Weird Night, Easy Day
Another Easy Day.
Seriously. Nothing terribly interesting happened, athough an Italian Colleague observed that I seem shy.
And I got a one and a half hour lunch, which I used to have some Lasagne down at a caff down the street while talking to some girls from Brisbane, who happened to be of Greek Heritage. They were Social Workers, and one of them actually knew what a List Caller did.
Which is funny, because I have met actual Solicitors who don't know what a List Caller is.
Nope today was easy to the point of tedium.
Last night, after I posted, I stopped off at home, got changed, observed that my toilet seems to be blocked (mental note: buy a big plunger with a long handle, the one we have just isn't big or long enough) and made my way back to the Station to go to the Open Mic Night that Farrah hosts.
Remember that I was pretty exhausted by this point, and I tend to get emotional when I haven't had enough sleep.
Anyways, I get there at about half eight (I had left home way later than I meant to, but it couldn't be avoided) and through the course of the evening I discovered these things about Farrah:
1) she is an insanely talented singer
2) she is ridiculously exuberant
3) she is very affectionate towards friends
4) she is heading to India sometime soon
5) outside work hours, she is a total hippy.
Yep. She's going to Goa.
And she kept introducing the female performers (who admittedly, were very good) as Goddesses.
In fact, the performers were all so good that they made me feel like someone was pouring nitrogen into my Vena Cava. And I wasn't even going to play.
Another thing that freaked me out: after ten months in one of the most cynical, aloof and generally guarded cities in the world, I stumble on an enclave of absolute emotional nakedness. It was like spending a year in the Antarctic and accidently walking into a nudist colony.
Beyond that, the Punk side of my nature, which does tend to dominate (especially in a room full of hippies) made me feel accutely unsure of how to react.
Once people used to say about me that I had a beautiful naivety (or some other more appropriate word) about me. I now suspect that piece of me is dead.
At least it is when I am exhausted and feeling anaemic.
Still, Farrah remains a beautiful and fascinating person. So many questions I'd love to ask her.
It doesn't feel like I have crush on her, but I'm showing all the symptoms.
Weird.
Anyways, the Goth Prosecutor I mentioned last week is leaving the CPS sometime, so they are doing a drinks thing for her tonight.
So I have to go.
By the by, I'm Blogging from a net cafe in Islington.
Over and Out.
Seriously. Nothing terribly interesting happened, athough an Italian Colleague observed that I seem shy.
And I got a one and a half hour lunch, which I used to have some Lasagne down at a caff down the street while talking to some girls from Brisbane, who happened to be of Greek Heritage. They were Social Workers, and one of them actually knew what a List Caller did.
Which is funny, because I have met actual Solicitors who don't know what a List Caller is.
Nope today was easy to the point of tedium.
Last night, after I posted, I stopped off at home, got changed, observed that my toilet seems to be blocked (mental note: buy a big plunger with a long handle, the one we have just isn't big or long enough) and made my way back to the Station to go to the Open Mic Night that Farrah hosts.
Remember that I was pretty exhausted by this point, and I tend to get emotional when I haven't had enough sleep.
Anyways, I get there at about half eight (I had left home way later than I meant to, but it couldn't be avoided) and through the course of the evening I discovered these things about Farrah:
1) she is an insanely talented singer
2) she is ridiculously exuberant
3) she is very affectionate towards friends
4) she is heading to India sometime soon
5) outside work hours, she is a total hippy.
Yep. She's going to Goa.
And she kept introducing the female performers (who admittedly, were very good) as Goddesses.
In fact, the performers were all so good that they made me feel like someone was pouring nitrogen into my Vena Cava. And I wasn't even going to play.
Another thing that freaked me out: after ten months in one of the most cynical, aloof and generally guarded cities in the world, I stumble on an enclave of absolute emotional nakedness. It was like spending a year in the Antarctic and accidently walking into a nudist colony.
Beyond that, the Punk side of my nature, which does tend to dominate (especially in a room full of hippies) made me feel accutely unsure of how to react.
Once people used to say about me that I had a beautiful naivety (or some other more appropriate word) about me. I now suspect that piece of me is dead.
At least it is when I am exhausted and feeling anaemic.
Still, Farrah remains a beautiful and fascinating person. So many questions I'd love to ask her.
It doesn't feel like I have crush on her, but I'm showing all the symptoms.
Weird.
Anyways, the Goth Prosecutor I mentioned last week is leaving the CPS sometime, so they are doing a drinks thing for her tonight.
So I have to go.
By the by, I'm Blogging from a net cafe in Islington.
Over and Out.
posted by the.exile at 4:21 pm
3 Comments:
I think you're trying to spam me, but I can't be sure.
I have no idea who you are, and you haven't actually mentioned anything specific about me blog that you like.
I bet you run like a girl.
Hi,
Just a quick post to let you know your readership on this side of the Atlantic has not deserted you.
It's much too late and I need to go to bed, much to do tomorrow, Saturday, including a collage work shop which I am very excited about.
I spent the last two days in Niagara-On-The-Lake in Ontario. Saw Major Barbara at the Shaw festival.
Don't know how you feel about Shaw, but I loved the production. Absolutely first class in regard to the sets and costumes, lighting and sound. Acting wasn't bad either.
For a long play (two intermissions) - and I heard so many whiners complaining it was too long - it kept my attention riveted. No nodding off in this corner. And I even had wine at dinner beforehand.
Niagara-On-The-Lake is beautiful, all grapevines, flowers, beautiful well-kept architecture and cute shops.
Admittedly, it's a little like Disneyland, in a way, but sure beats your typical hideous American sprawl with our billboards and mini-malls and dysfunctional suburban mazes where you need to drive three miles to get a quart of milk.
In any event, read your last few blogs and you sound happier and, not coincidentally, more on time.
Love your list of observations about Farrah.
Tickled to hear she introduced female performers as Goddesses - that just painted such a fun picture for me.
I can see the stage, see her smiling (well, yes, my version of her based on your descriptions which, no doubt, is inaccurate.)
Anyway, it made me happy.
Your tales of misery made me laugh, but not, I realize, genuinely happy.
I don't know if this makes any sense or would matter to you (why would it?) but while, before, you were very good at conveying feelings of alienation, I'm enjoying this feeling you convey of being better connected.
You know how you can get a running movie in your head as you read another's words?
Some past blogs, to me, were closer to "Blade Runner" for lack of a better description, but in describing your reactions to their vulnerability, you created a whole new world for me - not to be insipid, bear with me here, I'm tired and groping for words - a tender world, a safer world.
I like that world.
I try to be a vulnerable person who reaches out, even for a moment to make the person in front of me in line feel less alone, less unappreciated.
I find myself spilling my guts, (briefly I promise and in a good way) telling a woman she's beautiful, for instance (because every woman has doubts) or chiming in with a supportive comment if someone is having a hard time.
My husband calls me "a little mouthpiece" and is continually amazed that I will risk being told to go to hell.
Yet, no one has, ever.
I think most people feel alone and insecure when they're out of their work roles and just passing through the crowds of people around them.
Nice about the design, too. Appreciation for your talents, for who you are and have to be, is a great and wonderful gift.
All for now. May you be absolutely struck with joy.
Clyo
P.S.
I run like a girl. An old girl.
Thank Clyo.
The Run Like A Girl thing was just me trying to find something insulting to finish with.
Constantly having to come up with new invectives can be hard work.
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