yep, i’m back.

nope, i’m not that happy about it. (you think post-holiday ennui is bad, how do you think it feels after three months?) (not that i was on “holiday” all that time, i worked quite a bit. but it was sunny.)

now i’m exhausted, depressed and have to try and get back into my normal routine, which is so disheartening i can’t even tell you. i also have some stressful stuff to deal with that i literally can’t tell you but which i’m dreading. i want to do nothing more right now than jump straight onto another plane, but my conscience (credit card) won’t allow it.

as usual, i’m totally out of step with life. every other blogger i read is having a fantastic time, creating wonderful new opportunities, loving their life, or some other such fabulousness. i’m pleased for them all, i really am — or i will be once this crying jag wears off – but i do wish i could blog about some of the fabulous things happening for me. but unless you count my low-key excitement at being reunited with the far superior british version of itunes, i haven’t got much to contribute.

so i’m throwing myself into an office makeover project (my “office” being one corner of my bedroom, but still - i’m getting a real desk, and a filing cabinet instead of a pile of boxes!) in the hope that this will keep me busy, and bring in more work and other good things in some magic feng shui/law of attraction-type way.

for now, i feel the same as i do at the start of every new year: that i have too much to take on, that everything feels too hard, and that i’ll never feel motivated or enjoy life again. it is kind of nice to be home — apart from the weather, and the dread — it’s just adjusting to the change that i’m having some (a lot of) trouble with. (i also have raging PMT).

so, yep, i’m back.

and nope, i’m not that happy about it.

1 may 2008

feel stressed. wake up late and tired and have lots of - argh! - work to do. this afternoon (”arvo”) gem asks me to make myself scarce as a nervous client is coming round. am glad  - it forces me to rest and chill out a bit. after being in holiday mode for three weeks, my to-do list is getting long again. turns out you can only hide out from the world for so long before it comes knocking at your door and dragging you out to play - or rather work - again.

calling my to-do list a “ta-da!” list isn’t making me feel as whimsical as i’d hoped, either.

2 may 2008

try to find somewhere that can make a  vegan meal at a local quay, hillary’s (where there are restaurants and shops etc) but we’re thwarted. end up at a restaurant called soda instead, where i have fish and chips and a nice hot choc. scribble a few postcards at home then get ready for bed. tomorrow will be my first foray into perth city centre, and i don’t know what to expect.

3 may 2008

my dad and i go into perth today. play “spot the multinova” - what they call speed cameras here, they have them somewhere different every weekend - and i WIN! woo. see a very impressive collection of year 12 (17/18-year olds) artwork at the art gallery of WA. some of it is so thought-provoking and humbling. the youth of today might actually be okay…

buy a catalogue to show my appreciation, plus a book called isms, which explains the different art movements and how they’re connected.

have lunch in perth library’s cafe and look in their secondhand shop. get yet another book, this one about the history of women in rock.

then we head across the bridge for a little look at the actual city. it’s another gorgeous sunny day, mid-to-high 20s, and people are wandering around or eating in outdoor cafes. it’s pretty, and not overcrowded. we go to a big borders bookshop, which i love, and i take photos of the books i most covet, some of which aren’t out in england.  i decide to come back and investigate the shopping options further on my own one day soon.

8 may 2008

go into perth on my own. i nearly miss the bus - go for an accidentally epic ramble and end up hell knows where. career round the corner to the bus stop about five seconds before the bus does, and manage to catch my connecting train.

i go back to borders and have a snack at their gloria jeans cafe. when the woman serving asks my name (so she knows who to call out - coffee shops don’t do this in the UK, by the way, they just yell “soy macchiato and a muffin!” or whatever, we’re too private to let strangers know our names) she thinks i say “claire”, and i can’t be bothered to correct her. i splurge on a couple of books, including candy girl. then i head to dymocks and buy another one. oops.

at a bag shop, i’m subjected to the customer service bordering on harassment that gem and my dad have warned me abut - i’m practically chased around the store and needless to say, i do not purchase a thing. i do eye up a kathy van zeeland i rarther like, though. i see sex and the city, the movie, is coming here on 5th june, and vow to come back then.

i’ve walked and walked and i completely knacker myself, but it’s a good day out, and nice to have struck out on my own (just like a proper traveller!) i sleep well.

i can’t believe my time here is coming to an end. i have less than a day left at my dad’s - somewhere i’m rather sad to leave - and just a month left until i’m back at work. (okay, that’s quite a while, i know!) i haven’t got as far ahead with my ‘travel log’ blogs as i’d hoped, but look out for two more to pop up (as if by magic) while i’m away.

you can also, if you’re that way inclined, read a couple of things i’ve written recently…

i’m a bit late with this but here’s a review i did for trashionista: i like you - hospitality under the influence.

also, my feature on the resurgence of crafts (yes, another one) is in this month’s prima, out now! or you can read it here, here and here… it’s a bit long.

my plan now is to spend as little time online as possible over the next four weeks, and to do NO.WORK.WHATSOEVER. for the rest of my time in oz. i can’t quite believe i just typed that…

today has not been good, to say the least. i need to deal with some stuff that’s stressful and not conducive to a happy holiday, and i’ve felt anxious and tearful. in fact, i’ve had to keep reminding myself of my favourite mantra: “no-one has died… no-one’s going to prison”.

so i’ve been in need of inspiration, to say the least. thanks to my friend keris, i have it. through her blog, i found alex beauchamp’s sites (there are many, going back many years, to peruse - for an online girl like me, this is as good as finding your favourite new author’s back catalogue available free).

today i found the perfect piece of writing to comfort me on alex’s girl at play blog. it’s not about what i’m going through today, but it is about something i can relate to. i’ve experienced the fear and self-doubt she describes, and worried i wasn’t talented or healthy enough to move forward with my life.

i’ve sometimes done things wrong, to protect myself. i’ve pretended i was okay when i wasn’t, tried to fool myself that i wanted things i didn’t, used the wrong techniques to motivate myself, and lived in fear of failure. often i still do.

none of this is relevant to my problems today - and yet it is all relevant. i can’t help feeling that being really clear about your goals, trusting the universe to provide and believing in yourself brings good into your life. whereas living like everything will always end in disaster - aka: my modus operandi - doesn’t. i rarely feel happy; instead i feel smug when things go as badly as i’d predicted. it’s a comfort, but a very small one.

so i’m forced - no, i choose - to ask myself the hard questions from now on. for me, the hard questions are: what do i want to do? (never mind what people think); what is right for me? (never mind what people think) and what will make me feel good? (never mind what people think).

i wonder what might happen if instead of expecting the worst, i expected the best.

what if i do the things i really want to do, go after the things i really want from life, refuse to take on projects that bore me or aren’t worthy of me? (that was hard to type, but it’s true: some things - and even some people - are not worthy of my time, and the better stuff will never come my way if i don’t stand up, speak out and move on).

i’ve always known this, but now i have an example. in alex, i have proof that following your heart, refusing to compromise on happiness, and being true to your creativity can be the best move you could ever make.

in the darkness, i see a chink of light.

i smell hope.

i feel inspired.

when someone reads an article then says “wow, this sounds just like you,” you can’t help thinking they’ve seen your incredible potential. that they’ve just read about some fabulous journalist-author-whatever who had one or two struggles on the way to a hugely happy life and kick-ass career. someone you can model yourself on, and use as an inspiration: like marian keyes, arianna huffington or nora ephron.

of course, that’s never the case. someone has read a piece about a woman who also likes to wear black trousers, or who watches teen programmes they are really too old for, or has had depression for as long as they can remember.

it’s this last thing that most recently reminded someone of me.

at first i was a bit insulted… so it wasn’t something about a fabulous person, but about someone suffering from self-doubt and an all-pervasive sadness? bummer.

» more…

it’s two weeks today since i left the UK and my overseas adventure began badly (always the worst way for something to begin, in my opinion) when i attempted to check in.

despite packing and re-packing my suitcases more times than anyone has ever packed anything, anywhere, singapore airlines said that i was over their baggage allowance, and would have to pay seventy five great british pounds per flight (ie. a minimum of 300 quids) if i wanted to continue. [in retrospect: totally would have been worth it. anyway…]

so the woman at the desk tells me she’ll have to call her supervisor over, like i’m trying to smuggle drugs or something, and this very snooty older woman marches over. totally irrelevantly, she points at my mum, who is standing outside the queue, with another suitcase in the same colour, and says, “and i presume you’ll be wanting to take that one as well?”

er, no. if i was taking that one, wouldn’t i be taking it to the check-in desk?

“no, that’s my mum’s suitcase.”

“but YOU WANT TO TAKE IT? i presume.”

“no.”

she looks disgusted, and turns to the woman behind the desk, and they have a discussion about how many kg my luggage can weigh. they weigh everything, including my rucksack, which contains my laptop, and is “right on” 7kg. then the woman behind the desk says i can have 27kg total without having to pay anything.

“altogether? everything?” i ask her. YES, she tells me. “but don’t put anything into your rucksack, as that’s seven exactly.”

i trundle my cases away, and my mum looks agog and aghast to see me back with cases in tow.

luckily, i had a back-up plan for this eventuality. i would simply jettison (my new fave word) everything i could. and so the jettisoning begins! i realise the heaviest problem is my CASES themselves, which are sturdy and beautiful (with their 360 degree revolving wheels, and bright purple plumage) but basically dead weights.

so i  shove everything i can from my small case into the larger one and my rucksack, jettisoning my (new! sob!) laptop and its heavy cords in the process. i get rid of my umbrella and some books, and one whole toiletry bag. it still makes me ache to think about the spectacle. it was panic, pandemonium, and totally humiliating having all my stuff bared for everyone to look at. (and boy, did they want to look at it - thanks for staring! that helped.) i’m still sad i couldn’t bring meg cabot, or jennifer weiner, or joshilyn jackson. basically, all my reading plans went down the drain. and my packing, carefully planned over months, degenerated into a last minute shove-fest. it was no way to begin a three-month trip abroad. i was tired and sweaty and stressed out, my mum and i were snapping at each other non-stop, and i was losing a lot of my home comforts. not fun.

but i finally finish, and go to the scales in the corner, and weigh all my stuff, including my rucksack. it all comes to 26.3 kg. hurrah! i go back to the desk and the woman says, “just one suitcase this time?”

“yes, i realised the main problem before was that my cases themselves are really heavy.”

“oh.” ever the conversationalist, this one.

she weighs my case. “oh it’s really light! you can have up to 27 kilos, and this is only 21 now.”

“no, you said everything, including my carry on, had to be 27.”

“no, i said your cases.” she gives me the smarmiest, most condescending look ev-ah.

mumbling NO YOU BLOODY DID NOT, I HATE YOU ALL i go back to my even more agog and aghast mother. “what now?” she says.

we shovel some more - mainly clothes - back into my big case til it’s almost at bursting point.

now, helpfully, the scales have broken  so i can’t check the weight. i’m not sure whether to re-consider taking my laptop or some books or even the other case. i know the singapore airlines website says 20kg, not 27kg is the limit for cases, so am not sure if i’ll get charged when i fly to perth from singapore. and i have less than an hour before my flight starts boarding and the queue for security has just expanded tenfold.

i decide to accept that it’s all gone to pot, cut my losses, cry briefly (i’ve now gone totally hypoglcaemic having been up since 4.30 and not eaten a thing) and roll over to check in one final time, talking to the woman at the desk through gritted teeth.

“you sure you don’t want to take any more?” she asks me, amazed, and with great restraint, i smile and shake my head.

so - there you have it, my simple three-million point check-in process is complete and i feel like crap. we head to the horrible terminal two cafe (manchester, get your act together, this place is expensive and dirty, and there aren’t enough seats), flop down and i consume my standard airport breakfast: half a chocolate chip muffin and a diet coke. it’s hard when you’re shaking, though.

after sitting down for about four minutes, there’s just time to hug my mum before i dash off through security, where there’s a huge queue, to calm my nerves. i feel fraught and on the brink of tears. i just have time to find my gate and use the loo (tmi?) before my plane begins to board - i don’t even sit down at the departure gate or have a second to catch my breath. i realise how lucky i was the last time i flew alone: i checked in smoothly, had plenty of time to spare, didn’t queue for security, bought a book and mooched around.

oh well, at least i’ve learned two lessons:

1. pack hardly anything for any trip in future (or stay at home, it’s safer).

2. singapore airlines are a bunch of snooty snootsters. (yes, that is a word).

oh well. i’m on my way at least - at last. things have to get better from here on in… don’t they? 

this week, i am off to australia, via manchester and singapore. which means that i’m rushing around today getting organised, working all day (and i do mean aaaaaaaaaaaaaall day) tomorrow and rushing around again on tuesday. but i’m not complaining! although i can’t help wondering why, however far in advance i plan, there’s always so much to do at the last minute? an extra week to prep would be perfect.

anyway… this is my last post before i go mad. i just wanted to thank you all for reading during this time of lean blogging (that knicker story was good value though, no?) and let you know i will be updating from oz, i’m just not sure when or how much. i still have some writing assignments to finish while i’m there, but i’ll be making sure to have time off to relax. (i’m so in need of a holiday that i can’t wait for the 12 hour plane journey, ‘cos there’s no way anyone can email or phone me about anything! plus i’m dying to use one of those chair-back TV screens for the first time).

what i will definitely be doing is continue to twitter. (in case you’re still not sure what that means, it’s micro-blogging - telling the world (or just your friends if you activate privacy settings) what you’re up to in 140 characters or less. it’s fun, and a looooooot quicker than blogging. you can catch up with my “tweets” (twitter updates) here or in that red “what am i doing” box in the sidebar to the right>>>. and if you join, we can totally be twitter friends!

speaking of tweeting, i wanted to capture the weather when i woke up this morning: the ground and trees were covered in snow, the sky bright blue. so i opened my window and snapped some shots. i could see movement at the bird feeder but as i’m shortsighted, i couldn’t see what was there, and so just zoomed in and snapped blindly away.

on a total fluke, i captured this, which i think is the perfect “bye-bye, britain!” parting shot:

this morning, i had one of those experiences that makes a person (a person like me) shriek, “what’s wrong with people?!” at a very high decibel. i’d be honoured if you’d let me share it with you. (it involves knickers, if that swings it…)

i was headed to my desk to finish an article i’ve been slaving over, and i noticed there was a pair of knickers (mine, clean, plain cotton, don’t get excited) on a plant in the communal garden outside.

i could see what had happened: they had escaped from the washing line over the weekend. when my mum brought in the washing yesterday, she hadn’t seen the knickers lying abandoned and only in the clear light of day were they, well, clearly visible.

i didn’t exactly jump up to do something about it. because i didn’t think it was that big a tragedy - things have fallen off the washing line before, a t-shirt here, a sock there, and somehow i’ve managed to deal with it. i made a mental note (promptly forgotten) to ask my mum to grab them on her way out or when she next went outside (seeing as i was in my PJs and planning to stay that way). then i pulled up my article and got to work.

a couple of hours later, when i’d moved on to writing about biometric scanners and laverne and shirley (god, i loved that show!) i heard an infernal banging at the door - like the force of ten men. then i heard a whisper.

“diane… there’s someone at the door.”

“i know mum,” i whispered back… “who is it?”

now i know of course there’s a foolproof way to find out, which is to open the door, but my mum was about to have a shower and i was in the aforementioned PJs (yes, still). the post had been delivered, we weren’t expecting a parcel, the meter readers had been the previous week, and so, our rationing went, it couldn’t be good news at the door. so we waited.

then came the infernal banging at the window! what madman was this?

“it better not have been a delivery,” i whispered, as we heard the sound of something pushed through the letterbox.

when we were sure the banger had gone, i went to look. and it was… knickers. my knickers. what the…?

then we heard the creak of stairs and the door of the upstairs flat go bang.

our upstairs neighbour. the one who “can’t do anything else” (apart from look disdainful) about the noise from their television. she had seen the knickers in the plant, and taken it upon herself to rescue them. despite the fact that she had no other business in the garden at the time and it involved trekking up and down stairs to do so.

and then, instead of quietly and discreetly posting them, or leaving them in a subtle place, she decided to bang on our windows and door as if it was a matter of national importance that she embarrass me as fully as possible.

what was her motivation - to let me know that people round here do not put their underwear on top of plants and leave them there? to let me know what a great knicker salvation worker she was? or to comment on the size, style and colour? i’m sorry lady, but you don’t know me well enough to knock on my door whilst holding my underwear.

the implication is that we’re the slobby kind of folks who think chucking underwear around is okay, and we need her to educate us otherwise. but how up in other people’s business do you need to be to care that much about their knickers that you take it upon yourself to ‘rescue’ them from… what, public ridicule? i doubt more than four people had seen them, and it really wasn’t international - and what’s more, who effing cares?

well, my neighbour for one. and clearly, she wants me to know it.

please tell me i’m not the only one who finds this crazy…

i’ve just realised that three weeks from now, i’ll be spending the weekend in asia.

ASIA!

even better, i’ll see my dad for the first time in three years.

THREE YEARS!

i am very, very excited and happy about this.

but sitting here in my dressing gown after a long day of work and period pain, looking at the piles of clothes i have yet to wash/pack/try on and send back to online retailers, it all seems a little hard to believe.

EEK!