Right, so I'm sailing through tropical waters on the good ship optimism/denial. The sun is shining, the water is warm and life is a rosy shade of idyllic. Then out of nowhere we hit a massive, Titanic sinking ice berg. Didn't see that one coming. I'm thrown into the sea in the middle of a cyclone. The details are hazy... but finally I find myself washed up on the uninviting shores of Canberra. This is about all that has happened since... and what might happen next.
Friday, November 9, 2007
THE YEAR THAT WAS
Almost 12 months ago now, a significant other made a decision that knocked me off this road-travelled and sent me cross country for a time. Now I find myself at a junction, and while I struggle to decide which path to pursue, I take this opportunity to review some sanitised highlights of the year that was…
Holiday romance comes to an end. After almost 6 years, my holiday romance with some Englishmen I met in Rome draws to an end. Saccharine stories of coincidences, chance meetings, affairs in Venice, and lingering in Paris with love, etc. don’t sound so charming anymore. Said lover, moves in with other lover. I am the cuckold.
I celebrate/commiserate with expensive wine I now wish I’d saved for a sunny day. Avoid family and friends over Christmas. Spend New Years in an undisclosed location, drinking my first ever bottle of real French champagne while watching an electrical storm roll in over the ocean.
Behaving badly. Return to work. Find sympathetic well-wishers nauseating, particularly when clearly this was the best thing to ever happen to me – though wearing last night’s clothes and smelling like stale alcohol probably suggests otherwise. Consider the possibility I might be depressed. Visit a psychologist and find the whole ordeal a little depressing.
On the Road. Take first extended drive on my own. Rent big ass ute to go to Ikea in Sydney. It would have been cheaper just to pick up stuff in CBR – but that’s not the point. My ute is fantastic. I’m king of the road.Discover Ikea is hell on earth. Have forgotten normal glasses and am wandering around the Scandinavian maze with my sunglasses on. Buy new bed and other things I don’t really need. Discover I can’t lift the furniture –flat packed and all – onto the ute. Angel appears. Speechlessly, and efficiently he helps me load items onto the tray, then secures items properly with my cheap rope.Make it home… even while driving with sunnies on at night. The house looks different, and I feel I’ve exorcised some demons. Ikea bed $300, hiring a ute $200, a tank of diesel $80, banishing ghosts, priceless. Thank-you mastercard.
Oh and the dog…Love the Bailey beast, but can I still be annoyed that I am left holding the fury child? It was against my advice that we assumed custody of him in the first place.Dog runs into sharp something in the backyard. He really does look like a stuffed toy coming undone at the seams. Vet bills are expensive. Anaesthetic $X; consultation $X; my chocolate Labrador – priceless.
In good company. Joined by anti-social flatmate- my first flatmate since aforementioned holiday romance began. Some highlights of our co-habitation include me sleep-walking naked into her room one night (she seems to think I was wearing something – well, I know better); her penchant for opening windows in the middle of Canberra winter; her moving out… but that wasn’t for another 8 months.On the positive side, she makes me feel so uncomfortable in my own space I avoid home as much as possible and I find myself going to the gym most nights.
New Car. My little car that would finally dies, and I see it off on the back of a tow truck. I then buy the little car that can – at a good price, and without the oversight of opinionated, dominating male relatives. Kudos to me.It’s black and sporty, and I imagine I’m a racing car driver- though I have neither the testicles nor the skill to do anything too stupid.
I am sailing. I hop on a bus to Sydney and go sailing out to sea with four strangers through gail force winds. Have fantastic time; look smashing in overalls, wet weather gear and harness - though I wish I had bought infinite pairs of thick warm socks – and that I hadn’t forgotten my sleeping bag.We sail at night. The rain stops and the stars appear. Everything is peaceful except for the rhythmic sound of the bow pushing through the water. We anchor; and after an evening of red wine and ‘creative’ cooking, I wake up early to see the morning mists rise off the water.My fellow sailors ask me what the hell I’m doing with myself (ie. working in the public service, living in Canberra, selling my soul, etc). They do make me wonder.I stay in a hostel in Sydney when I arrive back ashore. Deferred showering in preference for beer. [Should I mention I hadn’t bathed in many days by this point?] When finally I make it back to the hostel, I close my eyes in the shower and I’m back out at sea. Unfortunately for the lady in the bunk below, I really do imagine I’m still at sea and I awake in the night rambling something about the heads, bowlines, port and starboard. She kindly points me in the direction of the toilets.The parents.Spend weekend in Sydney with the folks. It all goes really well. A bit strange really.
I turn 26. Yes, I will be a 26 year old divorcee when all the paper work is signed and delivered. In my teens, 25 seemed incredibly grown up – I imagined it as a time in your life when you’re still young, but with money, the beginnings of a consequential and challenging career, an endless social network, travel under the belt with more to come, cool clothes, and sophistication. It would be the year when life comes together, has direction, purpose and meaning.Rather than coming together though, 25 seemed to be the year of undoing… And at 26, perhaps I’ve just missed the boat?
Music. I don’t know anyone who shares my taste in music in Canberra, but decide I shouldn’t let that stop me seeing the bands I want to. Attend first show on my own. They were playing the blues, which seemed to attract a mostly male crowd. Felt a little self-conscious, but it was also a little personal triumph of independence.For the first time in ages, I am surrounded by guys my own age, and I begin to wonder: who are these strange beasts?
Holiday. A friend gets back from Indonesia, and I decide to get the hell out of here myself – at least for long enough to feel human again. Book my flights to leave in a couple of weeks. The growing imminence of my departure is coupled with my growing frustration and anger at work. I think everyone is glad I’m going on a holiday.
First date. I’m in a bar with a friend and a guy approaches me. D has gone to the toilet, but I assume he’s waiting for her. She’s tall, athletic, attractive and with a sardonic sense of humour. Why would he not want to talk to her? But he’s not waiting for her. I am confused. What’s he doing then? Oh, he wants to talk to – me?End up going on my first date… ever. Hey, the last time I was single, I was 19. I don’t remember anyone doing ‘dates’ back then. It’s horribly awkward, I am tongue tied and self-conscious. He asked me if I was especially good at anything. I replied that I do a great impression of a monkey. Hmmm. [Which is true, by the way].The
Great Escape. I’m leaving Canberra and it feels fantastic. I pull out my trusty old backpack I’ve not used in years, get some decorative visas pasted into my passport, pack a bikini, a few old t-shirts and sunscreen, grab some $USD, and throw in some doxycycline, paracetamol and imodium. What else could I need?So I have a great time, and do plenty of things I told my mother I wouldn’t. My mother never talks to me about sex, so no- no action along those lines.
Homecoming. I am not struck by back to work blues. I am run over by the bus of homicidal frustration. I resist the temptation to massacre my colleagues long enough to find another job and to take leave in the interim.
On the road again. The lovely Miss T flies up from Melbourne to join me on a trip that takes us, umm… well, back down to Melbourne. But we take the scenic route and seven days, dodgy caravan parks, plenty of red wine and vegetarian, lactose free food to get there.My favourite times include breakfast on the beach in Narooma, and collecting rocks and shells and doing yoga and cartwheels on the sandbar in Mallacoota. I think the fisherman thought we were crazy. And after it all, I even liked soy milk on my muesli.
Rolling into town. We roll into Melbourne and I have that horrible feeling of coming home. Horrible: not because I don’t love Melbourne, but because it’s not my home.Go to the post-grad lounge with M + P and it’s like stepping back in time. There are familiar faces huddled under the big tree in the courtyard. Everyone is closely clutching their beers in the cold winter’s night, and I can see that the emotional strain of a PhD is taking its toll on some more than others.
I feel nostalgic. I’m still seeing the guy I bragged of my monkey-impersonating skills to, and take the opportunity to catch up with him while I’m in the neighbourhood. He’s Melbourne based, and working a contract in CBR. I’ve only ever seen him in suits till this point. Was beginning to suspect he might be a Patrick Bateman: nice suits and oh-too-smooth charm concealing psychotic tendencies? Miss T warns me he’s a player, but I’m still willing to wait and see.
Ski-knee. And then I went to Buller with Brendan. I should mention we overtake 20 cars, 1 truck and 2 buses on our way up the mountain in my car. Apparently that’s some sort of record – I know he is proud of himself.But soon after all that, maybe only a couple of hours, and even fewer runs later, I fall with the sound of a snap and crack in my ears, and am soon calling for my brother. He kindly took photos as I am ski-doo-ed off the mountain on a stretcher.The medical centre doesn’t even ice my knee. They mistake me for a hypochondriac cry baby, pack me up and send me on my way. I later discover I have a fractured tibia and a snapped anterior cruciate ligament (or ACL for those who’ve seen it all before).That marks the beginning of the great knee saga of 07. A brief sojourn in Melbourne turned into 6 weeks, surgery, plenty of couch time and generous serves of self-pity.I have private health insurance, but even so, I’ve forked out my fair share of cash (or credit) into the medical system. Knee surgery, accommodation in l’hotel de hospital, and a DVD of the operation – not priceless, thank-you very much mastercard.I wonder how much that DVD is worth?Pain relievers have their side-effects. A week after the operation I’m literally and uncomfortably ‘backed up’. Purchase laxatives, and am so excited by the result, am tempted to share the news on facebook. Refrain from doing so, but looks like I’ve shared that with you all now, hey?A further unexpected side effect of the injury is homesickness. Despite my immobility, the pain, the whatever… I really miss Melbourne.
Return to Canberra. So I arrive back in town to start a new job. Before I may have thought that my frustration had been about work, but I don’t think a change of employer is enough to excite me. I’m looking for a more substantive change than that… but what? I am joined by a new flatmate. She’s a 17 year old hairdresser’s apprentice. That might sound like bad news to most, but she’s been a godsend of good company, understanding and patience.I farewell the complicated man in suits. Wise move, young lady.
Life on-line. So back in town and my social world is confined to the perimeters of my house. I hate asking favours to be driven around, get my groceries, walk my dog… let alone socialise. I feel like I’m a cumbersome burden to my friends here in Canberra.I retreat to my laptop.The knee is not improving as expected. It has reached a plateau at the almost there stage, but if I try to extend it too much, my leg turns red and starts to burn.
The next man. Go out with a guy I find I’m actually interested in. Who would have thought such a person might exist in this town?Fraternal visit.The same brother who I went to the snow with visits me in CBR. We embark on a pub crawl, have a great time. The next day we return to the origin of our crawl – where we left my car – and it’s been vandalised. Could he be an unlucky charm?
The guy I liked…Turns out not to like me. Could be karma for the clumsy rejections I’ve dealt over the last couple of months? Could be I was a little too enthusiastic? A little from column A and little from column B. Am disappointed.
Take two: Right Knee – removal of screw(s) loose.So I’m terrified of the next operation. I have premonitions of prolonged pain, slow recovery, no progress. I drive to the hospital in tears. The surgeon offers no reassurance, and I find myself in pre-theatre, again fighting back tears and thinking the worse.I awake pleasantly surprised. Despite the swelling, it’s already better than it was. I might just be dancing by summer.I hate the idea of resting. I’m staying at my parents’ house, sitting on the couch with my leg elevated and ice on my knee. I get some beer to entertain me for the night. Turns out this doesn’t go down so well with my painkillers. Later, I send some weird text messages to friends. The next morning I have some explaining to do.
Back in Canberra. Again, it’s a difficult homecoming – but this time I have greater mobility right from the start. Despite the improvement, I find myself slipping again into the blues.Lying in bed, I’m flicking through my mobile, and find that I called “the guy I was interested” in on that fateful night of beer and painkillers. My phone doesn’t indicate whether the call connected… shit. That’s embarrassing. Assume the call did connect, and I babbled some paranoid, crazy shit to him. I now expect never to hear from this person again.
Approaching the anniversary of freedom. In a couple weeks, it will be 12 months of freedom, and I can’t help feeling I’ve squandered this newly acquired gift. In any case, I hope that I can find some dignity, poise and decisiveness to navigate my way through the coming year.And that was the year that was…
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