Friday, April 15, 2011

Looking Back, Dragged Forward, Still

{Image: Lady In The Water 1947/Photographer: Tony Frissell/From:}

I used to be a 'people person'.  That laughing, friendly, moderately attractive-yet-non-threatening woman, saying hello to various people at exhibition openings, Halloween parties, comedy gigs, etc?

Yeah, that used to be me.

Then I quit.


Melbourne tonight.  It's a beautiful city.  Laid back, but with good bones.  European flair, but not Eurotrash.  Antipodean, but not loudly so.  Like a confused Autumn day when the sun is on your back and you're grateful the good weather held out - something to be noticed and appreciated.

Tonight her pavements feel like the decks of a softly rolling cruise ship.  That's because the meds I'm on screw up important things, like balance and concentration, they set my internal gyroscope on "walking, drunk-like".
Also, the only thing I've had to eat today is a cup of coffee and a hot cross bun.

This isn't a good way to meet The Boyfriend's workmates.

The shindig is at a popular Oriental-themed bar in the middle of town.  It's all dark wood, loud conversation and Buddha statues.  The Art of Zen disguised as interior decorating.  I walk in, smile, sit down on the seat that's been politely cleared.  The floor is still unsteady and the room lurches to the left a little.  I chat to two people I've met before - Amanda, a quiet blonde lass from the outer suburbs and Zelle, a boyish, business-savvy Ethiopian lad with a broken leg.
There's a story behind that leg - one of late nights, girls and bar fights.  He's still smiling, though.

The Boyfriend introduces me to other workmates.  I remember their names, smile at the appropriate times, and generally Make Nice.  All the while, I'm thinking about the sushi bar next door and how I really, really need to eat something that's not mainly carbs.

The Boyfriend and I eventually leave, do the dinner thing and then grab some Japanese crepes for dessert.  They're delicious, something Sailor Moon would eat while riding a unicorn to Disneyland to hang out with Cinderella.  Mine has Nutella, custard and strawberries, the Boyfriend has one with strawberries, cream, cheesecake (yes, they actually put in a small slice of cheescake) and berry sauce.  Ridiculously good and on the fabulous side of wrong.

On the way up Little Lonsdale street, we pass cafes, bars and restaurants.  It's Friday night - people are glad to have finished for the week, glad to have a glass of wine in their hand, a buddy to bitch with and a fine city to do it in.

We pass a bar which is hosting the opening of an art exhibit - then I remember the world I used to belong to.  This world; as an active participant, not a crepe-eating, drug-addled ghost of bone-bleached judgement.

As it used to be, the past life - music playing in the background, cat's-eye liquid liner which would make Katy Perry jealous.  Yeah, I know the artist, she's super-smart and is a derby girl to boot.  Yeah, I know the DJ, he's my boyfriend.  Yeah, that's my burlesque troupe, wanna hire us?    
Always. On. The. Hustle.  The good guest, the good host.  The 'people person'.

And for what?

I met a lot of nice, interesting people.  But they aren't here now.
I met a lot of leeches and narcissists disguised as nice, interesting people - I'm glad they aren't here now.

It's through these streets I see those meet-and-greet scripts, through the windows of it's bars, restaurants, colourful laneways and alleys full of promise.  But all the roles have been played and the storyline exhausted.

Dreams are dreams no longer, some just experiences, some experiences resulting in fine successes (someone order me a parade!), some broke embarrassingly like a latte cup on stone flooring.  Oh, and lots and LOTS of stories.

So where to from here?  

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

No Comfort in Slumber or Stupidity

Ohhh, my head...

I've been put on new medication by the doc, and it feels like I've just roofied myself.
Normally I'm a sleep Nazi - I refuse to have a lie-in unless it's a weekend to keep my schedule as regular as possible.
However, on Sunday (my first day on mirtazapine) I woke up at noon, had something to eat and didn't get up again until 6pm.  Other days have been variation on this 'sleep alot, eat, try to do something useful, fail, sleep' theme.

When I'm awake I feel like I'm on a gently rocking boat.  Concentration is terrible, dry mouth ever present.  Apparently these are pretty normal side effects.  My doc recommended mirtazapine because I wanted something that wasn't an SSRI.
Hey, they work, but I want my libido back!  My 'date knickers' are starting to develop abandonment issues.  So... I'm going to give mirtazapine 2-3 weeks, then see what happens.

My main concern is that my brain will rot and my intelligence will be lowered.  Paranoid? Yes.  But there are trees out there lumbering more gracefully than I right now.
Also, possessing the quickness of intellect found in recently beheaded poultry does nothing for one's esteem.  

Being this stupid and clumsy is really rather trying.  Let's hope it's only temporary.

Thursday, April 7, 2011

Wherever You Go, There You Are - But That Don't Mean You Can't Sneak A Peek

Run away, RUN AWAY!  Like you're Ripley and a chestburster really, really wants to put it's thingy in you.  Like a politician backpedalling on an promise.  Like a sensible child fleeing from a clown.

I am a born wannabe-escapist - I say 'wannabe' because I can be unrelenting in my pursuit of even the most futile endeavours, like a T1000 missing half it's body and still chasing an chipmunk-voiced, under-aged Edward Furlong.

You know that idiot who says, "You can have my sword/bow/axe/stupendous loyalty for seemingly no good reason," in aid of some hopeless quest? Yup, that's me.

So, here is some natty writing about faraway places and looking-out-the-window dreams, possibilities and realities that belong to others.
My reality is mine - but it's always educational to peek into what could be.
Ergo, my sin today is covetousness.  Journey with me?

Russia: The Georgian Ministry of Highways building is the ultimate treehouse.

Japan: The Edo period never really went away, thank goodness.

New York: An American retail adventure as guided by The Sartorialist.

Note: Today's post is short because I slammed my fingers in a car door - the middle and ring fingers on my dominant hand are out of action.  So typing ain't easy right now... but I'll be back to 80 wpm soon enough :-)