Saturday, August 7, 2010
Monday, July 5, 2010
Get over it.
(open in a new window or tab to view ful sized, Graphic by Robert Corr)
'Boat people' are not the communist hordes sweeping down from Russia to take over Australia.
oops that was the reason behind the Vietnam War.
There are not hundreds of thousands of 'boat people' coming to invade our country and destroy our way of life. (however, if by 'destroy it is meant 'make wonderful contributions to our culture and society' then I'm ALL FOR 'EM).
Friday, July 2, 2010
on the dampening of toes.
i feel weird about this dipping my toe in the blogging water thing.
but, well hi!
i feel like there's a lot been goin' on. in all the nooks and crannies of my life. it has to make its way to the outside somehow.
i'm kicking ass at work, but i'm working hard too. and its noticed by people, you know. and i made it there through the midst of having to try hard to keep my mental health in check. it's not easy, sometimes, for me. but i won this round. hurrah &etc.
i went to morocco. and had an astounding experience. the place. the people. the land itself. i got fucking rained on in the middle of the Sahara desert. i almost posted a picture of myself to prove it but i'm too vain to post the only one i've got (it's SO DORKY). it was surreal. and super fun. i feel relaxed travelling in Islamic countries, the ones i've been so far, anyway. that's one reason i find myself choosing to travel there, i guess.
instead you get this shot taken in the Hassan II Mosque in Casablanca. pretty, no?
and you may like to know that street art exists everywhere. even in Essaouira, a gorgeous town on the Atlantic coast. i strolled along the beach there and in the old fortified city, arm-in-arm with a terribly handsome man. we feasted on seafood caught off the beach and drank copious quantities of coffee and mint tea.
and now i am home. with new dreams in my heart to shield me from the cold.
but, well hi!
i feel like there's a lot been goin' on. in all the nooks and crannies of my life. it has to make its way to the outside somehow.
i'm kicking ass at work, but i'm working hard too. and its noticed by people, you know. and i made it there through the midst of having to try hard to keep my mental health in check. it's not easy, sometimes, for me. but i won this round. hurrah &etc.
i went to morocco. and had an astounding experience. the place. the people. the land itself. i got fucking rained on in the middle of the Sahara desert. i almost posted a picture of myself to prove it but i'm too vain to post the only one i've got (it's SO DORKY). it was surreal. and super fun. i feel relaxed travelling in Islamic countries, the ones i've been so far, anyway. that's one reason i find myself choosing to travel there, i guess. instead you get this shot taken in the Hassan II Mosque in Casablanca. pretty, no?
and you may like to know that street art exists everywhere. even in Essaouira, a gorgeous town on the Atlantic coast. i strolled along the beach there and in the old fortified city, arm-in-arm with a terribly handsome man. we feasted on seafood caught off the beach and drank copious quantities of coffee and mint tea.
and now i am home. with new dreams in my heart to shield me from the cold.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
the beginning, the end, and everything in between.
i heard from him last week.
an unwanted and panic inducing event on a friday that had begun with missing the bus. it was earlier than i to the bus stop and i wasn't late. for the first time that week!
i couldn't breathe.
not a good look in my new job. i'm smart and together and professional there. not...the lingering vestages of who i once was. not the result of nervous shocks in someone recovering from ptsd. something he contributed to. by taking advantage of the fact that my decision making processes were so impaired to think not as bad as that other one meant a good thing.
anything he could have wanted to say to me would have meant somefuckingthing if he paused long enough to respect my parting wishes to (and i quote) never, under any circumstances, contact me again.
what that meant then as now, is that i know i deserve(d) better - especially from him - because i wised up, too late, to what he did. that he'd finally found the end of my good will. there's always that point with me and there's no coming back. not for him. not ever. i don't need his apology because i don't need or want him in my life. it's irrelevant. one day he may be sorry, maybe not. it doesn't matter. from that point forward it had nothing to do with me. no matter what he could have to say to me became irrelevant. how can interaction be relevant to people who don't exist to each other.
it's not.
but the worst thing. for me. is that i'm raw to it all over again. and i hate it. i hate that i'm having a perfectly sunday and i put on brian eno to help me sort my washing and i'm transported back to that time blissed out on some other sunday morning a lifetime away. but it was all a lie. it wasn't real to him. even after he left. even as he transmitted the words we can't be friends for now. no. if you do that. we can't be friends ever. that's your choice.
and i severed that part of myself and set about healing the void. on my own terms.
right up until the nadir, i had narrative in my life. even if i didn't like the way things were or ended up or turned out, things made sense. a so b so c. well, shit. that stopped. somewhere along the line. i had a thought this morning, earlier, that perhaps i feel less narrative in my life because i don't write about it anymore. not here, not on paper. i used to do both.
it got to a point where i stopped. i couldn't put pen to paper because nothing made sense. i had no way of processing what i was feeling. it was too hard. so i made things. endlessly. i make things. endlessly. one craft project blends into another.
they start to feel good again.
an unwanted and panic inducing event on a friday that had begun with missing the bus. it was earlier than i to the bus stop and i wasn't late. for the first time that week!
i couldn't breathe.
not a good look in my new job. i'm smart and together and professional there. not...the lingering vestages of who i once was. not the result of nervous shocks in someone recovering from ptsd. something he contributed to. by taking advantage of the fact that my decision making processes were so impaired to think not as bad as that other one meant a good thing.
anything he could have wanted to say to me would have meant somefuckingthing if he paused long enough to respect my parting wishes to (and i quote) never, under any circumstances, contact me again.
what that meant then as now, is that i know i deserve(d) better - especially from him - because i wised up, too late, to what he did. that he'd finally found the end of my good will. there's always that point with me and there's no coming back. not for him. not ever. i don't need his apology because i don't need or want him in my life. it's irrelevant. one day he may be sorry, maybe not. it doesn't matter. from that point forward it had nothing to do with me. no matter what he could have to say to me became irrelevant. how can interaction be relevant to people who don't exist to each other.
it's not.
but the worst thing. for me. is that i'm raw to it all over again. and i hate it. i hate that i'm having a perfectly sunday and i put on brian eno to help me sort my washing and i'm transported back to that time blissed out on some other sunday morning a lifetime away. but it was all a lie. it wasn't real to him. even after he left. even as he transmitted the words we can't be friends for now. no. if you do that. we can't be friends ever. that's your choice.
and i severed that part of myself and set about healing the void. on my own terms.
right up until the nadir, i had narrative in my life. even if i didn't like the way things were or ended up or turned out, things made sense. a so b so c. well, shit. that stopped. somewhere along the line. i had a thought this morning, earlier, that perhaps i feel less narrative in my life because i don't write about it anymore. not here, not on paper. i used to do both.
it got to a point where i stopped. i couldn't put pen to paper because nothing made sense. i had no way of processing what i was feeling. it was too hard. so i made things. endlessly. i make things. endlessly. one craft project blends into another.
they start to feel good again.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Friday, November 20, 2009
Oh hi.
I'm still here.
Busy, but here. In between moving house (no interwebs: I DIE), looking for a new job and a whole bunch o stuff this place has been neglected.
BUT LOOK AT THIS BUBBA DEER!
(via daily squee)
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
An open letter to Andrew Darby
It was with a feeling of pride in the calibre of Australian scientists, and in particular our fearless women scientists, that I began to read your article in today’s Age. Though slightly condescending in tone, I felt that the headline What’s a nice girl like you doing with a Nobel Prize embraced the antiquated and, what ought to be decades old, attitude towards successful career women and women in non-traditional fields.
Dr Blackburn’s career has been highly successful and she (quite rightly) has won prizes that acknowledge the quality and importance of her work. And now, a Nobel.
Our country’s first female Nobel Laureate.
I read your article with some interest and cheered her success.
Until you capped off her life’s achievements with Dr Blackburn is married to biochemist John Sedat, and they have a son, Benjamin.
May I ask how this is relevant in any way, shape or form to her career? Or was it just that you felt you needed to tell the world that she is actually a real (read non-threatening) woman because she has a family? May I ask whether you would have included this snippet of personal information has she been male? I say you wouldn’t. Articles on our previous Nobel Laureates don’t mention that they have families.
And neither should they.
It is articles like yours about our successful women that patronise us and send messages that a woman’s true worth lies in her ability to mate and breed. We can win Nobel Prizes and yet the parting message about us is that we are not freaks, that we still tend to husband and hearth and children.
Your article is no better than a tabloid article about an A-list actress that says she’s a box-office success in passing and spends the rest of the time talking about her broken marriage.
You ought to be ashamed of yourself.
Dr Blackburn’s career has been highly successful and she (quite rightly) has won prizes that acknowledge the quality and importance of her work. And now, a Nobel.
Our country’s first female Nobel Laureate.
I read your article with some interest and cheered her success.
Until you capped off her life’s achievements with Dr Blackburn is married to biochemist John Sedat, and they have a son, Benjamin.
May I ask how this is relevant in any way, shape or form to her career? Or was it just that you felt you needed to tell the world that she is actually a real (read non-threatening) woman because she has a family? May I ask whether you would have included this snippet of personal information has she been male? I say you wouldn’t. Articles on our previous Nobel Laureates don’t mention that they have families.
And neither should they.
It is articles like yours about our successful women that patronise us and send messages that a woman’s true worth lies in her ability to mate and breed. We can win Nobel Prizes and yet the parting message about us is that we are not freaks, that we still tend to husband and hearth and children.
Your article is no better than a tabloid article about an A-list actress that says she’s a box-office success in passing and spends the rest of the time talking about her broken marriage.
You ought to be ashamed of yourself.
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