what i learnt this year...

the world is bigger and smaller than i thought.  friends occur in unexpected places.  punks cry.  dreams die, but you get over it.  collins street is beautiful in the evening, so are the great lakes, so is a loungeroom in a house in north melbourne.  carry your own happiness everywhere.

home again

back to where the air is fresh and the stars are bright enough to hurt your eyes.  I relax into clean sheets and clean lungs.  It feels fraudulent to be this good, but half of me wants to kick the ciggies, the boys, the booze and always be this good.

alone in new york

Two halves of an avocado.  Two beers left in the fridge.  And you're not here to be forcefed the black jelly beans.  The world seems so much bigger these days.  Bigger than when your voice crawled through phonelines from Prague and it was like you were right here with me.

girl

Sometimes I catch a glimpse of her. And I can’t breathe for a second. I remember her shaky voice, milky skin, cocktails. She is impeccable. Underneath it all though I know her stockings are laddered. And no matter how much red lipstick, or it-girlish-ness, or phone numbers, she’s not perfect.

single girl: the seventh wheel

If I had of known that all my friends would so quickly couple up and settle down; then maybe I would’ve taken the time to have more drunken shenanigans, hungover spooning sessions, dinners and tram rides. Those little moments without having to think about the partners and the grown-up world.

lunchtime at the windsor

With you it’s always nice hotels. The beds are firm and there are always matching lamps. We shrug off suits and open bottles of wine and have an hour of tacky romance. It used to make me feel whoreish, but now it’s just part of the fabric of the day.

Laundromat

At the laundromat I have the right change, liquid detergent, the Sunday papers and two museli bars.  I'm organised!  It's comforting to be able to be in complete and utter control of even one facet of my life these days.  I'm not going to complain if it's the laundry section

punch drunk

A clean bucket, a bottle of gin, some strange limey mineral water. Champers. I smush the limes in my fist to get the juice flowing. Slap some mint around. If we had more ice this would be better. But it’s a very summery drink, and we drink fast.

taxi

In the cab I fiddle with my phone and make small talk about the economic crisis with the cab driver. He’s from Ethiopia, has kids and times are tough. I tip him heaps and feel bad and awkward that life’s such a bastard and I still drink top shelf spirits.

secretarial type

I wear twin sets and pearls and it isn’t ironic. I listen to the buzzcocks and get daggers from my boss. Feel stifled. This ain’t super! But it is… and in the worst way. Count down to fag o’clock, count down to beer o’clock. My best years are dripping away.

summer in brunswick

in the summer my suburb smells like jasmine, felafel and barbeques. we drink beer outside and listen to reggae and don’t sleep much. barefoot to sevvers for slurpees and off to gangemi’s for mangoes and peaches. And everyone’s kissing stupid boys, leaving work early; revelling in the northern suburbs summer.

stripey tights

stripey tights make my legs look a bit fat, but they make me happy so i think it might be worth it. stripey tights make me feel adventurous- not sexy adventurous, but just like i might go and drink one of those top shelf french apertifs i can't pronounce properly.

sunday recovery

Red coat and black boots walk home from the pub all happy full of southern and oj and laughing like I’m 16. Sunday recovery has turned a hangover into a smile and a skip and a run past pickford lodge and home to cups of tea and eggs on toast.