My Lights

Another from 'Seeker Lover Keeper'... indulgent, I know.  It's just so damn pretty.



SB xx

Even Though I'm A Woman

I can hardly wait for the album to come out - I just know these three ladies have made something amazing.  Here is a lovely song from 'Seeker Lover Keeper'.



SB xx

inked

I've been reading a book called 'Some Girls' by Jillian Lauren.  Admittedly I found it difficult to connect with this story... that is, until the author started talking about her tattoos.

I love a quote in the book that states "the tattoo gods announce themselves to you when it's time".  Jillian detailed her growing 'need' to be tattooed - her desire to belong to the secret club; to make a permanent statement. This, I could understand.

It was late 2009 when the tattoo gods seriously inspired me.  I always knew that I wanted a tattoo eventually, but I also understood that I needed to be sure about what I was getting, before I did anything.

This is the tattoo that started it all for me.

I know, kind of lame to be inspired by a teeny tatt on the arm of super gorgeous model Tara Moss... but, what can I say, it planted a seed.  I started researching, and the more I found, the more I wanted a peacock feather.  Peacock feathers are said to be a mark of self acceptance; pride in oneself; belief in ones beauty, strength and resilience; it was everything I wanted to declare to the world, and to myself; it was going to be my reward - something beautiful to come from the turmoil.  Before the year was out I had a booking made with a tattooist, I was finally sure.

The appointment I made coincided with a trip to the city and I only had that one day before I had to return home.  Unbelievably, I went to a place I'd never sighted before, to an artist I'd only just met, who spoke broken English - it could have gone so wrong, but it didn't (thankfully).

Sometimes when I get down, I have to remind myself why I got my tattoo, why this particular design?  It was my secret statement to say I'm proud of who I am... I remember the pain of the three hour sitting, hugging onto that leather pillow, feeling every inch of the scratching and burning - one hell of a way to prove something.  If the memories aren't enough, I glance in the mirror as I undress - to seek out my permanent memento; sitting atop my right shoulder, curling it's way to the centre of my back is a brilliantly coloured peacock feather. My feather. My fears, my pain, my relic.  As Jillian Lauren writes perfectly "I got my tattoo not to say 'I wuz here', a tag on a freeway overpass, but rather to say 'Here wuz me'.  Here they are, the landscapes inscribed behind my eyes... with my tattoos, I serve as witness and documentarian to myself."

I know I'll get another someday, when the time is right - another marking on the map of my life.

here was me

SB xx

remember today

Another day, another ending.  Today, legendary Australian band silverchair announced they would be going into "indefinite hibernation". 

As a teen, I grew up listening to these guys - idolising them.  Their music became the soundtrack of my awkward teenage years. Posters of the boys lined my walls; I collected articles and pictures; I was in love with Daniel Johns.  Hell, who am I kidding? There's nothing past tense about that last statement - I still think I'd be the girl to make him happy.

A celebration of greatness.

Miss you boys.

SB xx

another late night epiphany

I half-heartedly joked recently with someone, that I had 'dropped my bundle'. This is not entirely untrue. It's pretty clear that my bundle has been in a progressively poor state.

I had hoped that having time off from work would help me piece myself together, locate my 'bundle' or whatever remnants are left. Truth is, I don't know where to begin looking.  If I'm being truthful with myself, I realise this 'relocation' will come from looking within, rather than searching outside myself.

What exactly are the problems?

I can't let go of John. I live in a state of make believe and wishes - where I play out his return or my arrival, or that magical email that tells me I belong to him. If we look deeper, he represents a lost chance, another example of moments not ceased, of moments spent hiding away. Maybe John is just another substitute for acceptance, love of self, and the notion that someone could actually love me. I have to say, that is a foreign reality to me. Maybe I hang onto John so tightly, because if I don't, he becomes another example of someone I was wrong about; evidence I am in fact disgusting and awful and unlovable. Those stinging words, bring tears to my eyes and here we arrive at the root cause - I just want to be in love. I just want someone to love me, not because they have to - because they need to. That poor bastard John, to be the keeper of this and not even know it.

I know what I have to do. Cease communication. No more emails, messages or cute innuendo. It probably just confuses him and leaves me hurt. What is the point of prolonging the pain? If he writes to me, I'll answer - if he doesn't, he is free and I have my answer. From this moment on, he is released. I will try very hard to expect nothing, and when it comes, I'll try even harder to be unsurprised.

I hate myself, I hate what I look like. I'm overweight and insecure; all I want to be is a delicate swan - what I am is an awkward ox. Nobody wants the ox, everyone wants the swan - I want the swan.

So, I must set up a timetable for exercise - make an effort. Eat consciously; use my stomach as the sensor and not my heart. There is no food in existence that can fill this void.

Work - try not to take things so personally. Being all things to all people leaves me with nothing. Do my job to the best of my ability - do not enter into rumour or judgement - be an island as much as I can. At worst, bide my time until I can jump ship, keep an eye on the jobs pages. Keep an open mind.

Above all, retain hope that someday soon all of 'this' is going to be worth it - that it will deliver the ultimate prize...contentment.

SB xx

Have you any dreams you'd like to sell?

While on my flight the other day, I happened upon the Fleetwood Mac song 'Dreams'.  Every time I hear it, I gather a little more meaning from it. Today, it is my soundtrack.

Now here you go again
You say you want your freedom
Well who am I to keep you down?
It's only right that you should
Play the way you feel it
But listen carefully to the sound
Of your loneliness
Like a heartbeat .. drives you mad
In the stillness of remembering what you had
And what you lost ...
And what you had ...
You know what you lost

Oh thunder only happens when it's raining
Players only love you when they're playing
They say women they will come and they will go
When the rain washes you clean you'll know
You'll know

Now here I go again I see the crystal vision
I keep my visions to myself
It's only me who wants to
Wrap around your dreams and ...
Have you any dreams you'd like to sell?
Dreams of loneliness
Like a heartbeat .. drives you mad
In the stillness of remembering what you had
And what you lost ...
Who says what you had ...
Ooh and what you lost

Thunder only happens when it's raining
Players only love you when they're playing
They say women they will come and they will go
When the rain washes you clean you'll know

Oh thunder only happens when it's raining
Players only love you when they're playing
They say women they will come and they will go
When the rain washes you clean you'll know
You'll know ...
You'll know ...
You will know
Ooo you'll know

I have returned from my break, and what did I learn? Only that you can't leave your problems behind for long.  Silly me; I thought maybe I could run away, pack my thoughts and feelings into a suitcase, only to scatter them over the sea and away from me.  It just doesn't work that way...

I was hoping to come back an improved version of myself - but all the little things have already caught up with me - and they bring me back down.  I figure I'm going to have to put on that mask again, the one that tells people I am 'together', I am logical and focused; I am ok.  All the while underneath, I feel like I am eroding like a sand dune - so slowly that it goes unnoticed, until one day someone happens to see that my pile of sand has shifted completely.

SB xx

distance, makes the heart

I'm heading out of town tomorrow - on a big jet plane.  Flying is not my favourite of things, but I'm hoping the distance from everything will be good for me.

SB xx

My literary twin

I recently finished reading a book called 'Jennifer Johnson is sick of being single', written by Heather McElhatton. I'm quite proud of myself, because I finished it very quickly, which is unusual for me, given that in any one sitting, I usually fall asleep midway through my third page.

Aside from being terribly funny in parts, I felt a particular connection to the main character - Jennifer Johnson. As the title implies, Jennifer is over being single; she's had some disastrous dating experiences, works in a squirm-worthy organisation and manages to find herself in awkward situations all the time. I'm not much of a book reviewer, so I'll spare the synopsis - suffice to say Jennifer aches so badly for things to change that when she arrives at the place she thought she wanted, she loses sight of herself. The story kind of shat me off, with the way that it ended imperfectly (not unlike life), but it did make me think about why we strive for the things we do.

I hope that upon arriving in an 'ideal' StrangeBird version of the world, that if it does not deliver what is right and good - that I will have the sense to keep searching. The distance between here and there is vast and immeasurable, but I'd like to think, that if I remain true to myself along the way, that any change in destination will be because it is best.

Some of my favourite quotes from the book

After being caught in an embarrassing position:
"If I had one wish it would be that a sniper would shoot me right now, right here."

Letting her mind wander during a staff meeting:
"What if, for some reason, I had to sleep with Carl? What if a meteor hit the planet and killed almost everyone, except for a group of crazy people, like Mormons or something.... I would have to let the opossum nudge my nether region.  I would have to open my legs and let that hairless, sightless mole creature..."

During a playful fight:
"Well, why don't I just not talk at all? I say.  I'll just be mute.  I shall be Mutey McMuterson from Mutington Downs."

A perfect moment:
"I'm illuminated and floaty, the world full of possibility.  It's almost hard to be this happy.  Right here, right now, this suddenly.  It's almost painful, like after years of darkness, the light hurts your eyes."

A theory:
"I think your God-given right when you get old is to be difficult.  I myself can't wait to be eighty and never have to help anyone again."

Illusions over:
"...like how castaways eventually accept their situations.  After a certain amount of time you have to stop scanning the horizon with hope and just go build a palm-frond shelter... at some point you just have to go lie down in the freaking palm fronds."

It's like we are the same person...

SB xx

It's not supposed to be this way

This is not the picture I had for myself. Sick, sitting in my pajamas at midday, encased in a warm blanket; 28, lonely and sad. Today marks the start of my holidays - except I'm on a sick day.

I've run myself into the ground for a silly, unimportant job. Still, I remind myself I will have to go into work over the weekend, to tie up some loose ends. I seem incapable of leaving it behind. I figure this is probably less about me being a dedicated employee, and more about me trying to hold onto the one distraction in my life. It's a mess. I don't know how much longer I can stand working with someone who I have no respect for, and who doesn't appear to have any respect for me. I guess that makes us even - it shouldn't bother me so much, but it does, because that woman has the power to tell me what to do, and what not to do...

Way back when I thought growing up just meant getting older, I imagined myself very differently. I would be a part-time domestic goddess, with a brilliant career doing something I was really good at, something important. I would've had a bunch of close girlfriends who I would drink cocktails with in fancy clubs at night, and talk about our love lives, jobs and hair removal - because that's what normal girlfriends talk about, right? I would've found a nice boy, a smart man with gentle eyes and a kind smile who looked after me - who I would drive crazy with my 'ways', but that's what he would love most about me.

I don't really make plans anymore - I don't like to think about the future too much, because it rarely works out the way I think. "Be careful what you wish for" is what they say - what if you don't wish for anything?

That's not true, I do have wishes. Ones that I whisper in the night and keep tucked away. Dreams about alternate choices; about being that strong, amazing, unshakable woman; about finding that man with the gentle eyes - I speak of fears that I may have already met him and let him leave, unnoticed.

I just don't know exactly where it all went so wrong.

SB xx

Truth

Truth is so rare it's delightful to tell it

- Emily Dickinson

Selective Hearing

From the lovely Sarah Blasko, this song popped up on my shuffling ipod yesterday morning.  I've never really taken the time to listen to it until then, and it seemed kind of fitting.  Funny how when you are ready, you can hear what you need hear in a song. Almost as if it were written exclusively for you...



Love is something of an art
When we are led by such divided hearts
Painted black, their center red
Beating now, they're loaded with regret
Full of memories that you can't neglect

Of all the things that you've yet to prove
Oh, the times I've thought this whole thing through
Lived whole lifetimes in disguise from you
How can I hold to a pale idea
When you've given everything you can
By everything you feel, you stand

I could never belong to you
I could never belong to you

For all the troubles of an onward path
The confusion lacks a tragic punch
When we take the desired turns
All we have is all we can find
No one else can make this mine

I could never belong to you
I could never belong to you...

SB xx

Oh sadness, I'm your girl

Lykke Li sings about uncomfortable things, in such a way, that if you don't really listen to her words, you'd make the mistake of thinking it's just another pop song. You would be very wrong.

My wounded rhymes make silent cries tonight
My wounded rhymes make silent cries tonight
And I keep it like a burning
Longing from a distance

I ranted, I pleaded, I beg him not to go
For sorrow, the only lover I've ever known

Sadness is a blessing
Sadness is a pearl
Sadness is my boyfriend
Oh, sadness I'm your girl

These scars of mine make wounded rhymes tonight
I dream of times when you were mine so I
Can keep it like a haunting
Heart beating close to mine

Sadness is a blessing
Sadness is a pearl
Sadness is my boyfriend
Oh, sadness I'm your girl

I ranted, I pleaded, I beg him not to go
For sorrow, the only lover I've ever known
Every night I rant, I plead, I beg him not to go
Will sorrow be the only lover I can call my own?

Sadness is a blessing
Sadness is a pearl
Sadness is my boyfriend
Oh, sadness I'm your girl
Sadness is my boyfriend
Oh, sadness I'm your girl
Oh, sadness I'm your girl

SB xx

Anatomy Lesson

We have what you might call a 'temp' staff member with us at the moment. She's an Irish lass, travelling Australia doing her 'trade' and she found herself on our doorstep some two months ago. Things I know about young Irish... she's a very funny drunk, strangely fixated on finding her soul-mate, loves chocolate, hates tomato sauce and adores the TV show 'Grey's Anatomy'.

We have had some interesting and comical conversations centered around the show - and admittedly, it's nice to have someone to talk to again, about silly stuff.  Irish wants to be Christina Yang... and she also wants to find herself a dishy M.D. In a state of drunkenness a few weeks ago, Irish pointed out that while she wants to snag herself a Dr Sloan... I'm a Dr Derek Shepherd kinda gal.  How is it that someone I've known mere weeks, can condense me down, to that?  Strangely, she's right.

Sloan is sexy, sometimes crass and mean, and truthfully I just wouldn't know what to do with that. But Shepherd is the one you make a home with - still charming and sexy with all his cerebral knowledge - he's a protector, a virtual teddy bear with all the right words.

All of this recent talk about weddings - not only the royal wedding, but also with some recent engagements at work - it's hard not to think about that great big question mark hanging above my 'almost-30' head.  Torn between accepting the idea it might not happen for me, and participating in desperate creative visualisation exercises - I'm more than scared about 'what next'.

Vivid dreams about faraway men, reliving pivotal moments I wish I could change; suggestive emails to a seemingly stupid-stupid man, God, I even looked at RSVP.com the other night - to check out my options. What is to become of me??

SB xx