Darko

There is a guy who works at my local Coles named Darko. I'm not sure if that is his real name, but that's certainly what it reads on his name tag. His shifts are always on the same day that I go grocery shopping each week, and I'm not sure if it's the name or just the way that he's always creeping in and out of the aisles, rearranging the already perfectly-stacked baked beans or constantly opening and closing the fridges for no apparent reason, but I always play this little game with him. Now the thing about this game, is that he doesn't know it exists. Or maybe he does, I mean, if anybody was to have creepy super-powers in this world, I'd be Darko. The game works like this. It's very simple, yet effective: Once I make contact with him, I refuse to look away. If he walks, I follow him with my eyes. If he stops, I continue to stare. It really freaks Darko out. He looks away, starts checking expiry dates on the yoghurts, then shoots a glance back at me to see if I'm still staring. Naturally, I am. His goes turns the colour of the tomatoes he's unpacking and he turns away. This goes on for some time, until he disappears behind those great swinging doors (what is behind there, anyway?) and I wait for him to return and resume the game.

One day, I'm sure I'll get a letter with a restraining order notice.

10:20PM

Lonliness is no friend of mine. However, he tends to hang around me alot. Sometimes, I forget he's there, and sometimes he can't be shaken. Lonliness is no friend of mine.

I think it's pretty amazing, at times like this, when I remind myself that there is somebody out there that I have never even met, who is one day going to make sure I am never lonely again. There is somebody out there who I have never even met, who is going to want to spend the rest of their life with me. There is somebody out there who I have never even met, who is waiting to meet me.

And I think that's pretty exciting.

Junior

I bought Macaulay Culkin's book "Junior" on Ebay for $1.10. One dollar and ten cents. Obviously, with a deal like that, I couldn't say no. I refused to look at any of the reviews online until I had read the book. I don't normally take reviews to heart anyway, because I mean, I'd prefer to find out for myself. But you can't help it. Once you've heard somebody's opinion, it's seered into your brain forever and interupts your own thoughts. It's like if you read Harry Potter before the movies started coming out - now all you see in your mind's eye when you read Harry Potter is Daniel Radcliffe.

I finished the book tonight (it took me less than 24 hours to finish. I have a broken ankle. What the hell else would I be doing with my time?). I immediately jumped online to read reviews, and I must say, I was shocked with what I had come across. Words such as "incoherent", "meaningless", "pretentious" and "simply terrible" appeared on my screen. I closed the screen faster than the page took to load. I musn't spoil this book with bad reviews.

Culkin advises the reader very early on that he is not a writer. If you're looking for a book with a clear beginning, middle, climax and ending, then you shouldn't read Junior. You will simply be disappointed. This is not a novel. It is not a work of fiction or non-fiction. It is not a book of poems or letters. Nor is it excerpts from drunken ramblings or crazy ideas and scattered thoughts. It is a combination of all of the above, and that is exactly the point. I found it difficult to understand why readers couldn't grasp that. I mean, talk about "pretentious".

I'm not sure if I am being biased because I write in a similar fashion to Culkin, but more than anything, I found the "incoherent"-ness of his passages to be strangely comforting. It reminds me of the way everything really is, not the way an editor wanted it to be. It's raw and it's honest, and it's as close to reality as you're going to get in a publication. A peice of work that has been sugar-coated is far more "meaningless" than this book.

And you know what's "simply terrible"? The inability to look beyond "pretentious", "incoherent", "meaningless" passages and not be able to connect with the book and relay it back to your own personal thoughts.

Happy reading.

A Broken Ankle.

I think that it's okay to sometimes have down days. I mean, obviously feeling sad and down in the dumps isn't exactly the best feeling in the world, but it's a feeling nonetheless. You wouldn't want this feeling to capture all areas of your life and drag on from sunrise to sunset, sunrise to sunset, sunrise to sunset. But it's okay, every once in a while, to crawl into bed in the middle of the day, close the blinds and watch a crappy movie. Or listen to sad music. Just a day, or a couple of hours even, devoted to reminiscence and thought. To feel not good enough, or like a failure, or left out. It's only when we admit these things to ourselves that we are able to correct it. Embrace sadness when necessary like you would embrace happiness - and learn how to spring back to your feet.

Vinyl Sticker

I raised a question recently asking "Do you know who you are?"
I know who I am. But explaining it is something that everybody struggles with. You can write out aspects of yourself or your views, opinions, hopes, dreams etc. but does that really EXPLAIN who you are?
Not really.

But as far as I can describe, this is me.

I’m only nineteen but I often feel much older. I don’t like it when people put me down because of my age – I’ve been through a lot in my nineteen years and don’t appreciate people who can’t or won’t see that.
I feel lucky to run out of fingers when I count all the people that I love.
I think that everybody really does know who they are and people who say they don’t are simply in denial. I’m the only person I know who actually knows and admits this. People are always taught to accept people for who they are; learn to accept yourself for who you are, too.
At any given time, if I could be anywhere in the world, it would be drinking beer in the sun somewhere. I really am that easily amused.
I cry in war movies. A lot.
I always manage to stretch my pay right out to an empty bank account by pay day.
Anzac Day and Australia Day make me happier than Christmas.
I often wish I lived in the country. I think I’d like it better there.
I don’t mind being independent but it’s nice to be able to depend on somebody every now and then.
I’ve never tried to quit smoking, and I’m not sure I want to either.
Men don’t look like they used to anymore. They all look like they’re straight out of Kings of Leon or something.
I have a strong hate for the expression “Murphy’s Law!” It makes me cringe.
I like smoking weed, but I’ve seen how it changes people so I never push my own limits.
The smell of bushfires makes me smile. For such a terrible natural disaster, it somehow reminds me that everything is okay.
I didn’t like high school and have no regrets for leaving at sixteen. I think it was the best thing I ever did.
My favourite people in the world are people I have only met once.
I trust everyone unless they give me a reason not to.
I don’t know what I’m going to do when my Dad dies one day. I live in fear that it will happen before we’re ready.
I stopped eating meat when I was sixteen but couldn’t bring myself to give up seafood.
Sometimes I wish I was alongside Sal Paradise in “On The Road”. Travelling around America in the 50’s and eating apple pie.
I sometimes secretly think that people walk all over me because I’m too understanding. I can’t help it if I really do understand and accept other’s decisions.
I live for Mexican food.
I cry sometimes, but I’m strong. Just tell it to me straight.
Sometimes I wish I was a gardener. I think it would be nice to work outside with plants.
Nothing irritates me more than when people speak to me in broken-English. I’m not trying to be racist, but I just really can’t stand it.
I’m the ‘go-to’ person in my social and work life. Whenever somebody has a problem, they tend to come to me for help or advice. And I don’t mind one bit.
I think I could very easily be an alcoholic. It worries me sometimes, but not as much as not being able to drink.
I read the news every morning and regret it straight after. Sometimes it’s best not to know.
Anxiety gets the better of me sometimes. I’m scared of everything.
I love pasta but hate spaghetti. I’m not sure why.
I would put avocado on everything if I could.
I think I like the idea of writing more than I actually like it.
I’d rather keep my mouth shut than argue with somebody. Sometimes the extra stress is just not really worth it.
I don’t think that ANYBODY deserves to die.
I don’t really like NRL very much, but I pretend to because it’s fun to watch.

And finally, I’m very well aware that I am a hypocrite, but so are you.

Four Walls.

I think it's funny that a house is not necessarily a home.

The concept of 'home' extends beyond four walls and a roof. To be honest, I feel more 'at home' around people that I love than under the roof that I pay good money for. I feel a little empty inside when I realise that I don't feel at home in my own house. I should be so greatful to have a roof over my head.

A home is a place that you feel safe and secure and happy, and it's important to have that. There are places that I can go to get that relief, but it's not mine. It feels like stealing. Pretending. Lying. And it hurts sometimes.

Hit The Wall.

He stared at his hands for a long time. He was having a hard time trying to explain himself. I couldn’t tell if it was because he knew that what he wanted to say would hurt me or because he really didn’t know what to say.
He jerked his head up, looked me in the eyes and turned away again. Opened his mouth, and choked on his words. Pressed his lips tightly together; he didn’t want me to see him cry. Swore under his breath, and tried again.
“I’m so, so sorry,” he said.
I sat back in my chair and inhaled smoke from my cigarette. I tapped the ash into the ashtray and exhaled.
“It’s okay. It’s not okay, but it’s okay.”
He put his head in his hands and said he was ready to leave. The tightness in my chest was overwhelming. Part of me didn’t want him to ever leave, the other part of me wanted him to get the hell out. I couldn’t believe how much I missed him already. He asked for a hug, and when we put his arms around me, I had never felt so close and so far away from somebody in my life.
I held the door for him, my hand shaking so uncontrollably that I turned it into a wave. He smiled at me with a last-look expression on his face, like he wasn’t planning on seeing me again for a long time. I stood up straight, returned the smile and eventually closed the door.
It wasn’t until then that I, for lack of a better phrase, “hit the wall”.

A Terrible Tuesday in May.

It ended as quickly as it began. It's difficult to support something that you have no control over. To support something that isn't your decision. To support something even though it hurts.
It's the right thing to do, though. No amount of begging or pleading or apologizing or analyzing or complaining or crying will be able to change somebody elses decision. Not once they've already made it. All you can do is support them. Because you love them, and you care about them. And even when they're making a decision that makes you feel like your heart has been torn in two - you have to support it if you care.
If you care, you have to let them go. You have to let them find happiness. You can't force somebody to feel a certain way about you. And you can't be mad at them for not being able to - it's not their fault. If it's not meant to be, then it's not meant to be. It's as simple as that, to be honest.

No wonder people walk all over me.

I Never Intended It To Be This Way.

Sometimes you sit back and you look at your life, and you look at how it is in comparison to how it was "supposed" to be.
Growing up, you have subconscious expectations about how your life is going to turn out by a certain age. I mean, I never intended it to be this way.

I like to see it though like if life was supposed to be a certain way, it would have been. It's really as simple as that and you can't put it down to anything else.

All you can really do is appreciate what you do have, not what you "should have" had. And whatever else there is to come.

Oh, the Great Communicator

Communication.
It can refer to a number of different things, really. What I’m talking about in this instance though is the ability to communicate and discuss when things are not alright. Nobody likes conflict. (Well, that’s untrue. I’ve been in relationships with people who THRIVE on conflict.) But the majority of sane-minded people don’t like conflict. However, that doesn’t mean that you should sweep everything under the rug to avoid it. Nor should you bow your head and hide from it when it’s aimed at you.
There is nothing worse than having to confront somebody about something that you dislike about them, want them to change or something that upsets you. Personally, it makes me feel weak, needy and childish. But simply, it has to be done sometimes.
Think about it like this: Somebody you care about continues to do something that makes you unhappy. They’re never going to know how much you hate it unless you say something. The problem, for lack of a better word, will carry on and keep happening if you don’t communicate to somebody about how it makes you feel. People are not mind-readers, it’s as simple as that.

What irritates me the most however, is when people remain in denial. If somebody is bothered by something that I do, I want them to say something. I don’t want them to sit on it for months and then finally admit after one-too-many drinks that something I have done actually upset them. I mean, EXCUSE ME? You had ample time to bring this up in the past, why didn’t you say anything?
Answer: to AVOID CONFLICT.
But of course! It’s far better to sit back and pretend something isn’t happening than to confront somebody and actually, I don’t know, RESOLVE THE ISSUE.

I really fail to understand how and why certain people go so far out of their way to avoid conflict and not realise that they’re hurting themselves much more while sitting in denial. Open your fucking mouth. It’s like a bandaid. It will hurt, but only for a second.

Write / Wrong.

I do hope that if there are people out there who read my blogs, that they don’t take what I say too seriously.

When I write, I tend to open up my mind and pour out exactly what I am thinking, and (as close to) the way I am thinking it, at that exact moment in time. My opinion, if you could even call it that, is most likely to change shortly after. Not always, of course, but I have been known to read back over some posts from last year and find myself thinking: What the hell was I talking about.

I think a lot. And when I think too much, it needs somewhere to go obviously. If I don’t write it down, sooner or later, it will come out like word vomit. And it never comes out right, really. Even when I do write it out. I can always explain things so much better to myself in my head than I can verbally, or on paper (or the screen, to be specific).
My thoughts seem boring, trite. And they are trite. I over-think; so I over-describe and over-explain. And over again.

I guess all I’m trying to say is that if you disagree with something I write in my blogs, then I’m probably wrong. But that doesn't necessarily mean you're right.

Fish Guts.

“All anybody ever wants is a nice person to hang out with until we die. Is that too much to ask?” – Lorelai Gilmore.


The extremes. From watching other people’s lives unfold and from my own personal experiences, I find it hard to understand how you can go from being in someone’s life day in and day out for, quite possibly, years… to hardly ever speaking. It’s two different extremes. More than anything, it’s trying to break yourself from the habit.
For so long, you’ve had this one person that you hold above everyone else that you know. They’re the first person you’d think to call in any situation – good or bad – and they’re the first person who will come running. And when the rug is pulled out from underneath you and you can’t – rephrase: shouldn’t – call them anymore, it’s a difficult thing to get used to.

What they say is a lie. About the fish. There aren’t really that many in the sea. Not that many that are “compatible”, anyway. If you’re happy to settle for just anyone, then sure, grab a line. But if you’re looking for something in particular, then no. It’s not going to prove easy.

And the whole process of getting out there and having to look around for something in particular, while it can be exciting, it’s also kind of depressing and quite often rather disappointing. You don’t mean to fill your head with these expectations, but it’s unavoidable I’ve found. It’s a part of your subconscious that is hard to control; even with an open mind.

How do you know that you’ve come across the right person?
You just know.
But how do you ‘just know’?
I don’t know. You just do.
Isn’t there some kind of sign or something?
Not really. When you know, you know.
I thought I knew last time and look how that turned out.
…Shit.

You see, you can’t know. It’s impossible. I wish I could tell you that it was, but it wasn’t. You really just have to wind yourself back to the one and only thing that you can truly rely on, which is yourself.
What does your gut tell you? And don’t lie to me. You do so know what your gut is telling you.

Blame.

Nobody ever has sympathy for the parents. The only emotion felt towards parents in any kind of situation where their child has made a mistake – especially big mistakes – is blame. You’ve heard them. “It sure makes you wonder about the parents.”
Does it? You can’t wrap your sixteen year old in cotton wool. You can’t watch him day in and day out. He leaves in the morning and comes home of an evening and you assume that he’s gone to school, but you can’t know for sure. You just have to hope to God that everything you taught him in his early years actually sank in and he’s out there being a respectable and sensible human being.

But you can only teach him so much. Somewhere along the way he has to take your advice and teachings and kind words, and run with it on his own. If he falls out of line or makes a terrible, terrible mistake then you can’t really blame yourself. You ALWAYS could have done more. Of course you could have. You could have spent more time with him or hugged him more or… or something. Of course you could have. But really, chances are that whatever he has done has nothing to do with you and everything to do with him.

If a kid commits a murder the sympathy from the general public is directed towards the victim and the victim’s parents. But hey, what about the kid’s parents? Yesterday they had (what they thought was) a happy, healthy sixteen year old son, and now they realise he’s grown up to be a murderer. So, they sue those parents for being negligent parents. Negligent parents? Not necessarily, but whatever they can do to make sure they get even, they’ll do it.

It’s hard to say what could be going through someone’s mind, or what could actually drive someone to be so mad that they’re willing to spend the rest of their life in jail as long as their victim can never take another breath. It’s something that we, as the general public and community, struggle to understand and probably always will struggle to understand. And I suppose it’s not necessarily something that you want your mind to be able to understand either. You question it, but you don’t really want your mind to go there.

So I suppose that, yes, it does make you wonder about the parents.
It makes you wonder how they’re going to keep dragging themselves out of bed of a morning, opening the blinds and face the day. Because they blame themselves and so does everyone else. And that can’t be easy to carry around everyday. It can’t be easy at all.

It's Kind of Like an Epiphany.

Fear. The word itself is scary; it’s scary to be scared of something. Nobody really likes to admit being afraid. But I mean, sometimes, you have to. In order to let someone in, or just to let it out. Sometimes to help control the fear, you need to talk about it. Let someone put your mind at ease.
Someone who said to me only a few days ago that he’s not afraid of anything told me last night what he’s scared of. I didn’t make a big deal about it, or even dare to remind him of his “I’m not afraid of anything” speech. He was sharing something with me that I wasn’t sure he was capable of.

We’ve all been hurt before. If we hadn’t, then we wouldn’t be where we are today. Who we are today. Past pains and grief and anger get you from there to here, and ‘here’ is usually a better place to be. But it’s when you’re afraid of being happy and comfortable again in fear of loosing it – that’s when you’ve really been hurt.

I think that a lot of people have a hard time wrapping their minds around the fact that everybody is different. Just because you’ve been kicked to the curb before doesn’t mean that the next person will. It doesn’t mean that they won’t either, but it certainly doesn’t mean that they will. The fear can hold you back from enjoying what is right in front of your face. If you’re living for the future, then you’re missing out on now. The past is gone, and the future isn’t here yet. The present is here now – and if you’re happy right now, you’re doing better for yourself than the vast majority. So what do you have to be afraid of, huh?

Change in the Weather

"I'll fuck it up, he'll fuck it up, or all of the elements of the universe will come together to fuck it up."

Ah, I should have known. I fucked it up.
That's a lie, I didn't necessarily fuck it up. I just did something silly. I said silly things, and I made accusations. Probably set expectations, too. Why do I feel the need to take something that's totally smooth-sailing and poke it and prod it and try and make it bad? Why the hell do I do that? Why can't I just fucking leave it alone. Stop worrying, stop falling apart, stop being a complete and utter idiot.

Stopping.

Sudden Movements

I wouldn't ever want to get rid of my memories. Because they're mine and they're real and they happened. The past helps shape the future. Without them, I'm simply a person standing in the middle of time with nothing behind me to hold me up. I wouldn't go back and change anything, no. I don't regret. There are certainly alot of things I would have preferred to have never happened, but no, I don't regret. Sometimes, however, the past is haunting. It's not always in a bad way either, until you find yourself in a situation where being constantly reminded of aspects from your past can get you in trouble. I mean, it can make you feel guilty.
I didn’t used to have a conscious. I really didn’t. If I did something cruel or unfair, or if I was keeping something from someone or lying, it wouldn’t keep me up at night. I refused to let myself feel guilty. But that was a while ago, and I was a child and I believed in things (except for, obviously, the truth.) It’s conniving and immature and evil, I suppose, lying so often. And enjoying it and missing it is worse.
But I mean, the past, it can make you feel guilty. It can have you lying to yourself. Reminders of the past can make you do stupid things, it can make you almost believe you’re back there in the moment again. When you’ve moved on, or when you’re trying to move on, it’s obviously far more efficient to leave the past in the past. To save yourself, I mean. And the people around you.
It’s hard though. It’s a skill, I suppose. To move on. To believe that you are moved on in order to reach the next point in your life, even if it may not be true. The power of the mind, yes?
Yes.

Dispersed.

When the flag came down, I was at the end of the world, the darkest corner of the ocean, the highest point on Earth, and I stopped. Moving, breathing, hoping, wishing, thinking, caring, worrying. I just stopped. Not purposely, that was just the way it was. And not literally, obviously. But I stopped. Tomorrow was just another day, yesterday was simply the past. I wasn’t going anywhere. I wasn’t happy and I wasn’t sad. Plateaued. Coming to terms with the fact that the sun will still rise tomorrow whether I want it to or not. Whether I hide or make the best of it, the day will still come.
It’s not an easy thing to admit (I admit), but sometimes you have to be vulnerable in order to let people in. Apparently. And I’m not sure if it’s supposed to be easy. I mean, I know it’s not supposed to be easy. But the funny thing is that it is. Easy, I mean. And if it is, it’s too good to be true right? Does that even exist? Something being too good to be true? I suppose not, though.
The fear just isn’t there. It normally is. Lingering in the back of my mind like it was a couple of weeks ago. But it’s dispersed. I don’t enjoy change. Any kind of change, really. Mood and psychological changes especially, but any change. I’m not scared, like I know I would normally be in the given situation. There could be a million fingers pointing at a million reasons why, but I think I know the truth. I’ll shrug it off because being dependant on people is a recipe for disaster, I’ve come to realise. But simply, it’s because of him.

The Giggler.

I met someone.
He’s… for lack of an even better word… amazing. I’m not going to bother going into any of the why’s and how’s and when’s and what’s. Not because I don’t like thinking about it or talking about it, because I do, but I’m kind of afraid you know.
You know when you meet someone, and it’s almost as if it’s too good to be true? So all that is in the back of your mind is, maybe it is. Maybe it is too good to be true.
It’s kind you find yourself getting ahead of yourself and the time and the situation, with this, rather blunt, stabbing and uncontrollable worry in the back of your mind like you’re going to fuck it up, or they’re going to fuck it up, or all of the elements of the universe will come together and fuck it up.
And as much as you can’t let your past, or past experiences, effect the way you look at the future, it’s virtually impossible not to, really. Because all you know is what you know already. Obviously.

I don’t believe in faith, as I have certainly mentioned before, so it’s hard to tell myself to just ‘have a little faith’.
I suppose trust can work though. I can trust. I mean… I can try to, at least.

Raise High the Roofbeam, Carpenters

It’s a sad day today. It really is. And it’s sad in an unbelievable way that I can’t quite understand myself.
It’s not only because J.D. Salinger died, but it’s because it’s almost as if Holden has died too.
Holden Caulfield was, like, the exact replicate of absolutely everybody in the entire world. He was a hypocritical liar who knew he was a hypocrite but lied about knowing it. He hated phonies and people who conformed, yet he was the biggest phony around. And I think he knew this, but instead of admitting it, he chose to complain and obsess over it. Naturally increasing his phoniness.

We're all like that though, really. We all know who we are, deep down inside. We're never really confused; we're just trying to change. I think everybody has to reach that point in their lives eventually when they can finally accept themselves for who they are. And when they do that, they can begin to accept the people around them. You can bend and alter and sugar-coat anything you want, but it's still there underneath all the crap. You know it's there. And you know that you're doing yourself no good at hiding it, but you continue to pile nonsense on top of the truth. Until, of course, everything is unveiled and you're standing there, naked, alone and scared, for perhaps the first time in your life. It's shocking and it's terrifying, but it's life, really.

And that’s what Holden eventually realised, I think, when he was crossing the street and he felt like he was disappearing. That he was falling into something beyond his control.

I don’t know. I’m rambling now. Rest in Peace, J.D. Salinger.
Rest in Peace, Holden Caulfield.

Well, I Don't Got No Reasons.

I don't particularly have anything at all of interest to share at the moment.

I've just been spending a lot of time procrastinating about absolutely everything. Drinking too much beer, yet trying to eat surprisingly healthy (not sure about that logic).
I started writing a story the other day and it was pretty much over before it had begun. I tend to do that. With a lot of things, I suppose.
I'm just getting the bus to work, doing my job, coming home and waiting for something to happen.

Nothing is happening. Yet.

A New Leaf (I suppose).

2010.
I think we put too much pressure on ourselves in a New Year. It’s like we expect that because the year is different, that we should be different. Things should be different. Better, more exciting, less of a hassle. It would be great if this were true. But we always try, anyway.

I didn’t spend New Years the way I had expected. But in the end, I’m happy with the way it turned out. I got to spend time with people that make me happy and I didn’t do anything I regret. I’m not going to say that’s a first, but it’s not very often that I have nights like that lately.

I used New Years this year as an excuse to let it go. The things that were holding me back last year. The things that had me holding onto a string that doesn’t even exist. The things that had me up at 3am hoping for. I mean, I’m wasting my time. I need to learn to let it go. If I’m not getting the answers or results that I want, then it’s not worth it. I put up my fight and I lost, and I accept that. Finally.

I'm leaving denial and desperation in 2009.