Ed Watchers Unite

Last time I was in the states, during what my Grammie refers to as 'the incident' - you know the one where I left my sorry ass abusive bastard of a husband because he wouldn't stop beating my kid.

Well. So I moved back to the town we had lived in back when things were happy, blissful even. We had friends there. We were loved. Lots of people had moved away but they kept in touch. It was not so little that everybody knew your business. Thank goodness, because who wants anybody knowing that ugly business. I enrolled my kids in school. Then pulled my littlest kid from the public school and parked her in a lovely little tiny school. She loved it.

I coped. Well sort of anyway.

I would get up at the godforsaken hour that they start school in this crazy place - it is still dark damn it, if God has not turned on the lights yet, you are not supposed to be out of the bed much less traipsing off to public school. (another story I get distracted.) I'd pack lunches and take the kids to school and then drive on over home and run to my hearts content. In my living room. On. The. Treadmill.

And watch old reruns of Ed.

I think I achieved my goal, not that I had one in mind when I left the mongrel Denver in January, however when I arrived home in Australia in July a friend noted I was 'over' my ex.

SO.

Ed. Watchers. Unite.

December.

Southbank, at first before they got the bouganvillas in, the walk looked horrid, amazing power of a wee little plant. And a prickly spikey one at that.
My New Years Day view. Palm Beach. Lovely. I lingered in the sand after a very light and refreshing lunch, yes, mangos consumed.
Story Bridge. I drank many a drink under this bridge during my time living in Oz. Not so much in the wino with the paper bag, as in the Deery Hotel, not a hotel for sleeping, but a pub with a spot of fine food and drink.

Cheers.

In Love.

Is to be tortured and torn. Heart racing and swelling, anticipation running wild like small children released from school for the summer holidays. Followed closely by the crashing pitfall of devestation, the heart melts and wallows and oozes jellylike as it falls smearing a trail down the cabinetfront on the way to the floor, there it splats into fractured goo.

Pity being in love.

Two countries. Two homes. Only one continent has an actual house that I own (at least partially). But both are home. I feel peaceful in each for completely different reasons. It is bucketing down, the rain pours from the clouds, mother nature is squeezing out her kitchen sink sponge after wiping up an earthly mess, repeatedly. Were it not 9 degrees celcius, I would run not walk outside and dance nearly naked in the deluge. I absolutely love the feel of rain on my skin, living without rain for years in Australia has brought a slightly unstable obsession with the stuff. We have not guttering, or downpipes here in Texas, so the rains in bastardised fashion just falls off the edge of the roof. If it were 30 degrees I'd stand at the bend in my house where two rooflines dump into a corner and let it all soak through. I am safe here in Texas, my kids will likely not be inundated with cult garbage living in a different hemisphere, well he still trys but distance makes them see clearly the insanity of it without the damaging emotion. In Australia, I love mangos,mangos,mangos, and friends. I have endured the most stressful times of my adult life while living there, and had precious mates to pop out for a wee bit of a drink to help ease me through. Or shout me a cuppa. Walk through the forrest, play matches and matches of soccer with. Recline in the sand and not talk at all about the hell I was going through just soak up precious sunshine for days on end, knowing that salt, sun and sand are a therapy in themselves - at least for me.

I leave a bit of my heart behind everytime I leave, both countries, so many people I love in both, and each for there own quirks.

noun, two words. or one. depends on what you like.

chicken pot pie reheated at 1am. with a green leafy salad. and a lovely glass of milk.

he had just brushed his stubbly chin across my belly. the sweet bliss of pleasures yet to be had were right there for the taking. ..

you know the feeling, you squeeze your eyes tighly closed, grab the pillow, roll over quickly in the vain hope that you might just somehow slip back into that delicious dream.


but no.

it is not to be.

why? because of the two little people who have invaded your space because THEY can not sleep, and they miss him, sadly not the bloke in the dream, but the one whom donated genetics.

uh-humm.

jet lag -noun a temporary disruption of the body's normal biological rhythms after high-speed air travel through several time zones.