Home is where the lasagna is and The world today

She has established herself psychologically as a Bendigo girl. Her home is where her base is. She works in Bendigo, she goes to the gym, the library, the fruttivendolo and the bank in Bendigo. She likes the way she can smile at people wandering down the street, unlike in the city. I'm so proud of her. The self-professed "city girl" is thriving in this semi-rural community.

Me, on the other hand? My home is where someone cares for me. It's my mate's couch, my room in college, my girlfriend's new house, a spare mattress below an air-conditioner and even the family house on the odd occasion. I love to be distracted from what needs to be done. This has to change, of course. I'm taking responsibility. I'm seeking assistance where I ought and making my own way where appropriate. I've organised successful events (never to the same degree as my sweetheart, who hosts a killer dinner party) and taken appropriate steps to help others.

Still I find I'm more comfortable on the move. This blog and my email account is enough home for me, as long as another soul is sharing my experience and I'm sharing theirs. This is in stark contrast the her mannerisms; her need to hold her own. This might be a reason why we function as well as we do. She likes to do things her way, exercise control, and I like to be part of a strong story, share someone's plight without making it my own. I like to be as fertilizer to the plant, or a stake in the ground to gently assist. I don't want to be a graft. I don't have an appealing enough bouquet or fruit to offer. Maybe when I do, I'll offer my own splash of colour, but until then I'll just make sure that hers shines bright.

I suppose, in a way, my home is fairly fixed. If home is where the heart is, then mine doesn't like to leave Bendigo unless strictly necessary.

I'm very self-absorbed... Hmmm... Let me try and bear witness of the world around for a change. Even then I can only offer what I see. I don't give much weight to news reports. Maybe I'll start close and work outwards. It's a start.

My sister is about to start her course in Fine Arts. She loves to paint. she has just started a series about the plight of a vampire bat and his attempt to eat various pieces of fruit. He seems to be unable to do anything but try to swallow each piece whole, with little success. She has started to include interactions with a cat she literally dreamed up, whose whiskers are enormous and droop to the floor. Another series of hers is a recreation of a famous artist's work by using snippets from magazines and other art pieces. It really is something. But then again, so is everything. They're very good though. I can hear her response to that statement now: "Are they? Are they really? I'm so glad you think that they're good. Yes, this artwork has now attained a whole other status because my brother says it's 'good'." Dripping with sarcasm, of course. She's a funny one. "Am I? Am I really?"

My other, younger sister is in high school and the only one among us that enjoys sport to any real extent. She's talented with her school work and I hope she continues to do well. She has a fantastic sense of humour. At my mother's birthday party she had us in hysterics, merely by holding her face a certain way when holding a birthday card. It was the kind of reaction that performers would study years to perfect. I'd like to meet some of her friends though, because like all young'uns, she's very easily influenced, unlike the older one. She - the older one - might be influenced by an artist, but almost never by a person who's alive. Or at least no one she'll ever want to meet. Artists are usually best held at arm's length, I find. They tend to reek of broken dreams and vodka. Luckily, my sis is too young for much of either. One I spoke to who left the art world, tells tales of going from exhibition launch to gallery opening, wherever free grog was on offer. My sister of course says he's an idiot. I've not met many people who aren't in her eyes, though. She'll make a fabulous artist. I hope she does. I've got a bet running with an ex-girlfriend of mine, saying she will.

Well, that's my sisters covered. I'll venture more next time.

I hope everyone is coping. I hope everyone is more than coping. I'm in a good place, but I feel a little flighty.

*squeeze*

TheSovietChairman

P.S. I'd like to send out a greeting to a friend of mine from Wooster in the States. She's a colourful character, with emotional depth and a love of horses. She's a very special person, whom I miss a lot. She defines herself by her homosexuality and how very left of centre she is. I suppose I'm often defined by how lecherous I am, so I guess both of us are defined by our love of women. Thanks for seeking me out and spending time with me. I'll miss bringing every old friend from high school or wherever to meet you. I hope you'll come online more often, so we can chat. How is your brother? How is uni? How is your girlfriend? I miss you a lot, so please drop me a line. I might be being a bit presumptuous in assuming you'll read this, but what are the chances that my reader in Wooster is anyone but you?

P.P.S. I've forgotten your blog address. Please give it to me.

P.P.P.S. C- misses you too.

Attention spam

I had a long walk with my sister last night. I had just been having a "vigorous exchange of conflicting views" with my father and I needed to cool off. We got onto the topic of how much of ourselves we share with others. I share a lot usually, but I try to tread carefully if it concerns someone other than myself. My sister doesn't share as much. In fact, she barely shares anything for fear of criticism.

It seems my efforts to talk about what's been happening in my life to encourage interaction, and maybe foster some sharing in return, have had the opposite effect to their intention.

It seems to her that my thoughts rarely stray into the realm of other people, unless they directly effect myself in a notable way. Or at least this was how my discussion was interpreted. I don't see my sister often, so it's often necessary to catch up on quite a lot that has happened, but my offering of information has made her more timid. She suggested that in comparison to mine, her issues seemed trivial. Hmmm...

I must try to make my life sound less interesting.

In all seriousness, I must try to strike a balance between gently nudging for information and leading by example. My short attention span adds to the problems when I cut her off mid-sentence.

Catch ya!

TheSovietChairman

Breathe in... Breathe out...

I just returned from escorting my friend home. It's really quite pleasant at 4:00am, walking in the misty rain through Melbourne's largest inner-city park. I saw a fox (not a monkey) run across the road in front of me and I couldn't help being brought back to the last time I made the journey. The weight of the work I was supposed to be doing made it not nearly as pleasant before. Now I'm free and everything seems easier. I don't feel exhausted. Instead I feel sleepy. That's a big difference.

I'm cleaning the apartment at this odd hour, but I think my cleaning will have to be confined to this room, as there's a body lying on the couch. I think it's the guy that my French housemate was with before. I don't mind letting strays occupy my lounge room. I always appreciate a couch or patch of floor to stick a sleeping bag on, so I'm happy to offer it in return. I think he might be a little upset that he'll only be getting a few hours sleep. We'll wait until I move in at 6:00am to start cleaning to see how he manages.

This is my last post from Melbourne for a while. I'll be back in my family's home soon. I think most of the posts I make from there will come straight from my mobile, so they won't be as long. I'm really using this as a procrastination tool. Again. Back to cleaning, Evan.

I'm still missing her. I imagine I'll have to go much longer without seeing her after she moves to Bendigo, but I'll make sure to visit as often as I can. I'm hoping for every weekend.

I'm actually starting to get nervous about meeting her parents. I want everything to run smoothly and I want her to know that I'll do what she wants. She knows her parents best and knows how best to approach them. All that matters to me is that she cares about me, but it's important that her family (and friends)... Well... I don't want them to hate me. I'm sure they won't. The only thing that's made me a little scared is a conversation I had with a Chinese Malaysian girl recently about her family. They won't acknowledge that she's dating a white guy. They expressly forbid her to ever date an Indian guy. And the amount of money a guy has to his name is very important.

I know her family couldn't be like that or she wouldn't be the beautiful person she is, but I still get scared. I pray that they'll see who I am. Not my age, ethnicity, grades, connections, bank balance, etc., but who I am and how much I love their daughter and sister. Let me reiterate that I know they won't be as bad as the stories my friend told me of her family. Not even close. But it sure doesn't help to settle the butterflies hearing stories like that.

That is to say, if she's ready to introduce me at all. It might not be the right time yet. It's up to her. My precious girl...

Keep enjoying the break, baby.

TheSovietChairman

Subjectivity

Thermodynamics, Fluid Mechanics, Electro-Mechanical Systems Modeling, Computational Mechanics, Engineering Design, Materials, Engineering Analysis. These are what take all my time away. No time to sleep. Once they're done, I can relax. All will be well. Sleep... Calls... Me...

My dad was especially kind this morning. Not that he isn't always (That said, he isn't, but that's not what I'm saying). I asked if he'd help out someone I love. His response showed that there could be no greater pleasure for him. I knew he would, but it surprised me how generous he was willing to be at an instant. I think he likes her. I think my whole family likes her. I think I like her a bit too.

Even though they can be a pain, it's sometimes really nice to have my parents. Him and Mum went on a date last night, so that's probably why he was happy. I'm glad, because he's often very stressed. I pray that we'll all make it through the looming economic depression. I know there won't be any real drama, but I'm sure everyone will feel it to some extent.

I hope "the girl" (she refers to me as "the boy" to her friends, so I think it's only fair) gets to join my family and I for some time. That would be fantastic. If anyone else is reading this, I'm probably working at least five days a week over the summer, but I'd love a visit sometime.

Gimme a buzz. I'd love to see you.

TheSovietChairman

First anecdote of the blog. Better write it quickly!

Why should I hurry? I think I'm forgetting things faster than I'm learning. Much faster. Much, much faster. That's not good for a uni student. Or anyone. But really, I'm blessed with lots of things in my life. Here's an example, before I forget:

There's a girl I'm keen on. Really, really keen on. Wait, I've used that literary device already... Anyway, she's different in a way that most parents would worry about. I've seen, first hand, parents worrying about smaller things. I'm so glad we share the same faith, so that we can - with God's blessing - grow in faith together. However, there are other things about her. To me, she's perfect. Not perfect, as in flawless, but a beautiful, broken person in this beautiful, broken world. Like me! So she's perfect for me. I can't see into the future but I pray that we'll be together... As you can see, I'm distracted -- all the time. Please get back on topic. OK.

Where... was... I... Ah, yes. Blessed. My parents love me and trust me, to a healthy extent, I feel. I received a very nice message from Mum after I sent her a text, thanking her for feeding the myriad of friends that had come through our doors and for being generally hospitable. What I was really trying to say was: "Thanks for being an awesome mum. P.S. I'm so glad you liked her." She sent back a message: "It is a pleasure to meet your friends and have some idea of what you are doing with your life. You could have made far worse choices than you have. I am proud of you and the friends you have made. Lots of love, Mum."

After rereading what I've wrote I just remembered that I'm supposed to be writing about my memory. Woops. Today I was sitting at the lunch table at college, eating a sandwich. I was tapped on the shoulder, by a friend who asked everyone if anybody had any free texts on their mobiles. I offered up mine, keeping the phone sock cover in my right hand. She proceeded to begin messaging. I took a bite out of my sandwich, looked around the table, then took a swig from my glass of lemon cordial (it's almost always lemon, so that's one thing I don't need to remember). All this took less than two minutes. I then caught a glimpse of the phone sock in my hand. I felt around my jeans then proceeded to look around the table. I shot up in my seat and hollered: "Crap! Where's my phone?!"

This has been happening with regularity (I think) for some time. Just forgetting little things. I never remember what class I'm supposed to be going to by the time I've walked to uni. I always have to look it up. Hmm... Now I'm thinking that if I did ever remember, I would probably forget that I've remembered in the past. That's confusing.

Don't get me wrong, though. I think I'm functioning adequately for the time being. I just wouldn't like to get much worse. But, like I said, I'm blessed in a whole lot of ways.

Well, that concludes my first ever blog.

I'll review it before I post it.

Hmmm... Too long, self-absorbed drivel with too many commas. Perfect blog material! Much love, I'm sure...

TheSovietChairman