It’s love.

 
Tuesday was a very emotional day for me. It wasn’t just my anniversary, although that was probably a trigger — it was my current (unstable) visa/financial situation, along with a ton of other stuff I’d be able to handle quite gracefully on a normal day.

I left work early, made some calls to California and then took the tram to the hair salon, after grabbing one of those sushi hot dogs I do love so from Mikoshi. I went from having blond highlights and being able to loop my ponytail back on itself to a dark, reddish bob — longer in the front — with no chance of a ponytail for at least a few weeks. Very nice.

I called Sparky and asked if I could visit because I’d had a shit day. He made me green tea and, after a bit of intelligent conversation, I ended up crying in his lap while he rubbed my back and stroked my hair. I’d stop for awhile, only to start sobbing again — audible, embarrassing, puffy red-faced crying — and he was truly magnificent.

And, because I only seem to recognise it when I feel like total shit (ha ha!), I realised that a great deal of my sadness was due to the fact that I am in love with Sparky and I don’t want to jeopardise that by leaving Australia. I’d had my suspicions before, but this just confirmed it. Then I realised I couldn’t dare tell him this, so I started to cry some more. It was hilariously pathetic.

The next day I decided I would write him a letter.

Just before I got to work in the morning, literally around the corner, I ran out of petrol (Bernard’s fuel gauge is not so reliable). But it didn’t matter because I was OK and I had a plan to put love back into the universe. I was stuck in a heavily trafficked turn lane in a freeway off-ramp, though, which wasn’t a prime position.

Three men stopped to help me, but the first two just told me I needed to get some petrol. Thanks.

Then a bearded truck driver asked if I needed help while I was on the phone waiting for RACV. I told him I just needed petrol and that I was fine, and he asked me if I wanted him to get some for me.

“I’ll be back in five minutes,” he said. Then he returned, filled up my car (with a funnel he made out of an empty Coke bottle) and refused to accept money from me. Petrol is so expensive at the moment that I’ve read stories of people leaving watches, mobile phones and other items as collateral because they can’t afford it. But he refused. I got his details and I want to send him something nice, but I’m at a loss. If you have any suggestions, please leave them in the comments section.

That night I tried to write Sparky’s letter but fell asleep in my dress, with the lights on.

The next night after work, I drove to a street around the corner from Sparky’s (Bernard is recognisably loud) and sat in my car while penning the letter. It was raining, and I must have sat in the car for close to two hours. I had horrible writer’s block. I thought about calling him and just showing up, but then just thinking about it made me want to vomit. So I picked up the pen again.

I finally settled for two sentences on a tiny notecard and taped it to his front door.

The next morning, hot air balloons filled the sky. A sign. [edit: And the horses in the pasture near work decided for the first time, instead of running away and appearing standoffish, that they would walk right up and actively nuzzle me. Wow.]

The most amazing thing is the freedom I feel. I was scared to tell him and swore I wouldn’t be the first one to say it, but somehow just having the realisation has made all the difference. And knowing that it is possible again.

I am so blessed.

—–

[edit: another favourite falling-in-love story of mine.]

Mornington beach, last Saturday

Love’ll get you like a case of anthrax
and that’s something I don’t want to catch

–Gang of Four, Anthrax (1979)

I have been listening to this song over and over in my car lately. Such catchy bass and drum lines, although perhaps not the sweetest lines to sing out loud?

 

Mt Martha beach — I could hear (Monty Python’s) God saying “Arthur” as I photographed this

 
I caught most of Divorce Stories on SBS Thursday night. I rarely watch TV, but this was worth tuning in for. Sometimes it can be so powerful to hear others speak your thoughts, but I also found it crushing at times, and I felt really bad for the people who seemed to be in a bit of denial. A co-worker said she watched it with her young daughter and found it a really good teaching tool about marital expectations, given the current divorce rate. I will definitely tune in to watch the other two episodes.

My wedding anniversary is Tuesday. Not sure how to feel exactly, when the marriage didn’t turn out to mean very much (more than Renee Ze[[weger and Kenny Che$ney perhaps) but I’m still legally in it, thanks to Australia’s 12-month minimum separation rule.

A jeweller in St Kilda is in the process of transforming my wedding ring into something else. I’m quite excited, having collaborated with her on the idea and having seen the sketches, and I can’t wait to see the finished result. It’s going to be much more beautiful than before, which, I suppose, is a fitting metaphor for how I’ve reinvented my life over the past 10 months.

 

an augmented speed hump sign near work — pirate or Hamburglar?

 
Monday is Talk Like a Pirate Day. Arrr.

To answer the question oft wondered by my oldest brother and I’m sure others around the world — What do Australian pirates say? — they do not gargle and say aaaaah. This is the one time the Aussies actually pronounce their Rs, oddly enough. It seems all pirates say arrrrr — piracy is international. Love the horrible pirate pickup lines.

spotted at Red Hill Brewery

 
Just got home from what was quite possibly the best weekend ever. If not the best, then definitely in the top three.

I’ve got to work out some way to spend at least one weekend a month like this. Seriously.

And, because I am lost for words at this point, how about another picture with a funny sign in it?

 

a Mornington cafe with a horrible name but delicious brekky

 
I’ll post some pretty beach pictures later on in the week.

Mmmmm… BreadTop (Bourke Street, city)

 
I’m feeling rather lazy and unmotivated, but I’ve been tagged for the same thing by three different people, so I should probably answer.

Seven things I plan to do before I die:
1. live in Antarctica
2. own a house
3. finish paying my student loans
4. learn to play the guitar
5. become an Australian citizen
6. have my photography exhibited in a gallery somewhere
7. vote in a female president/prime minister

Seven things I can do:
1. fall asleep anywhere, anytime, no matter the level of noise or discomfort
2. take a photograph that looks just as I planned
3. wear hats and scarves convincingly
4. make a decent meal out of an empty fridge/pantry
5. cut hair
6. shop for bargains
7. see the positive in just about anything

Seven things I can’t do:
1. draw
2. apply mascara without having to remove excess from my eyelids
3. walk convincingly in high heels
4. dive
5. operate a cash register
6. date more than one person at the same time
7. read a newspaper/magazine without subconsciously looking for errors

Seven things that attract me to the opposite sex
1. good, clean smell
2. integrity
3. quirky sense of humour
4. facial stubble
5. the ability to properly and smartly dress oneself
6. good communication skills
7. a propensity for snuggling

Seven things I say most:
1. no
2. yah-huh
3. howdy
4. listen to this…
5. Hi, baby! (directed at my cat)
6. kiss me
7. What about?

Seven celebrity crushes:
1. Johnny Depp
2. Mark Ruffalo
3. Wayne Coyne from the Flaming Lips
4. Dan Kelly
5. John Cusack
6. Billy Crudup (before he went cuckoo)
7. Hugh Jackman

Seven people I want to take this quiz:
- whoever is reading this, has a blog and can be bothered to answer the questions!

the view from under the clocks at Flinders Street Station

 
It’s been a long crazy week, and I’m so glad just to be in bed and in my pajamas right now, sitting still.

I caught the opening night of Reportage on Tuesday. I’ve missed attending POY the past few years, and it was nice to see what Australian photojournalists have been working on.

I liked that they were all personal projects involving a number of photographs, with most taken over a number of years. And, with only a few exceptions, I really liked the music played over the top. There were lots of cliched images (too many pics that exploited colours and costumes in foreign countries), but there were also some magic moments that made me a bit teary.

My favourites:

 
I felt a huge pang throughout the show, as if perhaps I’ve missed my calling and should go back to documentary photojournalism. It affected me quite strongly. But I like what I do now, so maybe I need to find a way to do both?

I was also enamoured by my dinner that evening: a little something the sushi place down the street likes to call the Cali Dog. It was a vegetarian nori roll, extra long. Instead of being sliced up the usual way, there was one slit, lengthwise, so that it looked and could be eaten like a hot dog, filled with marinated seitan and wasabi mayo, plus the other usual nori-roll fare. Delicious.

—–

Loved the new Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, especially the Oompa Loompas. I would venture to say I enjoyed it more than the original, and it’s not just because I’m partial to Johnny Depp. Really good stuff.

Also loved Team America, which was so politically incorrect and hilarious that I couldn’t stop squealing at certain parts (especially during the puppet sex scene and the puppet barf scene). I will definitely have to watch it again.

—

Sparky is back, tanned and blonder than before, and he brought presents! I only asked for sand, but I received gift after gift, including clothes that I like and that are the correct size.

Most of the men I know (excluding my oldest brother) have been below average in the gift-giving category (and memory-of-gift-giving-occasion category), so my expectations have been l-o-w. Thoughtfulness wasn’t too much too aim for, I thought, but I’d dismissed gifts of clothing as fantasy because A) I am really picky about what I wear, and B) I am extremely tiny on top. So I would have to classify this as a Really Big Deal.

To add to the where-have-you-been-all-my-life category, we’re headed to the peninsula on Friday for a proper weekend away.

I’m off to Windsor this afternoon, after I visit Mrs T, to see some really crap art. Fingers crossed they’ll let me take pictures inside.