Tuesday, September 11, 2007

not playing confidently

lovers

lover

love

whe she bin? i bin around. i bin workin' man. w-o-r-k-i-n-g. working until 2am or 3am only to shuffle off home in a blue-rent cab, praying the pakistani tailor/chinese linguist/eqyptian doctor behind the wheel doesn't want to make small talk. but of course ... he always do. and somehow i participate through bleary eyes and on-coming head-ache - and all i can think about is how in 15 minutes i shall be starting a too too short 4 hour sleep before this same day, this very to-day, begins 'proper'. begins again.

wow. i lived this life before. i lived it london. the life where i said bye-bye birdie to my flatmates on sunday night knowing that during the week i would return home sometime after they'd gone to bed, arriving home for a solo cup of pinking tea and that perfect-just-me-fag and then in the mornings i'd be out the door before they'd hit their snooze buttons.

so yeah yeah. i know what an office is like. i know what it sounds like. i know what it feels like. i know it at 3am and 3pm and i know intimately the minutes in between. i don't haaaaate offices ... but i am kind of keeeeening knowing that my very (very) good years are being spent in one tiny egg-shell office in one swish smish building in one downtown city in one beaut country in one southern hemisphere and i am just not trailing breadcrumbs all over this scraggly planet anymore, and instead, all my breadcrumbs are forming a little heap at my feet which speak forensic volumes - that ricebag bin standing in one place, for, like, a little-long time.

so ricebag doesn't really care about the hours. its more the actual work thats the scary part ... the random terrifying terrifyingness of not knowing anything in her workity workity and starting from square one (AGAIN AGAIN AGAIN) and falling into a group of professionals filled with brilliance and trying not to wonder if they wonder just how i got here ...

so that's where i bin haden.

and i bin playing too. sydney playing. not playing overly. not playing confidently. not striding about and around, but i am trying to stir it up and its really just bit hard for a baby who sundays is just trying to remember who she is again ...

ricebag has bin up and down and down and down and up and down and down. its all a bit of a slippery sliding slope, this sydney thing, and she is so glad that her birthday is coming so soon because 2 beautiful hearts are coming to play in sydney from png-lala and its just going to be absolutely smiling baby for 2 weeks because there will be laughter and there will be dancing and there will be stories and there just will. yeah yeah.

when girls who all belong to the same order-of-the-cross-your-heart-and-hope-to-die they dont need shrugs to explain or hugs to maintain, because all the promise that says i back you up bitch is hard-wired and there isnt anything like a person who says we believe in the same things and better than that, we agree on how to get there and that journey unites us. ... man, that is some deep and crazy shit - that is how movements are made and courage is born and passion is ignited and most of all - that is how things CHANGE, how people change. and these girls are powerful powerful women who change the world they occupy and the space they vibrate in and more than that, they change the conscience and the gutting bellies of other people and the entire terrene those people inhabit.

so as i sit and wonder how how how ... i wait for october when some girls, just some everyday gals get here and help me to remember how to be me again. and they do that by making me forget about me altogether. through them i remember that i really dont matter. none of me does. its what i do that matters. who i touch. the change i effect. the love i give away and the pain i can't. the shit i shuffle and the grovel i hide. the meanness in me that cant be restrained and the desire which goes unnamed. all of it. the effect of it. the butterfly effect innit. aren't we all just butterflies. flapping our fear and our favour forward. flapping hard and hard and harder sometimes in motion with millions and sometimes flapping less hard at 3.12am in a bluecab on george street. on the way home. alone.

always, always, beating our wings against our breasts.

until a baby starts playing different ... until then ... i go on trying not to look like my head is just above water, trying not to panic that my feet can't touch the bottom.

4 Comments:

Anonymous Carolyn said...

MWAH!!!!

I miss you tonnes, darling. When are the celebrations happening?

12 September, 2007 09:40  
Anonymous 1986 said...

oh ricebag. best wishes with it all. i am fearful of the time when i have to go out and join the workforce with papers that say i should know a lot of things but not really knowing any of it. hope you find yourself with your girls.

12 September, 2007 20:16  
Blogger islandbaby aka ricebag said...

Mrs M: missing you too!! The girls are coming down first 2 weeks of Oct ... you are more than welcome!! They arrive on my birthday - 28 Sept!! You wanna come up that weekend???

We could plaaaaaaaaaaaay.

1986: The peice of paper is about acknowledging the end of your formal studies but it should really be a blank piece of paper to acknowlegde that you will then go out into the world starting from numero zero ... learning everything from the start again. Uni teaches you HOW to think not realy what to KNOW. You learn the latter in the 'real world'.

trust me, noone is going to expect you know 'a lot of things' that might seem necessary to be a "productive" worker in the formal workplace - most people remember what its like to be a baby fresh out of school ...

you'll be gorgeous!!

12 September, 2007 22:55  
Anonymous 1986 said...

thank you ricebag.

17 September, 2007 02:39  

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