Tuesday 30 March 2004

Feast

Had a "successful" day today; all the errands I wanted to do, all the things I needed to buy, and all the other bits and pieces got done.  Yay!  I really get frustrated when I go out for a day of errands etc and get nowhere, come home with nothing (I am usually self-controlled enough not to go buy myself a new lipstick or moisturiser in reparation).  Anyways, Tux and I went into the city to run said errands and buy him some work clothes - back in Belfast he wore the corporate uniform, and since moving to Perth neither of us have bought new clothes, so some nice new work shirts and trousers were high on the agenda.  We ended up hitting David Jones, my new favourite department store since its renovation*, and bought a couple of good 100% cotton business shirts (no button down collars though) that turned out to be on sale, yay us.  Also two (two!) pairs of Hugo Boss almost-black pants, so the boy is all set.  He does need some black shoes (we'll wait til we can afford the Eccos) and new trainers, so that's the next thing on the list.  I also jagged myself a seriously cute and ultra-serviceable  new make-up purse for my handbag at a stupidly low price, my ancient and craptascular Tarzhay version having recently died on me (no loss, no flowers).

* DJs has the best stock, really lovely stuff, and is much better laid out and more enjoyable than tromping through Myer which becomes tackier and more Tarzhay-than-Tarzhay-like every time I venture in there.  No MAC counter in DJs, dammit - they do have La Mer, La Prairie etc which always crack me up with their high-falutin' pseudo-scientific-spiritual spiel.  I lose myself in the homewares and glassware section - I whimper over the John Rocha for Waterford champagne flutes, and the Le Creuset and of all things the Dyson displays, now how sad is it that I drool over vacuum cleaners?  but that snazzy purple and green Dyson barrel cleaner is so calling my name ... hint-dropping for splashy house-warming gifts starts now.

By some chance of fate (cough) we found ourselves at the Wesley Arcade CD Store and in the first 30 seconds I found Death in Vegas' Scorpio Rising and Sex Pistols' Never Mind the Bollocks..., both of which have been on Tuxedo's wish list for, like, forever and have had zero luck finding.  Then he trotted over to me with Morcheeba's Parts of the Process which ditto.  So we stood and looked at each other, indecisive for a split-second, before rushing the counter.  Whee!  Yes, terribly extravagant yaddayadda (they are all totally kickass CDs by the way - we hadn't been home five minutes before Tux had them all ripped to the computer and MP3'd).

So yeah, a very successful expedition, very competent and efficient.  We spent the afternoon making the most of the deliciousness that is free weekday afternoons, soon to come to an end with Tuxedo's impending commencement at Dot!Matrix, sigh. 

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The realisation that Tux has a great well-paying job at long last has begun to sink in, for both of us.  We walk around, breaking into goofy smiles at the thoughts; earning money! finally life can get going! we can make plans vis a vis finding our own place!  The last is of course, the most important.  We're figuring about two months to consolidate a little and save enough for bond and basics, and then we're outta here, baby.  Oh gods, the relief is indescribable.  Our own place, space, privacy, our own things ... We're fortunate in that we have pretty much an entire house (well, contents) in storage and all we need is a fridge, washing machine and a sofa.  And really, the sofa's not a necessity, we can manage without for a bit.  Of course there are other items; the aforementioned vacuum cleaner would be damn fine, and we could do with a toaster and a few other things (nb to self: the PUMS actually owe me a brand new toaster and a rice cooker, they better not renege), plus of course there's that long-running wish list. 

The priority, however, is to get the fuck out of the parental units' sphere before we both go fecking insane (the PUMS are, demonstrably, already certifiable).  Oh I know damn well I sound revoltingly disagreeable and ungrateful and all the rest of it; believe me I get the guilts but to be honest?  Totally objective?  The PUMS have not made it easy or pleasant for us; we appreciate what they've done for us enormously, we could not have done this without them.  But assistance has been grudging, conditional, accompanied by judgement and criticism and endless lecturing.  That kinda gets to you after a while, and makes it difficult to appreciate the real meaning behind it all. 

Anyways enough ranting, sorrysorrysorry.  The key feeling around here right now is one of sheer elated glee; WHEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!  (finally life, which seemed to have come to a dead halt for months, gets going for both of us, all positive good stuff ... )

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All this stuff happening lately has got me thinking on the whole "feast or famine" syndrome thing.  Holly and I were chatting the other day (took me about an hour and a half of non-stop fast-talking to get through His Job/My Jobs/My Health/Other Stuff) and about how everything has happened at once.  This always happens; its one of those axioms (self-evident truth).  Or one of the friendlier Murphy's Laws, I fergit.  Anyway.  Its gone this way in my life numerous times, life seems to get jammed, gummed up somehow, going nowhere except backward fast.  Then finally, when you can't take any more crap and are down to your last pennies, something good happens, and you feel fabulous and high as a kite, then something else clicks into place, then another and suddenly you have momentum again.  Nothing, or all.

And whoo-whee, does it work that way with guys or what (and I've been assured it is the same way for the various other permutations also)?  I swear, when one is single (and bummed about said fact) there's no way in the world a guy is gonna give you a look-in.  Then the weirdest thing happens, you find yourself a crush/dating/love interest and hey cliche time, bees to the honey etc etc.  You find yourself getting eyed by cuties, flirted with, chatted up, asked out by practically every eligible (and-not-so-eligible) fellas around.  I tell ya, I haven't received as many outrageous flirtatious comments and pick-ups in my entire life as since I got engaged - whether I'm wearing the rings or not.  (I should clarify that I do not deliberately go out without my gorgeous rings - I always wear them but even the occasional time I don't - eg for gym or having to take them off to have an x-ray or something weird, I will get chatted up.)

Why is this?  I am not the first person in the world to have taken note of this phenomenon.  Is it some unconscious signal - a sort of smell, pheromones, that indicate one is found to be attractive by one mate therefore others are encouraged (seems superficial but likely)?  So does one give off a higher beam or bounce due to being in a loved-up state, that attracts other possibilities?  Or is it "merely" that one feels more comfortable and less self-conscious around the preferred gender, has more confidence to deal with situations? 

Probably all of the above; and ain't that always the way too?  When did life get so complex already?  Its always feast or famine, that's for sure.* 

*  Not that I'm comparing my relationship status quo as a famine - sweeeet jaysis its a fancypants six-course dinner, birthday and Christmas wrapped up in one, every day of the week.  Who would want Hungry Jacks?

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I've been having some truly headcase, wired dreams of late.  I'm not going to turn this into a dream journal and record every one, don't worry yourself there, but wow.  There's been the usual tedious anxiety dreams.  Full three-act movies, with crystal clear plots and character development.  Fuzzy slightly psychedelic ones.  Screaming flailing night horrors - "nightmare" is too tame a word.  Some of these have left me feeling emotionally wrung out and psyched out for hours after.   And yeah, screaming; now I've never been able to scream in nightmares, I'm always voiceless and have a difficult time waking myself.  The last couple I've had I've screamed so loud - in my dream and for real, would you believe - that I've woken myself up, woken Tuxedo and the cat up (unsurprisingly), and suffered a sore throat.  Freaky.

For sure some of the more fucked-up ones are because of the higher doses of painkillers I'm having to take lately*, but the others, well I don't know where they're coming from.  Telling Tuxedo about them later (guess I don't mind if I bore him silly eh) I realise they're pretty damn creative, and maybe I do jot them down because hey, interesting ideas if nothing else. 

* Fortunately for everyone in our little nest, the compound of painkillers I'm on these days is a different type from that gulped in large amounts in Belfast.  Now that was some fucked-up dreaming.  While I didn't actually ever scream, I had terrible night horrors and sweats, ripped the bed-sheets apart - literally, and a couple of times I threw punches that um, connected ... oh gods, the guilt!  I belted my poor husband a couple of times, once landing a humdinger right on his ear that left him slightly deaf for about a month.   I have never been so abjectly apologetic in my entire life, and I still cringe when I remember it.   *whimper*

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