random pictures

fatso

georgina's wife

massive social worker

die hipster scum

slug pants

slim leg hipster slug pants

i won’t be around for much longer

i’m unlikely to be around in the new year, so i’ll say goodbye now to the roughly 10 people who read this blog on a regular basis – who are you, anyway?

i’m hoping above all that the boy will have a happy life. that’s all i want. he was a fabulous kid when i knew him and i’m sure he still is. i hope he doesn’t have too many mum no. 2s in his life.

that’s enough now.

love from me

xxx

victoria’s gone a bit funny, although i still love melbourne

isn’t it strange what’s come to pass in victoria? churches can (oh and they will) discriminate against human beings on the grounds of their sex, their sexuality and their parental state. so, all you lesbian mums out there – catholics and anglicans and god knows all the rest of those lunatics who believe in fairies at the bottom of the garden, they frickin’ hate you. they think you’re sick. they think there’s something really, really disgusting about you.  and kids in church schools, if you’re weird enough to put your kid in one, will learn that lesbians and poofters and single parents (and lesbian mums, especially, because they’re double, even triple-barrel bad) are NOT OK.

when will it end?

two things today have caused me to remember. a colleague told me about her bub’s first steps, taken last night. i remembered the boy’s first ones – it was very exciting for him and i was so proud of him. i started looking at some photos on my work machine – many of them i didn’t even remember ever having seen before – some really lovely ones with his big nana (great grandmother) and with his biological mum’s sister and her wife. and ones of him on his second birthday party at daycare. they are very special photos.  i’ve only ever been with the boy on one christmas day, out of the 6 he’s been around for. the disgustingly fat social worker will have been with him for many more than that. ditto his birthdays. i remember that when i was last allowed to see him, on  june 11 in 2007, he asked me if i would be able to go to his next birthday party. i never knew when the alcoholic would exercise her power, so i told him i wasn’t sure if that would be possible…but that he should know that it wouldn’t be because i didn’t want to.

a while back, at kristin hersh, i ran into a woman i hadn’t seen for many years  - we were best mates during our nursing training, and that’s a serious bond that develops, as nurses all the world over would know  [she went on to do medicine]. we’ve re-ignited our friendship and today she gave birth to her second son, in the vicinity of the birthplace of the boy who i’m not allowed to see and who i watched being born and who i love more than anything, yes, still, georg.

you wanted me to forgive you but you never would say what it was you wanted forgiveness for. so what was it, georg? did you expect me to forgive you for your refusal to allow me (ALLOW ME!) to have contact with our son? do you have any idea AT ALL of the amount of pain your refusal to allow me to see our son caused me? continues to cause me? i want to die.  i do not want to be alive.

but as long as you’re ok, hey georg? ’cause that’s all that matters.

fuck you, georg. why don’t you go and stick your stubby little fingers in your fat wife, in your small house in your small town? my god, i hope you’re with that cow for decades, long after i’ve smashed my car into a wall.

oh how sweet

there’s sure to be a bit of shaggers’ glisten (thank you irvine welsh) in sawtell tonight. happy anniversary, tubbsies.

in the bad books

yesterday i went into a bit of shock. i was looking at book-type stuff on the net and clicked a link to something that looked vaguely interesting – i can’t remember exactly, a meme i think – and almost threw up because it led me to something on the alcoholic ex’s site. it took a couple of seconds for me to work out where i was. it’s scary how much of a physiological response my body had before it even registered with me where i was.

hairdresser on fire

a while ago a hairdresser came to live with me. she was a champion whitegoods destroyer . nothing was safe around her. i used to marvel at her capacity to fuck up every piece of equipment in the house. it was like some sort of fucking force field around her or something. anyway, she came over yesterday to hang out, and she wanted a bath  – she doesn’t have a bathtub where she’s currently destroying whitegoods.  so she lit a candle and started soaking away. a few minutes after she got in, i smelt something  – i knew immediately that it was her hair. so, there was much dowsing to put it out – she was unscathed – and then she needed to dry her hair. the hairdryer started smoking. i nearly did too.

wombat and wallaby dodging

i’ve been hooning around dirt bike riding this weekend on a property down south with some friends. photos will follow. it’s the most fun you can have with your clothes on. i’ve become addicted to motorbikes, having got my Ls  just recently. but i don’t think i’ll be riding in the city until i’m way more experienced. the day after i got my Ls, i witnessed a bloke come off his bike (on Ls) at some speed. all i could do was talk soothingly to him and hold his hand until the ambos arrived. i almost posted back my L permit.

finally, some peace and a new beginning

my new house gets settled tomorrow, and i’m hoping it’s the last move for a very long time. i fell in love with the place several weeks ago and decided on the first viewing that it would be mine and that i would write a book there. i sorted out the first bit, now i just have to do the other.  and something very odd has happened – i’ve been lusting after cooking equipment. so, i’ll be writing and smearing and spattering the jamie oliver cookbooks with smoked cod and mustard whilst drinking cloudy bay sauvignon blanc. and feeding the lorikeets. i can’t fucking wait.

small town, big arse

sometimes sydney seems like a small town. i think i must be psychic. i almost went to a different shopping centre this afternoon because i sensed that i’d see someone who i definitely didn’t want to see. and of course, the first person i saw when i got out of the car was the fat social worker. she was wearing clothes alarmingly like mine, except of course hers were size 26. why can’t she fucken stay where she lives and shop at toormina?