At some point in the last few years, I've become incredibly lazy. At first I thought I was nesting - building myself a nice home and all that. Then I figured I was 'growing up', I didn't get the same enjoyment out of late nights and loud pubs as I used to, and that was to be expected.
But at some point, I've turned into the person who would more than happily spend Saturday night at home watching old DVDs. And wake up Sunday and do exactly the same thing.
I know I crave boredom. I find it very hard to come by. I live a busy week, with full-time (and then some) work, daily walks with Shaun, visits to the gym, the supermarket, the pay-day dinner out. On the weekend, all I want is to feel bored. To wish for some entertainment. To want for something to do. I spend my weekends not making plans, avoiding all social functions, with the premise that avoiding them may make me bored enough to want to attend.
But then I catch myself, watching the same episode I watched the week before and ask, 'Would Marieke Hardy* be doing this?'
*Marieke is my litmus test. She's a vegan, living in Brunswick with a dog with a human name. She also has a cool blog, is a columnist for Frankie and writes a successful sitcom. And I'm pretty sure she's been on #qanda.
There's so much I want to do with my spare time. I wish I blogged more often. I wish I could finish the books I'm working on. I wish I would write another article and get myself published again. I wish I would get to work on my documentary idea. But I can't get all that done and be bored at the same time.
Sooner of later I figure this stage will pass, and I'll go back to being the passionate, driven, determined Lucy of my youth. In the meantime, I guess I'd better go fold my washing.
~
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Saturday, June 9, 2012
The 3am Philosopher
The other night I was woken by a text from a friend. It was 3am, and I could only assume he had been drinking. I read the message and rolled over, ready to resume my sleep. But I couldn't stop thinking about his message. I knew exactly how he was feeling, exactly where he was at, and so I turned back over, grabbed my phone and replied.
My reply was concise, thoughtful and wise. I was really impressed by myself.
We went on to exchange several text messages, each more wonderful and philosophical than the last, until eventually the need to return to sleep overwhelmed me. When I woke in the morning, I was faced with an enormous question:
Was I really that super intelligent and insightful last night, or was that just 3am talking?
Is 3am 'just woken up' the same as 3am 'been up all night' when you really believe you could solve all the worlds problems - if you cared enough. Or, is it that your mind is so clear because there is nothing clouding it that you can see solutions to problems clearly, interpret the world accurately.
I remember sitting up one night in 2010 in a backpackers in New York City because I knew if I let myself sleep, I'd lose the thoughts in my mind forever, and they couldn't be forgotten, I had to write them down.
I'm ready to share some of those thoughts with you:
- it's impossible to act feminine when you sneeze and accidentally sneeze up snot.
- when all else fails, watch Alias season 5 again.
- if someone is drowning in quicksand, don't be polite about rescuing them, do it quickly and roughly and apologise later.
Now you know, these are pretty true thoughts - but so wonderful I had to write them down, at 3am, never to be lost?
You be the judge. I'm happy for the record of my NYC brain. Actually, that was the morning I sat up and decided I would start a blog. It would be called 'Lucy's Thought of the Week' and it would be about whatever was on my mind, and how I was working it out.
You know what? It IS impossible to act like a lady when you've got a face covered in your own mucus. Alias season 5 is a wonderful way to feel better about your life. And if you were to save someone from quicksand, they probably wouldn't give a shit how you manhandled them. They'd probably give you a drink. Or their first born.
Until next time.
~
My reply was concise, thoughtful and wise. I was really impressed by myself.
We went on to exchange several text messages, each more wonderful and philosophical than the last, until eventually the need to return to sleep overwhelmed me. When I woke in the morning, I was faced with an enormous question:
Was I really that super intelligent and insightful last night, or was that just 3am talking?
Is 3am 'just woken up' the same as 3am 'been up all night' when you really believe you could solve all the worlds problems - if you cared enough. Or, is it that your mind is so clear because there is nothing clouding it that you can see solutions to problems clearly, interpret the world accurately.
I remember sitting up one night in 2010 in a backpackers in New York City because I knew if I let myself sleep, I'd lose the thoughts in my mind forever, and they couldn't be forgotten, I had to write them down.
I'm ready to share some of those thoughts with you:
- it's impossible to act feminine when you sneeze and accidentally sneeze up snot.
- when all else fails, watch Alias season 5 again.
- if someone is drowning in quicksand, don't be polite about rescuing them, do it quickly and roughly and apologise later.
Now you know, these are pretty true thoughts - but so wonderful I had to write them down, at 3am, never to be lost?
You be the judge. I'm happy for the record of my NYC brain. Actually, that was the morning I sat up and decided I would start a blog. It would be called 'Lucy's Thought of the Week' and it would be about whatever was on my mind, and how I was working it out.
You know what? It IS impossible to act like a lady when you've got a face covered in your own mucus. Alias season 5 is a wonderful way to feel better about your life. And if you were to save someone from quicksand, they probably wouldn't give a shit how you manhandled them. They'd probably give you a drink. Or their first born.
Until next time.
~
Thursday, May 24, 2012
Clare
Taken from my novel - 'Jesus, Boys and Life In Between'. This short story is called 'Clare' - not my Thought of the Week this week :)
No #2 didn’t know he was gay straight away (pun intended). We dated for about three months until he burst into tears on my couch one Sunday afternoon confessing he’d had a sex dream about my brother. Of course many years later he would move in with my brother and I returned to my comfortable position as least favourite child and least likely to procreate. How does a gay brother become more likely to parent than his younger, more attractive hetero sister? Simple: she has a biological predisposition to repel straight men.
Number #3 hurt the most, because I was convinced I’d chosen wiser this time. We met at a pub. He was drinking beer, watching footy with mates. He goes for Collingwood for Christ’s sake. He didn’t care for hair gum, he didn’t find Judith Lucy funny, he’d never even watched Are You Being Served? But after six months I felt him drifting away from me. First it was the dropping of the hand. Then the spontaneous cuddles. Then he stopped staying over all together. At dinner one night he confessed he’d been cheating on me with men. I forgave him, because I am a sucker, and we continue to be the best of friends. I’m even best man in his wedding in NYC next year. But as happy as I am for him, there’s a huge part of me that hates him too.
My brother reckons it gets easier as you get older; people are more aware of, more comfortable with their own sexuality. There’s less margin of error. I’m know I’m ‘still young’ – but I’m in my prime, and if I don’t shack up soon I’ll have to settle and that isn’t the stuff fairy tales are made of. I want my prince charming. I want him to be kind, and handsome, and dashing, and ride a white horse, and sing and dance with woodland creatures, and wear leather boots, and hell. I want a gay straight man.
He has to exist. A wonderful man with fabulous gay qualities but no desire at all for some hot male on male action. He’s all about the boobs. And beauty. And brains, of course.
So eligible men, form an orderly cue. Because with me, you never have to pretend the Veet cream in your toiletry bag is your sister’s, you never have to be responsible for the ethical re-movement of spiders and you can drink all the vodka cruisers you desire – because they are delicious. And we should all stop pretending that they’re not.
David Coleman was my first. No, not the first guy I had sex with – the first of many of my future loves who would turn out to be a raging homo. I say that with love, of course. How can you not love the gays? They make the best boyfriends. They talk to you, they shop with you, they talk hair, fashion, drink martinis with you. But then they leave you on the dance floor alone to grind up a sweaty man in a tank top. Every Saturday night.
No #2 didn’t know he was gay straight away (pun intended). We dated for about three months until he burst into tears on my couch one Sunday afternoon confessing he’d had a sex dream about my brother. Of course many years later he would move in with my brother and I returned to my comfortable position as least favourite child and least likely to procreate. How does a gay brother become more likely to parent than his younger, more attractive hetero sister? Simple: she has a biological predisposition to repel straight men.
Number #3 hurt the most, because I was convinced I’d chosen wiser this time. We met at a pub. He was drinking beer, watching footy with mates. He goes for Collingwood for Christ’s sake. He didn’t care for hair gum, he didn’t find Judith Lucy funny, he’d never even watched Are You Being Served? But after six months I felt him drifting away from me. First it was the dropping of the hand. Then the spontaneous cuddles. Then he stopped staying over all together. At dinner one night he confessed he’d been cheating on me with men. I forgave him, because I am a sucker, and we continue to be the best of friends. I’m even best man in his wedding in NYC next year. But as happy as I am for him, there’s a huge part of me that hates him too.
My brother reckons it gets easier as you get older; people are more aware of, more comfortable with their own sexuality. There’s less margin of error. I’m know I’m ‘still young’ – but I’m in my prime, and if I don’t shack up soon I’ll have to settle and that isn’t the stuff fairy tales are made of. I want my prince charming. I want him to be kind, and handsome, and dashing, and ride a white horse, and sing and dance with woodland creatures, and wear leather boots, and hell. I want a gay straight man.
He has to exist. A wonderful man with fabulous gay qualities but no desire at all for some hot male on male action. He’s all about the boobs. And beauty. And brains, of course.
So eligible men, form an orderly cue. Because with me, you never have to pretend the Veet cream in your toiletry bag is your sister’s, you never have to be responsible for the ethical re-movement of spiders and you can drink all the vodka cruisers you desire – because they are delicious. And we should all stop pretending that they’re not.
Friday, May 11, 2012
Advice to my eighteen year old self
People don't always believe me when I tell them, but I'm a very shy person. I am incredibly nervous meeting new people and I suffer horrible anxiety going to new places.
Most people don't see this side of me, they see the Lucy who's 'been coming here for years', or the Lucy who you've 'known since high school'. I'm not at all shy once I'm comfortable. But the anxiety I experience in new places can be crippling.
I talk a lot about preferring to stay home on a Saturday night and that's not because I don't like to have fun with friends, or get dressed up, or watch live music. It's because I'm terrified at the thought of being somewhere I'm yet to establish myself as comfortable. So I say home, where I can be myself and I'm not at all worried about what anyone thinks of me.
Something has changed for me in the last six months quite dramatically. I'm not sure if it's an age thing, if it's a new group of friends, or just because I'm finally accepting I am who I am, but the anxiety that made me sneak out of pubs and wait in the car for two hours for my boyfriend, is going away.
I went to the Swinburne Aviation Society trivia bonanza last night, and I didn't hate it. I wasn't nervous. I went with two of my closest friends, and we had to join up with some pilots (so we didn't fail miserably) and I was okay with that - in fact, I quite liked it. I had to expose my 'I'm actually really awful at general knowledge, especially geography' shame to new people, and I wasn't afraid of being judged. You know what, I spent the whole night not even worrying about how people were feeling about my new haircut.
I couldn't help but wonder how different my Uni years would have been if I could have attended the Entrepreneurship society functions with the same level of confidence I felt last night. If I would have been able to approach the people I wanted to be in group assignments with, instead of forming that group with whoever was left.
I don't live life with regrets, but if I could have the chance to talk to my eighteen year old self, I'd tell her she's fabulous, just as she is, right now. Even with those few extra kilos she hates, with the pimples on her forehead, and with the chest that none of the boys are talking about. I'd tell her the best way to make friends, the best way to meet boys and the best way to get what you want is to be confident.
I think I finally figured out what confidence was last night. It's called - don't give a shit. Because if people don't like you exactly how you are, don't worry - somebody else will. And I promise, you'll like them better too.
I also speak from experience when I say I've had some pretty wonderful loves in my life, and not one of them has ever cared about the few extra kilos I hate, the pimples on my forehead, or been disappointed in the chest that none of the other boys are talking about.
Oh, and we won the trivia night.
~
Most people don't see this side of me, they see the Lucy who's 'been coming here for years', or the Lucy who you've 'known since high school'. I'm not at all shy once I'm comfortable. But the anxiety I experience in new places can be crippling.
I talk a lot about preferring to stay home on a Saturday night and that's not because I don't like to have fun with friends, or get dressed up, or watch live music. It's because I'm terrified at the thought of being somewhere I'm yet to establish myself as comfortable. So I say home, where I can be myself and I'm not at all worried about what anyone thinks of me.
Something has changed for me in the last six months quite dramatically. I'm not sure if it's an age thing, if it's a new group of friends, or just because I'm finally accepting I am who I am, but the anxiety that made me sneak out of pubs and wait in the car for two hours for my boyfriend, is going away.
I went to the Swinburne Aviation Society trivia bonanza last night, and I didn't hate it. I wasn't nervous. I went with two of my closest friends, and we had to join up with some pilots (so we didn't fail miserably) and I was okay with that - in fact, I quite liked it. I had to expose my 'I'm actually really awful at general knowledge, especially geography' shame to new people, and I wasn't afraid of being judged. You know what, I spent the whole night not even worrying about how people were feeling about my new haircut.
I couldn't help but wonder how different my Uni years would have been if I could have attended the Entrepreneurship society functions with the same level of confidence I felt last night. If I would have been able to approach the people I wanted to be in group assignments with, instead of forming that group with whoever was left.
I don't live life with regrets, but if I could have the chance to talk to my eighteen year old self, I'd tell her she's fabulous, just as she is, right now. Even with those few extra kilos she hates, with the pimples on her forehead, and with the chest that none of the boys are talking about. I'd tell her the best way to make friends, the best way to meet boys and the best way to get what you want is to be confident.
I think I finally figured out what confidence was last night. It's called - don't give a shit. Because if people don't like you exactly how you are, don't worry - somebody else will. And I promise, you'll like them better too.
I also speak from experience when I say I've had some pretty wonderful loves in my life, and not one of them has ever cared about the few extra kilos I hate, the pimples on my forehead, or been disappointed in the chest that none of the other boys are talking about.
Oh, and we won the trivia night.
~
Wednesday, May 2, 2012
$14.94
I got paid today. I paid my rent, put some petrol in the car, donated some money to my friends fundraiser and bought some groceries. Got home, checked the balance.
I've got $14.94 left.
I figured I had two choices. One, transfer some money from my hard earned, very small savings account. Or two, see how far I can make my $14.94 go. I chose two.
It's going to be tough. I can't even remove that amount from an ATM. But I'm up for the challenge.
Hell, my house is full of things I've previously spent money on. Food, clothes, entertainment. Tea bags, red lentils, tissues.
So I'm spending the next 7 nights making the most of my previous spendings. Anyone want to come watch DVD's with me this weekend? Or take the dog for a long walk?
Challenge set. Stay tuned.
PS I have the beginnings of a cold. I think the majority of the $14.94 will go on lozenges.
I've got $14.94 left.
I figured I had two choices. One, transfer some money from my hard earned, very small savings account. Or two, see how far I can make my $14.94 go. I chose two.
It's going to be tough. I can't even remove that amount from an ATM. But I'm up for the challenge.
Hell, my house is full of things I've previously spent money on. Food, clothes, entertainment. Tea bags, red lentils, tissues.
So I'm spending the next 7 nights making the most of my previous spendings. Anyone want to come watch DVD's with me this weekend? Or take the dog for a long walk?
Challenge set. Stay tuned.
PS I have the beginnings of a cold. I think the majority of the $14.94 will go on lozenges.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
nineteen eighty-five
*This blog is dedicated to my boy, Shaun, who turns two on Tuesday. You've taught me more about unconditional love than any person I've ever met. And I love you.*
On Saturday morning I had the fabulous opportunity to spend some quality time with some old, dear friends. You absolutely take old friends for granted until you move away from the place you grew up, and its simply marvelous when two people you have known for over 15 years marry and live in the same city you do now. I'm so grateful for my friends Robb and Phillipa, because they know me. I never have to justify myself, excuse myself. They know me, they know my intentions, and they trust me. And on Saturday, I carpooled with two very precious new friends to Yarraville, for brunch.
But I haven't even got to the truly wonderful bit yet. Phillipa's parents were visiting from Tasmania, and would be joining us for raspberry and white chocolate muffins, fruit salad, sourdough and mercy valley cheese.
I can't explain how special it was to eat, drink tea, and talk with this amazing collection of people. People that I feel safe around. People I feel connected to, loved by. And as I was giving Phillipa's mum a big kiss goodbye, I shared something with her that I'd only just realised to be true:
I am absolutely loving everything about getting older. Not for one minute do I wish I was fourteen again. Or eighteen again. Or 21 again. Especially not 23 again. I've discovered an age where you feel confident, loved, respected. Where you are challenged, needed, and important.
I love having a little guy in my life who truly needs me. Shaun and I are best friends, we are family. And if I don't come home he shits on the carpet. Because he needs me.
But also he wants me.
Family is an incredible institution, and I'm lucky to have some amazing relationships with people in my family. I also spend time heartbroken for the cousins that are growing up so fast and if I'm lucky, I get to play lego with once a year. But my family is unique. If we don't like you, there's a pretty good chance we probably just won't talk to you. We don't have an overwhelming bond of 'family' that forces us to love each other unconditionally. And while sometimes I wish for that - there is something to be said for the fact that every person who is in my life is there because they want to be.
And so, this sappy blog comes to you from one very loved up, very happy girl. Because this weekend I was able to spend time with special friends, old and new, celebrate my baby boy's second birthday, and see Tom Ballard live at the MICF.
I'm not sure when I realised I was living the life I had always hoped for, living the life I wanted for myself. I have it. And I'm not even afraid to jinx it.
Also, wisdom and experience tells me life isn't perfect. And it won't be. But I'm not scared of imperfection. Of heartbreak. Of pain. Because everything I have experienced so far in my life has brought me to this point.
Also I have an incredible safety net. The wonderful people, who after knowing me for 15 years, still want to know how my week was. And the people I've just met - who want to come to the beach for my dog's second birthday.
~
On Saturday morning I had the fabulous opportunity to spend some quality time with some old, dear friends. You absolutely take old friends for granted until you move away from the place you grew up, and its simply marvelous when two people you have known for over 15 years marry and live in the same city you do now. I'm so grateful for my friends Robb and Phillipa, because they know me. I never have to justify myself, excuse myself. They know me, they know my intentions, and they trust me. And on Saturday, I carpooled with two very precious new friends to Yarraville, for brunch.
But I haven't even got to the truly wonderful bit yet. Phillipa's parents were visiting from Tasmania, and would be joining us for raspberry and white chocolate muffins, fruit salad, sourdough and mercy valley cheese.
I can't explain how special it was to eat, drink tea, and talk with this amazing collection of people. People that I feel safe around. People I feel connected to, loved by. And as I was giving Phillipa's mum a big kiss goodbye, I shared something with her that I'd only just realised to be true:
I am absolutely loving everything about getting older. Not for one minute do I wish I was fourteen again. Or eighteen again. Or 21 again. Especially not 23 again. I've discovered an age where you feel confident, loved, respected. Where you are challenged, needed, and important.
I love having a little guy in my life who truly needs me. Shaun and I are best friends, we are family. And if I don't come home he shits on the carpet. Because he needs me.
But also he wants me.
Family is an incredible institution, and I'm lucky to have some amazing relationships with people in my family. I also spend time heartbroken for the cousins that are growing up so fast and if I'm lucky, I get to play lego with once a year. But my family is unique. If we don't like you, there's a pretty good chance we probably just won't talk to you. We don't have an overwhelming bond of 'family' that forces us to love each other unconditionally. And while sometimes I wish for that - there is something to be said for the fact that every person who is in my life is there because they want to be.
And so, this sappy blog comes to you from one very loved up, very happy girl. Because this weekend I was able to spend time with special friends, old and new, celebrate my baby boy's second birthday, and see Tom Ballard live at the MICF.
I'm not sure when I realised I was living the life I had always hoped for, living the life I wanted for myself. I have it. And I'm not even afraid to jinx it.
Also, wisdom and experience tells me life isn't perfect. And it won't be. But I'm not scared of imperfection. Of heartbreak. Of pain. Because everything I have experienced so far in my life has brought me to this point.
Also I have an incredible safety net. The wonderful people, who after knowing me for 15 years, still want to know how my week was. And the people I've just met - who want to come to the beach for my dog's second birthday.
~