The cows are not safe!
Of course they blame it on the neighbour.

Christmas is over and done with.
My week-long hindsight reckons it wasn't all awful. (Next November I'd be contending otherwise)
The night I woke up to a punctured tyre, two broken wheels and a metre-and-half between my face and the tree,
I was sure Christwas was going to be harrowing and godforsaken.
Christmas is not lovely gold baubles, carols, fancy wrapping, turkey, and brandy sauce-
Christmas is nothing but hard work once you no longer believe in Santa.

Last year I spent Christmas in Cairns.
A tropical tourist-magnet does not celebrate Christmas - it feeds on people who pay to escape the frenzy.
I was glad to be away, from
Overcrowded malls, delicate wishes, the sad reminder that friends are now few and far away (as names drop off my shopping list).
As I rolled fresh lychees into my mouth I thought about the dinner parties and sangria we used to have.

This year I was determined to survive it.
Here. Single. At home.
Three days I spent slicing, marinading, shredding, juliening, stirring, and labelling bottles of condiments I churned out like a vending machine.
I didn't stop. When the nuts were toasting I was picking herbs in the garden, and when the caramel custard was setting I stuck my hands into calamari tubes.
When you allow yourself up to gasp for air you get struck by how long you'd held your breath for. And you start feeling sorry for yourself.
I kept going. From tandoori to Mediterranean-style chicken, to chilli-lime calamari and tabbouleh, thai green mango salad, mango chutney, cucumber raita, cashew-avacado habanero paste, caramel custard with fresh pomegranate, fresh lime wedges for the gin and tonics.
And before I knew it, it was half past midnight, and Christmas was over.
In all fairness, it was a delightful affair.
30-degree day, cloudless, (only) slightly hungover from the night before, the custard set well, and pleasant company of close friends and family.
I only survived it because conditions were fair.
Thanks to all who made it better. xx

And with five days to another birthday
I'm running into hiding again.

ps: note the wishlist!

I have time to myself.
Like most normal, happy people
I took a week off work to do Christmas things.

It poured today.
Last night the winds surged through jacaranda trees and crannies.
Today it rained like it does in early spring.
The humidity clumping hair together,
The oyster sky dull as hell.

Today I drove in the rain.
To complete my Christmas shopping,
With a list, and a plan.

I had lots of time to think:
While driving I tried to recall the last time I'd driven in the rain.
While battling with the ridiculously oversized and pregnant yellow Ikea bag I tried to recall the last time I had to carry the weight myself.
While wandering through the mall I thought about the last time I had time to miss someone-
Never, because between getting up for work, work, coming home from work, and going to bed,
I struggled to find minutes to myself.
The lilliputian moments I ferreted out of the day,
I guarded fiercely-
From obligatory phonecalls, dinner table conversations, sharing.

Today I remembered to miss people.
In this unaided, solitary, unoccupied day
I recovered the hours I'd given away before.
It's not that great,
Having time.
Time is only good when it's scarce.

Top 12 for Christmas
(1) sorbet maker
(2) hamper filled with home-made biscuits, jams (no marmalade) and beef jerky
(3) new nail-clipper for milo
(4) colette dinnigan underwear set
(5) enough black pants to suit my mood anyday
(6) book on dreams analysis
(7) ed norton
(8) radio for the shower
(9) aviator shades
(10) new job
(11) delifrance chocolate crossaint from singapore
(12) art for the pink bedroom

Second last Saturday before Christmas.
Myer Bourke St toy department.
I braved it.
Alone, groggy, and without a plan.
Before I could get up to Level 5
I heard the tantrums, frayed nerves. Madness.
Focus, I told my own nerves.
I made a commendable two rounds in search for Spiderman lego.
There was NBA lego, Star Wars lego, Orient Expedition lego.
Just none of the type I was looking for.
I walked as quickly as my pointy shoes could cope with
And ran into David Jones instead-
Chi-chi people don't have kids. Even if they did, they didn't bring them out shopping.

I rewarded myself with a g&t at Cookie.
Andy Williams crooned away
As I sucked the straw like I do with a slurpee.

I worry about idle hands.
As the minutes loiter into hours
The grey outside osmoses into the desks, chairs, monitors, pencils inside.

As I struggle with my toasted egg and bacon sandwich (which I'd thought a good idea at time of ordering),
I looked at him and his smurf-blue polo t, and wondered why.

Anger-transmission has been slightly retarded lately.
Between the phonecall and a shower
Anger travelled through my finger tips, chest, and down my legs.

It's raining outside now.
It's summer and I'm wearing a heavy towelling robe over pink pin-striped PJ pants and a racer-back tank.
It's summer and I've lost my summertime companion.
Who will lie on the precious bleached sands on Sorrento's back beaches;
Strip the Paddington market;
With me.

I refuse to be the lazy arse's doormat.
I refuse to see you because it's easy.
I refuse to paint the town red just because I should.
I refuse to cut out the sweets despite the bloating.
I refuse to re-establish contact because you have nothing else.
I refuse to let the dream go, because it's all that people live for.
I refuse to choose, I'd much rather be pushed.
I refuse to think because it amounts to nothing but mush.
I refuse the formalities, we're much more than that.
I refuse to be laced up, corsetted, pinned down-
I was born a horse.
I refuse to accept guilt in its undeserving face.
I refuse to let this nonchalence tickle my nerves.
I refuse to lose this fight. I hate losing.

With the help of one colour index guide book,
I got rid of (most) pinks.
Hope this is better.

I'm facing underwear woes.
No, I'm facing a summertime decorum crisis.
For the past week, I've put on the assemble carefully planned the night before (better to sacrifice pre-bedtime moments than precious weekday sleep),
Then have had to spend another fifteen minutes finding the appropriate bits to wear under.
Too sheer, straps too wide, colour is two shades off, blah blah blah.
For one who works as product planner in an underwear company, has her drawers choked full of options,
This is a fucking joke.

Read of the day: buy em!