Random thoughts whilst in town

The upside to working one day in an accounting firm doing admin is all of the things that I see and all of the people I meet and come across on the train, footpath, cafe, office, and just generally in the city. This week, I was really fortunate to have a chat with a friend who pushed me and nutured me into understanding where I was. I now feel much clearer and relaxed about being a writer. I feel relaxed about the journey that I am on. I feel excited about the journey that I am going on. Most importantly, I feel focused. Feeling focused has actually opened my mind up. Amazing. Feel free to keep popping by to be with me on my sometimes bumping journey as a writer.

Here are some of the things that caught my eye and mind yesterday:


People walking purposefully through the city talking loudly to themselves. Who are they talking to? Why are they talking so loudly? What has become of our city with all these people slowly going insane talking to themselves barking orders? They draw closer. Plugs are in ears. Tuned in elsewhere. Minds are with somewhere else. Can they see the word around them any more...


Pop into a stationery shop to buy a USB stick and from the moment that I walk in the door I am lost. Four different floors to go into. Where shall I go? Why don't they have a signpost? What about a GPS given out at the door. Why am I the only one that can't work out where to go...


Man in the foyer. Placard with hand written words in text stuffed in his backpack. Scruffy hair. Furiously scribbling notes onto a pad. Lines are all uneven. Clothes are all uneven. Oblivious. Suits are around. Scared. What will he do? Will he combust? Waiting. Waiting. Holding phones to their ears. Pretending to talk. Looking away. Waiting. Sitting. Waiting.


Pass lieing in gutter. Photo side up. Rob French. Who are you? Why did you drop your pass?
Left in the rain, ripped off, lieing, floating away.


here and there
waiting & watching
lurking in the corners

jobs calling
piling up
mountainous ranges

turn off
switch off



This was an exercise I did in my Wednesday Workshop with Emilie Collyer to see a season as a person and write about it in a short amount of time. See if you can pick the season.

Samson woke late and slowly from under his thick doona and after rolling over three times and burying his head under his head under his three pillows, he stretched a very long wide stretch and yawned a very long yawn. His eyelids still felt very heavy as his rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hands and then he gave his beard a nice big scratch. It really was time to get up. Samson climbed out of his double bed, which was just a little too small for him, and sat on the edge with his feet on the old dusty rug he had inherited. He took in another big yawn and slowly stood up to greet the day in his dingy dusty old room. It was now 7.45am and his alarm had gone off at 6.30am, however, he didn't have the energy, or couldn't be bothered rushing into work, especially after the day he had yesterday.

Samson was a short man with dark hair and a very unkempt beard. He had always kept to himself at work, and thought that he had always gotten his job done, eventually. He didn't like to talk a lot, and always wore extra clothes to work because he believed the office was too cold. When he brought up the issue, it had quickly blown up into a stowrm, and Samson had really let loose with his fury. Now there was a real mess to clean up, and he didn't want to go in there to do it. He was hoping that it would be cleaned up for him.

He quietly shuffled his way down his dark hallway to his kitchen to make his breakfast to begin his day. He must face the storm he had created.

Dawn... Dead of Night....Dawn

The brightness of dawn sparkles with freshness and light, awakening the day.
The crispness is in the air around.
Alert, awake, alive and ready for action.
Hearing the birdsong and breath in the fresh air.

Silence and darkness creeping around.
Pools and spots of light spill down.
Stealth is the way and solitude is the preference.
Fear of noises as unknown eyes glimmer and gleam.
Tiptoe around.
Bang into walls.
Angry shouts in the laneways,
Tin lids clatter and clang.
Sobbing "I love you's"
Doors slamming, wheels squeal
Doors shut
Tiny mouse feet tiptoe up walls
Leaves brush on the roof
Possums clamber up the tin pipe

Rays of sunshine
Sweet talk
Nods of hello
Walkers chat to each other
Dogs pant
Birds sing to the day
Flowers lift up their heads to welcome the day
Good morning sunshine
Happy to be here

This was something from my Wednesday workshop with Emilie Collyer last week where we had to write about the character associated with the time/s of day. Quite enjoyable once I got into it.

the life of the migraine

The vice across my forehead presses and compresses invading every thought. The crater at the top of my head is filled with rotten lava. I need to squeeze my head really tightly to stop the pain and wrap it in a cold pillow, thousands of cold pillows shrouding myself from the world; the noise, the light, the complications, the decisions, the smells.

My jaw throbs in sync with the crown of my head. Sleep doesn't come even though I am now nestled in those pillows cowering in the dark, thick with sedating drugs. Pain overwhelms me and takes over my psyche. My eyeballs are bruised and every roll and movement is painful. Time ticks by as I wait it out hoping something will work. Three days now have gone and I am tired. My patience with the air around has all by dissipated. I want someone to fix me so I can move freely again. It's the right side now mixed with an overall headache if that is possible - who knows. Left to start - always the worst - like a foreigner, an alien invasion in my head I feel like I cold remove it. It is so tangible with a line where the pain starts and ends. Like a paralysis, a stroke, if you like, loss of sensation from eyebrow to nose to jaw to eye at moments lost of sensation to then heightened sensation in an overbearing way. I look in the mirror and my eye lid is half closed and drooping.

I will not be able to sleep until the pain has dropped away...

I shower to try to wash the pain down the drain pipe.

Everything makes no difference and nothing makes any difference.

The oil burner glows with the lavender, rosemary... I cannot bear the smell any longer, it makes me feel ill. I blow it out.

I know it will end, eventually, but it is all a matter of when.

Then finally...and suddenly, and quite inexplicitly it's gone and after the hangover, after the post migraine tiredness, renewed energy. Life again. Breath again, move again, speak again and smile again. Don't look back, just in case it sees me again and catches me to slay me down again.