I'm dealing with things, it hits me like a speeding semi-trailer. I can't help feeling that my last chance has gone, that I'm destined to spend the rest of my life alone. Part of me welcomes that - I'm so tired of living my life for other people - but the other part wants nothing more than to curl in a ball in BRM's arms and stay there forever. It's like having the blankets pulled off you when you're in the midst of a deep and warm sleep - suddenly you're cast out into the cold and expected to carry on as normal.

Oh hell.

I'm not making sense, or rather, I'm making a sense noone wants to find in their inbox. I try so hard to be cheerful and accepting and reasonable, but late at night, when I'm alone, I feel so empty.