Thursday, March 23, 2006

(Insert title here)

Oh CRAP. Smenita is back.

Smenita is as
smenita does. Cement an
unrequited post.

That just really dampens my mood.

No, you go first.

I found this link down at the bottom of Amanda's blog. It looked quite cute, so I followed it. But anything inviting me to enter the 'Woman's Portal'...?


A little overly Bohemian for me I think.

Monday, March 20, 2006

But where's ya wheelie bin?

So in our neighbourhood, they collect the rubbish once a week. But the recycling bin, that they collect once a fortnight, see? So people around here are pretty busy. They're kinda professional types. Most people don't remember which week it is, right? Nobody knows for sure.

See where I'm going with this?

So what I do, every once in a while, I put out both bins on the night when they're only supposed to collect the one. I make sure I put it out real early, then I go back inside. I smile to myself all night. Who's going to copy me? Then, in the morning, I go and I check it out. I go out, and I see a whole street full of double wheelie bins.

That right there? That's influence, my friend.

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

I didn't sleep well. That's my excuse.

Noisie fell out of bed last night. Straight from the top-bunk to the floor. Luckily I was not quite in bed yet, just sitting on the edge, in my knickers.

I heard the thump, and while I ran to her room I think it vaguely occurred to me that she was ok because she was crying. It's the thumps that end in silence that you most fear.

But she was crying in that pitiful, not-properly-awake way which is so hard to comfort. I was scared to pick her up, because her arm was twisted out beneath her at an odd angle. Was it broken? I picked her up gently and sat on the bottom bunk, my arms around her, held her chest to my chest, told Mayday to go back to sleep.

Rocking gently (Are there any broken bones?)
Shhhhh shhhhhh (It's ok to cry)
It's ok... it's ok... you're ok now...
It hurts... yeah it hurts (Where? Where does it hurt?)

I put her back to bed, too soon, against my better judgment. (What does concussion look like? Is it dilated pupils? Or pinpoint? Could she die in her sleep? I'd never recover. Never.)

An hour later she was awake, crying. Her stomach hurt. She came to my room. I opened my sheets, tucked her in next to me, enveloping her.

Bill moves out (don't leave me! don't leave me alone with her!)
She's moaning (it's not right. Is she bleeding inside?)
Where does it hurt?
Where does it hurt?
I gently press her tummy.


She pushes my hand away. So pale.
I go to get her a drink of water. She follows me down the hall. Falls down, lying on the floor.

owwwwwwwwwwwwwww she sobs, in that awful not-awake way

She lurches up, pulls a stool to the sink (oh sweet heart) and vomits into the sink, over last night's unwashed dishes.

It doesn't help.

It should help.

I tuck her into my bed again.

I pray. (Should I accept good from the Lord and not bad?)

(If He answers me, then will I not blame Him for all the others He doesn't answer? For all the babies that die in the night? Do I want Him to answer, if it means blaming Him?)

Please, God, I don't understand. Please just heal my baby. Please.

Good grief, I think I look like her as well.

Rita, that is.

Yes! We have no bananas

So anyway, uni has started again, yet again, as it does, endlessly, and endlessly.

Human history is divided by the birth of Christ, and my life is marked by what I did before study, and what I will do after.

Honestly, finishing this degree, or any of them, really, is like waiting for the second coming.

Everything will fall into place. I'll have no stress. No. Stress. I'll be smart (or failing that, knowledgeable). I'll be wanted (or failing that, employable).

But I'm tired, and I'm tired of trying (and failing) to motivate myself. So I thought I'd buy a laptop. That way I could continue the motivation battle somewhere else (out of this little hot-in-summer-cold-in-winter study). Maybe the lounge room. Maybe up at uni, where all the proper students study. (Yeuk. I sound like Rita.)

Maybe the buzz of owning a bit of techno-bling would squirt some novelty back into studying.

Too bad I can't afford one.