All You who Sleep Tonight

All you who sleep tonight
Far from the ones you love,
No hand to left or right
And emptiness above -

Know that you aren't alone
The whole world shares your tears,
Some for two nights or one,
And some for all their years.


Vikram Seth

Christmas

So last night I went to dinner with an old friend (with whom I went to Europe in 2005). We got to talking about Christmas, and the accompanying hazards of family, presents, and shopping centres. After a while, I realised something. I guess I've just put into words what I've felt for years.

I've decided that I don't celebrate Christmas. I'm not Christian, so it feels a little hypocritical to get all excited about it. Don't get me wrong - I still enjoy seeing family and friends at that time of year, but I think I've consciously made the decision now that Christmas is not a significant time in my spiritual calendar.

*~*~* I've taken out the bottom of this post because, on reflection, it was actually pretty wanky.

Just feel the need to...

...post.

I'm not sure what about yet, but I have the feeling that the more I type, the more inspiration I'll get. ha.

Blogs! That's it.

I love blogs. I really, really do. I love getting to work in the morning, getting past the 27 million passwords to get into the computer, opening Gmail, and Reader. I skim past Quotes, take a passing interest in the ones of the 'productivity' and 'zen' variety, and zoom straight down to the blogs of friends.

There is something wonderful about being able to access the thoughts of other people. Maybe that's why I like the opinion pages of the paper so much. I like to know what people are thinking. It's fascinating to read about someone's overseas adventures, or the mundane rountine of 9-5. I love it when someone stumbles upon a great article, or a snazzy new website. It's great! I learn so much.

I only have one beef with blogs. They're not made of anything. I can't pick it up. I can't smell the pages. I can't wonder about why the author chose that particular pattern on the cover. Are the lines there because they didn't care or because they like structure? Those who write on unlined pages - do they value the freedom, or they just didn't check before they bought it? Are there drawings/ticket stubs/photos?

And that, my friends, is why I love stationery. You can tell so much from what people use to record their lives. I am super excited about travelling. And to be honest, at the moment, half the excitement is driven by the prospect of purchasing a travel journal. Do I want it leather bound? Cloth? Spirals (yuck) or lie-flat? Lined/unlined? Pocket? How big?

And don't even get me started on pens.

I must confess, there is a notebook I have at home that I have yet to write in. It cost me $40. It is beautiful. It is the physical expression of poetry. This is not for the mere recordings of daily life. But what is it for? I can't bring myslef to sully it's pages. When I find myself a topic (and a pen) worthy of it's stature, then I'll consider it. Until then, it resides under my bed, never far from reach, waiting for me to fill it's pages with something magical.

**Edit** I found an image of my notebook online. Some of the majesty is lost, but here it is:

Tears of anticipation

Yep, anticipation. Who knew you could well up over something that hasn't happened yet?

I'm sitting here at work, crawling the internet for information about different AIESEC countries, specifically IR Iran and Tajikistan. I have this crazy mad burning desire to grab the next flight off this island.

I never thought I could actually make a change to this world. I thought it was my role to battle through, get to the end and die. Truly. I didn't always see the value in my place on this earth. But I am beginning to. I want to make change. Impact. Change someone's life. Tell stories. Laugh and live in another country.

This is not making sense, I can already tell, but the main point of this post is to say that I am about to cry, I am sooo desperately ready to get out of here, live a challenging, difficult, exhilerating AIESEC Experience.

Blog Action Day

Hi everyone,

I spend a little (too much) time reading blogs around the net, and quite a few of them have mentioned Blog Action Day. It's when every blogger that comes across the idea writes about a topic on thier blog that day. This year's topic is poverty.

http://site.blogactionday.org/poverty/fight-poverty/

Have a look at the link above for 88 ways to fight poverty.

I guess I really don't do enough to alleviate poverty in this world. Sure, I'm aware of it, I know about the MDGs, but what am I actively doing to stop it?

Time for all of us to step up. Remember the story about the boy on the beach, throwing starfish into the sea? "It made a difference to that one". Let's make that individual difference. Today.

Please say hello to my new friend, Tick.

Tick is a relative newcomer to my home, and I'm afraid I didn't even know he was visiting for a number of days.

-

As I was changing into some crappy clothes (you know the kind-- "Oh, I just need to go to the servo, this stupid purple dress thing over exercise pants will do..."), I saw a mark next to my left bra strap on my back. My first thought was skin cancer - "oh, shit! That freckle has grown like a motherfu...wait. Oh fuck. OOOOH FUCK. It has legs."

-

**Panic**

-

So after a few tears and a frenzied dash downstairs, calls were made to all and sundry, trying to work out how the hell to get this thing off me without it injecting anything into my previously taken for granted muscles.

-

After calls to mum, to the poisons hot line, to Health Direct and GP Connect (Don't you love public holidays), I asked my flatmate to follow the nice lady's instructions and lever it out with tweezers. The goal of course being not to break the body off from the head/jaws bit, because then I would be doomed. Doomed.

-

She broke it off.

-

Hitting panic stations AGAIN, I called back to the lovely people at Health Direct (you know, they've been advertising it--"Maybe it's just a cough, maybe not?"). Ok, so it turns out I have 4 hours to get it removed or *something bad* will happen.

-

A quick dash to Emergency at the RAH followed, complimented by some none-too-helpful triage nurses. "We don't have ticks in South Australia." "I know, I was in NSW all last week, walking through bush to parties". "But we don't have ticks in SA". Gosh. Darn it. I must have been dreaming the GIANT bloodsucking creature lucking on my back and putting me at risk of muscle paralysis.

-

I went through fairly quickly, and they were all rather friendly about. The doctor even showed me the scar from her tick bite. Some random male nurse thought it was a great idea to wander in and have a nosey - good thing I'm not shy. After local anaesthetic and an incision (sounds cooler than it is), I was butterfly clipped and sent upon my merry way.

-

So herein lies the adventure of the TICK. If any of you were at SPM and are reading this, please have a look in all your nooks and crannies for BLOOD SUCKING TICKS. The grass along the road that led to the Community Hall was infested with them.

Love and closer inspection to you all. xx