par avion

It came it came it came!!

It came par avion!

Now I just hope it isn't infected by swine flu...

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God Speed.

time. temps. tempo.

I am perhaps the most disorganised person on the planet.

Words cannot describe just how unorganised I am. But inevitably I will try.

Time, at the moment, probably bored with its conservative existence, has fixed its mischevious attention on me. I am probably only the ten billionth of billions, but it's irritating all the same.

It jumps in bounds. It shifts itself subtly around me so I don't even notice I'm moving till the clock reads five minutes past the deadline. This morning was particularly shocking. I swear it doesn't take me ten minutes to brush my teeth.

Every monday it's the same. Sunday nights I find myself detoriated into a quivering chaos, waking before the dawning of the monday exhausted with my frazzled, unorganised inclinations, throwing myself through a blur of trains or cars, doubling back because I've forgotten that USB, that foam core board, that craft knife, that analysis, trying to breathe deeply through the drive to the station, stubbornly avoiding the digital clock on my dash which I KNOW is accelerating but not even to a pace close to the speed my mind's running..... Hoping I don't miss the train.

I fall into Uni, and a vacant euphoria settles over me. I feel like air, my bones hollow, my blood light as cloud-bound rain. (Is that light? I hope so. Or else I just sounded like a noob.) And with this a clarity - a clarity in which I conceive another set of organisation methods, more procedures to implement, and I feel reborn and capable again.

I come home, I tidy my room, stick notes on the wall, gather myself together, make lists.

And then the rewound ball of twine of my existence slowly unravels again as the days come, one after the other.

And sunday comes again.

I realise books have something to do with this. Books, I think, might ultimately be my downfall. I rally at Dan Brown at the moment, even while I gobble up his pages.

Ess once verbalised to me something which I'd always suspected of myself. My room reflects how I feel inside. At the moment I will paint you a picture, for it might more easily convey the Indi of the moment (one who just missed her train and has decided in resignation to stay home today. PN: I need to find somewhere I can work. Uni doesn't seem to be suitable, neither does home with all its distractions.... or is it more a mind frame I have to find, rather that a real dimension? Or a combination of both? I wish I had a studio. I always tell myself to turn my room into a studio, with a bed adjacent, but that never seems to work either. I feel like I'm too big for it. I need a giant table and Goliath's shelves, scuffed wooden floors, a bay window covered in cushions with a green, leafy expanse beyond.... but now I'm fantasising.)

I have very little floor because a double mattress consumes most of it. A mattress that has no right to be there, no matter how comfortable it is. I have a double bed which I adore beside it, currently a twisted disaster zone of blankets, tissues, jackets and vests, and a hastily thrust-aside copy of Angels and Demons; and a set of drawers next to that laden with relatively few objects - my iPod Sirius, my red headphones, The Da Vinci Code, cds which I never use, a few books; and next to that, a wooden cupboard filled with paper, art pads (sketch, canvas, watercolour, bank) and other arty-things clustered together in what little space there is. I have on the opposite wall a desk covered in paper and assorted mark-makers, the walls covered in notes and pictures of tattoos I'm meant to have done for people, roiling my stomach with each glance, heavy with guilt and procrastination; I have shelves rising above my desk, tottering with cups full of pens, textas, pencils and gathered bits and pieces (buttons, a badge, a tiny teapot, an anklet made of tiny silver cogs) and books (journals never filled, drawings, language books, dictionaries. Propped up by a snowglobe). The carved wooden box at the foot of my bed is piled high with blankets, my own and my sisters, a silver handbag (a foreign article, my sisters, atop a Spiderman blanket), cloth bags full of books, and shoes scatter what little floor space there is around it.

The floor not covered by mattress is occupied by paper and dog toys. Nearly all available door knobs are strung with bags.

It looks like someone has detonated an Indi inside.



But it is Tuesday, not so detached from Monday, so I will breathe and tidy, and I will start again. If Time is testing me, I will pass.

Abigail Weary, privateer

Indi went to a Steam-punk quasi Apocalypse cabaret thing in Newcastle!!

So much to write about, really, most concerning the feelings growing inside me, like birds straining from a cage.

Freedom. Adventure. The unknown. I adore it all.


I need to travel. I need to get out of here and experience the world and all it's wonders.

I want to fly and soar.

The steampunk thing was freakishly, wonderfully bizzare; a troupe of eccentric and unique people just doing what they want to do, and being utterly themselves. There were sober moments, pertaining to the apocalypse, performed by drama-types quite wonderfully (I have decided I love amateur theatre) and a multitude of hilarities I almost cried over.

AND THERE WERE TWO BROTHERS, HILARIOUS JUGGLERS, WHO I QUITE BELIVE STOLE MY HEART. I NEED TO LEARN HOW TO DO WHAT THEY DID.

It was completely casual and unpredictable and deliciously weird, with people all in bizzare costumes and doing bizzare things.

Walking back to the car, with my spring monocled-hat and vest and striped bandido-scarf, back through the rising and falling streets of Newcastle, the old, time worn buildings bathed in golden street lights, with the stars above, sighing down their cool air.... I felt a wonderous sense of happiness, and a yearning for foreign places and fire-dancers.

So glad I did it.

I will pass on the departing message given to us as we left:

Love people, be bizzarre, have fun.

blessed

I feel infinitely blessed to have acquired so early in my life friends with whom my very soul resonates with. I love them as I love my family, and I marvel in the complexity and wonder of our existence, of love, of its many shapes and forms.

For your own complexities, for your spirit and eccentricities; for your openness and opinions, for your giving natures, I love you all. I really don't believe I deserve all you guys, but I feel blessed all the same.

Thankyou. For keeping me grounded especially.

Joyeuses Paques, Buona Paqua

Just a quick question: What is it about easter that makes us think that chocolate will have no adverse effect on us?

Curse you, shiny-foiled Easter Bunny. I thought I'd get my own back by decapitating you, but darn it, you foiled me again! (Excuse the pun, it was completely unintentional)

You wily woodland-creature impersonator! You're always one step ahead!!

I have no self control.

Ahwell. Wallow in the chocolate induced bliss.

In other news: I've had a rather nice day!

it's hip to be a square

I WENT TO A MEDIEVAL GATHERING YESTERDAY.

It was held in the small, green, tree-bordered courtyard of an old highschool. Forty or so people were there, ranging from two to what I imagine was early fifties, in a variety of medieval garb, much of it clumsily made. I walked up with much trepidation to meet a friend there who was a member of the society, and everyone was very approachable. I hadn't any garb myself, but there was a pile of dresses and tunics and things, most very simple, on a picnic table to rummage through and loan for the day. I had much fun trying these on, and women came up to me a few times; plump mothers, girls my own age, etc, clucking and saying: see, this looks lovely, now, that looks nice. I went through a few changes, starting off with a very plain grey-green dress with a quite charming little vest looped protectively over my arm, only to be gently told that it was a bodice and bodices don't go with that style of dress.
I discovered a light purple dress and leapt upon it. Drifitng about the piles was a long, rich purple velvet over dress with {gate?} sleeves and gold and red embroidery, and I slipped this on over the top, feeling very regal indeed. "That's actually out of period," Gee said, coming up to me and straightening it around my shoulders, "But it looks prreeettyy..."
An old woman with fly-away grey hair, in a brown over dress and whitish skirt and brown leather boots, the maker of many of the clothes, came over to me and appraised me, picking out a red dress from the pile: She told me that the red had originally been made to go under the dress, bringing out as it did the red and gold embroidery, and so I changed. The dress combo looked very nice indeed, my red hair complimenting it, but alas it was all too long and rather hot, and I found myself flinging it all off again and slipping back into the green dress.

I met a girl there, Arr. She was a newbie too, and we seemed to become immediate friends through our shared circumstance. We stuck together the entire time, playing with the littlies. Barefoot, with my hair unbound and the dress cinched at my waist, spinning on the grass and chasing the littlies with medieval people around me, I felt very much like I'd fallen into the Inkworld.

If I join this society, I'll need a dress.

There was only one girl in the sword fighting, and while Arr and I's main assailant, a little boy with a gnawed foam sword and a cloak, granted us a brief respite while he looked for food (biscuits, from the grey-haired dressmaker) and we lounged on the grass, watching the tourney, I fantasised about being a mysterious and uber-skilled fighter in mail and armour, half the size of those giant metal men, beating them all with deftness and speed. It's the Fox! they'd all murmur, while off the sparring pitch I'd be Lady Indi, juggler extrodinaire, tamer of little ones.

It was all good fun, and I loved how all these people were gathered here for that purpose only: to have fun, and not take it seriously to the excess.

These people have lives beyond this escape world. That is good.

So, Arr and I are thinking we might actually join! We'll see, shall we?

Autumn makes all possible.