tales from an ordinary world

2002-11-01

The weekend feeling hits early, and the office turns into a mid-afternoon ghost-town. I have no horse, so I amble out just before 6pm and zig-zag my way home. Box noodles and Steve Earle on the CD player - it came up at random, and just seemed to fit. Sometime this afternoon, I felt my ever-present funk lift a little. Perhaps this was "the weekend feeling," too.

2002-11-02

Across the street, a frisky pigeon puffs himself up and chases a potential mate across the edge of the roof of the Big Mouth cafe. They run along to the end of the ledge, whereupon she flies off - perhaps it's not quite Spring, yet.

The citybound tram is full of racegoers, dressed to the nines. None of them seem to catch public transport very often, as they seem utterly confused by the ticket machine (it doesn't matter where you put the instructions, they'll never look anyway).

2002-11-03

The train winds its way to the east, and it's all I can do to try and tell myself that tomorrow won't be as bad as my idle mind imagines it will be.

2002-11-04

She wants to be somewhere else again, but events suggest otherwise. "Do you ever feel you could be doing more than you are now," she asked? "Certainly. But I never feel as if I can make myself do it," I replied. "I'm never really sure of what I should be doing." "Yeah, that too."

In the beer garden later on, I can hear somebody else grappling with similar issues. "In Melbourne, you've got friends to fall back on. If you hate your job you can just quit and get another one before long, 'cause you know people. In other places...you have to be more independent." I sit over the other end of the garden, nodding my head, staring at the floor and slowly nursing a beer before wandering inside when the band starts playing.

Life is full of opportunities. I'm cautious, perhaps a little too cautious, about the ones I follow. Actions have reactions. Advantages come with disadvantages. I try to weigh them up in something approximating a fair manner, but in the end something inside me usually says "I can't do this."

2002-11-05

One of the fans in my computer is making a particular, unhappy droning-insect sound, as if to warn me against sitting here again in the evening. The CD stops but I can't replace it, my other new purchases will better fit some other, quite different mood. I'm alone, and now there's nothing but the sound of computer hardware and the occasional creak of the chair.

I don't want to be here.

I don't know where I want to be.

I'm alone, and now my head is throbbing for no particular reason. I'll iron a shirt, I'll lie down, and I'll wait for better times.

2002-11-06

It feels better to be reading a book again - I wonder if the lack of stimulus on the morning tram ride was affecting my mood, somehow.

2002-11-07

So many sunglasses on the tram, allowing an expressionless anonymity to take hold. But then, I'm as guilty as anybody else of doing this.

Later, I'm sitting in the park. Somebody's practising scales on a violin in a nearby house. The birds are quiet. People come and go. Music occasionally leaks from passing car windows. People are coming home. A flock of mynahs appear, creaking, clicking and twittering. Even like this, an hour passes fairly quickly.

2002-11-08

Desk and equipment movements at work have left me tired, but somehow satisfied. In the process of this and related stuff, I at least feel slightly more...part of things, I suppose. Putting more faces to names. Feeling useful. Talking about the future, and finding out that other people might have plans for me, which both balances and magnifies the nagging concern about what I'll do next, given the looming change to a part-time existence at this particular place. I'm looking forward to a (small) change, something that'll refresh my optimism and ward off the cynicism. But I'll have to cut down on this CD habit, and start spending my weekend time usefully. My camera's been sorely underutilized, lately - I walk plenty, but I haven't been thinking about potential photos - I don't feel as if I possess The Gift, but there's only one way to come closer to it...

2002-11-09

I left the bustle of another festival behind, heading for the gardens. I couldn't sit still for long, though - I had to keep moving, little by little, until I was home again, whereupon I asked myself "so what now ?"

2002-11-10

My brunch order was forgotten, leaving me with coffee but no food - but this turned out ok because I'd made a hasty decision anyway, and now I was free to wander a bit more and eat something I'd probably find more satisfying and/or a little less guilty. Wind blowing down a near-empty street. The sun came out just as I left the cafe, affirming my choice to not make a fuss about things (perhaps). I alternated between walking and tramming, covering much ground - the suburbs beneath my feet and the blue sky above. I happened to pass through the right shops at the right time, where somebody said "hi". Across these familiar streets I watched faces longingly, achingly. Keep moving, keep walking, keep going. Don't stop for us. Don't let us go.

This morning I dreamt of waking up in a swimming pool in St Kilda Road, as if the Arts Centre was gone and it was the edge of the sea, there - a bit of sand in the chlorinated water, and just over the grass you could reach the edge of the bay. There was also something about a school bus ride, too, though the driver had to reverse for a while, and he did it at great speed, as if it were something he did all the time.

2002-11-11

Watch them hurry for the train, even though there'll be another one along in a minute. Back and forth, the final shoppers for the day while assistants lock up and leave. Anecdote-swapping over a refreshing ale, trying to maintain hope as others start to lose it. If I ask myself why I'm here, can I come up with a reasonable answer ?

2002-11-12

...nothing quite like a relaxing pint on a warm evening, staring at the world along a street you never normally come to these days. The odd familiar face, even. A new CD to look forward to hearing when you get home. Catching a band with a friend, a gig that finishes earlier than normal. Simple pleasures, once more.

2002-11-13

It's such a nice day as I leave the house that I forget my jacket. Clouds gather by lunchtime, leaving me on the verge of feeling cold as I walk the edge of the park. Work keeps me warm, though, and after about 5:30 time vanishes anyway. Small progress, ships on the horizon and all that. There's nothing to do at home but relive last night, and that's just fine.

2002-11-14

stop for coffee on the way home - the weariness hits you sitting at the outside table, barely able to lift the glass. you've forgotten how to move. there's nothing to do but wait, and let it pass.

2002-11-14b

After two whiskys I'm feeling brave enough to catch up on some non-day-job sysadmin work. Friends reappear. I feel up to answering owed e-mail. It shoudn't be this way, but it is. After a third, I put on a familiar CD, and life is simply beautiful. I don't normally allow myself such indulgence these days - my life is one of controlled denial. As much as I should (and I want to) relax, I figure I should be finding other ways of doing so. All sorts of vices (even eating) are frowned upon. What's happening to me ? I tried drinking herbal tea at nights with St John's Wort in it (despite warnings from others about the weird dreams you get after taking it for a while) to help ward off the anxiety, but I've run out now. I don't feel so bad, just yet. I suppose I'm a little worried that I'll start to worry too much again, though. It never ends, but sometimes you can find pockets of "okayness".

2002-11-15

I suppose I was an odd sight, reading my book alone in the beer garden. Eventually a chatty local introduced himself and we talked a while, after which he asked a few personality-searching questions and then moved on. I'd wondered if it were some kind of prelude to asking me about God or something, but evidently not.

2002-11-16

I found myself drinking coffee in Hawthorn, and thought about walking over to Richmond, past some old haunts. In the end I found myself spooked by old memories, and headed for the station instead.

2002-11-16b

make me feel better. make me feel lighter. i went up north for noodles, just to get a bit of extra movement into the end of the day. i feel like a voyeur, being out on my own like this. retreat to the headphones, and don't look, don't think. after dinner I almost feel like staying out, but for what ? i can't answer, so home it is, here i am.

2002-11-17

Walk on, walk alone. Plans fade, escape hatch used upon you. Still, it's nice enough to be out - you can't really ask for more. Resist temptation, you've already bought enough for one weekend. Just walk. Just move. Cheered by old music in a once-favourite cafe, it's time to go home and do something almost useful.

2002-11-18

New asphalt and a tent-like atmosphere - something to make the end of the day seem a little better. Battles are over for now, but I've got friends to worry about - somewhere amongst the chaos of work I mightn't have found quite enough time to be as attentive as I should've been, and trying to make excuses seemed silly and pointless. I hope it'll be ok.

2002-11-19

There are a number of ways to travel home - sometimes the most direct route isn't the most desirable one. I've invented two fairly regular alternatives, stopping for coffee either way so I can ease back into the evening. There aren't many people in the cafes, but that's fine, I'm happier watching the street. The determined look on faces walking home, some with a bit of shopping, some deep in a book, some stuck in a phone call. At the other end of the day, I ease myself into the working mood by stopping for coffee before reaching the office - it's not the beverage, it's the ritual. I'm wary of rituals, and I despise my reliance on them because it's a demonstration of my resistance to change, and we're taught that people who resist change are bad. I'm always finding new ways to reinforce my belief that I'm a bad person, I suppose.

Changes are on the way, and I'll have a little extra time on my hands. I'm hoping to try and spend it "usefully".

2002-11-20

The first thing I see entering the hotel besides the thing I'm attending, is a notice of where to find the "today not tomorrow foundation" meeting. Intriguing.

I stood outside at the top of the hotel, peering over the top of the fence. All there was to see were the tops of other buildings - questionable colour schemes, radio dishes, poles and windows - and the unassuming clouds, covering the city like an old blanket.

At this 'forum', I see two people wearing those big old boots, like the ones I haven't worn in ages. I can never find the right occasion anymore, as if I lost that part of my image, that facet of myself.

Walking away, mid afternoon, a cheer goes up and we see people playing a kind of bowls alongside the fountain. You don't see that every day. The red and green balls look not unlike seamless cricket balls, or something.

Standing on the street. A girl takes photos of trams, or the building site behind them - I'm not sure which. Everybody's moving, going somewhere.

A pot of chai in a noisy room. Students abound, I feel old here. Honey mixes through, girls move back and forth to the bar, the bathroom. I thought I could stay here a while, but it's time to walk instead.

Degraves St. German girl talks to her friend - I couldn't pick the accent until her friend spelt it out by proudly showing off her "learning German" kit. I watch the way she leans into the table as her friend speaks, listening up close. Meanwhile I imagine sitting across the table from a particular someone, the way she'd smile and look around. Just up the end of the street, schoolgirls drink coffee and nurse their single cigarettes. Converse sneakers rule the roost in Missing Link, it seems.

Move out of town for a while. Wander through the dark green bookshop, or the black, echoy CD shop. So much to pick up, stare at the back of and put down again. I'm practising restraint. You don't win by shying away from temptation, you face up to it and say 'no. not today'.

Cut across through the park, geese, soccer, UK accents, a confused little boy and his mother. Two cyclists kiss at the lights, the traffic passes like waves in an evening sea. The tide flows out, out to the suburbs. A little backwash leaves visitors like myself, who've headed back into the centre of town.

They were probably thinking of people like Burke and Wills when they named Exploration Lane but we were a different kind of explorer, gathered together in a tiny CBD bar. Sickness and Gin. Parallels and Pavement. Rum carts, rollmops and rock-paper-scissors. Dim the lights. Pump the music.

2002-11-21

Succumb to a cold. Cotton wool in my head, but I can't stay in bed. I'm here but not there, but I lunch, plan, discuss, meet, order. I feel fairly calm, all things considered. When it's time to go, the sun's out but only in an observatory manner. Pacing myself against the people walking to the station. Dodging early evening shoppers. Sitting at a new favourite cafe, out on the street amongst white and orange traffic barriers - just like Sunday, but this time I'm the only one here. Rejoin the tramming hordes, each taking their turn to stare nervously up the line every few minutes. Once we're on board they drain off fairly soon, all along the highway. I watch colour schemes (especially socks, today) and reading matter, with CD player controls in one hand, handrail in the other.

Lemon juice cordial and soda water, she looks up behind her glasses and smiles hello as I enter the bottle shop, just like all those other times. I can never remember the price, even now.

A couple of couples are Expecting. Congratulations. Now begins the time of unfathomable changes for you all. Good luck!

2002-11-22

A beery afternoon, I'm the tour guide once more - "have you tried this one yet ? it's worth a go..." The tide of patrons ebbs and flows through the hours, until it's finally time for us to wander. I get off lightly, I don't know how.

2002-11-23

Bar Nothing. Bar Black-and-White TV. Bar Occasional Static. Bar All Night Conversations. Bar Good-Natured Ribbing. Bar Mid Life Crisis. Bar Couch, Couch and Chairs. Bar VB's Are Counted As Cocktails. Bar...

2002-11-24

Weepy clouds linger over my footsteps toward the station, through the old streets that I rode my bike around, twenty years ago. The houses seem bleaker now, though - there's not a soul around, no sounds of happiness, as if that's become a more private pursuit, something you no longer share with the neighbours. There's probably a greater chance of making a friend halfway across the world than there is of making one next door. The lure of the tropics, the lure of the west, the lure of the snow, the lure of the heights. Everybody wants to be somewhere else these days.

A handful of suburbs later, the cafe waitress asks about my portable music machine. "I've got a minidisc player. I wonder if they'll ever sell printed ones," she asks ? "You missed the boat," I tell her. "They've been and gone."

2002-11-25

Homeward bound tram, somebody's phone rings. "what?" Onward and upward, her thinly veiled anger echoes around the silent crowd - the kind of overheard conversation you just can't tune out of, no matter how hard you try. I hope it improves, whatever it is.

2002-11-26

Pushing plastic and wires onto desks, back and forth on an inside kind of day. Drifting in and out of a lunchtime conversation I'm unable to participate in. Slow progress on long awaited things. I woke up to a short, sharp downpour but in the early evening I trudged along Bridge Road in a more tired and lazy kind of rain, past a pub that advertised its "new summer menu". Even in the cafe, coincidentally covered letters reveal the word 'RAIN' in the pride of place on the back wall. The taxi driver has a comforting look, a moustache and a nice quiet voice as he talks on the phone in some eastern-bloc kind of dialect. Current worries cloud the things I should be thinking about, things I should be organising - presents, dinners, phone calls, gigs.

2002-11-27

Tiny sacrifices
Fun can wait
Try not to sink
It'll be over soon.

2002-11-27b

How many ways did I try to sell the future, today ? I lost count. It's good to retain hope during a mid-week slump, after all. Faces across tables, across cubicles, faces slightly tilted as they listen to the words escaping my mouth. I've always had trouble looking at people as I talk to them - am I worried I'll be hypnotised, unable to concentrate on what I'm saying ? I can't remember, now. Maintain joviality. I waved somebody off this morning - "don't ask me now" - as I sat down to Fix Something, and it's the kind of gesture you regret immediately, but feel powerless to repair.

2002-11-28

The location stays the same, it's just the shops that change. I haven't been here in years, but I remember the cold nights, sunny days, meals eaten with others, times when the future looked completely different to me. Simpler times. RIght now I'm waiting for someone, wondering exactly what I'm doing here, but using the opportunity to reminisce while I watch flocks of after-work train-takers as they make their way out of the station. Traffic banks up as trains cross the road. Evening shoppers stroll by - plastic bags, six-packs and lazy conversation with their spouses. Beep, and I'm gone.

2002-11-29

On an uncertain evening, comfort food wins again. She waves through the shop window as I wait for my tram home a little happier, a little less drained.

2002-11-29b

Folded :

• 6 plain black t-shirts
• 1 plain white t-shirt
• 5 printed t-shirts in varying shades of red
• 1 orange printed t-shirt
• 1 yellow printed t-shirt
• 1 dark blue printed t-shirt
• 3 white printed t-shirts
• 5 black printed t-shirts
• 1 olive-green long-sleeved t-shirt
• 1 dark red long-sleeved t-shirt
• 1 pair of grey pants
• 1 pair of black jeans
• 2 pairs of blue jeans
• 1 pair of brown cords
• 1 pair of olive-green jeans

2002-11-30

A bleak evening, perfect for a bleak walk. I'd walk a country mile to see a face that's happy to see me for the right reasons, right now. Just as I'm crossing the river, a plan for more comfort food takes shape - it helps me keep moving forward, further north. It's a bit loud and echoy inside, but I'm devouring my book faster than my food, and tune away the voices as the stories evoke the music I listened to while walking here. A train, a walk and a tram and I'm home again, scrubbing my face and reaching for a beer.