backdrifts

Some people, when presented with a crisis, will stand up and take control in a calm, sensitive manner. Others act like total tits. Some people will try and centre anything on themselves, and others will cry in corners for weeks. Some people, like my dad, will be bastions of self-control and concern, up until the point where they can't resist making some sort of joke. Others, like my brother, will be charming and cheerful. And some people, like me, get quietly angry (at goodness knows what) and have the urge to knit, because goodness knows they can't do anything else to help.

I've been thinking about all of this, partly because I'm interested in trauma culture but mostly because on Saturday evening my grandparents Gill and Phil were in a terrible car accident. They're both in pretty bad shape, but should be fine (in a few months). My brother and I spent most of yesterday in RNS Hospital with Rob, our step uncle, waiting and waiting and waiting until we could see them. When we did see them, they were both pretty out of it. And because I couldn't do anything, I fidgeted. Which is where my desire to knit came from, presumably. And I thought about how we deal with trauma, and as my mind is wont to do when I think about trauma, and trauma culture and memory culture and all these things I've read about but never actually studied, I ended up at what is considered the Heart of Australian Identity, ANZAC Day, and had to go breathe into a paper bag for a bit.

Perhaps I am one of those people who makes everything about them.

I can't begin to describe how relieved our family is that they're alive. (and making rude jokes about nurses)

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And when mum and dad got to the hospital (they'd driven for four hours from Orange) suddenly everything got a whole lot more real. Everyone looked tired and older than usual. Watching Dad was bizarre, and I think I probably haven't processed all of this, so I shouldn't really be thinking about it. Phil did lots of silly morphine talk.

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Sunday morning saw Lottie and I going on our daily walk, wherein she drags me around for an hour and I trip over things and wonder why I'm awake at 6.30, when it's still dark. At that time of day, it's as if nothing bad has ever happened. Lottie snuffles and mumbles to herself and is just so dear that I feel we could spend all day walking.

one time around the ballroom slow

"sometimes things happen, and they're really scary." my usual eloquent, articulate nature is muted. from shock and gin, probably. a cool change has surged through, smelling of salt and relief. respite.

today Spike couldn't stand up, couldn't stand up and wouldn't respond. he's old, and deaf, i know i know i know, but he's never looked right through me and whimpered. i thought i'd be as sick as him, vomit all over our courtyard like he did. i let him lie on top of me while i called my grandparents and couldn't tell who was shaking more - me or him.

so we took him to the hospital, muzzled because he didn't seem to recognise us, seemed like all his muscles hurt. we carried him to the car on a towel, a neardeadwieght that had me nervyedgyscared, and my grandparents tensetersetightlipped. barely a wag of the tail from a dog who normally goes into overdrive when the chance to get in a car presents itself. and when we got to the vet's, he had to be carried in a stretcher, whimpering.

Dr Leah tells me it's probably heatstroke. my grandparent's tell me it's probably heatstroke. they all say he's going to be fine. they arrange to keep him in overnight, and i fork over $200 so that they can do blood tests to make sure he's ok. i want to ask if i can see him, but i'm aware that i'm twenty, not twelve, that i should be behaving more responsibly. so instead i go home and pick an arguement with my other grandmother about how if she'd let me keep him inside like i wanted to, he wouldn't be spending the night with strangers.

and i speak to Jason, who worries about my eloquence and articulation until we squabble about stress displacement. my family comes home from new zealand and in ten days i have forgotten how noisy they are. we eat pizza with blue cheese on it. despite six people hollering over it, the house seems like it's missing something. someone.

someone big and hairy and smelly.



x

this is very wentz-esque, i realise. tough shit, i'm upset. you try dealing with your dog being sick and see how you like it.


x

i just finished Schlink's "The Reader", which was quietly breathtaking. it's technically a holocaust novel, but i think it's more of a study of guilt and denial. i can't wait to see the movie version with Kate Winslet. also read Orwell's "Down and Out In London & Paris" which is so starkly lyrical and raw that it made it on to my top twenty books i've ever read. next up, that peter cameron and grace paley, please.

dance dance dance to the radio

my farewell-slash-twentieth birthday party was last night. it went down like the titanic - lots of screaming, drinking and denial. screams and hoots of "i can't believe you're leaving!" & "i can't believe i'm leaving!" & "oh my god! i know!" followed by "quick, my glass is nearly empty!" and eventually. well. eventually dancing. (see photographic evidence - me the short one, libby the tall one)

the idea of parties never exactly thrill me, because it inevitably means cleaning. however emma and i stumbled on what it probably a tried and true method of cleaning up after a party - continue to drink! i noticed this morning that i had been savaged by an unknown kitchen appliance. my finger hurts.

so now its getting closer to lift off, and i'm terrified, i'm petrified, i'm not even excited anymore. this all seems too big, too badly organised, too slapdash.

ALTHOUGH.

SIGUR ROS IN VIENNA!!!!!!

so it won't be all bad.

and i've been told i have to make this a music blog, not a whiny blog, so.

bands that are, for want of a better word, totally kicking it right now.

1. The Joy Formidable
2. Orphans And Vandals
3. Her Name Is Calla
4. Tim Steward
5. Bark Cat Bark (technically not a band, but his remixes are amazing)

i'm so drained right now - the hangover hung around all day, kicked me twice as hard when i realised that i had to pack, and then was mollified by indian food - the restaurant organised a cake for me! and now i still haven't finished packing my toiletries, and the thought that i'm leaving the country in a little over twelve hours has got me twitching.

xx

and yeah, it's my birthday now, and people think its fabulous to rub that in. there are some sick fucks in this country, people who tried to get under my skin and worm past my ribcage. lucky me, i've got one hell of a bile duct. there's no room for fuck ups and betrayals in this game i'm playing. so, yeah, it's my birthday and we haven't spoken for sixth months, and if things could stay that way, i'd be as close to content as i've ever been. because in this game i'm playing, you aren't even on the board anymore.

xx

roar.