I went to a reggae concert today with my friend Karen. We sat in the sun and ate homous and carrot and cheese and drunk chai and red wine. It was real nice. Except for the niggling sense of regret that seems to follow me like a shadow these days, it was good. I love reggae. Most of it was Australian aboriginal people doing their takes on the reggae sound. They have done well. I danced for a couple of hours too. At first I worried I wouldn’t be able to dance because I don’t feel particularly happy but as it seems I was able to let go, let myself move again to rhythm and beat. I lost myself for a bit and it was wonderful. “Even the sad ones they deserve music.” Now I may have a problem with dating if I do a Masters of Letters but I don’t think I would have a problem dating if I hung out in reggae circles. Dreads are everywhere. It is a shame I am a better scholar than I am a musician.

A bit of Bob Marley was played of course today. I have always loved that line from Redemption Songs – “emancipate yourself from mental slavery.” I have always had this sense of what a clever an inspired thing that is to sing. Today I wondered “what exactly does it mean?” It is such an easy thing for the educated and confident to say because they can be free of worry and self loathing, but for the rest of us – does it ring true? I have decided I still love the line and I will, despite this difficult space I am in, try to avoid too many unhelpful thought patterns, but I am a little more cautious now. Mental slavery would be a really tough place to be and it takes more than an extremely talented guy singing at you to emancipate yourself from it.

I just finished reading Tom’s post on rat mullets. He asked the question “ladies would you date someone with a rat mullet?”

Now my first thought was “no I wouldn’t date someone with a rat mullet but I would be open to being friends, if we had common interests. I don’t think rat mullet says I’m an evil person and don’t trust me with your wallet or children.”

Then my second thought was “oh my God i have different hair, would someone not date me because of that?”  It is already going to be hard enough to meet a nice man. Hypothetically just say I meet this great Jewish or Christian boy when I am doing my Masters of Letters in Hebrew studies and we get on really well but he just wants to be friends because he could never date someone with dreads.  Like me with the guy who has a rat mullet.

Be honest people “would you not date someone if they have dreads that you know only get washed once a month?”

I was having a beer with Ryan yesterday at the Hornsby Inn, (the RSL wouldn’t let me in because my licence still says Forbes Street). We were going to play snooker but ended up sitting outside at the Inn talking and drinking beer. Anyway droplets of rain started and we were like that’s alright, maybe a bit cold, but then all of a sudden we had to run inside because massive amounts of hail started falling out of the sky. We stood at the doorway and watched and it was very impressive. I love storms and hail ones are very cool. But what was kind of sad was the room we were standing in was a pokie room and there were three people sitting next to us who didn’t even turn around to look at this amazing hail storm. They just sat there playing their machine. I wanted to judge them and I confess I did a little. Until I started thinking – I wonder how many times in my life there has been a wonderful event happening, and all I have to do to see it is turn around  but instead I continue on with whatever game I happen to be playing at the time. My prayer then is God helps me to be attentive to the beauty of all the hail storms going on around me even if my attention is on something else as silly and as dangerous as a poker machine.

In an effort to survive my depression I started writing a book. It is therapeutic and the dream of one day getting published is always exciting, even if not particularly realistic. I have a plot, some characters I rather like (Drusilla is a homeless woman and Isaac is a shamen) and some of it is not too badly written. Some of it is crap and will have to be changed. I am trying to make sure Drusilla is her own person, as in not just a clone of me, but that is rather hard. Here is a very me thing she is thinking while walking down the street.

Layer upon layer we build our lives. Piling stone upon stone and holding them together with mortar. The structure takes shape beneath our hands, sometimes stroked gently, sometimes slapped about. The problem I have is I am not a very careful builder. Erratically I put stones down, one on top of the other. When I stand back I can see there out of place but it is too late. Once we have laid a stone there is no going back.

Here is another very me thing that Drusilla does. It is very lots of people I know.

5 minutes later I find my bag, under a blanket wedged in between two couches. I never know how my things find the hiding places they do. The constant search for what I just put down never ceases to exasperate me.

So I decided today it would be a good idea if I started looking into applications for university next year. Well luucckkyy. Because applications closed today. I got mine in at 11:15 tonight. Seems that god hasn’t totally forgot about me because that was a pretty close call. I have applied for some 1 year teaching degrees in both Sydney and Melbourne. In my search I came across this degree called Master of Letters. This would allow me to explore Hebrew lettering stuff (some fancy explanation there). Unfortunately I couldn’t find the course codes in U.A.C but I do have an email address and once you have enrolled, UAC lets you change your preferences. I would probably be a better teacher than palaeographer so teaching is probably where I will end up but I am a bit excited about the prospect of just exploring a masters in lettering. Even if it comes to nothing.

Life at the Frenchies is nice. I spoke to Jo and Victor briefly on skype this morning, then had milkshakes and coffee with Jem, Jane and Bruce, then a bushwalk with Jane and then clothes shopping with Hannah. We got some cool stuff. Although it is difficult to find stuff which has the potential to last a growing girl. She fell in love with a dress, she told me it was “pretty.” So I had to buy it. Not sure if it is totally her style but it is pretty. We also got 3/4 jeans, leggings and a top that is very her colour.

Have been doing some work at the pizza shop. I really enjoy it. So little stress and I feel comfortable there. I need the pupose of doing some work and I need money, but given the place I am in it, would be hard to enter the  workforce. I am really grateful for bambino’s and Dave for giving me some work. 

Jane, John and I are having dinner with Jase (aka Gary) tomorrow night. She rung and asked if I could come and he sounded really pleased about that. It will be lovely to see him and meet his new partner. I think we are meeting in Newtown. I like Newtown. Will bring back some happy memories. I need some happy memories.

I was reading Tom’s blog. Quote - ”breaking up is hard to do.” I can’t help but respond with, yes it is. It is something I have done lots. Everytime it wrenches at my heart. But here I am again. This one really hurts because this time I am giving up a deeply good man who would have made a wonderful husband. The problem is I wouldn’t make a wonderful wife. Dave moved out of Central House. I couldn’t keep going beyond our work. Anyway I feel a bit funny putting this on the blog. I have held off mentioning it for quite awhile but I guess if I am going to write what is going on for me, well this is it.

I went to a party last weekend. I was chatting to a guy there and he asked me the usual question – “how do you know Nigel” (nigel was the host).

I said – “through the church.”

He said – “ooohhhh, well, do you know what my religion is?”

I said – “what?”         He said -  “shoes.”

I said “ooohhh”

He said – “how many pairs of shoes do you have?”

I said – “I don’t know, about 15.”

He said – “I have SEVENTY PAIRS OF SHOES. My dad just told me that if I bring one more pair into the house, he is going to kick me out.”

At this point I cracked up laughing.

I thought it was very funny and I still do – but on a more serious note. I read this line from Fight Club today.

“Our generation has had no Great Depression, no Great War. Our war is spiritual. Our depression is our lives.”

I can’t help but wonder is our spiritual war against these shoes. At the time I wanted to ask this guy if he had ever given any thought to where his fabulously expensive shoes are coming from. But my desire to be popular at parties ashamedly stopped me. Maybe I am as shallow as him. “Our war is spiritual. Our depression is our lives.”

Merridie invited me to this chaplaincy fund raiser dinner. I am not sure why, I don’t have any money and her and Tim are certainly not short of people to talk to. She told me I would make a good chaplain. I guess that is why she invited me. So there I am at table 19. Jennifer Kite (she’s on TV) sitting across from me and Tim Costello going on about his church dates with Kevin. I politely chat with the man next to me. Blah blah blah, “oh so your interested in policy?” Yes he replies I used to set the minimum wage. I think I was supposed to know who he was, but I didn’t. I was slightly overwhelmed but managed to keep conversation happening. They were serving lamb and some kind of beef. They put this extremely meaty plate in front of me. I was a bit nervous to make the “I am a vegetarian” scene but my friend next to me helped me out and made the scene for me. Phew, 9 years with out meat. That plate would not have exactly been easing back in. Anyway it was all a bit flashy but fun all the same. I don’t get to get dressed up so often down here.

Life goes around in circles. I just can’t get it to go straight.

Being broken is a wonderfully profound and beautiful concept until we actually have to come face to face with it and then it just hurts. I am definitely broken. Not in the profound sense, but in the sense of wishing I could be a completed puzzle again rather than all strewn into a thousand little pieces.  

yes, we can’t be happy all the time and recently I have definitely had my share of happiness but as I go to write about Alice Springs and how wonderful it was or the Matisyahu concert and how amazing he was, all I can feel is like a terrible person. David took me to dinner last night and bought some nice wine and reminded me as we were leaving that there is goodness in me – but I confess I can be an inconsiderate and selfish person. I hate those traits in other people but i hate them even more in myself.

God give me more wisdom and more discipline and more sensitivity. Amen.

I started reading “People Like Us” last night. It is written by Waleed Ally who is a pretty well known speaker/author in the Melbourne (maybe Australia). He writes and speaks about a lot of stuff but specifically about how the West and the Muslim world could dialogue better together. I have only read 25 pages but already I have had to look up 3 words including nomenclature, which is a system of words used in a particular science, art or community. So there you have it I am learning English words from a Muslim guy. Sure breaks down the whole notion that they don’t want to learn our language.

Anyway I started reading this book because Urban Seed was contacted by a lady from the City Mosque who wants to run a soup kitchen for homeless people. (We might need to teach her a new nomenclature to describe her vision, but that is OK). Because of my passion for interfaith stuff our admin person passed on her queries to me. I am really excited because we have tentatively started mapping out together some of the resources/training Urban Seed could offer them. I never thought in my wildest dreams that an opportunity like this would present itself. I really hope this was also God’s vision too because then if we work respectfully and mindfully it might actually get off the ground.