The beginning is the end is the beginning

What a day, huh?

I have one of these things:

And a whole lot of this:

 I am utterly overjoyed that he is here and here for good. I can't even explain the amazing. Also the mess, but mostly the amazing. 

Then there's the downside. I have been AMPED for a month. UP UP UP UP UP. So high I could just about fist bump the international space station. I shook myself 300km to meet Americo at the airport and worked myself up to a level of anxiety and anticipation I haven't been at since my first trip to San Francisco in 2009. 

Of course there are consequences. Obsessive consequences. Clean everything and make sure all the avengers are perfectly lined up consequences. I'm not enjoying them very much at all. 

I feel so terrible that this is the welcome Americo gets, me crazy cleaning the house to work my way through the down that I know is going to hit me pretty hard. He deserves more than this, we both do. 

But upside, today is both a beginning and an end. It is the end of Skype and Facetime, the beginning of cuddles and socks on the floor. And getting married and trying to budget for two. 

Wait, what are the upsides again? 

I'm kidding, this rocks. 

The very odd passage of time

All things considered the last six years have passed in the blink of an eye. 2343 day it may have been, but it felt like nothing in light of all that we have done.

Given that, it is really quite irritating that the last two weeks have moved in the same sort of eons that are required to form glaciers or giant redwoods.

Twelve and a half more days is impossible. I will lose my mind before it gets here.

I am in manic mode. Give me a task that should take a week and I get it done in hours. I'm begging for work. I'm nervous and jittery and fidget constantly. I can't settle to read a book, my mind is going over the same details again and again.

Sleep is a challenge and waking hours are flitting butterfly like from distraction to distraction.

I've finished a book a day for the last week. I can't even speed read.

I don't know how to focus myself or my mind to make this rather bizarre situation speed up, when it has already been faster than we ever imagined it would be.

I really don't know what to do or how to explain the insanity to anyone.

So, if you're in Canberra and you come across a slightly crazy eyed blonde girl spinning around in a park full of children who are wide eyed in confusion, perhaps you could point me at a cafe and get me a calming chamomile and pat my hand, or something?

Cause of the nutty? Surely not. 

Lucky 13

Thirteen has always been my lucky number. Therefore, without jinxing it, I'm hoping 2013 will be my lucky year.

Because this is going to be my lucky year, I'm going to set myself some goals. Not new years resolutions, just things I'd like to do this year, things to work towards, things I'd like to achieve.

1. I'd like to not give up on this list at the end of the month, as I do.

I'm flighty. Very flighty. I get distracted and bored easily and let myself give up on things. This is the year of will power and getting past my willingness to give up easily.

2. Saving money.

It's always a thing I'd like to achieve, but this year I'm going to do it, come what may. In order to get Americo here in this country I need to have it. I have to pay off my personal loan, and get $5000 in the bank. I've budgeted it out and in theory I can get one of these done by the end of the year. If one of these two things is going to come first, it's going to be Americo. And so, saving. In two weeks I'll be at savings goal number one with a little help of my leave bonus. now to resist new shoes.

3. Fiance visa.

The "why they hell has it taken 6 years" visa. The "I don't know how you do it" visa. The "you guys are so patient" visa.

I don't have answers for you about the above things people say. But enough is enough. Our 6 year anniversary is in August, and hell or high water I will have enough in savings to apply for a visa by our 5 year anniversary. Sacrifices will be made.
HOLY FUCK I just realised our 6 year anniversary is in August. Excuse me while I try to figure out why it's taken this long.

4. Exercising.

I want to commit. I'm not good at it. Any slight distraction, flu, weekend, holiday, I give up. I want to do it this year. I want to be able to do pull-ups, and dips, and free lift weights. I want to be powerful.

There are other things I'd like to do. I'd like a new job, but on the flip side of that coin, I'd also like to achieve certain work things that I can't do if I change jobs. It's an idea that I've been struggling with since I was at an interview on Friday. I want to be able to leave my current position saying I achieved all the things I set out to do when I got the job 5 years ago. I haven't done all those things yet. I'm committed to making that happen. But on the other side of that coin, I'm exhausted. It's been a hard 5 years.

It's all a bit premature, the speculation, I don't even know if I have the job, I won't know for two weeks. Speculating seems to be very close to jinxing myself so I guess I should shut up.

I'm writing this all down to make myself accountable. Feel free to pressure or remind me on occasion, I could really use the help.

Leaving on a jet plane

It is not at all surprising that I'm not feeling great this week. Or last week. My man leaves this week to go back to San Francisco, after 9 weeks with me. It's sad, and I know I have the 'right' to be sad, because this is one of those times where sad is 'normal'.

My problem though, is not the normal level of sad that other people feel when their partner goes back overseas for an indeterminate amount of time, it's the potential for sad so bad it knocks me on my ass for 3 weeks and prevents me functioning like a human.

The last two times we did this, after I left San Francisco, and the last time he left here a year ago, it came after two weeks of solid depression to the point I was nearly unable to function. The two weeks before I left San Francisco I was almost totally incapable of getting out of bed.

I'm terrified of that happening again. Terrified of being unable to get out of bed, unable to eat, unable to work, unable to think of anything other than how wrong it feels to not be in the same country as my guy.

I think about all the things I'll get back to doing when he's gone, to try and make myself feel better. I'll start working out again, not because he prevents me doing that, but because I'd rather be with him for the time he's here, than spend 75 minutes o a treadmill. I'll start eating better again, not because he stops me eating well (the exact opposite in fact) but because I like to not think about portion size and skipping dessert when he's here. I like trying new food with him, and I don't care that it's making my cholesterol sky rocket. I'll be able to save money faster just because I'm only feeding one, which obviously halves the grocery budget.

These are ridiculous thoughts, because of course they don't even come close to making it ok that I sleep better when he's here. And I'm less afraid of life, because I don't have to face it alone when he's here.

I am terrified this time, more than the other times, of having to go back to living on my own again.

All the other times he's left, or I've left, I've come home to someone. I had a housemate to distract me from the terrifying aloneness that I feel when he's on the other side of the ocean, and this time I don't have that.

Thursday is getting closer by the day, and him leaving is awful and heartbreaking, and not the worst of what I'm feeling as the time gets closer. The thing that really has me in a tizzy is coming home to my empty apartment, my empty bed, empty fridge, empty closet, and no distractions to get me through the 15 hour flight until he's on Skype.

I fear what that 15 hours is going to do to my sanity and the shreds of emotional control I've built up over the last year.

Have I built up my sense of self and internal control enough to survive Thursday's heartbreak?

Guess we'll find out.

Time Travel

For me, music is memory. I hear a certain song and it takes me to a time, a place, a moment that is special to me.

I hear Rossini's William Tell Overture and I'm at my fathers old house, listening to a crackling fire, drinking hot, sweet, milky tea, and listening to dad read me and Yolande the Hobbit with all the voices.

I hear Peter Paul and Mary and I'm on one of hundreds of long car trips with mum and Davy going to Melbourne, or Sydney, or Brisbane, or driving across America listening to Davy sing along to every song.

Because of this attachment to music, which I'm sure is genetic, the gift that Americo got me for Christmas this year is probably the best gift I've ever been given. He made me a mix tape. Of all the songs that are "us". Our Rockband favourites, the ones that we'd hear in the car when we were driving around San Francisco or from Sydney to Canberra after a long plane flight, or the ones that just remind us of each other. Every moment of our four and a half years together, all on one USB drive.

I went for a long drive today and listened to all the song and it was like he wasn't 12,000km away, it was like he was in the car with me. I could smell the Cool Water and feel his hand on my leg and every song was perfect.

And since they're all in my head, a list, and some of my favourite memories:

Hey there Delilah - Plain White Tee's
It was probably near midnight on a Sunday night and I'd been called into work to do some testing. And the road was empty and it was cold and this song came on the radio and it just reminded me of him. We didn't know where we were going, friends, something more, was it too soon after my divorce, was the long distance too tough, but in that moment, listening to that song, I thought of nothing but him. And that was that, all the questions were irrelevant, we'd make it work.

Bubbly - Colbie Caillat
Just one of those songs, it was probably the lyrics, but we just loved it. The lyrics reminded him of me. And it just become special over time.

California Love - Dr Dre Tupak 
Obviously.

Oh Sherrie - Steve Perry 
So ridiculous. For a week on my first trip to San Francisco he had this song stuck in his head and had no idea what it was or who did it. Then we were in a winery in Napa and they were playing it in the background and we were both singing along with it trying to remember the name of the song. It was a great moment.

Sweet Child O'Mine - Guns'N'Roses
Once upon a time I was telling Americo about a crush I had when I was 14. This crush, wannabe poet and bad boy, gave me a love note once that was the lyrics to Sweet Child and Americo thought that was pretty pathetic. And so, he rewrote Sweet Child with new lyrics, just for me. It's somewhere in my house on a piece of paper, but I can't find it.

I'm Afraid of Americans - Bowie
Ha!

Piano Man - Billy Joel
Wake Me Up When September Ends - Green Day
Superstition - Stevie Wonder 
ABC - Jackson 5
Bohemian Rhapsody - Queen
our favourite Rockband songs. Some mornings when I was in SF we would wake up, before even coffee, and start playing, singing our throats sore.

Little Lion Man - Mumford and Sons
Every time we got in a car in San Francisco EVERY TIME this song was on the radio. And we'd sing along like idiots.

New York Minute - The Eagles
From the West Wing episode Somebodies Going to Emergency, Somebodies Going to Jail, one of my favourite episodes of my favourite show. We've watched it together a few times, and watched it apart a few times. Just this Christmas I started watching it, and was a couple of episodes into season 1, and then he decided he wanted to watch it too. So I spent whole days half watching where I was up to, and more time listening to the episode he was watching. And we'd talk about politics, and the characters, and science, and language and just talk for hours. About everything. And it was perfect. He's my Toby, my amazing writer.

Land Down Under - Men at Work
He taunts me with this song. Constantly.

And dozens and dozens of other songs that were moments of our lives that are precious and wonderful and just make me love him so much that he would sit down and think of these songs that mean so much to us.

Thank you, love, it means so much that you know me "us" so well. And that you know me so well that you knew I'd love this.

Now every time I get into the car instead of listening to a shitty radio show with sexist hosts and bad music I get to remember all the great moments we've had together. And I'll probably be far less cranky at work.

Tempus fugit

This time last year I was packing for a 3 month trip to San Francisco. I was winding down at work, getting my new assistant ready to be hurled in the deep end, and stressing more than a little about what it would be like to not work, not have responsibilities for 3 months. And oh lord I was anxious about how I'd fit in with Americo's family.

As this blog will attest, it was an amazing trip. Looking back on the photos, and the occasional real post, is a reminder that I had the trip of a lifetime. I met amazing people, spent a grand amount of time with my dear friend Amanda, had a Thanksgiving of a lifetime with a wonderful caring family that have inspired me for many years, and I got to wake up with Americo every day. And not like we do here, with my alarm going off at 6.20, but with knowing that for the most part we don't have to do anything but what we want.

There is nothing quite like that joy of knowing that you get 3 months of paid play time with someone you love.

A year later, and it feels like loneliness has taken over my life. I live in a mild despair that I don't know when the next trip is. For him or me. We don't know when we'll see each other next and it's a constant pain in my mind, a constant hurt that I can't fix.

It's turning me in a cold bitch and more than occasionally a sobbing mess.

And I don't know how to fix it.

And so, the temptation to take this blog down is huge. The photos are a painful reminder now, of when things weren't so tough and I was full of hope about what 2011 would bring. 2012 looms large on the horizon, and it doesn't feel like hope it brings with it. It feels like it is bringing more loneliness and depression, with only a sprinkling of "your time will come".

I wish I could find it in me to cope better with this, but as it turns out, I'm kind of bad at coping.

The soundtrack to my life

In 1994 a guy I was involved with went to see a band he liked called Pearl Jam. He asked me to go, but my fear of crowds made me stay at home, but when I saw him the next day he played me their album, Ten, and I just though "fuck this is great" but didn't really get hugely into it, they didn't change my life or anything.

Cut to maybe three years later and I was in this relationship with a guy who smacked me around some. A friend decided I need a wake up call and made me a mix-tape of various "fuck that dude" songs, including Pearl Jam's Better Man (repeated a lot).

That did change my life. 

I walked away from the relationship because of my friend, and because I knew I did, in fact, deserve a better man. 

Years later I received apologies in the mail in the form of handwritten letters of nothing but the lyrics to Black. 

And when I was 19, maybe 20, I finally decided to let my dad know what he meant in my life. I gave him a mixed 'tape' of my own, a CD containing Daughter, and photos of me growing up, all the moments he'd missed in my life.

Every moment of my life where I stopped, and made a choice, and decided my future went there was to a sound track provided by Pearl Jam.

The great moments, the terrible ones, the days of my early 20's where I locked myself in the bathroom and played those songs over and over again until I could find a place where I didn't want to give up. All of it is tied to this band, these songs, these moments that I used to remember and cry, but now, I can smile fondly at these moments that changed my life.

These songs that took me from one place to another, these songs helped me sleep, helped me have the confidence to get off the plane, these songs take me through the last 2km of my workout, they take me away from the awful days at work as I crank them up to 20 backing out of the car park and sing along at the top of my lungs and everything is ok.

My adult life, who I am, what I want to be, has been defined by the memories that have Pearl Jam playing in the background.

I don't know when these men were born, where they live, what they do when they're not being Pearl Jam, but if I could meet anyone in the world, it'd be these dudes that changed the course of my life, just by doing what they love so much.

I'm a better person 'cause of the memories made to your music.

I am mine

I turn 33 tomorrow. It's nothing spectacular, it's not a land mark, it's really just another day in which I grow older, and I hope, wiser.

Since I celebrated my last birthday my life has been pretty fucking good.

On my 32nd birthday, for the first time in our three year relationship, my fiance and I celebrated my birthday together. We spent 3 months living together in the same house, and it was pretty good.

I got an incredible promotion, which was recognition for two years of hard work and for years of public service, which I'm incredibly proud of.

And I got to take long service leave, a reward for my eight and a half years of serving the public. I got to spend three months living in San Francisco, experiencing a whole other life of pleasure, relaxation, and getting to know the life my fiance lives.

The greatest thing I've gotten out of the last 12 months, though, is the sense of self that I've been trying to develop over the years since my separation and divorce. And I've decided I'm pretty awesome, and more than that, I can say "I am mine" with delight and pride.

I am strong. I am self aware. I am me.