I accidentally started myself on a photo a day project this year. Meaning, I found myself on the third of Janurary with a photo for each day already passed and thought ‘why not?’. A year or so back I attempted a photo a day project, I got 271 out of 365. So my aim this year is to improve.
These were taken with my iPhone and the hipstamatic app which Im having a lot of fun with, I also use camerabag which is similar but different. Last time I found the hardest part of the 365 project was the processing and upload, so the iphone apps takes care of the processing for me, and I use the flickr app for uploading.
I give myself 2 more days till I take a picture of my cat, I’ve resisted the urge a bunch of times already.
Sometimes I think folks forget what it’s like to learn to drive.
You’ve spent your entire life until this point being kept away from devices that can injure, maim and flatten. Then you reach some arbatrary age and somehow it’s decided that giving you an object that can not only do all the aforementioned features but can do them to yourself at the same time is a good and logical idea.
I was skeptical, but then walking the 6 or so ks from Phil’s house to the tram(25 min), which will take me to the train (50 min usually on a Sunday so I get to socialise with the weekend public transport weirdos) gets pretty old pretty fast.
Infact it got old so fast I may never of actually done it, the mear thought of having to spend such a prolonged journey with the great unwashed rendered me unable to leave the house.
Then there was the indignity of having to request lifts from my little (by 6 years) brother.
And that very embarising occasion where by I got myself into a discussion regarding cars with a person involved with Top Gear Australia, only to be asked “what car you got?” and having to answer ” um… I can’t drive. ”
Yeah, awesome.
So I told myself I’d learn to drive and self added that while I’m at it I may as well learn how to drive a manual. Because when have I ever made things easier on myself?
The first hitch was that the only manual car I had access to was my grandmothers (who is fairly awesome – but due to her being fairly awesome she also has a life and I didn’t think she would appretiate her car disappearing every time I got the whim for a driving lesson). So my lessons were sparse and sporadic. I learnt very little.
So cut to a few weekends ago where my dad informs me that there’s a Saab in a nearby car lot going for $5000. I really don’t like SAABs, to me they’re more boats with wheels than propper road transport. I wasn’t going to turn my nose up at a bargan, however on closer inspection the boat based description was accurate, right down to the water damage. What had really caught my eye was a spunky little black hatch on the other side of the car lot. It was all shine and leather seats.
So for the past few weeks I have been owning and driving my own car. Being taught tag-team style by my brother, boyfriend and father. I can make it go (and stop)! And I’m getting good at getting it aroud corners. Those teaching me have complained of motion sickness, boredom and (my favorite) of being strangled by the seatbelt because my breaking is occasionally sudden.
At this stage I don’t really feel like I’ll ever actually be able to drive, but I have been assured that will pass. As will the fear of other cars and speed humps.
The ability to enjoy coffee from an actual cup
Yeah, I don’t know what was wrong with me either, but somehow drinking my coffee from paper cup with a sippy lid just made it taste so much better.
I have acquired an appretiation for white wine
Before this white wine was for girls who were blonde, wore fake tan and were into ‘clubbing’. I thought it tasted like sour water. Now Im less judgemental about what people do with their bodies or spare time. And I’ve found that a good white is awesome on a hot day or with fish.
I now care about how my alcoholic drinks taste
Gone are the days of $4 clean-skins from the sale rack. Now it’s $6 clean-skins from the sale rack.
My hangovers are more than just a morning thing now
Oh god, the pain I have felt, the suffering. This makes me feel the oldest. Maybe I should advance to $10 clean-skins from the sale rack
My metaboilism can no longer handle doughnuts as a main meal
I did this when I went to Japan and actually came back thinner . Good times.
I am no longer facinated by Ikea
Can I hear a hallelujah? I know my mum will be proud of me for this one.
I am facinated by bagels
Clearly these last two were a direct trade off. My twitter account has me on record declaring my undying love for doughnut shaped boiled bread.
Way back when I was in Barcelona in April last year I suffered from a serious bout of home sickness and loneliness. My tour had ended four days earlier, I had spent the previous three wandering to places I had visited with the tour and wanted a better look at. That morning though I woke up and suddenly really didn’t want to struggle though that day.
I really struggled with not being able to communicate with others properly. To understand and be understood. I had just past 2 weeks of misunderstandings and apologetic smiles, I’d had enough. I guilted myself out of bed (you’re in Barcelona! get your ass out of bed), narrowly got in for last servings of breaky at the hotel. Moped along the Moll d’Espanya and around Bari Gothic feeling entirely miserable. Miserable that I couldn’t speak, miserable that I was alone, miserable that I was miserable, ad infiatum…
My last few days there were a compete sook fest. Here’s a photo of me at a cafe in Port Vell looking like a prize emo.
I wandered around that beautiful city in a complete daze.
And at the airport, I was relieved. I was going home. This horrible feeling in my head would have no reason to be there and I could go back to normal.
29 hours of transit later and I feel worse. Much worse. And everything hung on me, everything made me feel worse. The customs men told me off for the undeclared half of a mars bar in my carry on (the other half was eaten in Singapore). My parents mucked up the time my plane landed so there was no one to pick me up. My room had been packed up and prettified for the impending house sale. Phil was away in South America and I felt like I had no home any more.
So, I spent a good 2 days in bed. Even if I wanted to be awake I couldn’t be. Turns out I get terrible jetlag.
I think the biggest thing about this very short phase was how much I didn’t want anyone to know about it. Even afterwards, I was complely convinced of two things; that talking about it would make it ‘real’ and a problem, and that people would look down on me for being depressed. I mean really, what did I have to be sad about – I was on holiday, in Barcelona and I’d just bought 3 pairs of awesome shoes.
It was embarrassing.
I mean, there are folks out there who don’t even know how to spell Barcelona.
I didn’t talk to anyone about it, just slept, ate and floated around my house. Went to work and floated around there too.
Then one morning I went for a run.
The sun wasn’t up yet, the sky was clear – I could see the stars. I ran along the beach and the bay was glassy, there was no wind, no chill in the air. It was my first run since coming back.
I absolutely glided along the pavement, I may as well have had wings. And when I got back home, I was sweaty and tired but my funk had gone.
Just like that.
• • •
This post was originally inspired by the Plinky Prompt “If you could get any tattoo for just a week, what would it be?”. At around this time I was reading Red Mars by Kim Stanley Robinson. The story has a small tangent about a Jewish folk tale . The crux of which is the the question “What object can make a joyous man miserable, but a miserable man joyous…” and the answer “A ring with the engraving ‘
‘ (This too shall pass)”. The phrase became a bit of a mantra for me at this time. The tattoo would be the previously mentioned Hebrew phrase around the base of my right hand index finger.
