Sunday, November 28, 2010

Welcome home

It's the first time in about seven years that I've contemplated buying an umbrella. I've gotten used to not needing one, gotten used to the stability in the weather and the dryness in the air, gotten used to a belief that clouds do not equal rain and have become comfortable in the consistency of there being no rain. Lately it's been raining a lot and I'm always caught out. It always seems to happen when I'm too far from my car, or wearing something inappropriate. Why it can't rain when I'm already planning a day inside is beyond me?

On Friday afternoon I stood outside talking to a parent after school when suddenly the sky opened, interrupting our conversation and dropped a motherload on us. We all ran for shelter; children, toddlers, grandpas, parents and teachers - screaming and laughing and commenting on the rain. Then we stood in silence and watched the fat, heavy raindrops blanketing the playground in sheets and sheets of water.

Some children ran into the puddles, stomping their feet and smiling up at the sky while others twirled and danced and laughed. The boys, of course ran for the drain pipes, soaking their legs and arms in the heavy waterfall that rushed down onto them. No one tried to stop them. No one called them back. This was a rare moment we had all shared when we were small but was foreign to this new generation. Let them play. Let them try to catch rain in their mouths. Let them get completely soaked.

The adults smiled and watched and remembered their own Melbournian childhoods, filled with days of unpredictable rain and of not being allowed outside to play, savouring the nostalgia of a forgotten memory, finally unlocked.

These are the first children that will grow up knowing the sound of rain hitting a hot tin roof as they fall asleep. The drought is broken. Welcome to Melbourne.

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Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Death Cloud

1) I started typing out my Musical Monday post last night
2) then I fell asleep in front of the computer half way through
3) then I had a DREAM that I finished the blog
4) then I woke up and turned off the computer satisfied in my great blogging feats.
5) NOW I've just logged in to find that clearly I have lost my mind. There was no blog. There was no Musical Monday.

Perhaps my life is being directed by David Lynch? I dunno.

I'm in a bit of a muddle at the moment. There are lots of muddles about... puddles of muddles in fact but this one is tiny, petty and probably blog friendly...
I made arrangements to go see an author speak about his work this week. A couple of us from school decided we would go, because clearly you're not a real teacher unless you do dorky things like go see authors speak.. Anyway the two people I planned to go with are people I'm friendly with. One other person has now been invited.

We hate each other.

I hate him. He hates me. It's mutual. I don't want to go into it but in the end I made a formal complaint about him to management. When it comes to me, he is not good people. I want to go to this event but I am far too exhausted to draw battle lines and build moats/stone walls in order to protect myself.

Mutual friend would not be happy if I didn't go, but I don't want to spend my personal time with this other guy. Hell, if he's in the staff room I make sure I am not! THAT'S how far I go to avoid him..

Is it immature of me to pike out on the night?
What would you do?

As for Musical Monday. I am LOVING this song:

Death Cloud - Cloud Control

Musical Monday

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Sunday, November 21, 2010


It's been three weekends now that I've been at home writing my reports. Three excruciatingly long weeks, that is. I feel like I've been through hell and back with these things. Honestly, how much blood can one get from a stone?

Well I'm more than proud to say folks that after THREE WEEKENDS of doing nothing much but starting into a computer screen and countless weeknights of eating cereal for dinner because cooking means wasting precious "report writing time" I've finally done it.

I've finished ONE report!


They're only a week late but 21 to go!
Let the floodgates open...

Clearly I am completely and utterly fucked. I've even broken out some Frank Stallone in order to conjure up the "Frank Effect" to get me moving.

'The Frank Effect': the feeling of elation and considerable physical boost one gets when listening to 'Far From Over' by Frank Stallone

But there are only so many times one can play this:

and this:

before your brain totally implodes.

Give me some truly motivational songs. I need all the help I can get.

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Monday, November 15, 2010

Your Ghost

I was talking to a friend recently.

She is dealing with a hit and run.

That is: a relationship broken via the route of complete silence. One minute you are together and the next he is living as part of the witness protection program somewhere completely unreachable.

I know a lot of men who have done this - it must be in the DNA to pick up and disappear. Perhaps it's an Australian thing.. I don't know..

The thing with the old hit and run though is that it drives the other person completely crazy. You see, they have no idea what they've done wrong AND they have no way of finding out because "the runner" has cut off all contact - so what do they do? They send message after message after message after message after message until you (yes YOU, in the witness protection program) have no choice but to proclaim "She's totally psychotic! See what I have to deal with? I'm so glad I've left that nutjob behind" - and yes, to the untrained eye, yes "the runnee" really IS acting psychotic, but who wouldn't be?

The thing is, she's simply a normal reaction to a fucked up situation (to quote a famous movie). The psychotic is created and then branded. Convenient.

Anyway, I write this because of the unsung hero in all this: The Best Friend - namely: Moi.

...and what has Moi been doing for the last few days? Well Moi has been a patient ear, a faithful advice giver, a sympathiser, an empath, a plan deviser, a bored recipient, a person that has developed a very prominent nervous twitch. All I really want to say is "fuck him, he sucks - find someone good. Please for the love of God, FIND SOMEONE BETTER!" But I, like all women cling to the unreasonable hope that love will conquer all.

And there you have it. I really should be writing reports but of course I'm listening to songs that are really very good but don't get me motivated at all:

Your Ghost - Kristin Hersh (Feat. Michael Stipe)

Musical Monday

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Wednesday, November 10, 2010

Id, Ego, Superego.

For the past three years at the school I've enjoyed a very nice relationship with the parent community. My name has been bandied around the local kindergartens as a 'great teacher' and people come to the school knowing who I am and/or wanting their child to be in my class. This is very flattering for someone who has the self esteem about the size of a kangaroo fetus and for the most part of her life has felt like the girl in your class who wears braces and eats clag.

Next year at the school my role is changing somewhat. I'm going to be teaching a level of children that is a "hard sell" to parents - mostly because it will be a standalone class - but for other reasons too... I'm finding now, for the first time, in a long time I'm not a popular choice. Parents who I don't doubt would have followed me up the school with their children, are saying a polite "no" to this class and then coming to see me to apologise because, they assure me, they love me but ...no, this class no. I know that if I was faced with putting Guappo my fake adopted Somalian baby into this class I'd struggle too, so I really can't blame them.

This is the first time in my life however that I've actually had to battle against my Ego. I never thought I had one, you see - and it's a bit of a shock to find out that yes, yes I do.

In a way it's good for me to have my Ego checked by this little life test. It's good to be humbled sometimes and to have the shoe on the other foot.

But I want to make this perfectly clear: I hate it.

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Monday, November 08, 2010


Some songs don't have a story - they just are. They're on the playlist because they make you smile, or cry, or disappear... or because when you put on the headphones you're instantly transported some place better.

Tonight, this song is my some place better.

White Winter Hymnal - Fleet Foxes

Musical Monday

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Tuesday, November 02, 2010

All we hear is...

So I got to wondering.
Does anybody blog anymore?

I miss writing.
I miss turning an idea into something tangible like an entry.
I miss reading other people's real thoughts written in real sentences (or pseudo-real if you're me), without @ being involved.
I used to be good at doing this.
Now? Now, not so good.
It feels hard.

I remember when CDs came along. Everyone was pretty excited about them but I remember thinking they'd never replace good old vinyl or (God help me) cassettes. But they did. Now you can't buy cassettes anymore and even if you found them, you'd be hard pressed to find a new cassette player in a shop. In a time where everything should be easy, playing cassettes is hard. Is blogging as hard as playing cassettes? Did "the technological age" urge us to move on and make it hard to find a way back - or did I just forget that the birds would eat all the breadcrumbs and leave me without a pathway back home?

If you still get an update - you should comment - just so I know whether it's just me, or if it's all of us.

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