Dear Kay

Sunday, August 9

2009-08-09T23:31:00.000+10:00

Dear Kay,
I thought I’d do something nice for myself after quite a few weeks of hard shit at work. I got in there, and I’m lying with my face in the hole and she’s massaging away and it’s feeling really nice. I’m thinking ‘this is for the wisdom teeth, this is for the last few weeks at work, this is for all those body image issues, that’s for that student who told me if we excluded her, her mother would just die…and we did. That’s for all the relationship anxiety, that’s for the guilt, that’s for the wishing and wanting and for ever wanting to be anything other than this.

I don’t know. There’s a theory that when you get tense you hold it all in your muscles and massage lets it out. After I left I floated on a cloud back to the house, giggling away, and then fell asleep and woke up….troubled. Sort of…torn up? Sort of…at a loss? Could be because it’s Sunday and I did basically nothing all weekend, could be that my muscles were all relaxed and then tensed back up again, could be that I don’t know, the whole thing was just really stalling. I’m just so tired. I slept 14 hours today, including 10 over night and then a four hour nap. And I’m still kind of over it, but in a different way.

I balled my way through Australian Idol, I keep shying away from Squidge, I only want to listen to the sad songs on my ipod and then they just make me worse. And my neck still hurts, and my shoulders are still tense. And there were all these wonderful things I thought of doing while she was massaging me, and now I can’t be arsed and they’re all gone. I’m back to…me.

I started looking for a new job thinking maybe the inordinate amount of shit I have to deal with on a daily basis is just way too much. I want to do something even a little bit creative. Then it could just be this time of year.

I’ve got three weeks leave coming up, after another month of hell. I’m sort of excited and also shit scared, because fuck knows what I’m going to do. Sleep. Fuck around on the couch, probably. I want to reorganise the bedroom (mid-massage realisation that it’s NOT the most comfortable place I think of when I want to visualise myself somewhere perfect, and that’s not right). I want to make some art, sorry, Make Some Art, for the wall. I want to chuck out all the clothes I don’t wear, and never will, so that I can fit all the clothes that are all over the floor in there. I want to nail some coat hooks to the wall so there aren’t jackets all over the fucking place. I want to learn new recipes because I’m so fucking sick of fucking Dolmio. I want to take Pilates.

But I’m scared I’ll do none of it. My neck will hurt or my teeth will fuck up again and I’ll spend three weeks on the couch doing nothing, slowly dissolving any sort of respect I might have once had for myself.

Fucking massages.
--K.

Tuesday, June 23

2009-06-23T22:43:00.000+10:00

Dear Squidge,
I remember once, we were talking about your depression and I asked you what you get like. This was pretty early on, I think. You said you get sort of quiet, sort of broody. I said I hadn’t seen you like that before and you said I wouldn’t have, because I keep it away.

You’ve been quiet lately. In a way that I feel guilty hanging around you, like I’m doing something wrong. I worry that I’m not only failing to keep it away, I’m causing it. I don’t feel like I’m enough for you, sometimes, that I’m too boring and you’re not challenged. That you should have a fun girlfriend, not a girlfriend who crashes on the couch the second she gets home.

I mean, really. I don’t go with you when you go out with mates. We go out for dinner just the two of us, and that’s nice, but your friends must be wondering if I even exist anymore. I wonder if I’m the sadsack, lying around with a headache and being too tired to do anything all the time. All. The time. And that it’s sucking the life out of you.

You just lost your job. Money is getting low. But there have been hard times before and you’ve let me share them. I had to ask you to, but you used to let me in. Should I ask again? Do I pry?

I feel like I ask you how you are about a thousand times a day. It’s how we start our conversations, now. You say you’re fine. Just feeling a bit low.
I used to be able to pick you up.

So. So, what? Is it me? Is it us? Is it is it isitisit?

K.

February 23

2009-02-23T15:34:00.002+11:00

Dear Kay,
I am so old. Yesterday afternoon Squidge and I went walking to the cafe on the corner and I rolled my ankle in my shoe. It hurt, but I kind of just walked it off and it seemed ok. Then when we came back I had a snooze on the couch (Sunday arvo snoozes are basically the only reason I live) and when I woke up it was KILLING. Like, incredibly. Way way more than seemed, y'know, rational. Way more than necessary, that's for damn sure.
There were ice packs, tears. Mum came round with a bandage and wrapped it up for me while I pouted and got frustrated. At one stage I had my leg over the back of the couch and it wasn't sexy at all. What the fuck is that shit?

Anyway, I'm 'working at home' today, which means logging in to my email every half hour and then fucking around on Facebook for three. So not really much different to when I'm actually there. Could actually get used to this working at home thing, if it weren't for being couch ridden and having to hobble around like fucking Igor.

Still, this is the closest I've been to a legitimate sports injury in a while. I'm almost proud.

Squidge has been very lovely and looking after me so that's nice. I'm actually feeling a lot better today, I slept with it up on a cushion and it had calmed down enough that I managed to sleep for a bit last night. Mostly I just feel old, and annoyed that I wasn't doing anything interesting at the time. I emailed people at work and they were all 'Oooh what crazy shit were you doing at the time?' and I'm all 'Umm...walking...?'
Mmm.

I miss you.
--K.

February 8

2009-02-08T20:32:00.002+11:00

Dear Kay,
Some of my books have arrived in the post, I went and bought some folders and some books and some pens. I've applied for four hours of study leave per week. I've already flicked through my study guide.

I am fucking nerding it up.

I am looking forward to using my brain, to being creative, to learning stuff again. I'm shit scared I'm gonna bomb out but also going to give myself a chance. I'm going to be one of those nerdy mature age students I used to hate in my undergrad classes.

Gulp.

--K.

January 24

2009-01-24T14:27:00.002+11:00

Dear Kay,
I'm sick of me. I'm sick of nine to five, corporate fucking boring arse pale no interesting clothes thinking about money all the time fucking me.
I'm tired of go to bed early no writing anymore always having a headache me. I'm tired of blimpy ruining her figure by sitting at a desk all day totally unfit and zero energy me. I'm tired of not being able to fix all my problems by just lightening the fuck up, and instead thinking up ways to sort myself out by doing boring self indulgent shit like therapy and going to the gym. I'm sick of boring no art can't draw doesn't even own a fucking paint set boring arse working me.

And MOST of ALL I'm sick of woe is everything stupid sitting on the couch not actually doing anything except buying pretty shit off etsy rather than doing anything creative myself me.

Is what I'm sick of.

--K.

November 25

2008-11-25T09:38:00.003+11:00

Dear Kay,
I wonder why I still write to you. Maybe because back then you offered me solace, and a place to go when shit got too tough. Maybe because I'm hanging on to that time, because it made me what I am today, because I can't let it go. Because I feel like, as tough as that was, they were my Halcyon days. Because I look back on it and think positive things, despite all the shit that went down. I credit you with that, almost entirely.

Work is boring. I got promoted, discovered they weren't giving me enough money for the trouble and demoted myself. I've been feeling like I'm slipping back into my old ways...I wake up and my jaw aches from clenching it all night, I go home and my head hurts from scowling. My shoulders ache (but not like they used to), my jaw clicks (but not like it used to).
I wonder now, if my meds are even working anymore. But coming off them and onto new ones is so stressful and awful, and I don't have six weeks spare to go through it all...knock myself down and build myself back up again, that I'm staying on them even if they don't work as well. I feel ok (but not like I used to).

Squidge and I are moving out together soon, in like two weeks. I'm so excited. He mentioned last night that he's looking forward to it, because he's never really made a home for himself. He actually said, he's never 'nested' before. That made me smile, and then flash back to the last time i wrote and feel guilty. I knew, of course I knew, that the issue wasn't my wage or the TV or anything like that. It was because he was feeling a bit lost, and a bit unsure, and a bit nonplussed by everything. And I took it too personal, as usual.

Anyway. Work was so boring yesterday I finished all my Christmas shopping, which means that now my budget is like, 100% crap for the new house. For some reason, Squidge is fixated on lamps, and lighting in general. I'm fixated on table settings, and Christmas decorations. Really nice table linen, and cool lamps, and funky rugs and awesome prints on the wall. I should be checking out Etsy, and I would except it eats up my net allowance and I spent it all yesterday on facebooking for 8 hours. Who has a net allowance and work, for fucks sake? What is this...the fucking middle ages?

Anyway. Back to 'work'.

I miss you. I relish the imaginary time we still have together.
--K.

November 9

2008-11-09T14:19:00.002+11:00

Dear Kay,
I'm sorry I only write when shit things happen. Here is another example.

Squidge got back two weeks ago. It was great, it was a bit awkward, he was tired and I was emotional and it was ok again after I tearfully confessed I was concerned that it was awkward, blah blah blah. That day we decided to go away for the weekend, but not that weekend because my sister was coming down for her birthday, so instead the next weekend. This weekend.
We just got back.

Friday I went to the dentist and had half a root canal (the gum is too inflamed to do anymore, I have to take antibiotics and wait six weeks). That was a pretty massive effort, and afterwards we went straight to our chosen holiday destination; him, tired at being up so early to get to the dentist and me, numbness slowly wearing off to reveal pain, and a bit freaked out, and a bit tired too for good measure.
That night was great. The day was great, but the night especially was really good.

And then Saturday was also great, until the afternoon when we decided to go out and watch the sunset at a seafood restaurant (we were on the Bass coast, it was really lovely but shitful cold). Anyway, I thought to myself 'Hmm, this would be a nice place for Squidge to propose...'
Why I keep thinking that, I don't know. I really do love him, and I think perhaps this is the first time it has felt like it would be really possible to marry the person I'm in love with. And I'm scared it's all going to go to shit so I'm trying to nail it down, I suspect.
Anyway, we muck around, I have a gigantic plate of fish and chips and he has his risotto and we're both kinda sick because we ate too much, and I ask, not out of the blue but I can't be arsed describing the lead up, whether he thought one day we might get married. He said, 'maybe.' For some reason, I got a bit upset by that. Because there was doubt, when there had been none in my mind, and I suddenly realised that...oh fuck, we might NOT be together forever and ever. We might actually break up, and he might really hurt me, and I might never recover. And all these sorts of meloramatic things that I'd managed to insulate myself from for all this time by idlly wondering if he'll marry me and playing house.

So, I got upset and I got weird and quiet and suddenly I thought to myself, 'do I want to be with someone who isn't sure?' but I know that I do and that I'm getting so incredibly far ahead of myself that it's me that's being unreasonable, not him being commitment phobic (although he kind of is, but that's another story).
Anyway...of course I want to be with him, everything is wonderful, and we're moving in together and wtf am I doing?? I was so completely insanely irrational and I couldn't kick myself out of it. So we left and I cried and told him tearfully that the idea of losing him breaks my heart so much I get sad just even thinking about it. He told me he's not into marriage right now and I practically begged him not to feel like he had to justify himself to me because I KNOW that, I don't want to get married either right now (but I want the possibility, and then suddenly the possibility was in doubt, is that what got to me? I think it might be...) and then I told him he didn't have to justify himself, I was just being nuts and it wasn't about marriage it was about losing him.

Because I've just been bobbing along, y'know? Not thinking about where this might be going except to fantastise that we'll get married one day, and have kids and do all that shit, live our funky inner-city family life. Never have I actually really considered that we might break up, or that we might end up hurting each other to such an extent that we just can't stay together even though we want to. Ouch, just to think about it.

So we went back to the hotel and watched some TV, and warmed up because it was just fuck-arsing cold on the Bass coast after sundown, and then he went to sleep and I felt weird and went to sleep with my tooth aching menacingly.
But I feel like it was all sort of ok. He knows I was just freaking out because I care so much about him, and love him so much. Y'know, the usual.

BUT NOW...
Now it's weird again. We had breakfast this morning, and I went off to clear the bill with the hotel and check out and all that shit. He asked me how much he owed me and I shook my head because I still owe him some money from when I ran up his phonebill while he was away (we're talking like $800), so to call it even. He went quiet after that.

Then we drove home, for about two hours, in basically total silence. And then we got home, and it was silent. And then he sat out in the sun in the back yard reading, and I went and sat down next to him, and he didn't say anything. And then eventually he got up and packed up his chair and didn't say anything, just went back inside. It doesn't sound like much, but we're very verbal people. So I'm wondering if it has something to do with the fact that while he was outside reading in the sun, I bought a TV online for $700. That's pretty freakin good for a 32" LCD HD blah blah tv, I reckon. Shit no name brand but who cares? Anyway, I keep spending money (and we'd agreed to go halves, which is why I got the shit no name brand instead of the Sharp one which was $200 more) so I kind of also just spent his money, without asking him. Anyway, it was on one of those one day sale type websites, so I got it. And the furniture was delivered while we were away, and there's an increasingly large pile of boxes in my room containing various appliances.

What I'm doing is, I'm setting up house for us. I'm fucking NESTING, is what I'm doing. I am building us a nest. A nice one with a new couch and a decent TV. Does he feel shit that I've paid for everything so far? Is he feeling cornered that I'm building us a home and he just wants a roomate he can occasionally feel up? Is he feeling panicked about not having a job and his girlfriend spending the dollars like there's no tomorrow (which I am, it's true, and if there could BE no tomorrow that'd really be great for my credit rating)? I don't know, and part of me just doesn't care. He can get the fuck over it, and he will in his own time. I'm not going to counsel him. I'm proud of my earning power and the shit no name brand TVs I can afford because of it.
But that's not what it's really about, I don't think. I don't know what it's about. And yeah, I guess I don't care (I do of course care, I'm just trying to be tough).

I just hear the faint sounds of discord for the first time, and it worries me that I've pressured him and created a rift or some decay or something, which will eventually rot the whole relationship. And going by last night, the idea of that clearly throws me into a totally melodramatic mindfuck of issues.

But on the other hand, it's Sunday afternoon. It's a nice day. I bought a new TV. Shit happens.
--K.

October 19

2008-10-19T19:39:00.002+11:00

Dear Kay,
Last week at work, I stole a wall calendar from the Postgrad office and was setting it up with all the little stickers and shit it comes with (while sitting cross legged on the floor, it was a nice kindergarten type craft moment). I marked up exams, semester dates, all that crap. And then when I was done I looked back at it and I suddenly thought to myself, I kind of know where I'm going for the next little while. And I'm ready.

Not, obviously, for stupid semester dates. I was more thinking about the next year at work, and home. Squidge and I are moving in together in December, and I can't freakin wait. I've already started buying furniture, plates, knife and fork sets, spatulas. Quite a few spatulas, actually.
And last week I enroled myself in my masters course, so I'm also going to be studying (part time, off campus, at Deaks. I'm hoping they'll give me study leave since I'm reinvesting my pay into their fine system to the tune of like, 15K).

And I emailed Squidge to tell him that I got in and had enrolled myself, and he wrote back that a 'magnifique' summer awaited me (he was in paris at the time)(what's with me and brackets tonight?)(also can't type for shit right now). Anyway, he was right but I hadn't thought of it until he pointed it out. Moving into the house, possibly Christmas at hours assuming that we can wrestle it off his mother, hanging out in our own place doing our own thing on our own furniture. Honestly, I can not wait. I'm predicting BBQs and citronella candles at dusk. Not that we own either a BBQ or a single candle but whatever, we've got two months to get it together before we move in.

And he gets back in 6 days! The cat is very excited, and so am I. I misss himmmmmmmm. I spoke to him this afternoon on the phone, he's in Oslo and it was like 2 am, and he'd just spent the night with a bunch of drunk swedish backpackers (as one does) and even though he'd had company, he still sounded a bit lonely. He's going back to London in a few days to hang out with his mates again before he comes back, and I'm sort of glad of that, because I think...now more than ever, he's feeling a bit isolated. I mean, he's in Norway which is kind of isolated anyway, in terms of the rest of the planet I mean, and it sounds like there aren't many other tourists around because it's so hellishly expensive, so he's feeling like the only outsider around. Apart from the Swedish backpackers.
I'm not worried about him, exactly, but I don't like the idea of him feeling crappy when I can't really do anything about it.

Anyway. It's Sunday night, and his flight lands 9 AM Saturday morning. So, 6 days. Sort of.

I miss you.
--K.

continued

2008-10-11T10:11:00.003+11:00

Dear Kay,
He says he doesn't remember. I feel like I'm being really overly demanding and am ruining his holiday. I told him he can go, just not to get too ripped and marry a dude.
But he knows I'm feeling funny about it, and I guess now it's up to him what he does.

I feel like a cow. But it means something to me, even if I'm still not 100% sure what.

--K.

Friday October 10

2008-10-11T01:28:00.003+11:00

Dear Kay,
The other day, I was chatting to Squidge about what he's going to do over the next two weeks in England. He mentioned he might travel around Europe for a bit, maybe Paris, maybe Ireland. I said, 'well cool, but don't go to Amsterdam.' And he said 'no?' and I said 'No, because I want to go there with you.'
Maybe I didn't make myself clear. He's going to Amsterdam.

It's important to me because I'm dutch. Because I wanted to explore it for myself. But also, because I wanted to share it with him. I wanted him to discover it with me, to understand that it's a part of who I am, and that t's important to me, and that I wanted to share my history with him, my heritage, my culture. My whatever.
So I asked him not to go, and he is.

I don't know why it hurts so much, but it really does. I can't imagine he would do it on purpose, maybe he just doesn't realise how important it is to me, like I said...maybe I didn't make myself clear. Maybe he didn't realise. Doesn't.
I really don't know what's bugging me so much. That I got left behind? That I asked him not to do something and he did it anyway? That he didn't listen? That he doesn't know me well enough to know that it's important to me? That I wanted to share it with him and he didn't want to take it?

And the worst part is, I said don't go to Amsterdam and he said, oh I don't really want to go there anyway. So it's not even that important to him. He could take it or fucking leave it, apparently. I'm fucking gutted and he doesn't really care either way. Fucking great. If you didn't care that much, why go? What the flying fuck is that?

And I'm so pissed at myself. Sitting aroud fucking pining for him like some fucking war-bride and he's gallivanting all over Europe, la dee fucking da, don't worry about Kate who might actually want to be here with me. Am I jealous? Is that it? Maybe part of it.
I don't know.

Why am I so hurt?

--K.

October 9

2008-10-09T15:16:00.002+11:00

Dear Kay,
I take it back, I don't want to dream about Squidge anymore. Every night for the last three nights I have dreamt that he's coming back early. And every morning I wake up, and realise it was just a dream.

The other day, Penny walked past me at the photocopier and asked me how many more days until I saw him again. I answered her immediately. She laughed in a nervous way, waddled off again.

16 days.

I miss you (both).
--K.

September 29

2008-09-30T02:11:00.002+10:00

Dear Squidge,
According to my extremely wonderful hour-maths, it's 6 past midday where you are. I worked that out by minusing two hours from the current time and then adding the opposite. It's 2 am here. I should be in bed.

I know I just spoke to you on the phone like, 12 hours ago. And it was good, it was great to hear what you've been up to, it was great to hear your voice. Your laugh. Your strange little phone silences, when you panic about what to say next. You're getting better at it, and I wonder if you still talk-walk, pacing around because you're nervous, because you're distracted. I love watching you talk-walk, because I don't think you realise what you do. Did you know that once, while on the phone for 20 minutes, you took a pair of socks from your drawer, unfolded them, folded them, refolded them, and then put them back?

But then I can't talk. Because I speak to you every day and still there are so many things I have to tell you. Stupid little things that I can never find the words.
Like how at night I curl up in a little ball and press the other pillows against my back, and pretend it's your weight. That I like to sleep in your bed because it smells like you. That I wear your scarves around for the same reason. Also it's cold.
That even the cat has become mopey and winsome. That I'm ok during the day, but at night I miss you the most out of ever. That I wonder how the hell I'm going to survive another three weeks. That I listen to your music, that I watch your movies, that I read your books.

I feel so spoilt. Because I talk to you often and more than anyone else and it's still not enough, not enough. Your family probably miss you because you're spending all your time and all your cash on the phone to me. Talk-walking your way across Manhattan.
I miss telling you stupid shit as it occurs to me. Fleeting little thoughts that mean nothing, stupid questions, strange anecdotes. Things you don't say when you're minutes are 60 cents each.

And I'm scared that when you get back, the distance will still be there. That after six weeks of only saying important things, of oceans in the way, that we'll be out of practice.

I have a memory I keep replaying in my head. I came home from my last day at work, and you were lying in your bed reading. It was really cold, and getting dark, and I climbed into your bed. You held me and I lay my head on your chest. Out the window, the neighbour's roofs. TV antennas against a rapidly darkening sky and your chin on my forehead. I thought then that I would remember that moment. And I do.

--K.

September 26

2008-09-26T20:48:00.002+10:00

Dear Kay,
It's hard to talk about all the shit that's gone down lately. Here's a quick run down.

- For the last couple of months the only thing really getting me through work and the daily grind and horror is the fact that in September, I'm going away with Squidge, to the states.
- We're supposed to go to LA, visit Squidge's sister in NH, then down to Boston and NY. Then I come home and Squidge goes to London to visit his mates. All up a month for me, six weeks for him.
- We got to LA, and I very rapidly deteriorated to the point that walking two blocks to the net cafe was horrifying.
- I had made arrangements to meet some hitrecorders but I had to stand them up. The tiny remaining part of me that still feels like me slips away.
- I came home.

For lots of reasons, but mostly because I was hating it and I couldn't leave the hotel room and I hated the person I was while so weak, so fearful, so completely not myself but just enough of myself to know that I can be this weak, shitful person. And not wanting to ruin Squidge's amazing holiday that he deserves.

- I got home, told everyone there had been a death in the family and really close friends the truth. In an act of Karma I discover that Sjon, a 39 year old guy I work with whom I absolutely adore and who is the most beautiful person in the world, has died suddenly at his home one week earlier.
- I go to his funeral. Everyone is very sweet to me believing it to be my second funeral in a week. It's not, but it could be because I'm mourning for Squidge and my courage and my amazing holiday. I cry a lot.
- This week the root canal I've been ignoring becomes inflamed and I have to go to the dentist because the pain is worse than my own fear. Up until now, shit is going down but I'm feeling like I can cope. I get to the dentist and he shoves this thing down my throat, while trying to x-ray the tooth, in such a way that I gag. I keep trying to tell him that my jaw is fucked and it won't open far enough but he keeps going. I feel like a complete fucking gutless-wonder, completely incapable of doing the simplist things like opening my mouth so I can have it x-rayed. I'm there by myself, Squidge is 20,000 kms away and mum is at work. I cry a lot when i get out of there, with a prescription for antibiotics. The pain is enormous, but the pain killers are ok and the antibiotics kick in over night so that I'm almost ok the next day.
- Except that I'm not, because the emotional toll has been so great, and my anxiety is fucked, and I'm having to live with knowing that eventually I'll have to get a root canal and i don't know how I'm ever going to manage it with my totally debilitating fear of dentistry, but if I don't it will only become worse. Am tempted to have the tooth removed and a fake one put in, because for that they might just knock me out.

What a fucking awesome fucking holiday! FUCK.

I just...I'm reluctant to ponder if these things come in threes, because it might just tempt the fates to send some other fuck up my way.
The time that Squidge and I were supposed to be apart has doubled from three weeks to six. It's been two weeks already and it's really fucking starting to hurt, now. I wore his leather cuff to the dentist and that alone made me cry. I've ordered a walrus toy which I'll put next to my pillow, and think about him snoring his head off (like a walrus in the sun, as I so helpfully put it one afternoon).
I talk to him every 12 hours on the phone, but it's expensive and lame. I can't tell him how much I miss him because I don't want to ruin it for him. At the moment he's in NY by himself and it must be really, really tough so he doesn't need me laying it on. He was so good with me about the dentist, even though it was the middle of the night, but i could tell he hated being so far away when I needed him.
I hated it too.

He as amazing with me in LA. Just, amazing. When I told him I wanted to go home, he was so good to me but cried because he was sad I'd be going. He had to be so brave and tough because I just lost my shit. Saying goodbye at LAX was so tough, so tough it's making me cry just thinking about it. Customs were REALLY nice to me, at least.

One night in LA, when it had all been arranged and I was just waiting for the day to leave to roll around, I told him he'd dodged a bullet because if I'd gone to NY with him, I would have proposed on top of the Empire State Building. He laughed nervously, and I poked him in the guts to let him know I was fucking around. He told me he doesn't want to get married yet, and I said I knew that, I just wanted to be engaged, not married. I wanted to make that promise to him, that we would be together forever, that we would start our lives together, that we were on the same team, that we were family...eventually. Plus it would have made a cool story... but it would have been a very long engagement. He said next time we're in NY maybe I can ask him then. I said ok.

I just keep hoping I'll dream about him.
I miss you.
--K.

July 15

2008-07-15T12:54:00.000+10:00

Dear Kay,
I'm sorry I say fuck so much.

--K.

July 14

2008-07-14T09:44:00.002+10:00

Dear Kay,
OK, don't judge, but I have to get this out of my system...
Friday night, I went to a party after work and Nina brought River and he's 9 weeks today and so incredibly beautiful with those big blue eyes babies get, and he's so incredibly well behaved and now I...want a baby.
Ugh, I hate clucky women but freakin' crap that boy was GORGEOUS.

Anyway. I think I've fucked my back again but we'll find out tomorrow morning after a whole day of sitting on my chair at work today. I might have to bring the fit ball in to work tomorrow, which should be entertaining for everyone but me. It's about to get insanely busy, starting another progress run this afternoon, and i just don't have time to lie on the floor all freakin day. That said, I've got so good at this I could probably take it home on a USB and do it from the floor at home. But I don't want to, and I don't think Penny would approve.

Who is also pregnant! For fucks sake (pardon my Francaise) but she's basically the last person in the world who you'd expect to get knocked up. We're all amazed because it means she must have actually had sex, and none of us thought she knew how. There couldn't be a less sexual person in the world. Nick has a theory that she fell over in the bathroom right when her husband was in the shower and well, there you have it.

That's not very nice. Funny, though.

Squidge and I have had the place to ourselves for the last two weeks and will for another week and a bit. It's been really lovely, and we're getting even closer and into that warm, comfortable place. He left me a note after I stayed up til 4 in the morning watching Wimbledon with him (only to crack the shits and go to bed at the second rain break) saying that I'd made it so much fun and he loved me, hehehe (can't say it without giggling). It's so cool that we've gotten to that place where he can just say it, and I can just say it, and it can just be said.
Oooh phone.

Yay, the printery just rang and they can have my pretty flyers I spent all Friday designing on Publisher to me by tomorrow. yay yay yay, something I don't have to do myself.

Oh, that's the other thing. It's been a big month job wise. I found a new job at a...competing...university (not that we really compete with them, but whatever) and got it. It was up a HEW level and ten minutes from my place, plus also the university I went to when I was a student. Resigned from here, went there, discovered it was shit and came back again.
Except it wasn't that easy, and there was a lot of shit in the middle. Like, before I left here I emailed my manager and told her all the shit that's wrong with this role. But, Amanda being such a champ, took it as constructive criticism and has now amended the position so that the problems don't exist anymore. In a way, it's been good because we've cleared the air and I've come back having acknowledged the issues and we've all agreed to work on them. Plus, I left at such a shit time and am so reasonably capable (can't say I'm good at it, even though I'm fucking good at it) that they offered me more money to come back. Still on the same HEW, and really quite a bit less than the other job, but I was emotionally tied to this one anyway. I'm glad to be back. It's like I never left, which is concerning, but I'm still glad to be here. At least now I know I'm not here because I have to be, but because I want to be, and that's a good feeling. Plus, people were so happy when I came back, and it's nice to feel appreciated.

Anyway. Enough wank. Having said all that I better actually go do my job.
I miss you, and I wish you were here, and I know that you kind of are.
--K.

July 06

2008-07-06T21:06:00.001+10:00

Dear Kay,
I feel like shit today.

--K.

April 7

2008-04-07T14:42:00.002+10:00

Dear Kay,
The other night, I was telling Squidge about how I'm considering teaching as a possible career for the first time in forever, and eventually I got to explaining to him about you. I couldn't really find all the words in the right order, to try and explain what it was, what you did, what you meant. What you mean.
There were tears. I miss you.

--K.

March 27

2008-03-27T00:42:00.002+11:00

Dear Kay,
I am so sick of the fear.

I went to the city today to shop with Katie. We drove in, feeling ok, found a relatively cheap parking garage, feeling damn lucky. Step out onto the pavement, feeling bad. I haven't been in the CBD for ages, not on foot at any rate, and not to shop and it was panic stations pretty early on. Felt myself lift off, up and out of my body. You know the deal.
I actually haven't felt that in a while. Golden Plains was not that kind of panic, that was full-on, heart palpitations, sick stomach, dry mouth. This was almost peaceful in it's mind ending terror. This is what I've been so afraid of since I was 12, this sensation.

Anyway. It was not the end of the world, or even the shopping trip. I soldiered on, as one does in these situations. I bought two pairs of undies and some footless tights, and an Easter bunny on sale. And after three hours of being totally on edge I came home completely exhausted. And angry. I'm so sick of this shit.

Tomorrow night Squidge, Char, Katie and maybe some other randoms are going to Cherry Soul. This fills me with fear. I've been to Cherry Soul before, and it was awesome, and I even got up on stage and danced to Aretha Franklin in front of everyone, and did shots, and drunk dialled Michael one too many times. I was 19 and not afraid. Now, I'll be with people who love me and know me and tension.
Maybe I was anxious last time I was there, but it's four years ago and I can't remember. Fuck, it's almost criminal not to go to Cherry Soul for four years.
I just don't want to go there and be constantly monitoring my anxiety levels. And I know I will be, because I always am. Always, always, always.
Fucking fuck fuck.

Pardon my francais.
--K.

March 16

2008-03-16T12:04:00.002+11:00

Dear Kay,
He said it.

Last Friday, we were out and he told me he was thinking about staying with his mum for a few months while he finishes his PhD. Nothing wrong with that in principal, except that his mum lives an hour and a half away and I'd never see him ever again. I felt like I'd been slapped in the face with a trout. So I did the only thing I could, I faked a headache and went home to cry.
Except, unfortunately with him being kinda homeless, my home is now his home and he arrived an hour later to me crying on the bed and I had nowhere to escape to.
Awesome.

So there was quite a bit of awkward silence. I was really tired. Tired in general but also tired of the bullshit we seemed to be labouring under. All the unsaid words, all the unfelt feelings. I felt like I was the only one in the relationship, really. That I would never even consider moving an hour and a half away for three months, whereas apparently he was more than ready, and that it just shows how much more emotionally invested I am. And how I'm going to get absolutely caned.
Anyway. That was going through my head at a million miles an hour and I told him I was 'having a bit of a sook but it's too hard to talk about.' Because, really, this was my problem not his. It's not his fault I throw myself, all caution to the wind, too fast and too hard into relationships seemingly predetermined to fail. He asked me if it was about 'us.' I nodded. And he said 'I do love you, Kate.'

The whole world stopped, fell off it's axis, hurtled us all at a million miles an hour toward the sun.

There were more tears. Confessions that I didn't want him to go, even though I didn't want to be the kind of girlfriend who told him what to do, I also really didn't want him to go, like really.
He said he'd been canvassing the idea. He wasn't sure about it, he wanted to know how I felt. I apologised for fucking up his entire life and putting his PhD in peril but he says he couldn't have gone as far as fast without me. I like the sound of it, but don't believe it for a second.

But we'll work it out. It's looking more likely that he'll actually move in here, on a month by month basis. I'm not sure how I feel about it, because...well, it's a bit soon and I don't want to fuck it all up but then, it's better than him being an hour and a half away. If it really sucks I can kick him out, and he can leave any time (much rather kick him out, of course).

I wish I could ask you your opinion. I know it would help. I miss you.
--K.

March 7

2008-03-07T13:28:00.002+11:00

Dear Kay,
There was nothing.
But whatever, I got bigger fish to fry.
--K.

March 6

2008-03-06T09:55:00.002+11:00

Dear Kay,
I am SO stupid. SO SO stupid!
Everything's just peachy, so I had to go and mess it all up AGAIN and make it all complicated and annoying and ugh, GOD. I will apparently never learn. And I just tried to talk to Lara about it but she listened for two minutes then started talking about her dramas, which were interesting but all I could think in my head was 'Squidge Squidge Squidge, you stuffed it all up, you're a dumbarse, Squidge, Squidge, Squidge.'
Ok. Look.

The last few weeks have been so great with Squidge. We've been getting closer and being more emotionally intimate with each other (I hate that term, but it's true, damn it). And he and his sis got kicked out of their place so she's lobbing at our joint, and Squidge is down at his mums on the coast and up at mine when he's in the city. Last weekend he was at mine pretty much the whole weekend, and it was lovely. It was all relaxed and we both did our own things but also hung around each other, and it was great. There was no pressure to be anywhere, or do anything, or for him to leave anytime soon, which most likely made me relax the most.

So, in the spirit of all that, last night he came back up to mine from the coast, and he'd lost his Golden Plains ticket but I found it for him, and he'd lost the address of this house interview he was going to that night, but I told him to go through his dialed calls on his mobile and he called them and 'confirmed' the address, and when he got back from the interview, we had dinner ready and I handed him a class of wine and sat him down at the table and it was lovely, and everything that was stressing him out was looked after. And I think he appreciated it.

And then we fooled around for a bit and I started falling asleep because I am SO tired right now, and then he got up to do stuff because he wasn't tired yet, and I was half awake and decided that I wanted to tell him I loved him again, just so that he would know, and maybe he would be ready to say it back. But rather than put him on the spot, I grabbed a bit of paper and wrote 'I hope I don't make you uncomfortable telling you this, but I love you.' And then left it on his pillow, and had the full intention of staying awake so that I could listen to him read it, but he took more than twenty seconds and I fell asleep.

I had dreams all night about being a Queen and telling the King how I felt, and he wrote what he was feeling down and I found it in the car and then when I opened it I realised he hadn't wrote how HE felt, he'd written how I felt and had it illustrated. And it was nice, but it wasn't exactly what I wanted.

I woke up and he was there and it was time to get up. I looked around the room for the note but I couldn't see it anywhere, and he was half awake but wasn't doing anything, just running his hand up and down my back when I sit up, like he always does. So I got dressed, wondering if maybe the note fell off the pillow, or he slept on it by accident, or he couldn't read it in the dark. And then I lay back down again for a few minutes and told him he was being especially adorable and it wasn't fair, and then I kissed him and he told me to have a good day, and I got up and left. On the way out, I saw his jeans on the floor and a piece of paper in the back pocket. It was the note.

So I know he got it, and read it, and understood it. BUT didn't do anything, didn't write me a note back, didn't say anything when I woke up, didn't...do anything, basically. Nothing. And of course I wasn't saying it so he'd say it back exactly, but I had hoped that he would. I had hoped that we'd got past this bollocks. And apparently not.
So now I'm very wtf? about the whole thing. First of all, I'm glad he liked the note enough to keep it. But why not mention it? Why not SAY IT BACK??? For FUCKS SAKE.
I'm like 92% sure he feels the same way. You couldn't have been the way we've been for the last few weeks without something there.

So, I'm not going to mention it. I'm also going to try not to let it turn to acid and erode the whole relationship. I don't want my neurosis to fuck this up.

And I'm hoping when I go home there'll be a note for me on the bed, or an email, or SOMETHING. But I know, really, there won't be, and it will hurt more than ever when I get home and discover nothing there. And I will get my hopes up, anyway, because I'm just that sort of girl.

I really miss you.
--K.

Thursday 21

2008-02-21T22:32:00.003+11:00

Dear Kay,
I'm waiting for Squidge to get here so I can go to bed, and feeling tired and hot and a bit kind of dizzy and strange. He's been on the coast with his mum for the last few days, though, and so I'm really looking forward to seeing him. Really, really.
While he was away he sent me a couple emails and left a message on my phone this morning, which just said he hoped I was haing a good day and he was thinking of me. It was so sweet, and I was telling Lara about it, and she said that he's started doing that thing where they make pointless contact because they miss you. Awesome!

But today was not good. I was going ok even though it was insanely busy with enrollments, and doing my best and yeah, moving and shaking. Got to lunch time, had lunch, chilled out, thought I'd drop off to the loo on the way back to the office. I will forever tell people I had a panic attack/migraine, but I need to tell someone the truth. I didn't get to the loo in time and wet my pants. I spent ten minutes trying to rinse them out and then dry them with the hand dryer in the bathroom, to no avail. So I put them on and squelched home, had a shower, and wondered what the fuck happened. How fucking embarrassing. I won't ever tell anyone except you.

Anyway. That was my day. And Squidge is here. Nighty night.
--K.

February 14

2008-02-14T14:43:00.002+11:00

Dear Kay,
Am both pissed and bored, at the same time. Work is sucky today. There's nothing going on, totally bored out of my brain. Did most of my work by 11 this morning and have been coasting since. Have awesome shoes on, though, so it's not all bad.

And I'm pissed because I just asked my team leader about my leave for Easter and she says she has to think about it, because everyone wants time off then and it's school holidays. So basically, I'm being penalised because I don't have kids. Nevermind that I've been working non stop without taking any leave since April 12 last year, and that it's the first time I've ever asked for leave, and I'm the last one in the office to take any at all, when other people who want it have had multiple leave periods since I started. Maude is getting preferential treatment because of her son, who is 15 years old. 15! He's not going to give a rats arse if she's home with him or not. There are others will school aged children but they don't want the same times, so I don't really get it. I really don't. And it just feels like if I have a six year old hanging around my ankles, it would be approved in an instant.
I'm so sick of picking up the slack for people and their kids. The number of times we've had to cover for someone who can't come in because their sprog has the sniffles. And everyone except Lara and I are part time so that they can care for their offspring, which means that we end up doing 120% of the work around here. And I still don't get preferential fucking treatment.
That's the other thing as well, which I just thought of...she's all concerned about maude and shirani's leave when they're both on 48/52 now and will soon be getting one day off a week anyway. I can't say this enough. I haven't taken any leave for almost a YEAR. Nothing. I worked cup day and labor day and the Queens birthday.

If it's not approved I'm going right over her head to Amanda, and having the whinge to end all whinges. It's bollocks, pure and simple.

Anyway. Just wanted to get that off my chest.

I told Squidge last night that I think Valentine's is awful and terrible, but I still wanted one. He laughed, but understood. I don't know what he's going to do, and I'm sort of strangely excited even though I don't really think he'll do anything much at all. I just like the idea of it, which is what I was trying to get across to him last night, I think. I don't know. I'm so used to shit Valentine's that I find the idea of this one being any good sort of foreign. Honestly, a box of chocolates or a card would instantly make this a record breakingly awesome V-day. Or flowers, even, but chocolates would be better (of course).

Should probably get back to work. Only another 2 hours.
Thanks for listening.

--K.

February 12

2008-02-12T19:34:00.000+11:00

Dear Kay,
There is something truly terrifying going on on my tv. It seems to involve Anthony Callea and a lot of shiny but unflattering dresses. I may be distracted.

So. Yesterday was Squidge's birthday. It was...amazing. Best Birthday I've ever had and it wasn't even mine.

It started at about 12:30 Sunday night, about half hour into the 11th. He came over and I lit up the room with tea light candles and had the new Goldfrapp playing on the stereo, and he came in and the first thing he said was, 'Oh, this is gorgeous..!' And I felt gorgeous, too.
Anyway. I made him lie down on the bed and close his eyes and I ran and got his present. He took a million years to open it, seriously. A MILLION YEARS. But he eventually got it open and was so surprised and happy. A new spanky iPod. I wish I was my girlfriend.

Monday morning we drove for about two hours to the coast and mucked around in the surf. I took him to a secluded beach that I basically grew up on, and we had it completely to ourselves. There was skinny dipping, but only on Squidge's behalf. Was hilarious, actually, seeing his little white bum skipping over the waves.
We went for lunch, scoffed about three kilos of hot chips and got back into the city in time for a birthday dinner with the siblings and his mum. She called me Jane within two minutes, but only did it once. Everyone rushed to correct her, while I cracked an awkward joke or two. What the freaking hell?? It's not like we've been going out for two weeks. Anyway.

Other than that, it was awesome. Lots of giggles and chocolate mousse and paella. I stayed the night at his and asked him how he thought it went. He said I was awesome, defusing all the tension but being funny and cool at the same time, like he knew I would be. Lovely. Gave him a hug for that one.

He said it was a perfect day, and I totally agreed. It was really lovely. Really chilled, really casual, and just the two of us enjoying being with each other. He makes me laugh, and it's great, and I make him laugh, and that's better.

Work sucked today, though. After such an awesome day, leaving him this morning was absolute torture.
Freakin tired, too.

And I miss you.
--K.

February 8

2008-02-08T09:00:00.000+11:00

Dear Kay,
Looking back on my last letter to you, I suppose I can blame my behaviour on extreme fatigue. I don't think I even realised how tired I was, but it seems like I got to that all pervasive, fuck-everything, inconsolable state of sheer exhaustion. Bloody awful, and I can only really see it now that I've had a better week, with more sleep. But not before I made things complicated and fucked it all up, of course.

Thursday night, was getting to the totally bereft stage of exhaustion. Was emotionally spent, even if not necessarily physically. Was weepy, grumpy, massively moody. Was listening to sad, emotional music and lying in bed when Squidge called. I don't think I'd spoken to him in a while. He sounded busy but ok, and I couldn't be bothered trying to sound decent. I must have sounded down. Anyway, we hung up and I was sad because I'd so hoped he'd invite me around or invite himself around. I felt like he was pretty much the only thing that was going to cheer me up, and I wanted more than anything else just to feel his arms around me for a tiny little bit.
But it didn't happen, and I got back to being bereft, and weepy, and tired. After half an hour he messaged, 'do you want to stay here tonight?' and I cried. Because I really did, and he had known it. And I thought to myself, for the millionth time, 'God I love him.'

So I went over. And he did cheer me up, and I did start to feel better, and clothes came off and things led to other things and it was lovely. And after we were lying nose to nose and I had my hand on his cheek and I whispered 'I love you.'
He gave me a quick peck. Then nothing. Longest silence of my entire LIFE.

I rolled over, while trying to play it cool, trying not to make it a big thing, but my head was kind of spinning out of control. Realising that I'd pretty much ruined the only good thing going for me right now, trying to decide who'd get my savings after I topped myself, or if I'd tell the parents to spend it all on an awesome funeral...or give to the ex, who needs it? What to do...what to do...

Anyway. He thought I was falling asleep and went downstairs and I was finally able to cry, which I did. Possibly a bit too loudly, because he came right back upstairs, turned the light on and told me to look at him. He looked like he was about to cry, too. I said 'I'm fine.' (cry cry cry). 'I'm a dumbarse, but I'm fine.' Long long long silence. 'But you have to say something.'
He said he knew he had to say something but didn't know what it was. He said he was scared, because he doesn't know where he is right now. He's scared of committing his feelings to me (and I thought oh! at least there are feelings!) when he has no idea where he'll be in six months, or what he'll be doing. I don't really know what to do with that. I knew that he felt like that, and I even discussed it with Katie weeks before over lunch, when she made the very accurate comment that it felt like it could go either way, this relationship. But it was hard and awful to hear it from him, just because you never want the person you love to say anything other than it's a sure thing, and you'll never ever get hurt, and it will all be roses forever.

And I was wondering what to do. What to do with this information but also where it lead. I thought, is this when I should be walking away? But it didn't feel like it. Because there are feelings, even if he can't express them, and I knew it.
I told him I was scared too. He said, 'really?' and I said 'yeah, absolutely fucking terrified.' I told him I was scared he was going to decide that he wanted to figure it all out on my his own, and he said he hadn't been thinking that. I said I was in the same place, that I didn't know where I was going to be in six months either, that my entire future is totally up in the air and I can't stand the idea of being in one place for more than a year. He seemed surprised, I guess, and really quite impressed that I already knew what he was feeling. I told him I knew what I was getting into when I signed up. But that in all the situations I imagine for myself in the future, he's there. In the background. And I asked him if that scares him, and he said yes, but not totally. And I laughed, and said 'well that's a start'. But I felt like I was going down a bad path, so I stopped there. I said 'it's ok if you don't want that. Or if you don't know what you want.' He looked confused, and thoughtful, and I dropped it, scared that I was scaring him off.

He said he didn't want to pack it in over this, didn't want to destroy things only to discover in six months under clearer skies that it wasn't what he wanted. I didn't think it was a deal breaker, because there were feelings there. I said the same, and suddenly realised how tense I was. Relaxed a little. Felt like I was steering the conversation into a better place. He'd stopped crying, I'd stopped crying. He told me he thought I was amazing, and that I had been a revelation for him. I told him that was pretty much the best compliment I'd ever had.
And I said, 'Do you think you might...? Love me?' And he said, thoughtfully, 'yeah...I do.' And I told him we could just go with that, then. For now, that's good for me. He asked me when I got so old, and I told him I was 23 going on 40 and he knew it. That we both worry too much, both overthink things, both have to get out of our heads and just feel it, just be together, just shut up and do it.

And, after more nudity, we went to sleep. In the morning we hung out but I was still stewing on it all, working it through in my head. Went out with Mum for dinner and we discussed the events over pasta, working it all through again. Stewing over it more, replaying it, forgetting bits and remembering them.
Saturday morning, we went to the beach, and it was lovely. And it was great, and it was the best. And he said it had been the best morning he'd had in a long time, and I felt just the same.

And all that was last week. I'm worried about the impact of the whole thing, and that we won't know the impact until much later, when things fall apart. I'm worried that we've applied the plaque, and now we just have to wait for the rot to set in. I'm trying not to let it bother me when I'm with him, to soldier on, but I still think about it, always. It's still stewing back there. I can't work out the overall feeling that I have about it, and I'm worried that I resent him and that I'll sabotage the relationship out of spite.
Things have been different, since. There's a lot more unspoken stuff going on, under the seams. And I feel like it's all just infinitely more complicated now, the way these things get when you're with someone and you suddenly put feelings in the picture. Stupid feeliings.

And I'm pissed at myself, because I told myself I was going to take it slow and not fuck it all up, and then BAM. The L bomb.
Just fucking muzzle me.

And I really wish you were here. I miss you.
--K.