Deborah Kalin's Blog, page 31

it is just possible i was, er, not sober…?

Courtesy of a recent dental visit, and Melbourne's current baking climate (and my non-possession of an airconditioner or windows that open), I'm afraid my brain has melted. Or at least, something is dribbling out my ears. Could be some other body organ that has liquefied and risen to the top, I suppose.

So, in lieu of content, I present to you text messages I have sent:1

i shall regret nothing! we shall fight them on the beaches!
 there is no cheese! moar wine will solve this existential...

but i kill plants!

Good writing day on Saturday, dreadful one yesterday. So it goes. (Here's hoping this afternoon's words are a little less stubborn.)

I blame IKEA.

I have not been inside an IKEA store since, well, I'm not sure I've ever been inside one. If I have, it was many, many years ago. And by that I mean at least one decade, if not two. Which, given my memory archives are labelled "Today," and "ALLLLLLL other times" (and both drawers are equally empty) I'm sure you'll agree may as well count as never.

I ...

before you ask, no, it's not really more fun from the inside

Last weekend, a friend gave me a 3D card in the shape of a bird.

Have you ever seen one of these? I hadn't. Folded one way, it's a flat, stylized head and wings motif, with space for some writing. But unfolding it opens up the web of paper that forms the bird's body.

I hung it on an empty curtain hook in my living room, so it could see the sky. Because birds like the sky, after all.

And every day since then, at least once a day, I catch a glimpse of it out of the corner of my eye — usually...

we are ugly, but we have the music

I think my cup of tea is giving me hayfever. Can you develop a sudden and inexplicable allergy to tea? Oh farkit, if I'm now allergic to tea that's it, it's all over.

Go on without me! I'm done for! Save yourselves!

Ahem.

I have been meaning to post for a couple of days now, but I've also been trying to get my days' words before posting. This hasn't been going all that well, of late. I don't know what's up with the book (or my brain, or some no man's land where the two are attempting to meet), ...

is it the weekend yet? please?

For some reason, the scar on my cheek is burning burning burning today. Perhaps I am developing mutant powers at last? Here's hoping. (Dear mutating genes: I don't need invisibility — I've pretty much already perfected the art of not being noticed as it is. And mind-reading is right out, I really don't want to know what anyone else is thinking, it's quite noisy enough in my head as it is. Flying, on the other hand, would be awesome. Or maybe some sort of camouflage/chameleon schtick? Or even ...

why yes, i am indulging in a medicinal bourbon

The ironing of bedsheets, followed by silence on the blog? You guessed right, I had house guests this weekend. I'll spare you the details, except to say 3 year olds, even when sick, have enough energy to power the turning of the world.1

Today started with a visit to the post office to pick up a package which turned out to be from Allen & Unwin, and to have the size, shape and heft of a manuscript. Edits on Pledged, I thought, and dutifully lugged the package in to work so I could lug it to...

when did i turn into holly housewife?

I have spent the past two evenings washing my bedsheets (not because there's a huge quantity of unwashed bedsheets that have been quietly attempting to achieve sentience in a corner of my laundry, but because I have so little hanging space to my name I have to wash the few sheets I have in batches) and last night I even caught myself — you may want to sit down — ironing them.

Now there's a facet of my personality I wasn't aware existed.

I'm afraid (cover your ears eyes, children) I had to have ...

and i'm not even that good at grammar

Today at work I pointed out a tagline that was aiming for — and singularly failing to use — the plural possessive. Worse, I did it with frustrated hand gestures and even (oh dear lord) finished up with a wordless cry.

You know what this means, don't you? That's right: I've cemented my reputation.

In TV-land, girls cement their reputation by doing dreadfully uninhibited things at office christmas parties. Me? I point out apostrophe atrocities.

Oh yeah. I live on the edge.

yeah, i got nothin'

Since the move to Melbourne, I have been living sort of sans TV. I say sort of because these days most of the TV channels put some or all of their shows up on the net, so I've been watching the odd show via broadband. I also have a TV itself (the problem is not ownership so much as lack of reception compounded by a deep-seated apathy which prevents me from bothering to find even a simple solution to said lack of reception)1, so I do watch some TV via DVD.

Lately, hip and...

mr jekyll is wrestling hyde

Last night, just as I'd switched off all the lights to hit the sack, the phone rings. (My family have impeccable timing — it's genetic.) So out I trudge to the living room to silence the thing.

"Hello?"

I am answered only by the sound of heavy breathing.

Luckily, I recognise that breathing, so I do not immediately panic and assume I am marked for a gruesome and grisly end.1

Instead, I adopt that crooning, cajoling tone popular the world over among those who have ever been treated to phone...