living in hope

They all look about the same from behind, right?

One revolting, revolting individual who shall remain anonymous only out of the goodness in my heart

Unrelatedly, here's a record of what I'm doing for $ at the moment, to add to the already lengthy list of things-to-look-back-&-laugh-at-in-better-times-if-such-times-ever-materialise.

[Times are approximate and vary depending on mood, weather, mode of transport, how bravely I've slept in, etc. All scientific terminology correct to the best of author's knowledge. Some steps omitted for your enjoyment. Note delicious choice of text colour.]

08.20 Arrive at slaughterhouse, change into hott green overall and boots, meet partner-in-crime

08.30 Enter holding room, corner pig, restrain by its hind legs so partner can grab the front, lift and place legs through net atop modified trolley while pig squeals something shocking

08.40 Grip two trotters in each hand while pig continues to squeal and partner tries to put it to sleep (and succeeds... usually)

08.50 Transport sleeping booty to post-mortem room, poison with green nasty delivered i.v. via ear, open chest, bleed out, harvest lung, work some high-power water-pistol magic on puddle of blood at our feet

09.20 Clean up, divvy up lobes between us, bid adieu

[Currently excused from all of the above, compliments of poor unsuspecting American fella visiting partner's lab. Not for much longer but.]

10.00 Hit lab, isolate airway of appropriate dimensions from left upper lobe, mount onto apparatus that mimicks mechanics of breathing by repeatedly stretching and unstretching airway

[The idea, you see, is to find out whether gasping helps during an asthmatic reaction. That is, other than making the whole thing a bit more dramatic and watchable.]

11.15 Load nerves with radioactive goody so that whatever gets released later can be counted: 1 hr (morning tea, check email, read, nap in car)

12.15 Wash tissue so that the only radioactive goodness is in the nerves: 2 hrs (i-lecture, another nap, more study if required and/or inclined, DVD, be interrupted by HBE who is convinced that I'm watching porn and not sharing, be interrupted by Stalker who is convinced of far more disturbing matters)

14.30 Collect fluid flowing through system at 3min intervals, and thereby exacerbating my mild OCD: 2+ hrs (more DVD or reading, no more napping)

17.30 Squirt goo into each vial, count radioactive decay

18.00 Tidy up, wait for counts if can be bothered, toddle off if not

oops I did it again

Y'all can guess what's comin', can't ya?

I'll be coy then.

• She said, being nice, Believe me you'll look back at this and laugh. Right. The same way I struggle to supress a chuckle at the thought of the other two. Not.
• Can't decide which mental offset is the least upsetting (and hence sellable to self): one less international return flight, a tax bill instead of a tax refund, pro bono work for the past couple of months, or pro bono for the next two.
• I've always had this sneaking, inexplicable suspicion that I wouldn't make it to 30. Today my clairvoyance finally dawned on me. At this rate I'll take myself out before long (reference to taking self out being free of autoerotic connotations).

Not tryin'a be funny. 'Cos it really isn't. So I take no credit for any inherent humour y'all discern.

Worst part came afterwards. 15min to find a park (not of the grassy variety) close enough for pig collection purposes. Another hour before arriving at the lab. Nothing like driving round and round a heavily illegally-parked carpark, in pouring rain, with one headlight, a wobbly bonnet, and two beakerfuls of decomposing lung - to send one screamin'. Though scream I did not, for fear of further foggying up of windows. (Surely someone's written a song about some like experience? Minus the lung, that is.)

Folks were calm *heart* presumably out of pity or thorough despair or both. Dad went off to mah-jong. Mum went on about unrelated topics. I know they worry.

I suck.

SB-a-nudge

I should say a little about my week at SB, for it may well be my last brush with the legal profession. (4 days 'til close of articles applications, 0 app posted.)

Are comfort and (appearance of) professionalism mutually exclusive? *Rubs blisters on feet caused by prolonged entrapment in not-even-that-high heels*

Office taking up entire level 40 = awesome city views from every angle, including clerks' corner.

Wasn't asked to make coffee or photocopy or shred or do any other chore that I had primed myself to tackle with glee. The most menial jobs I got given were grabbing a couple of cases from WASC library and sorting a pile of exhibits in order of their appearance in an affidavit; even these were enlightening given my formidable ignorance of How Everything Works.

Accommodating colleagues, many of whom offered me something to do.

Stuff I was paid (albeit miserably, which is far beside the point) to look up then pontificate about [health warning: yawn-inducing legal jargon ahead] -

• whether, in proceedings brought by client against lawyer, communications between lawyer and third-party clients are subject of legal professional privilege
• income tax implications of a non-testamentary gift of property to a charitable trust which, if a 'deductible gift recipient', would allow donor to avoid UK inheritance tax whilst having his CGT liability completely offset by the deduction
• how non-fulfilment of vendor's obligation to apply for WAPC approval of subdivision plan impacts on the rest of sale-of-land contract
• test of causation under Civil Liability Act 2002 (WA), particularly in relation to claims for pure economic loss
• whether board of directors could rely on shareholders' resolution to issue to them certain options, to authorise issue of same directly to entities controlled by them

Friday arvo drinks in the boardroom, for which the junior staff get to knock off at 4 to shop to their hearts' content, and where Stella's and Beck's flow freely.

And outside office hours -

• Mulan came to town, and suffered the usual crass corrupting ambience of the Doc, Special K, and yours truly
• Lunched with Bro and DJ Hotness
• Buffeted at Hyatt
• Walked random no-English HK lady from SC Gardens to Centrelink, 'cos I had time and us immigrant dole-bludgers must stick together
• Fri night collected the Albanyan from airport, and was thereafter treated to Cinnamon Club in Leedy (Indian... yumm) followed by Spanglish (Paz Vega... yummmmm)
• Yesterday was N and I do the city: picnicked outside GPO, caught last show of A Barrel of Monkeys (hosted by sexy Ruper Everett look-alike), checked out art gallery, window-shopped earrings, tried on shoes, rode on elevators, ... fun times

'Twas an all-round ace week.

three's a crowd

Two VIPs (does not stand for Vasoactive Intestinal Peptides) in my life have their birthdays this week. 'Tis appropriate, if not imperative, that I inflict a little of my unabashed affection for them upon the rest of you. Just a little, I promise.

(In order of arrival on this planet - )

Other Mother
[This alias I prefer to 'Adopted Mother' for the latter seems to imply, quite misleadingly, some inadequacy on my birth mother's part.]

People need older people (for guidance, inspiration, and proof that there is life after youth). Unfortunately of these I have few. Fortunately however, this one's as value-packed as they come. Some of the most at-once-traumatic-and-beneficial things ever said to me issued, wittingly or not, from this woman. Like:

• Oh it's too late to save her. [referring to my birth mother]
• Me: Hey, don't feel sorry for me. / OM: Who feels sorry for you?
• Don't sign anything!!!
• If I didn't know better, I'd have thought it a below-the-belt one from a pathological attention seeker. [in response to one of my periodic whiny emails]

Dr Prozac - Being the only person who:

• has seen me throw up / pass out from alcohol over-consumption (well, she and whoever walked past our park bench on Matilda Bay that night);
• has come to my rescue following a motor vehicle collision (unrelated to above);
• knows (nearly) every skeleton in my big dank closet,

she cannot seriously hope to escape my surveillance in this lifetime. There is simply too much incriminating evidence at stake.

Talk about intense intimate sexless relationships. Truly, it is as enormous a wonder as it is a relief that I do not feel romantically afflicted with this woman. If she ever tries to jump the fence I would expect to be left well alone except to get blind-drunk with.

The secret to our success, IMHO, is our common penchant for laughing at ourselves, at other people, and most importantly at each other in that special nurturing way that only we have.

Darwin Award nominee

Never say never, and I say no such thing. But I feel that parenthood is not for me. Most days I am more baffled by this ... knowing, than anyone else with whom I've shared it. Other days are like today.

[Relax. Not about to propound my theory that one inevitably becomes one's parent(s) including, or perhaps especially, in insidious ways.]

It started with our Saturday morning ritual: I crawl out of bed after some 10 minutes of N's pleading (which incorporated escalating violence); decadent toasted cheese sandwiches are made and devoured; some provocative conversation is had (I wanna be a thief when I grow up. / You do realise that you'll have to work nights? / That's OK, dad does too. / What do you need more than 1 DVD player or fridge for anyway? / Duh, I'll only take money. / ...); Chn exercises set by mummy (for N, not me) are rushed through.

As soon as mum got back from line dancing, we made our escape, glad that she brought visitor and therefore couldn't inspect abovementioned rush job right away.

Music is discussed often while we're on the road. N is interested in whatever I put on - though I do leave Eminem and such like at home when out with her. We try to work out what instruments are used in a song. She opines about everything from intros (dislikes lack of), to vocals ('she breathes so much'), to lyrics (doesn't get cannonball, wouldn't want a secret life, agrees that people just ain't no good).

First stop Scitech & Horizon Planetarium. 2 years since our last visit, so practically a novel experience for her, I'd imagine. Children are so in touch with their emotions, it's enviable. If they're happy, they shout it at you, tackle and kiss you. If they're not, there's no mistaking that either. (Methinks I know where I get my debilitating bluntness from.) Not 1 complaint in 4 hours, which is something.

Next, hung out at Western Power Parkland a bit, until N spotted drunken picnickers and asked to leave. (It would appear that 2004 NYE incident scarred her for life.) So up we went to the top of KP to watch the sun go down and the city light up.

Because a) we were hungry and b) Yes missed N, we detoured to 'the Sunflower' for takeaway. Duck and squid made their way to my bedroom 30 minutes later, in front of The Princess Diaries, at the mercy of 3 content yet ravenous little girls.

Where was I going with this ... Oh right. If pressed I could proffer a smorgasbord of explanations for my voluntary withdrawal from the gene pool (fear of failure, selfishness, philanthropy, you name it). But none as at once nonsensical and natural (to me, at least) as this: I have experienced motherhood, everything except the 'Push!' and the breastfeeding (which aren't prerequisites these days anyway), i.e. close enough to the real deal. I feel neither able nor willing to give it another go - not because the 'trial run' was traumatic, but because it was - is - so darn magical.

baby did a bad bad thing

... and has been incapable of coherent thought since. Hence the lack of reading material for y'all this past fortnight. Odds are that she won't recover from said BBT (does not stand for bubble tea) anytime soon, but the show must go on.

More undertakings that clog the creative juice pipe:

Tackling job applications and invariably being stuck at the 'aspirational' Qs (What motivated you to apply for this position? What are your goals and how will our organisation help you achieve these? What do you perceive to be our core values and how might you contribute to these? ...) Needless to say I've yet to *finish* even 1 of them buggers.

Filling out tax return 3 times because:
- 1st time e-tax and my laptop's Chn OS didn't get along and kicked up an encoding fuss;
- 2nd time uni network decided that what I wanted to do was an unacceptable security risk and cut me off cold;
- finally, paper form was resorted to, which means waiting considerably longer for my refund.
Dudes I just want my money back!

In other news, got 1 Credit and 2 Distinctions for Sem 1, leaving my average to hover around sixty-nine as it likes to do regardless of my input, and making the job hunting all the more arduous.

L is for lazying on a fine winter day

One very sweet Chicksta made a copy of The L Word 3rd season for me without prompting and trekked all the way from Woop Woop to deliver it. I was therefore more than happy to shout coffee.

Afterwards we managed a 2-hour wander in, and around, KP, without getting up to anything naughty. For y'all this translates to "Don't hold your breath this one's not a Likely Potential" - just so we're on the same page.

Before today we'd only chatted online and run into each other a few times @ Meat Market #1. But there's no substitute for the low-key face-to-face one-on-one. I know I couldn't get by without the eye contact, the idiosyncratic accent and rhythm of each voice, the spontaneous and irretractible intermingling of ideas and, last but not least, the not having to shout and/or send out wrong signals by leaning in too close.

maternal indistinct

Sometimes my puns are so obscure even I can't figure them out. By this one, for example, I'm trying to convey the intermittent sense of pseudo-motherhood I feel vis-a-vis N; though it might come across merely as an embarrassingly trite observation about all maternal impulses being alike.

Really looking forward to upcoming school holidays. Been Neglectful Sis since before summer trip, methinks. Repentant am I, and have started researching and planning - which can be over-stimulating. This sleepy ol' town still has much to offer, at least for the little ones.

people like us

There is only one class in the community that thinks more about money than the rich, and that is the poor. The poor can think of nothing else. That is the misery of being poor.

Oscar Wilde, The Soul of Man Under Socialism

While dad was away, something like half of his friends upgraded or increased their real property holdings. So yesterday the parentals made their rounds upon said new acquisitions, officially to offer their congratulations, unofficially to check out the competition, obviously.

Incidentally, in light of such developments, continued non-acknowledgment is expected of his purchase abroad of comparatively more depreciable assets. But I'm over moaning about that.

What I was wondering, apart from where these taxi drivers, cable guys, tilers, nurses, fish-&-chips-shop owners, Centrelink customers (or combinations thereof) find the deposits for 7-figure waterfront mansions and/or multi-acre farms, was how many repressed disgruntled or generally ill-adjusted offspring these folks will one day let loose into the world. Every dollar that flows into the family asset pool is one less for the Fun Fund. Every weekend spent accumulating pecuniary wealth is one more blank in a little ABC's childhood memory.

today has been okay

As I wobbled towards lab this morning, hugging an ice bucket that hugged pig lung, through the courtyard with the smoking nurses, the smell of after-rain hovering over that of flowers, it was Moment of Advanced Disorientation (MAD) #37. MAD is one who understands not how one's gotten to where one is. <= Not grammatical, sure, but effective.

I had had high hopes. To like what I do if not doing what I love. To like who I am if not loved by those I love. To have dreams and passions. To be the daughter that my family needs. To be nowhere I don't want to be. ... How our plans fail us. Or rather, how I am hindered by conceit.

To the ones who worry and are owed an explanation: I am not to be pitied or encouraged, for I have been guilty of unspeakable spite.