a Christmas Poem

The little matchstick girl am I

in the attic cold,

while downstairs in the living room

a festive scene unfolds

The aunts are roasting chestnuts

the dogs are by the fire

And Uncle Jim is calling dad

a big fat beeping liar

They’re slouching in the couches

stuffed as the roast turkey

four courses and then leftovers

…who wouldn’t be!

There’s chatting and there’s laughter

its almost time to go

Still I am in the attic

and none of them know

I am not ‘one of them’

my clan is far away

uninvited to the party

here I will stay

Merry Christmas all

hope you had a good time

and appreciate what you have

(for its more than what is mine)

How to: know when you are overtired

1) When something funny happens or is said, you laugh for longer than the expected length of time, becoming almost hysterical

2)when something that is only slightly amusing, odd or silly happens or is said, you burst out laughing

3) you start laughing at the fact that you are laughing, thus prolonging the laughter to many minutes straight

4) You walk around talking to yourself

5) When you catch yourself saying something even more silly than the rest, you start singing a song about insanity: eg “insane..insane..who wants to be insane?.. insane..insane..I want to be insane!.. (grin at self)I AM insane!”

reason’s for not studying

no 1: the doctor who gave me the second vaccination wasn’t as good and now I can’t use my left hand to type, thus studying would have deceased efficiency and I should do something I can do well…

no 2: parents watching TV (tv in same room as computer)

no 3:

while studying:
dad: Tegan!
me: what?
dad: you shouldn’t allow yourself to be distracted!
me: do you want to get hit?

no4: irresistible urge to sing at the top of my lungs for a while

no 5: my cat won’t shut up unless I got feed her & talk to her

no6: I wanted to print something but had to change the ink cartridges to do that… so I did so but now the printer says it doesn’t recognise them or they’re broken and I am thinking it may be those little sticky chip things you transfer; they didn’t want to untstick from the old cartridges and got a little bent… and now I have yellow ink all over my hands… and still can’t print…

no 7: my nephew and my cat are “playing”. My nephew only knows one volume setting: loud.

no 8: the prerequisite bad sleeping pattern: I start my morning walk at midday…

reasonsfor5notstudyingno9:dadsp-i=llteaonthekeyboar5dandnowi=ti=sbu6gger5ed…

this is from a while ago… so I can now happily add:

reasons for not studying no 10: I am finished and I passed exams!

quotes

me: are you calling me fat
dad: no, I’m calling you black

mum: I think, all cats have white skin
dad: polar bears don’t; they have black skin
mum/me: {thinking} and polar bears are cats…?

mum: see that’s the problem with TV shows; they create high expectations about underwear

TV: leotard the one piece suit worn in circuses; first worn by the French acrobat be the same name
me: really?
dad: I didn’t know that either; I thought it was a slow lion

playing with lego at my mum’s birthday party…

Daisy Chains

I see her sitting in a field of daisies. Her light blonde hair is pulled into pigtails, just like I always wore mine when I was that age. Her short, floral dress could only be from the early ’90s. I often wore one just like it to church back then. A slight breeze rustles the leaves of the eucalyptus trees. The sun shines through them, creating a dappled pattern of light and shade on my bare arms. On days like this, I can almost feel the air. Not the breeze, the air itself; the millions of tiny invisible particles which bounce around, transferring heat energy to my skin, filling my lungs and diffusing into my blood. In the same way the water in the ocean glides over your skin, resisting but parting, the air has a faint pressure; like silk. I breathe in. I feel the air in my lungs and over my arms. I see the shadow patterns dance. I hear the trees whisper. ‘You are alive’ they say ‘you are here.’

I look back at the girl, a solitary figure in the field. Her small fingers deftly shred piece after piece of grass. Although she is alone, she does not appear to be waiting for anyone. She just sits there, and shreds, contemplating perhaps. Suddenly she sees me. recognition flashes in her eyes.

‘Welcome’, she says.’Is it time to make a daisy chain? We really should have done this sooner.’ Her childish voice seems sightly at odds with her formal words. I sit down. ‘Yes, we should have.’ 

And then we start making a daisy chain. Pick one with a long enough stem. Make a hole with your fingernail, adn thread the next one through. I had only done this once before. I am sure someone knows a better way, but the girl is doing the same as me, so we continue in companiable silence. A magpie warbles. A rosella flies overhead. The sun moves behind a cloud.

‘It is time for me to go,’ I said as I stood up, stretching out my stiff back. She looked up at me and smiled. ‘Of course. But come again soon.’ I felt my heart give a little squeeze. Maybe this is just what I need. It feels like an alternate reality, but this place, and this girl, are real. No matter how much you change, your childhood never completely leaves you. The girl in the pigtails is still sitting in the field; waiting, accepting, welcoming.

Inseperable→

There is so much beauty if you look for it. 

I mentioned something like this a little while ago, but have since then been feeling a bit cynical. I have seen pregnant women smoking, mothers yelling at their children on the bus, psychiatric patients that no one will provide accommodation to because they have burnt all their bridges… I had to conclude that there is also ugliness if you look for it. You can’t live your life seeing only one side of the story. Well, maybe some people can, but most can’t. And when you can’t see the beauty, I think you  need to take the time out to find some. Here is one example.

http://weburbanist.com/2010/01/27/101-dizzying-spiral-staircases-twisted-architectural-art-photos/