[a recollection]
I wanted to remember this, so have typed it up at work. Having nowhere to keep it, have posted it here. I've no daily anymore, besides my paper journals, of which I've none with me today. I so rarely write long entries in them, though, them being generally small and unweieldy... and typing being so easier to express, to reflect and modify. Perhaps I should restart dazelie, I do so love that I have it to look back on.

This weekend just past I finally managed to get to Byron Bay. I'd wanted to go for weeks, months! but events continually impeded; Shadowrun, hangovers, essential shopping sprees, etc. Mostly it was that I wanted to take my friends, rather than go alone, but they so very often had other plans, damn them!

Jason decided not to come along, having just received a letter from the department of psychology berating him for being such a slack bastard, so wanted to catch up on some work instead. Chelle originally wanted to go motorcycle shopping, being about to be granted a license. I thus threatened to go on my own, in the face of their blatant defiance of my wishes (and would have, reluctantly, for just a day trip), as I'd learned the markets are only on once per month, rather than every weekend... this weekend, and I am going to Cairns next.

Chelle found her cycle during the week, however, so agreed to come. Hurrah! Then I received messages from Rohan, asking for company Saturday night, so I invited him, thinking he probably wouldn't come, yet he chose to as well (about this I was ambivalent: the more the merrier, surely, but I find Rohan so irritating, and have little patience for the multitude of "I'm specialler than anyone" anecdotes (propaganda) he so loves to tell. I'm sorry, Rohan :( I will figure out a way to talk to you about it). So the three of us went.

The drive took only two hours, when I'd thought it to be three. We arrived at around 3pm and had delicimous sushi (tempura salmon rolls with two sauces, split crumbed prawns filled with rice, tuna and avocado, soft shelled crab) followed by gelati. We checked into our "studio" the next beach down – one bedroom with a queen + single bed, as well as a separate lounge room and kitchenette. After lounging around a bit we decided to go shopping for supplies (liquor and breakfastfoods) before heading back into Byron for dinner.

I love Byron Bay so very. Not so much the intensely touristy aspect of it; more the creative, casual lifestyle, with organic goodness, beach and wilderness. Chelle and I devised plans for moving there once Jason and I are registered – a private practice, miscellaneous (I just can't recall the specifics) IT and computery jobs for Rohan and Jeremy, a host of eclectic pursuits for Chelle, including a stall at the markets where Chelle and I can sell our paintings, gardens, hammocks, surfing, drum circles (we briefly spied a huge one of such energy!), festivals, drug use, etc. I wish so!

Anyway, dinner! Hog's Breath Café, where Chelle and I shared nachos and steak. Rohan raved about the steak for a bit – slow cooked for 18 hours! A conspiracy was theorised as to how they knew how many to have ready for when we arrived. We then headed back to the hotel to get slightly trashed and wander up to the beach. Except the way to the beach was through some pitch black beachside woods – an interesting and hilarious drunken trek. The beach was chaotic: black, roaring, windy and stormy, lightning over the waves, freezing cold. We headed back to shower and pass out on the couch (o wait, that was just me).

I woke up to Chelle cooking breakfast – grilled haloumi, pesto toast, avocado and smoked salmon. I skipped the salmon, the rest was sublime (although I'm sure for people who do not detest slimy fish flesh the salmon was also sublime). We headed to the beach for some swimming and roasting. The morning beach was perfect – a light breeze, sand crinkled by last night's rain, water chill and blue, mountains on the horizon, copious hole-crabs and cheery, racing puppydogs greeting us gleefully from all angles. I received a slight tan (thank you sun), but melanoma and Brenton's insistence I get my back looked at worried continuously at my mind (thank you sun), though apparently not enough for me to actually get looked at, mind.

After another shower, some cigarettes and morning vodka, we checked out at around 10am (QLD time) and headed to Byron for the markets. We went straight to the gushy fudz section and Rohan wandered off lost as quickly as he could. Chelle and I partook of delicious samosas and satay chicken, then began to aimlessly wander the stalls. I bought scented oil burner chips, a tantric colouring book and some pants for Jason. Chelle bought a pretty dress and a hugely floppy hat – it was so very sunny and abominably hot. We then received a call from lost Rohan and met up with him, and the search for toeboots began – my main reason for wanted to revisit the markets. I couldn't find them, and didn't, which was quite sad, but gives me reason to go back and try again.

So very hot and heatstruck we went back into the town for air-conditioned shakes (vanilla as a flavour is so underrated) for which the waitress undercharged. Rohan kicked up a minor fuss re. morals and insisting on paying the correct amount, to which Chelle and I shrugged; well, how else will they learn not to make such atrocious errors?

I set the agenda for the rest of the day: swimsuit shopping (for me), followed by doof shopping (for me), followed by stopping once again at the markets for a burrito (for me). I felt a tad awfully selfish but, well, no one else had any preferences! Chelle made out fine, liking the shops I chose and also buying a swimsuit, but poor Rohan lagged about in complete disinterest, yet with wonderful patience.

We left as the market stalls were closing up (no burrito for me, afterall) and stopped for a happy meal on the way home instead. ALL in all (is all we are), an immensely successful trip, one I hope to repeat again soon.

mood: fine, with chance of rain
eyed-deers : x1

[last night I dreamt]
I was travelling, or transient, and most people I met were highly nude. This was not unusual. They were attractive, male or female, and they all had enormous penises, like betumoured elephant trunks, hanging between their legs. I, too, was nude, and apparently the only person in the world with a vagina. I suppose this made me highly desirable, as there seemed to be a constant demand for me. At times I was happy to oblige, and at times I was running frantically away, climbing cliffs and crawling muddily under roaring train bridges.


eyed-deers : x1

[feet]
Just now I was sitting on the front steps looking at my feet, and how weird they are.

I think I have abnormal feet. All the toes are pretty long, but the fourth toe is relatively absurd, like the foots own limb. It has never fit into properly dainty shaped shoes, so has learnt over my lifetime to tuck itself under so that it is now impossible to straighten. Further, because this has caused constant friction between the toeknuckle and the roof of shoes, it has developed a benign corn, a permanent callusy growth that is quite pronounced.



I like my feet and my wayward fourth toe, but... I guess it is rather annoying that it prevents me buying 85% of the shoes I try on. And I hate open-toed shoes with the fiery passion of 1.25 hells.

Also, last night I dreamt I was looking at my face in the mirror, closer and closer, till I was examining the pores, and realised I could see into them, like they were wormholes for parasites. It was pretty gross in there.

Yes, I'm still in my pajamas. <3

mood: day-off-y
eyed-deers : x4

[atheist and laughing about it]
you know how your time, today, is so precious to you you don't want to waste it, don't know how to spend it, it's like coins dripping from your hand
rush around your own head; flip and switch, no, nothing is worth it
  thinking, thinking

I've obviously accomplished nothing, today,

beyond work. A group reflection session, in which we had to talk about a call that had gone terribly, or terribly well. How did it make us feel, what would we have done differently, "what about you, Jessicah, what would you have done?" to ensure you weren't really staring completely vacantly at the concentric circled pattern, faintly raised, textured, on the close, closing walls.
"I don't know any of you, your sympathetic lip-stretchings or uncertain eye-narrowings."

I don't think any one tells the truth at any time. Go to work, go out on weekends, invest in term deposits, pay off loans, cut up vegetables, give way to the right, keep yearly dentist appointments, find pleasure in your collection, produce, consume, oblige, fuck.

TIME.

mood: anxious
eyed-deers : x5

[GODISNOWHERE]
I last updated exactly half a year ago. Facebook has made me lazy.. it requires no thought and minimal consideration. arrr.

I've been making lots of clothes with fabric bought from ebay 'cause Brisbane has no fabric that isn't hideously boring, or just hideous.

Come to see Infected Mushroom with us on February 23rd please.

Today is my only day off for the week and I am spending it nakedly simultaneously watching Samurai Jack and playing laptoppy computer games. and typing here random things I think of throughout. and meeting people later for pounds and pounds of coffee. Yes, pounds.
's working too much :<

I don't tell my livejournal private things like I did 7 years ago, when there was no one I knew personally who read it. Maybe that's why I don't use it anymore. I'm an exhibitionist unless it's at people I have to deal with on a week-to-month basis. You know.. when the world rests on your head/in your bed, and you feel like a deeply loved goldfish.

My fish are deeply loved.. the first half of my day off was spent transferring them out of their slightly leaky tank into a brand new one.

Last night, walking home from work, I passed under a railway bridge (the lights were orange, stared eagerly at suspicious shadows), and smelt sparklers. You know? What is that smell, what are sparklers made of? I heard loud bangs, and vividly imagined the bridge crumbling, plundering my noggin.. or perhaps just as I emerged from under it, spinning around in shocked disbelief, heartbeat, calling triple 0, trembling "there could be people, cars, me, under there..." Then racing home for my camera.

Ah, yeah I am loved... more than I love.

Anyone who reads this, post a comment and hit Ctrl+V, and nothing else. Just paste what's in your clipboard:

62% reported having been raped in prostitution.
73% reported having experienced physical assault in prostitution.
72% were currently or formerly homeless.
92% stated that they wanted to escape prostitution immediately.
Farley, M., Baral, I., Kiremire, M., & Sezgin, U. (1998). Prostitution in five countries: Violence and posttraumatic stress disorder. Feminism & Psychology, 8 (4), 405-426.

haha that was unexpected. SEE? IT'S FUN.

mood: listless
eyed-deers : x14

[muah! muah! muah!]
I recently caught up on my (heavily filtered) friends page. Unfortunately, many of you rarely report anything worth commenting on. So if you're wondering why my commenting is lacking, it is because you are boring. However I admit that I am a poor LJer in general. YOU SEE, I CAN'T HELP BUT FEEL THAT LJ has ceased to be a journalling tool, and has instead become a tool of communication. The fact is I lack many basic communication skills due to the fact that I hate people, thus my entries

hmm I must have become distracted. damn it, I can't even finish ONE LOUSY PARAGRAPH of an entry.

My point was, or was eventually in a very roundabout way going to become, that I've been considering being more journally in my livejournal, as opposed to my once per month: "Look! Look at my latest attempt to convince myself that I am still an artist! PRAISE ME!"

I used to keep paper journals for actual journally business, but haven't written in my latest for months. I blame that on recently losing faith in my keeping written memories idea after reading not-so-long-ago entries, the basis happenings of which I can still recall; for several times per page I forget that "I mustn't put strangeness where there's nothing. I think that is the danger of keeping a diary: you exaggerate everything, you are on the look-out, and you continually stretch the truth."

But! I SO love reading my past journals. It is an addiction to which I'm sure any self-obsessed person can relate. So should I try, RIGHT NOW?

I am at work, and just came in from smoking a cigarette. Smoking cigarrettes inspires me, especially to write, which is why I smoke them, which is further why I am writing now. This particular cigarrette I stubbed out too vigorously and in doing so accidentally snapped the remaining quarter from the filter. As I picked up the pieces and brought them inside to place in the bin, my vision flared into a burning blindness as I was arbitrarily overcome with a white rage at the thought of those who flick their butts into gutters, gardens, graves. Although my cigarrette butts are pink and could thus only increase the prettiness of anything I cared to flick them into.

Okay that is surely the most inane thing I have ever written. Curse you LiveJournal, curse you.

Here is a list of updates that may interest you, because lists are ALWAYS full of win:

• I am working on many webdesign projects lately, the most complicated one I am not being paid for. Why I agree to these things I DO NOT KNOW since I supposedly hate people.
• I am saving uP to go to Japan to teach English for a year.
• Going to Japan for a year means giving my ratties and my fish up for adoption. This makes me sad every day. However various family members will be taking my cats, hurrah.
• I like my boyfriend. He is good.
• I recently bought Pretty Pop, my first new pony all year. She is my new alltime favourite, even beyond G1s which I usually greatly prefer. Here is a picture, and if computer monitors had smellovision you would be able to tell that she smells like bubblegum.
• I faint when I have needles of any kind (no heroin for me, thanks). As a result I have been terrified all my life of donating blood and have made excuse after pathetic, unreasonable excuse. I have decided to be great and mighty and overcome this fear by facing it directly etc etc. I have convinced one friend to come, WHO ELSE HERE volunteers to save up to three loves with us? (That should obviously have read "lives" but I think it works better this way.)
• Finally, here are some bash quotes at which I have been chortling all day.
  
  <peer`> I cut off gummy bear heads and put them over the LED's on my keybaord
  <peer`> now I have glowing gummy bear heads
  
  * ab is away - gone, if anyone talks in the next 25 minutes as me it's bm being an asshole -
  <ab> HAHAHA DISREGARD THAT, I SUCK COCKS
  
  <Tsk> oiuyniyu98h987h89yh87y98yjn987j987y897yhkiuk;''''
  <Tsk> sorry.. there was a spider on my keyboard.

mood: hooray!
eyed-deers : x10

[coldcomfort]
Full time work is a craggy bear of lethargy and indifference, slowly gnawing off my hands. My head functions as usual; my eyes point wonderingly at everything and my voice comes vomiting up and lightning bolts of ideas shoot out of my brain and I make endless plans for wonderous things to do and create and complete. The lightning never gets anywhere... my hands are eaten off before the flashes reach the ends of my arms. My eyes are sliding closed and my voice grows pale with "how may I help you"s.

Limbos of working for short but very constant spurts to pay for the exciting adventures in between, though, is more desirable than steady streams of equal parts life and living. Oh, ugh, I obviously wasn't meant for the dreary lives society has decided. I dream of rolling down hillsides composing odes to visible bodies of very fine water droplets as I go; but too much of even that and my brain would eat itself for lack of sustenance from the world...

It's how I see having roots of any kind. Horrid! My life shall be intense, overflowing, practically drunk! and wildly varying; I will have lived everywhere, been everything, had everyone. So there, there there, it's okay, it will all be okay. I'm here [only for now].

mood: blank
eyed-deers : x6

[Home again]
My last travel post, from home... both thrilled and devastated to be back.

The last two weeks of the journey felt like stolen time; it had to be scoffed down before someone found out we'd appropriated it. Looking back now it's all blurred, and I can't bring myself to write about it. Luckily I've photos.

Trekking in Chiang Mai we visited a mountain village with very interesting accommodation.



Ate Tex Mex in Vientiane, Laos, while from our balcony watched a shopkeeper's family have their dinner most comfortably in the street.



Our favourite stop was Vang Vien, also in Laos, a town that seems to exist solely for the pleasure of tourists, who lounge all day in one of 80 cushiony cafes watching Friends on one of the 43569086 widescreen TVs in each cafe.



But it had gorgeous mountains and rivers. And yes, yes, our favourite travel story: down one of these rivers you can float, having hired an inner tube for around $3. Along the banks of this river teeter makeshift bamboo bars selling beers for less than $1. The bartenders fish you in with lengths of bamboo or rope, then con you into drinking more by offering free shots of rice whisky for every beer you buy. You then float on down to the next bar, chatting to other travellers on the way, paddling drunkenly with your sandals or beer bottles, stopping every now and then to throw yourself off a flying fox or rope swing into the deeper parts of the river.

I didn't risk taking my camera on that particularly wet adventure.

On to the islands, notably Koh Pangan, home to the Full Moon Party. The party itself was unremarkable, however the night before we noticed one of the beach bars had a sign advertising "Happy Shakes."



Now that was a very interesting night. Sitting on the beach staring at the horizon, the sky and ocean seemed to fold in on me. We somehow made it back to our bungalow where I lay taking many strange, pointless photos until my memory card was full.



From there to Phuket, which was the most touristy place we'd been yet, but I loved it. Its packed beaches, its tacky knicknacks, its screaming bars, its gaudy ladyboys.



and back to Bangkok to furiously shop before heading back home. and get dreadlocks put in, oh what hideously painful fun that was.



Came back home to a reasonably clean house and no dead pets (thanks, housesitters) but Newt, my beautiful fighter, had advanced dropsy. and I've heaps of bills to pay, and a job to find, and oh, no, life is back.

mood: oh, well
eyed-deers : x4

[on Koh Pha Ngan]
The sky is a gradient, azure blue to powder blue
Where it meets the sea, which is a gradient, deep green to pale green
Where it meets the white of the waves and of the sand.



My skin today is not a gradient, it jumps startlingly from creamy pale to angry red.

mood: happy, yet
eyed-deers : x6

[Longneck Karen]
The women encircle their necks with brass rings as protection against tiger attacks; not so the men, who are apparently stronger than tigers.



A girl's first rings are given at age 5, with another ring being added each year until her thirtieth.



(She is also taught to apply her own makeup at age 5).

mood: touched
eyed-deers : x1

[Bangkok]
My experience of Bangkok was both awesome and awful. The capital of Thailand is just crazy. We stayed on Khaosan Road, surely the most chaotic corner of the world. All day and all night the street is lined with stalls and crowded with tourists.



Paid 2000 baht each for ringside seats at the Muay Thai boxing stadium. I was shocked to be watching terribly muscley and scary 10 year olds kicking the shit out of each other. I learned they start training at about 6; I felt terrible for them but it was very exciting all the same. As the fighters grew older & bigger I devised a system of picking the winner... whichever fighter was hotter. This system was accurate 4 of 5 fights.



Visited a few of the thousand temples on every corner of the city, the Dusit zoo which had every animal you can think of (including panthers.. I'd never seen real live panthers. They were stunning... and sad). Watched a python swallow a chicken... well mostly, it was taking simply forever.



The day we were due to fly to Surat Thani (our connection to Ko Pangan and its full moon party) we slept in because I had lost my mobile phone (our alarm clock). On the way to the airport (our taxi driver zipping in and out of traffic jams like the world would explode if we missed our flight) I realised my iPod was missing. Oops, I guess I hadn't actually lost my phone, I guess someone with a key to our room had BURGLED US. And we missed our flight.



So instead of the full moon party, we visited the tourist police... who laughed at us as they translated my statement. The next day we were consoled by a visit to the floating market, River Kwai bridge and tiger temple... and spent many, many hours on a squeaky, rattly, not air-conditioned mini-bus. It was grand fun. The floating market was just as in the postcards, but with a few hundred more tourists thrown in. We piled into a flatboat paddled by two insanely cheerful Thai ladies who conversed good-naturedly with everyone we (slowly) passed. Many rickety wooden houses backed onto the canals, each with an unsafe looking pier and boat. People washed their dishes and clothes, children swam, coconut shells were thrown out... all in the canal. It was fairly amazing.



The tiger temple was... interesting. Around 10 or so tigers chained in a canyon with a line of tourists waiting their turn to be photographed risking death, or something. 1000 baht for a photo of a tiger's head in your lap. The money being used to construct a natural habitat, in which the tigers' offspring will be raised wild, so they can be released. Does the end justify the means? I thought it was fair, I suppose, being that these particular tigers had all been rescued from poachers, sickness or injury.



Next stop, Chiang Mai.

mood: amused
eyed-deers : x4