HNY 2015

So here were are: 2015.
Twenty fucking fifteen.

I'll tell you a secret: I couldn't sleep last night. And not in a "I tossed and turned and finally fell asleep at 2am" kind of way. In a literal way. I actually didn't sleep last night.

This might not be noteworthy for most people when you're talking about New Year's Eve, but for me this is ridiculous. Even when I was cramming for exams the night before having studied very little in the days prior, I always bailed at about 1 or 2 am.

But last night, despite being in bed before 11pm - nope.

So welcome to 2015.

The year of being as far away from 2030 as 2000. Which in some regards is terrifying. In others, oddly calming - because in 2000 I was starting high school, and now that seems like a lifetime ago.

Oddly enough, that wasn't the case before I started working with someone 9 years younger than me, but I guess that's what a little perspective gives you.

So in 15 years I'll be turning 44 - big whoop. Time marches on, my virtual friend.
(Fully retaining my right to have a mid-life crisis, despite the above words FYI)



On my Tumblr last night I said that this year would be a year for decision-making and self-care. (And hyphens, apparently).

The crux of the matter is that I need to take better care of myself.
I'm tired of the old cycle of "woe is me what am I doing with my life?" I need to just start doing life. Apparently it doesn't really matter what plans you make, you end up doing what you end up doing.

And honestly, I've finally figured out that it doesn't really matter what I'm doing professionally as long as a) I have good people around me (and, if I'm honest - interesting people); and b) I have the time to make art - poetry or painting or drawing, whatever.

Yes the details matter - I need to be mentally challenged during the day or I'll go crazier. Yes I need an income to pay the rent (later mortgage - ugh) and bills and eat and buy art-supplies and internet.

But the details should be secondary to the bigger picture. And I'm finally getting to a place where I'm happier with the bigger picture: a life with art, and writing, and down-time with my husband, cat, friends and the internet.


Ok - but why couldn't I sleep last night?

It probably didn't help that I was reading a surprisingly engrossing ebook by TJ Klune (look him up if you aren't afraid of a romance and gay theme)...

But it is probably more my mind coming to grips with a few of the details of my life. And whether the things that have been bothering me are "details" or "big-picture" things.

I'll name one: my family. I really miss my family. This year has been strange because we went overseas so I couldn't stretch the budget to visit at Christmas. And there's been such a long gap from when I last saw them - especially my beloved sister. (Beloved is an old-fashioned word, but she is beloved to me). I last saw Teeni in April, and likely won't see her again until April this year. Which sucks so much.

And though I did see my parents in August, it sort of hits home whenever I talk to my (YOUNG) coworker about seeing her parents. She sees them pretty much every week, and makes note of when it has been more than a couple of days since she spoke to them.

Meanwhile, I speak to my parents maybe once a month... Bad daughter? Probably a little bit. We also have a comfortable relationship, and always have plenty to talk about when we do talk - but I feel guilty and a bit sad.

And there are other things - very specific to me things, and very not-specific to me things which I won't get into here...

But you get my drift?


Enough moaning. I guess the point is - it is a New Year.
I have my New World View (Big Pictures and details) and have a couple of things left to scale up or down in importance.

And I should probably start looking after myself by taking a fucking sleeping tablet when I can't get to sleep as the clock ticks slowly towards 4am...

In closing, here is the last poem I wrote in 2014. I was surprised at how well this came out, as it sort of just happened without too much thought on the specifics. I knew what I wanted to say, and I know about whom it is written - and I'm happy with it, so here you go.
Much love, x


Waiting by a Shore

You speak like a mouth
plunged into an ocean

like the weight of stones
pulled by tides.

Cracked shells wash up
against my aching legs

and I see on the horizon
only turrets of wind

drawing up raging water
to a great and greying sky

like an anger waged against
uncaring clouds and dead gods.

Post Xmas Flailing

So we're in that post-Christmas haze, where you sort of marvel at life. We build up to this time every single time, and now we're in this sort of embarrassed moment where we realise how much money we spent, and how we have to go back to work soon and start the whole damn year over again.

Or is that just me?
Perhaps...

If I'm honest, this year's Christmas has been hard for me. Coming back from our big trip overseas, I knew I would experience a bit of a let down. We built up to the holiday for so long, that I knew I'd be disappointed it was over. But I sort of relied on my Christmas-enthusiasm to get me through. And it nearly did.

But I miss my family. I blame my parents for giving me too many amazing Christmas memories, really - damn them!

I know, I know - poor Amanda with her husband and cat and money to spend and functional family upbringing who just came back from an epic overseas trip. Woe is me.

I guess it is more than that though... this year has been amazing in so many respects.

I had my first art show.
I made some amazing friends.
I solidified some friendships that I want to maintain for my whole life.
I enjoyed my job.

I unlocked a valve in myself and painted and wrote so many things that I'm proud of.

And still I feel like there are things that I haven't said. Well - haven't said to the people I want to say it to. Sometimes my writing couldn't be plainer in its emotion, but couldn't be vaguer in its subject.

Can that be a goal for 2015? To just let go and tell people how I feel regardless of the social pressure not to rock the boat? (Or the internal pressure not to risk people thinking poorly of me?)

Maybe.

In the meantime, I'll write poetry and paint pictures when the words fail.

Speaking of poetry - here are three that occurred to me over the past few days:


Your Name

Your name beats inside my mouth
like a tiny heart threatening to break
through the bars of my teeth.
I swallow it down but I know
the reverberations of your name
your name your name your name
stutter in my eyes,
now I’m looking at you.


What did they call you?

What did they call you, Matilda?
When the sirens lifted like mists,
what did they scream out through the storm?
And where can I find the meaning
of your name, in this book – this dog-eared,
much abused body of yours? Will it fall open
to the right page, or is it bound on both edges?
What can I tell you, Matilda –
that I’ve been looking here all along? That the mirrors
all looked like windows to me? That the curtains
were stained with wine and I was in a stupor
on the floor, worrying at the lines on the floorboards
there?
Huddle in close now, please just let our arms touch
and I’ll shield this candle from our eyes, and their eyes,
even if it burns.



Touch Technology

"Thank fuck for photographs
and for touch technology -
You, digitally frozen there,
letting me see the specks in your eyes
without you seeing me;
and I’m able to bring you closer
with the outward swipe of my fingers
and linger 
on your cheek
in a way I’d never dare
when we’re together.
I want to pull you closer
with the touch of my fingers,
and meet your gaze, unafraid.
But I won’t. I can’t.
So thank fuck for technology."