028: 14 Things to Change in 2014

I can't believe that 2014 is upon us already. I am never ready for the new year to roll in - it takes me eight months or so to get used to any new year, and then it just swaps, just like that.

This year in particular, the change from December to January has been hard because although I plan for the coming year to be better than the last, I know that it is going to be difficult. 2013 was easily the best year I ever had. 2013 was the year of travel, the year of exploration and growth. To think that this time last year, Katie was a timid little Aussie girl who could barely hold a conversation with a stranger let alone live with a bunch of them on the other side of the world. I love that I have changed, but I know that there is always room for something else to change.

Rather than creating a whole new list of thing I want to do, I though I might just take the opportunity to my list of things to do from last year.

Now added the list of things Katie must do when she gets a free moment include

      92. Buy Organic - feel the difference
      93. Create the perfect Study
      94. New House, New Adventure
      95. The Perfect pair of shorts
      96. Plan (and go on if possible) exchange meet up
      97. Complete 50/50 challenge
      98. Buy a New Laptop
      99. Make a Difference
     100. Look after me
     101. Weekly visit to Grandparents
     102. Keep on top of uni work
     103. Renew Passport (with good reason)
     104. Start reviewing books
     105. Wash car
     106. Accept that I will only get 10% of this list finished

There, more goals, lets see what 2014 has in store for me this year.

  Kathleen x

027: The Many Tears Shed Thanks to John Green

My little sister was given a book for Christmas. She read it in the back seat of my car as we drove to Christmas lunch. By the time we arrived at my grandparents, she was balling her eyes out.

I did what any compassionate and caring older sister would do. I stole the book off her.

That evening, I was crying too.

We read John Greens "The Fault In Our Stars" and he deserved every tear shed.

Following the relationship of Hazel Grace Lancaster and Augustus Walters, two cancer patients, Green creates a love story that made me laugh, cry but also think.

I had not previously read anything by Green and was sorely disappointed that I was unable to fall in love with his writing when I was a teenager, sadly, he will have to have my love as a young adult. I am very picky when it comes to giving affection to writers as I often find more faults than virtues, but Green writing was near perfect - aside from taking a while to adapt to a female narrators voice, but I am willing to over look this as the single fault. His writing is smart and quite literary but it was the right combination of laughs and tears. I highly, highly recommend his writing, although I know I am not the only one.

  Kathleen x

026: I don't want to be a Grinch

I can't believe how fast this year has gone. Christmas is just upon us and the world is going crazy.

For the third year in a row, I have had the unfortunate position of working in retail over Christmas. Which means that I get to witness the absolute worst of the Christmas season. People running madly around shopping centres, stalking out car parks, wresting over the perfect gift and the absolute rudeness that the season seems to encourage.

Christmas shopping becomes such a chore that basic manner are thrown out the window. Snapping at strangers and unreasonable demands become commonplace across December, and I find it disgusting.Too many times I have taken refuge in the staff room for a brief second to ensure that the rudeness of my customers doesn't rub off on me. Thankfully I work with a wonderful team, and mostly we can laugh it off and if not, have someone to whine to.

I love Christmas. I have my tree up every year on December first and enjoy the thrill of finding someone the perfect gift. I love having the day when I get to see my entire family, seated around the same table sharing food and remembering the reasons why we celebrate. Hopefully by next Christmas that can be my sole purpose for celebrating, and not just rejoicing that I have the day off.

  Kathleen x

025: Successful Day if I do say so myself

It might only be early afternoon and I may have slept in until 10.30, but still I have managed to get some every exciting things done.

1. Finally completed the whole beginners lap on my 5K running challange (it has taken several attempts, for the first one, read here.)

2. Admitted to the government where I live. (I'm not on the run or anything, but the shire was chasing me down having a different address to the my registered vote, but I'm all legal now)

3. Tried (and failed) to roast pumpkin seeds. Mmmm, charcoal

Signed up for the 50/50 Challenge. To read fifty book and watch fifty new movies in a year. I just hope they let me go 'til November next year and not January. For more info on a very exciting idea, see here

4. Had lunch. Even small acheivments count, right? 

Gosh, I'm on such a roll, imagine what would have happened if I woke up in the morning, I could have solved world peace by now.  

  Kathleen x

024: When I told work I had plans, I'm not sure this is what they had in mind

I work five to six night a week and usually those precious nights off are when I make plans and reconnect with life outside my work. However, tonight was something different. Tonight, I planned to do nothing. I did get that dreaded call at half past six asking if I could cover a last minute absence, but I couldn't. My nothing-ness was already planned.

House mate had her own work to go to, so I waltzed down to the local to pick up a few essentials. Fixed myself a tasty dinner, poured myself a glass of second cheapest wine in the shop and settled in for a good read.
. 
 I cannot think of a better way to spend my evenings.

  Kathleen x

023: I didn't think I would appreciate it at the time

As it is coming around to the gift giving season, I though I might share with you all the gift that I had to pretend I liked until I actually used it.

Last year for my birthday, my sister bought be "The Book Lovers Journal' a cute little book where I was supposed to write down all the books I'd read and my opinions. I didn't really think much of it at the time. I was part way though my English degree at the time - all the books I read had thousand word essay written in their honour.

But then I needed it

In the early hours of the morning, and I had just finished J.K Rowling's first book for adults "The Casual Vacancy" and found myself clutching the poor book and sobbing into into pages. (spoiler, it has a sad ending) All I wanted to do was call my friends and tell them all they had to read this book. But it was three am, and calls that late are only acceptable if you are drunk or dying. So I just had to write about it.

So for all you people out there who are looking for something for the book lover who doesn't need any more books.  have a look here.

  Kathleen x

022: Apparently I would be dead in a zombie apocalypses

Spring has crept up on me so suddenly that I had almost forgotten my mid year resolution (much the same as New Year Resolutions, but without the hype and expectations) to be fit for summer. So I dusted off my runners and legging - the only time its acceptable to wear leggings in public - and decided to go for a run.

During my last feeble attempt at getting fit, I downloaded a 'Couch to Marathon 5K Running" Ap in the hopes that a little motivaion would help me get there (last time I hadn't even opened it) and decided that this sunny Spring morning would be a good time to try it out.

As it turns out, I'm not even fit enough for the beginners level. I jogged through my warm up, feeling the energy pulse through me - and then he (the little overly American trainer that I had selected) told me to run.

It might have been only for a minute, but I could feel myself dying as I ran. The warm breeze brushing through my hair, the flies hitching a ride on my sweaty back, uncoordinated feet hitting the pavement in some attempt at rhythm. It was the hardest minute of my life.

Clearly its going to take a while before I get to those 5km, but I'm (hopefully) not going to give up yet.

  Kathleen x

021: The Loneliness Problem

This video just appeared on my facebook newsfeed and I can't help but share it.

Not only is it beautiful, but it feels strangely true.

  Kathleen x

020: Five Hundred

Not really sure how it fits in the scheme of things, but I just hit my first 500 page views. Only way on is up.

  Kathleen x

019: Fat Pants

Today, I have been pondering the importance of Fat Pants.

I believe that every person - or at the very least every woman, should own a two pairs of fat pants.
Fat pants are quite possibly the greatest invention ever, although no-one actually invented them, we as a society decided that they were necessary. And I therefore love society.

I know, I at least, have two pairs of fat pants. firstly came the comfy pants - the tracksuit or pyjama bottoms. Pants that have perfectly adjusted to your body, fluffy in all the right places, completely unflattering and may have an inappropriate hole or two. These are the pants that only your closest friends are allowed to see, because when you wear your fat pants, your in a special place that can only be witnessed by a few. These are the pants that endure three seasons of Supernatural in one day and help you devour an entire frozen cheesecake. These are the pants that love you no matter what.

And then there are the other fat pants, your baggy pyjamas cousin who lingers in the back of your underwear drawer. Pushed away behind the lace and the cute pattens, are the granny panties, the body shapers and the curve enhancers. These are a special kind of Fat Pants and only to be brought out in special occasion when you are wearing a dress that may decide to reveal your true figure. And only for occasions when you are absolutely certain you not going to pull. We'v,e all seen Bridget Jones Diary - its always awkward. But boy do they make your arse look good.

These are my two favourite items in my wardrobe, but two that should never see the light of day.

  Kathleen x

018: My Last Kiss When a Little Like This....

Well, first off, I was drinking, so we can just pretend that I had perfect judgment on what was happening around me. It was midweek and we were bored, so we stocked up on cheap wine and decided to see where the night would take us. It wasn’t much of a surprise as to where we ended – the bar known for its cheap drinks that lures students from the three surrounding universities. As the evening progressed, and the wine was washed down with shots, we ended up dancing.

The discounted alcohol had pulled a crowd and before long, my friends and I had separated. One girl had recognised a flame from a previous time and had been pulled in by his charm. Another had been snatched by a tartan clad builder who had pulled her to the quiet of the beer garden to chat. When it was just one friend and I left standing, we staggered to the bar ordered a drink and toasted to our ability to avoid hooking up with any of the short and sniffling men that we too often find.

I however, didn’t get to my drink.

As we waited in line for the bar, a man with a boy’s face started up a conversation. And be it the alcohol talking, or the to the flash of future where I see myself a crazy cat lady, I got my flirt on. Before long we were in a tangle of limbs on the dance floor (my friend had to have the victory drink all on her own) and it wasn’t long before her lent down to my ear and whispered the ever alluring line of “so, my place or your?”

This is the thing I too easily forget about people – is that people kinda want sex and don't share my romantic notion about sharing that with a select few.  I don’t believe in no sex before marriage, I takes all the fun out of begin young – but I’m not really one to fling myself around whenever I feel like it. I need passion and attraction and some sort of connection for me to go to bed with someone and meeting someone by a beer soaked bar is very far from my idea of romantic. It’s a shame really that I am in such a minority because there are good guys out there who would be ready to wait if not for the queue of women who would just rather cut to the chase.

We as a society seem to have regressed back to thinking with our downstairs rather than our up, going back to primitive desires for sex, now and not really thinking about anything else. Have we really lost all ideas about what a relationship is supposed to be about? I mean, penguins have it pretty down pat, why is it taking humans so long to get around to it?

Unfortunately, the part of my brain that decides what is appropriate to say had stopped working several hours ago, and all my ideas about the value of sex in today’s society came tumbling out in response to his rather simple question. The look on his face was priceless and he began systematically searching the club for the friend he had seen me with earlier. And then dissolved back into the crowd.

Maybe I can see why I am single now.  

  Kathleen x 

017: What is Love?

My parents have been married for 24 years, twenty four years! - that's a long time. That's longer than I have been alive, but that was half expected, wasn't it, and today we were able to celebrate the two dozen years that they have been married, and as always, out comes the story of how my parents got together.
He was twenty one, she was nineteen, they were at the beach and he stole her shoes. That, in my opinion, is love.

Their love is the kind of love that doesn't need words; that knows when the other needs  a cup of tea and know without discussion when they are trying to cut back on sugar or when they need a heaped teaspoon.  Love is building a surprise patio for her 40th birthday and still not complaining when the capping was not attached ten years later. Their love endures the cheese making and the cleaning flashcards.Their love is a love that never makes Shepard's Pie and will always go halves in a beer.

I count their love to be up there with the great loves in the world - of Lizzy and Darcy, Anne and Gilbert, Ron and Hermione. But unlike all my other role models for the perfect relationship, I have had these two wonderful people sitting with me at the dinner table all my life, showing that true love can be enduring and beautiful and, what the world needs to remember most - possible.

And maybe this is the reason that I am rather content with my current single status, because I know that there could be no one night stand in the world that will live up to the love that I witness everyday and that if it is out there, something will happen to make sure he steals my shoe.

  Kathleen x

016: A Grand Final Find

Yesterday was Grand Final Day - and for everyone in Melbourne, that means getting your crazy on and watch the footy. I however, are one of those rare individuals who are unable to sit through an entire match on television (I can watch if I'm in the stands, but at home, eh) So my memories of Grand Final Day are always a little different to others - one involved my dad hooking up a projection screen so we the game full screen off the living room wall, I sat behind the couch with a copy of Harry Potter and stayed there long after the final song was sung.

This year, we went to my grandparents - and fifteen minutes in was frustrated at myself for not thinking to bring a book and using up all my lives in Candy Crush too quickly. My sister was getting twitchy as well, and we decided to sneak off for a walk.

My grandparents live in the same house my father was born in - a little farm land once in the middle of nowhere but slowly consumed by the suburbs.A lot of the land was sold off, but there is still plenty for a good explore, including several run-down sheds.

Sister and I potted through the first few, where bits of old cars were still kept and the old machinery. We had to clamber over several spare tractors and broken pipes. There was a window sill of dusty mason jars, filled with old screws and receipt books from when the farm was still running.

When we were almost ready to make it back to the house, we took the long way back - a found another way into the sheering shed. It involved crawling in through a wonky hole in the wall. Through all the dust and cobwebs - it was absolutely worth it.

Inside was a treasure trove. Old, beautiful and wondrous. It was like stepping into someone else's memories. Bits of furniture from every decade, spare parts for cars that were no longer being made and old toys that had been put away and forgotten.

I love these beautiful discoveries - to think that I have been coming to this house for over two decades, walking past this shed for my entire life, and hidden behind the walls peeling with paint were all these treasures just waiting for someone to love them again.

  Kathleen x

015: Where the Wild Things Are

There is a nature reserve behind my house, which previously been only know due to the stream that my housemates have named body drop creek. I'm sure I don't need to explain how that name came about, but safe to say that we had always given the reserve a wide berth. But recently my very brave housemate decided to go for a run in the sunshine.

And actually went in.

I waited by the door expecting to have the police drag her body back out for me, but they didn't and she came back in one piece. And from her life threatening expedition, she bought back tales of this wondrous place. 

Long stretches of elegant silver gums, a wild life reserve and although I think she was pulling my leg, a fully stocked farm. There was only one way to make sure she wasn't lying. And that was to check it out for myself. 

Braced with a rape whistle and a small illegal can of pepper spray, I made my way out.

And lo and behold, my housemate was not lying.  

In the midst of our outer city suburb, we have over an hundred and fifty hectare park on our door step. And we had never been there before. I walked for over an hour and didn’t see a single of the sighs my housemate had flagged – but I did find a glum looking pair of sheep chilling between the gum trees.

I love finding places like this. I didn’t grow up in the city, but I too quickly adjusted to the noise of streaming traffic, tram rattling past and the constant reminder that you are never alone. But today, just by getting out there in the trees, I was able to forget about the rest of the world for just a second and have some time to myself. Prue, undisrupted bliss.  

  Kathleen x

014: Poor Man's Gourmet

As I am a uni student, it is quite regular in my household for us to run out of food and there is at least one night a week when we are scrounging together the scraps in the back of the cupboard to make an excuse for a meal. (One memorable night I had peas and tomato sauce for dinner – yes, that was a low point in my life) and last night threatened to follow along the same course. All I had was a bag of dried lentils and half a pumpkin, but inspired by the recipe on the back of the lentil packet, this creation was born.

Pumpkin and Lentil Burger in a pancake bun (that idea was acquired from an amazing vegan restaurant near my house) with roast pumpkin chips and yoghurt sauce. Here's how I got there.

11/2 cups of cooked lentil (green, red, brown or a combination of all three) 

1/2 a medium butter-nut pumpkin 

1 cup of chickpeas, slightly crushed

Clove of Garlic 

1/2 an onion, chopped finely

1. Brown onion and garlic in a little splash of olive oil 

2. Mix lentils, pumpkin and chickpeas together with onion garlic mix. 

You are going for a nice thick consistency that holds together on its own. If necessary, add some flour (or chickpea flour for a vegan alternative) 

3. Cook. I shallow fried mine, but I find shallow frying difficult to manage, so I guess a deep fryer would work better (although not better for you) They can also be baked. 

The pancake mix I used was a very simple savoury pancake mix, but for a vegan/ gluten free alternative, I've found this recipe to work wonderfully;

1 cup of rice flour (or gluten free flour)

pinch of salt

1 1/2 soy milk 

1/8 vegetable oil 

And make like any other pancake. 

For finishing touches, I mixed a little diced cucumber and Greek yoghurt, and roasted the rest of the pumpkin with paprika and sea salt and enjoyed a feast fit for a king.   

  Kathleen x

013: Things I don't Know

I recently turned 21. Woo! So midst the celebration, I, being the awfully pensive individual that I am, got to thinking. Supposably, I am an adult now, fully fledged in every sense of the term, but it still scares me when people, often younger kids, classify me as ‘a grown up’. Banished from the kids table and forced into small talk and appetizers, I don’t think I’m ready for all this scary shit yet.

In my mind, grown ups were the ones who knew everything and were capable of great things. But I still call my mum if the washing machine is making strange noises. And as much as I would like to think that I am a not dumb person, there are something’s that no matter how many times I try, I have just not learnt them yet.

10 Things I Know But Have Not Learnt

1.       The cheapest wine on the shelf is never good wine

2.       $8 shoes are never going to last

3.       It’s never just ‘one more episode’

4.       Mixing wine and vodka is not a good idea

5.       The bins go out on Thursdays

6. If he's not calling, he's no interested.

7. Your hair is never going to look like it did at the hairdressers

8.       Coffee is no substitute for breakfast

9.       No-one looks good while running

10.    Life will not begin until you are not waiting for it.

  Kathleen x 

012: A Decidedly Good Week

Last Monday, I woke up a mess. I had overslept my morning class and a job interview and hair to rival Hermione Granger. I was running late and forgot to mention some crucial experience in the interview and nearly rammed into another car. All in all, it was a pretty shitty morning. And unfortunately, my week followed much the same course. 

Every day I was running late for something, an class presentation on Tuesday, (which literally involved running up five flights of stairs) dinner with my parents and working the late night shift everyday and getting suck in traffic all over the place. And to add to the stress, I had three assignments due by the end of the week and I had forgotten all about them until a few days before the due date. Sleeping and eating became optional extras. 

Safe to say, my week wasn't exactly perfect. 

On the Sunday night, as I drove home from work (it hadn't been a good shift, running late, got a couple of orders wrong and had been teetering on tears since my vacuum had exploded that morning) I decided that my bad week was over. And I was going to have a better week. 

Just with that slight change in attitude, things started to go better. With my assignments in and  a designated 'reading week' (AKA quarter semester break just for my class) and significantly less shifts the world around me freed up and I did it. I had a brilliant night sleep, read a couple of riveting novels and caught up with friends I hadn't seen in a while. I had another job interview, which went brilliantly - sat down and spoke for over an hour about working in hospitality and had the job offered to me on the spot. Had my involuntary life experiences for the week  and finally moved the furniture back into my flat. 

Sunday Morning - the results of a good week in my opinion 

And just to top the week off - had one of my bestest friends 21st - although I did spend some time holding back someone's hair, it wasn't my own, so I can always count that as a bonus.

I find it so surprising how much you are able to change purely by deciding that everything is going to be ok. What happened wasn't so different from the previous week, actually think more bad things happened, but the control I have over my mood and the power of positive thinking really can make an amazing difference to everything that happens. 

Now all that needs to happen is to keep this frame of mind, make it a constant things and everything should be swell. 

011: Involuntary Life Experience

A few weeks ago I posted a list of "things" I wish to accomplish. Some of them important, most of them not and other just for a bit fun. One of them however, I added on because I thought it might be time I learnt a "life-lesson" - number 68: learn how to change a tire.

I put one on with the expectation that one weekend, I would go and visit my dad and he would take me through, step by step the process of changing a tire so that when the time came, I would be able to do it all by myself. However, life being what it is, that didn't happen.

Yesterday, for the first time in my short driving life, I got a flat, driving home from a job interview, a nail decided to lodge itself into my tire. And me, being me, decided it would be cool to drive on it til I got home. Apparently that's not what you do.

So, with the help of youtube videos, stressful calls to my dad and everyone else that I thought might be helpful, somehow, the tire has been changed. There is a good change I might be reduced to a bicylce and public transport by the the end of the week, but so far, I am will to say that I can change a tire.

Just look at me go!

010: Reason to Shave My Legs

It is the middle of winter here and I am quite single at the moment. With that perfect combination, it is a rare occasion when I actually shave my legs. It is not the season to be showing skin, so most of the time everything is covered by with jeans or stockings or my favourite striped pyjamas and sadly when out of sight, things are too often out of mind. If I know I’m going out, I’ll give the pins a once over with a disposable in the shower, but it’s never a particularly good job and has to last until the next night out is planned. I am quite a lazy being, and will endure all the prickly shins and unsightliness that cause many to turn to drink, but I am rarely phased. And if I am willing to put up with it, it can’t be that bad.

This afternoon, when I had nothing more than season one of GIRLS to consume, I whipped out my trusty epilator (a device so obviously designed by a man and tested by compliant women) and gave it a go. Like every other time I have left it too long, I was thankful for the atrocious amount of n

oise the small thing can make  as it masked almost all of my swearing, but it also gets me thinking.

Too often in the past I associated smooth hair free legs with boys. I remember a conversation I had with a girlfriend where we noticed that too familiar collation with the nights we epilated and the nights we pulled. She having a fun adventure one night, and I the next because we had been sharing a bathroom and couldn’t both have been silky smooth at the same time. We worked out (as many women before us have) that by not shaving our legs we gave ourselves a strange but legitimate reason not to go home with a fella – the embarrassment for one is a  certain way that can get me running for the razor ( I have had a charming man announce loudly for those around him to “beware the cactus” that is still leaving scars) But also, in a backwards kind of way, having a little touch of sexy beauty can give you that added need of confidence that can really change how one handles a situation.

This also got me thinking, and my chaotic stream of consciousness followed thus: Why should I let a boy be the reason that I want to shave or epilate my legs? Who cares if no one else is going to come near enough to feel just how silky smooth my legs are now? Why should it be strange that I want to feel comfortable in my own body and go through self-inflicted pain to get there? Why does the effort I put into the way I look have to be solely for the benefit of the people around me? Why can’t I try to look pretty purely for the sake of not wanting to look ugly? Why feel like I need a reason to do this?

I could very easily wait around for someone to be my reason to shave my legs – be it a night out with my girls or an unusually strong desire to find a tall dark handsome stranger but I might accumulate a pair of legs similar to my father. Why can’t I be my own reason? Why am I not allowed to be my own motivation for getting out of the house and embracing the influence that I have on my own life? Am I not reason enough?

Embracing ones appearance is an important part of growing up. So much time and energy is put into the way other people see us but I think it is invested for the wrong reason. The days that I curl my hair or a splash of my favourite lipstick or have endured all the pain with an epilation session, I feel like a can conquer anything. So watch out world, this week Katie comes at you with socially acceptable legs - I might accidently change everything. 

009: Routine, or lack there of

A day doesn’t go by when I don’t think about my life in England. Be it a photograph or a status on Facebook or doing something again for the first time since I got back. I miss my friends, the environment the lifestyle and I miss the person that I was. There was so much excitement of living on campus, drinking every second night, barely studying and enjoying the freedom of living a life where consequences hardly matter. The things however, that I miss the most isn’t the parties and the cheap booze and the plentiful amount of attractive international men – it’s the routine that I created.

Each morning, I would be work by a knock on the door, throwing on whatever clothes that were lying on the floor and met with my three favourite housemates (or people. In the entire world) and trekked sleepily down to the dining hall for breakfast. We would part ways go to classes, if our time tables suited, we’d meet up for lunch or lounge around in each-others rooms before heading down with our whole dorm for dinner, gossip and a whole lot of laughs. Every day, normally integrated with some of the drama that seemed to follow us wherever we went. But that was the main part. It was normal. There was normality.

But since returning, that routine has vanished. I wake up in the morning with no plan, no structure and no motivation. I know I need to create something; something to give my days reason again. I want to make a new routine to get me back into a somewhat normal life again. I want, no, it’s more than a want, it’s a need – I need to regain some of the routine. 

008: Looking Back

In the now month and a half of being back in the country (it does not  feel like it) I have been trying a new way of thinking, trying to create a New Katie to tackle the new world that travelling showed me. Sticking to my original idea, I have been determined not to return to the rathe miserable lifestyle that I had myself enduring before I left, by changing little aspects of my life rather than falling back into a bad routine. And with the two month mile stone just around the corner, I guess it’s time to look back over my return and see how I've done.

I had five major “Room for Improvement” areas, each with subcategories and little steps towards the New Katie. And I can comfortably say that not a single one of these areas are thriving (and no, they are all thriving in their own little way either). Really, a staggeringly small amount of change has actually happened. But the biggest change is a much subtler one – a very internal change: the new knowledge that I am capable, I just need more time.

Perhaps two months is too soon to hope to grow into an entirely new person, it would make sense. It took over two decades to create the last one.  

007: Candlelit Dinner (for one)

My housemate has gone out for the night, leaving me in our little flat. I love there moments when I'm by myself, when there is no one to impress no one that cares. I made myself a tasty little dinner. Lit a candle or two and dusted off a bottle of wine that I'd been hiding in the cupboard for a "special occasion" and settled in for a night in.

I've been having a rather strange week and as a result, having had a serious lack of Katie-Time. I'm still 'in between jobs' and living rather desperately for each coming pay day. (and with unstable jobs come unstable pay, so they are often few and far between). Every second day is another job interview or another trail shift, each time having to be just as bubbly and employable as the time before. But I'm not phased by this (much to my mothers dismay who continues to ask if I'm eating regularly) I'm looking for the good job and that even harder than finding a regular job. And it's out there, waiting, I just have to find it. 

Also, have been seeing more of my family, introduced to a baby cousin (or second cousin, what do you call the child of your cousin?) and saw my Grandparents for the first time since returning to the country. And have been able to sit down to tea with most of my close friends to brief them on the absurd change that occurred while I was away. And what with uni starting back and the homework already beginning to pile up, a night when I am fully obliged to do nothing is more than reasonable. 

 

006: Fear of the Idle

I have been home now for just over two weeks and the one constant thing about the past sixteen days has been a strange fear of being idle.

Before I went travelling, I led a very simple life. Although I had a full load at university, for a time worked two jobs and had regular weekend tips down to see family and friends, I longed for my afternoons of doing nothing. When I could curl up, in some disgusting assortment of dirty clothes, tucked up in bed, lap top resting on pillows beside half a dozen mugs and bowls, smeared with the remains of meals or lingering dregs of tea. I would browse through the Internet and watch reruns of old TV shows. Although it included living in my own squalor I was content with the idle life I led.  

But since my return, I can't seem to enjoy sitting around doing nothing. I can barely stand sitting still. This might have something to do with my lap top still being shipped from the UK and my bed still in storage, but I am still incapable of having a full hour of nothing, let alone a whole day. The truth is I seem to have a whole lot of things to do. Finding work, unpacking my boxes, teaching myself how to cook again, reconnecting with people I haven't seen in years with the excuse of "oh but I've been in England" because I know, as almost everything that does, that the subconscious Katie has something else in mind.

I can't bare the thought of returning to that lifestyle. Not doing anything. No having a reason to get dressed in the morning, or to check the mail box. Because I had deluded myself into thinking that it didn't matter. That it was only going I effect me. That one one else was cared. And I didn't care. 

I am so scared of going back, that I am filling my days so I don't even have to time to be idle. If I get into different routine then there is one less thing I will have to worry about. However, I am nervous that once I resettle back into my unit - unpack all the boxes and put everything thing into place - I will run out of things to do. 

Guess I'll need something more to fill in my days. Any suggestions?

005: Feeling Grateful

This week, I'm feeling a little bit thankful for the world around me. Mostly: 

- That my housemate and I wear the same size, even in shoes.

- That so many of my text books are available for free

- The two bags of food my mum donated. 

- Re-discovering everything I had in storage for six months. Finally being reunited with my books 

- Not needing to worry about wearing shower shoes.

Also, this song has been playing on overload where-ever I seem to go. Seems like a good omen to me.

  Kathleen x 

004: Walls With Secrets

Things are beginning to fall into place. I took the leap yesterday to drive from the comfort (and well stocked pantry) which is my parents’ house my little unit beside my university. It was the first long drive I’ve done since returning – that was nerve racking to say the least, had to keep reminding myself that I wasn’t in Europe any more, and that roundabouts go the other way.

Just driving back, making the physical move was enough to re-trigger all my life changing goals that I have culminated over the last couple of months – all those plans to make the house pretty, to get fit and to keep a schedule. Such a thrill to know that something is actually going to change now.

However this thrill didn’t last long. While I was gone, as punishment for extending my trip, my housemate (love her to bits) took over the larger bedroom. I have no issue with this, as before we lived together, I was in the second room, but returning to that room was a strange occurrence.

That room was the room I had battled depression in, and although the cream coloured walls hide it well, I still see the shadows cast and the memories hidden there. It took me a moment to recognise that this is my home, and although the room is the same, I am not.

Currently it is a mess of coat hangers and boxes, but it will be mine. And not the hermitage that I hide away in, but a sanctuary, a beautiful place just for me. So I guess that is now up there on y ever growing list of things to do. Might as well get started, rather than wasting my time on here.

Kathleen x 

003: Limbo

At 2.13am, in the cloudy chaos of the arrival gates at Melbourne International airport, I lay eyes on my family for the first time in six. I saw my older sister, the tallest of the three, squirming around the heads in front of her, trying to peer through into the customs lounge. My younger sister, more stationary than usual - the bandage around her knee and the crutches keeping her upright - was grinning enthusiastically none the less. And beside her, my mum, still wearing her work suit from the day before, and holding the lumpy cardigan I had requested. I think I held up the stream of people trying to get to taxis and homes. But I didn’t care. I stood there in the middle of the walk way; tears building up on my eye lashes, being held by three sets of arms, thankful for the sudden comforts of home.

I had moved out of my parents house two years before heading to Europe, and for me, lounging in pyjamas, sipping wine with mum, and having a plentiful supply of food and internet usage is not exactly the life I led prior to my travels. My frugal living in a small, often untidy flat makes my time at mum and dad’s relaxing and freeing and rather indulgent. What with work and school and normal life that keep me in my university flat, I only got a few days a month when I was able to enjoy the idle nature of life by the beach, before I have to return to reality. For three days I have been living in this limbo. An unrealistic and unobtainable reality of what life could be like. Not needing to worry about the food on the table or whether an extra long shower will come to bite me in the bum at the end of the month. I may be home, in the home and country that I grew up in, surrounded by my family (and sorely missed dog) but I am not yet able to progress into normal life.

I am making plans and writing lists, re-wording my resume and inching closer to the pile of possessions sealed and stacked months in the corner of the spare room. But I cannot unpack, for I have no place to go. There are complications keeping me by the beach: I need to wait for manly muscle to help move my furniture back in, I needed to sit appointments; a long needed haircut and someone brave enough to look at my teeth and feet. But I have also needed to wait for processes beyond my control. Organising a re-issue of my licence and for a new phone to arrive (there lie two rather unamusing travel stories that will no doubt be recalled later).

And so, I have to wait. Wondering what it is that I will do with my newly returned free time.

Kathleen x 

002: The Worst Part of Flying

I don’t really mind flying. I like watching trashy movies for hours and knowing you’re probably not going to remember them. I like the thrill of takeoff and landing, and a little bit of turbulence can be exciting. I don’t even mind the meals, although that might be more due to having lived off cheap pasta for the last two months more than anything else. Once you get into a comfortable position (knees tucked up and bloated feet resting on the armrest of the person in front is about as good as it got) and indulged in a piccolo bottle of wine (or two) it’s not hard to zone out and know that there is absolutely nothing you can do to get to your destination faster.  

However, the part I hate, more than anything else are the lay over’s.  No longer on a plane but not yet arrived is agony and boring. Sitting a country you never anticipated in your travels, trying to stretch your legs but knowing that the cramps will return once you have to get back on the infernal contraption again. The adrenaline of leaving is gone, you’ve watched the movies that interest you and a distinct aroma of you and the other passengers are become rather apparent.  

My flight from Europe was an agonising twenty nine hours long, including two of these arduous layovers. All I could do was pace up and down, attempting to connect to the Dubai airport wi-fi and remind myself that I would be home in no time. Although I knew that was a lie. I still had another sixteen hours to go.  

Kathleen  x 

001: The Return of the Caterpillar: Now with Wings

Exactly sixmonths ago, I was at the airport; tears streaming down puffy cheeks, unable to look back over my shoulder at my family waving me on from the barrier dividing those going and those staying behind. As the door shut behind me, my sister touched my mother's arm and said, "You know, she will never be the same again." 

And through her tears, my mother nodded. 

That day I set off to study and live in an English city I knew nothing about. I landed in a snow capped London, and watched my life drastically change. I was surrounded by amazing people, from all over the world, seeing a country I have idealised since I was a child reach all my expectations and lead a life that would have satisfied the writers of any second rate Soap Opera. 

But now, after all this time, I will return to that same airport, and cross back over the dividing barrier and return to normal life, and see if my sisters prediction came true: that I really have changed for good. 

The possibility of change has always frightened me. I was scared stiff when I moved out of home, and petrified when I left the home I had made for myself in England. All those time, I had been afraid of the unknown - stepping out into uncharted waters and praying for the best. But after a lot of thought, I have realised that the unknown scares me only half as much as stepping backwards into a bad situation. 

The fear that consumes me now if not a fear of change, but the lack thereof. Having been so content with my life abroad, I don't think returning to the way things were before could no longer satisfy me. I am scared of return to the mundane nature of my home life, knowing what life if like when I am actually living. To know I can enjoy myself and that if living on the edge is more than possible. I know that I am capable of many great thing. I just don't want to forget it. 

But I have decided that I will not be letting that happen. There are a thousand things I can do, from the convenience of my own home, that will hopefully allow me to continue enjoying life and avoid the mundane lifestyle that I was enduring before I left. I want to be able to look back on the years of my twenties as a time when I did extraordinary things, and didn't waste my time. Because now I am out of the cocoon, and who has ever heard of a butterfly turning back into a caterpillar? Yeah, I didn't think so. 

Kathleen
x