Picnic By The Motorway

Thursday morning. It must have been around 6am. I woke up, still a little sleepy, and figured that the birds would be starting to chirp at any moment…

I lay there, slowly waking more and more with each passing moment. Waiting for the birds.

Within a few minutes I was wide awake. I checked the clock – 3.30am. What? How could I be wide awake at 3.30am? That time of day doesn’t even exist for me – I am, even at the worst of times, a very good sleeper. Finding myself awake at a time when the BFG would have just wrapped up his dream catching was a little disconcerting. And so I lay there in the pitch black darkness, staring at the ceiling that I couldn’t see (due to the aforementioned pitch black darkness), thinking about how weird it was that I felt so awake.

I gave it a good half an hour of trying to get back to sleep, all the while listening to Joel breathing in and out – slow and steady deep-sleep breaths – and being totally jealous of his uninterrupted slumber. I eventually realised there was not going to be any nodding-off in my immediate future, so I hauled myself out of bed and went into the lounge where I’d at least be able to turn on the light in order to actually see a ceiling. And that’s what I did for the next hour. I stared at the ceiling. And the walls. And the floor. And the coffee table. I refused to turn on the TV or open my laptop, because I feared that would somehow constitute the actual start of my day. As long as I kept just staring at flat surfaces I figured I was in a weird no-man’s-land of existence.

Thankfully my eyelids grew heavy just before 5am, and I gratefully sank back into bed where I drifted easily into two more hours of sleep.

That day at work was shit to say the least. I was so tired when I woke to face the day that I couldn’t be arsed putting even the slightest effort into my appearance. That meant comfy clothes (read: unflattering) and no make up – a look more suited to doing the housework than heading to actual work. The interruption to my night plagued me throughout the day, manifesting itself in my inability to concentrate for more than a few minutes at a time, and my repeatedly getting words all jumbled up every time I opened my mouth.

Generally speaking, I don’t get enough sleep. I am always tired after work, but I seem to get a second wind around 8pm at which point I’ll kick into some baking, or telly, or serious internetting… most nights I’m still awake come midnight. So yeah, even though sleep is my true love, we really don’t spend as much time together as we should. Despite going to bed late, I can usually get through the work day without issue. I can most often focus on what I’m doing, get the job done, throw around a few witty lines, and then head home. But actually waking up after I’ve already been in a deep sleep and not being able to get back there? That’s some next-level mindscrew that actually dropkicks your world for the next twenty-four hours.

I do not recommend it. And I’m pissed off that it happened again last night.

One of the good things about having a blog where I am the boss is that I don’t have to post an entry if I don’t feel like it. I know that’s not very considerate to any of you who might be hanging out to see what happened when I mowed the lawns on the weekend (nothing of consequence btw), but hey, as my Dad says… life’s not fair. Besides, at least you know when I do write it’s because I really want to, and not because I have to, therefore it’s from the heart.

So hello! How are you? I’m doing very well thanks. We have gone from snow (graupel) to sunshine and I’m finally getting the sense that Spring is upon us. I can’t wait. As I’m sure you’re aware by now, winter is just like a long miserable nightmare for me, which makes the arrival of spring (and then summer) pretty much the most exciting thing EVER.

Aside from Christmas, of course. Christmas will always be my number one.

I am determined to make the most of summer this year. I will be beaching and BBQ-ing, and not interrupting the sunshine with a pesky sojourn to the winter wonderlands of LA and NYC like I did last summer. Okay, that wasn’t exactly a bad problem to have, but it did mean I didn’t get a whole lot of summer and I’m trying to look on the bright side. Pun intended.

You might have picked up from my last entry that there has been some extremely saddening stuff going on of late, and as a result I’m doing my best to appreciate all the good stuff. Because life really is a bit too short, right? And you never know if your life is going to be even shorter than is fair and just. I’m not promising to never complain again (I kind of enjoy complaining sometimes, so if it brings me joy then it’s almost a positive thing, right? No?) but I am going to try to open my eyes a bit more and think about the bigger picture.

I’m going to try to stop and smell the roses and enjoy the little things. Including the little creatures who bade me farewell as I left for work this morning…

Gareth Stewart-Lee
26th August 1986 – 20th August 2011

Being Chinese at the Chinese Garden

I should be sitting down to tell you about all my exciting adventures in Sydney, but instead I find myself with nothing but further evidence that my life is perpetually underwhelming. Tell me… why do you still come here?

Before we even stepped on the plane I had a little nagging sense of dread – which is, of course, just what you want when you’re about to head up into the sky. The niggling anxiety pulled its usual trick and turned into mild nausea. Yaaaaay. So, I spent the first forty-five minutes of the flight clenching my teeth while conducting an internal monologue that went something along the lines of “don’t throw up, don’t throw up, don’t throw up”. Because there’s nothing like thinking about throwing up to take your mind off throwing up, right?

I’m actually pretty good with flying – I’ve flown a lot and I don’t get nervous about crashing or anything like that, but because I’m completely petrified of throwing up the idea of being stuck on a plane while feeling nauseas is about as appealing as sticking a pencil in my eye. Each to their own.

About halfway through the flight the nausea subsided and I realised that God does love me after all. I relaxed into things, watched a couple of episodes of Modern Family, and then proceeded to develop an almighty headache.

WHAT A TOTAL WHINER. I know. And it gets worse…

So we arrived at the hotel, which is very swanky and we jumped on the bed and played with the lights and opened all the cupboards and drawers. Then I noticed something. My throat. It was doing that nasty swollen thing it’s been doing a bit over the last couple of weeks. Then I get it. The hot and colds, the nausea, the headache, the throat… that m’fing cold still hadn’t fully disappeared.

You know what can really ruin a holiday? Well a plane crash would I suppose. Or being bitten by a poisonous snake or rabid monkey. Any sort of natural disaster too I guess. But also, having a cold. Not as bad as that other stuff, sure, but still sucky (and definitely not as good a story as that other stuff).

So our first day here I pretty much just left my sick bed for meals. Then… THEN! It got better (thank goodness, right?)

On Wednesday I woke up feeling gross but not as gross, so we went shopping. We walked around for ages and I pretty much spent craploads of money on stuff I probably don’t actually need. It’s funny how we convince ourselves to buy clothes we wouldn’t ordinarily buy at home simply because we’re on holiday, right? Then we get home and we’re all WTF? What possessed me to buy that Ra-Ra skirt?

No, really, I actually bought a Ra-Ra skirt.

Anyway, so I spent money and was feeling better – though the feet were a little sore from all the walking – and then it was time to go to the Pulp concert. Now, I suppose the concert is really all that matters in the greater scheme of things because that was the whole reason we were in Sydney in the first place. So you’ll be pleased to hear that it was all kinds of amazing, and I love Jarvis Cocker even more now than ever before. It was absolutely worth every penny of this not-altogether-economical trip.

You will not be so pleased, however, to hear that I woke up today feeling like rubbish again.

I got up for breakfast (complimentary at the hotel, so pretty much obligatory because otherwise, what a waste) and then slunk back to bed for a few hours. My throat was all gross, I was coughing up nasties and my whole body ached. Pretty sure the air-conditioning in the hotel room keeps taking my germs, messing with them so they’re even meaner, and then delivering them back to me.

By lunchtime I decided that I wasn’t going to waste any more time in bed so we meandered the streets and caught the monorail to Darling Harbour. Both of us had sore feet from so much walking the day before and for standing up for yonks at the concert so we were a wee bit miserable. In fact, several times today I have entertained the idea that I have inexplicably broken a small bone in my right foot – because, oh the pain when I put weight on it. I’m pretty much 99.99% certain that any medical professional worth their salt would laugh me out of their exam room because obviously I haven’t broken anything – except my dignity. Needless to say I was rather vocal about my misery today. At times I annoy even myself to the point where I think a good self-slap to the face might be in order.

We had lunch and then monorail’d  to the Chinese Garden, which was really nice – and I’m not just saying that because I’m Chinese. After cruising around there for a bit I admitted defeat and we headed back to the hotel so I could climb into bed and watch bad Australian TV. Which is just endless channels of news and sports, by the way.

A good few hours later and here I am writing this entry. It’s half past one in the morning where most of you are, and eleven-thirty here in Sydney. Joel is out making the most of our holiday on my behalf – he kindly bought me some instant noodles before he left, just in case I get hungry. They are sitting beside the telly untouched, I just can’t stomach anything right now (though I did manage to force down a Snickers bar earlier – in about 3.5 seconds).

Tomorrow we head home. I’m sad to leave Sydney because I had been so excited about this trip and to feel crappy for most of it has been a real buzzkill. That said, I definitely take comfort in the fact that I was feeling okay for the concert and it really was everything I hoped it would be. Plus, Joel and I managed to have fun around all the bits where I was Sir Compliainalot. We ate yummy food, soaked up the sunshine and just generally enjoyed each other’s company – which is a bit awwww. So yeah, it wasn’t a terrible trip by any means, I just wish I’d been firing on all cylinders that’s all.

Hooboy, can’t wait to get back to work. Yeah. Heaps.

So here’s something… I’m old enough now that bands I idolised in my youth are doing reunion tours. I’m that old lady who’s arranging a special trip to Sydney to see one of those bands play live this week.

I’ll be flying Air New Zealand, staying at a hotel, wearing comfy shoes and keeping all my tickets and travel confirmations in one of those travel wallet thingys. Did I mention that I spent some time researching to ensure we got a great deal on the hotel that includes free breakfast, high speed internet and a room upgrade? Or that I have pre-booked parking at the airport? I am VERY rock and roll, being spontaneous, living on the edge and all that.

Were I young and it were a new hip new band I’d be flying Jetstar on borrowed money, crashing on someone’s couch and planning on getting as little sleep as possible so as to make the most of my trip. Also, I would probably not using the word “hip” when I mean “cool”.

As it stands, I am very much looking forward to some downtime at the hotel, and mostly looking forward to the concert. Don’t freak out that I’m not planning a huge array of activities when I hit Sydney – I’ve been there sixteen times (just checked my passport), so this isn’t exactly new territory for me.

The band I’m going to see, by the way, is Pulp. I saw them play the North Shore Events Centre in Auckland a thirteen years ago, and I interviewed Jarvis Cocker in Sydney a few years back – lovely man, very tall with large hands. That’s really all I remember about the interview as I was genuinely star struck.

I am so flippin’ excited about seeing this band play again. If any band can make me feel nineteen again, it’s Pulp.

Which bands define your youth? And if you’re still enjoying your youth (you lucky sod), who do you think will stir this sort of nostalgia for you in years to come?

Please click the image below, read what you find there, click the ‘like’ button to share with your mates on Facey, and if you feel so inclined please comment.

I’m not going to tell you whose handiwork it is, but I think you might be able to guess. The author would like you to please excuse the typos.

You know when you go to a movie, and you don’t really feel like going but then it’s really, really good and you’re really, really glad you made the effort to haul your lazy ass to the cinema? Well, that didn’t happen to me last night.

So the film festival is on, and as usual Joel got all excited about heading to a bunch of movies and as usual he roped me into going to a few. Last night we made a date with some friends to go to our favourite Chinese restaurant so we could enjoy some decadent Peking Duck before heading to the award-winning movie Tree of Life which was playing at The Civic. I woke up feeling shitty yesterday – this cold has gone next level and is really messing with me – but I was determined not to pull out of the evening.

Dinner was delicious, but I was not very good company. I pretty much spent the whole meal zoning out in a cold-induced delirium. At that point I should have bailed, but I didn’t.

We spent ages driving around in the pouring rain looking for a park. When we finally got one it was close to movie time so we made a mad dash to the theatre. Our seats were about five rows from the back of the circle, so we were a fair distance from the screen and it’s mighty weird looking down at a movie from that far away.

There was a mixup with our seats, which is always a good time right? The usher managed to sort it just as the lights dimmed and I’m fairly sure the folks behind us were just delighted with the disruption.

Within the first ten minutes I knew I wasn’t going to like this movie. It was like a parody of an artsy movie. Long, boring, full of either too subtle or too obvious symbolism. Did I mention it was long? And it felt even longer considering my nose was literally dripping, I was doing my very best not to fight the urge to cough for two and a half hours, and the left side of my bum went to sleep about an hour into the film.

While everyone else sat still, fixated on the garbage that was unravelling onscreen (though ‘unravelling’ would indicate the presence of a storyline… there really wasn’t one) I found myself shifting in my seat every few minutes. I felt like an elephant sitting on a unicycle. At one point I leaned over and whispered to Joel that I was going to have to leave, but I managed to stick it out for the full two and a half hours.

As the final scene faded out, some of the audience applauded. I nearly joined them, but for entirely different reasons… I was just glad it was over. I am not sure I have ever felt so trapped in a cinema as I did last night.

As I type, Joel is heading back to The Civic to see Beginners which promises to be more appealing to me than Tree of Life, if only based on the fact the characters appear to talk in a volume louder than a whisper, and it would also seem to have actual dialogue. I’m not with Joel because the cold really got the better of me today and I’ve been a bit, um… phlegmy. Gross.

Have any of you seen Tree of Life? I’d love to know what you thought. It’s a polarising movie for sure, as indicated when I did a quick search on Twitter today and found these two tweets one after the other: