Pain.

I was asked what number I'd rate my pain at the moment I said seven. The doctor said that's really high, close to unlivable. That I don't have much room to go on the scale. I don't feel as though it's unlivable, but when I am aware of every movement of my legs, every scrape of pyjama pant against my ankle, and every thump of pain, it isn't something I want to live with.

I have become so aware of my skin this stay. I think it's because of the painkillers. In the past it's been difficult to have more than panadol, as I'm allergic to codeine, and strong painkillers can make me feel nauseous. And so this time I am in hospital, the doctors have prescribed me a four step pain management plan. It's a cocktail which I'm not entirely comfortable with, but my body benefits, and it's physically comfortable. So I'm trying to forget my perceptions of being on a cocktail of painkillers and appreciate that they're needed, they're helping me. There's this strange perception I've got about painkillers - that I should be strong, I don't want to get addicted, and the media always reports on celebrities who died of a mix of alcohol and strong painkillers. Then I remember my doctors are the best, and they know what they're doing, and my body needs them right now.

As the painkillers set in, I can feel my legs lighten, like I have kicked off my heavy shoes for the day. And as they wear off, the thumping, stinging pain washes over my legs, and should I stand up, I dance on my tiptoes like a frail ballerina, shifting the weight from leg to leg. I went to the cafe in a wheelchair this afternoon, just to escape these four walls, and even the small bumps of the lift entrances hurt me. I feel so aware of my skin's sensations.

Sometimes warmth helps, being under my quilt, with the electric blanket on, but these heavy cotton blankets in hospital don't warm me like I want.

I feel sore, but not sick, tired but alert. I don't feel I am healing quickly, but I am getting a lot of rest. I will be ok soon. It's weird how the skin can determine your entire existence. People take their skin for granted.

Pain is hard to explain. How do you describe it?

Ps- if you're following along on Instagram or Twitter, you'll see I've been photographing my food. A big thanks to Sandra from $120 Food Challenge for the awesome hamper she brought yesterday. She made soup, pasta, green eggs and ham, biscuits, flapjacks and salad. So lovely, so welcomed. Thank you! The doctor said food should be medicine, and it is :)

Playing it cool/Playing to win

I wrote this earlier in the week, and revoked it. Now the puzzle pieces fit, I am republishing.

I'm a rational person with plenty of willpower. I think I can read people quite well. I think things through logically and I can keep a block of dark chocolate in my pantry without scoffing the lot. I can drive calmly through city traffic and I can go for weeks, even months without seeing friends, and know our friendship is still very strong. I know people are busy. I think I'm smart. I'm educated and know about stuff. I am an adult and in less than a decade I'll be 40.

But then I get to like a boy and my rationality and willpower dissolve into a puddle of teenage girl. And it's usually got to do with communication via mobile phones. I try to foresee the future in 160 characters.

There's been no contact from him for five days. There's no future for us.

That wink in his text means he was flirting. Wasn't he? Or maybe his finger slipped? Probably.

It's better to be wishy washy with my feelings than just say what I really think. Even if I look needy.

Texting is the done thing now. People are afraid of speaking on the phone. I can't call him.

He's not updated Facebook in ages. He must have deleted me as a friend.

He's so beautiful I'm punching above my weight and I may as well concede defeat now.

And then I hear from him. It's brief but it's something. My heart feels full and my world fills with a colouring book scene of rainbows and hearts and lambs frolicking in a paddock. I run out of the room to squee! And I tell my best friends. I'm still in with a chance. Gosh I like him.

I'm stupid. Not the queen of playing it cool. I am both the king of wishful and over thinking. But I'm trying to change my ways. One text at a time.

-

He came to visit me in hospital today. He was lovely and funny and cute and then said "I've met this girl recently..."

My heart landed in my mouth. I cried into my pillow. I told the nurse my skin is sore and I'm a bit sad too.

Maybe I've got to fight harder for what I want. Should have told him. Saying he's awesome and I'm glad we met wasn't enough.

He's a great guy. One of the best. But he's not mine.

Sunrise - "the home of live music". Really?!

Today I heard a claim that signified the end of the world.

It was an ad for Sunrise, the morning TV show, a Coldplay song in the background, with the tagline "the home of live music".

Wait! What?

A three minute slot on a breakfast TV show is greater than a night out at a stadium or pub or concert hall watching the magic of live music? I can't support Sunrise's claim.

Sunrise is not a grungy pub, an opera house, or a bookstore. It's not a historical cinema-turned-concert-venue or a botanical garden filled with an orchestra. It's not a school concert or a garage band. It's not 5000 people at Rod Laver Arena or a venue so intimate the lead singer can hold your hand through a song. And it's not
a knowledgeable music show. It's not the home of live music.

I understand that TV makes music more accessible. It can promote bands to new and wide audiences - shows like Sunrise get HUGE ratings. And it's great to hear your favourite artist being interviewed after they've sung. Hell, I've spent many hours rewinding and replaying the live television performances and interviews with Savage Garden on video tape. And Hey Hey It's Saturday brought great bands to light, back in the day. Last week I was happy watching Bob Evans play on the late night news.

We need to see more music on Australian TV. Bands and musicians need greater exposure. But I don't think a show like Sunrise should be the "home of live music". It's a breakfast TV show, focused on dumbed down current affairs, watched on the run between mouthfuls of cereal and trying to find your car keys.

As my friend said, "wow and to think I've spent years wasting my hard earned money by supporting artists by going to see their live gigs, when I could have been sitting on the couch and supporting Channel 7's advertising budget. Silly me!"

We need more TV shows dedicated to music. More live concert series like JJJ Live At The Wireless, Live at the Chapel and VH1 Storytellers. More variety chat shows like Hey Hey, The Panel and Rove - often giving musicians their commercial break. And remember Recovery? We need that back! More dedication to talent and less manufacturing of music. But we still need to support live music.

In the past 15 years, I've seen more live shows than I can count, and every one has enriched my life somehow. Except Snow Patrol. They bored me. And that awful support act before Baby Animals were just horrible. Nothing compares to the adrenaline, joy and memories created by seeing a band or musician play live, before your eyes, outside of a TV screen. For a much longer time than three minutes too. The people you meet at gigs - the friendships and excitement shared, the way the music makes you feel alive, the way the singer looks at you from the stage - these feelings are amazing. And the live music at that show will never be recreated the same way. That's something special.

Please, I urge you to get out there, off the couch and get out to see some live music. I know it can be hard, I have heard the excuses. Sadly it seems easier to watch a TV talent show or a
breakfast show to get your music culture fix. Sadly. But seeing live music
doesn't have to involve a stadium show, or cost over $100. You can often take your kids. And the 'inconvenience' you may experience for a couple of hours of live music will be well worth it. Check your local newspaper or council website for gig guides - the next best thing may be playing at your local park or pub! And I hope that if you did enjoy seeing a band live on Sunrise, you went out and saw them live in the flesh.

Sore. Still

I am really sore. Really sore, and a bit sad too. I think, because I have not improved in more than a week, I will go to hospital tomorrow. I don’t want to be there, but maybe I need stronger treatment and more rest than I am currently allowing myself.

People are asking me, all with good intentions, why I have been so sore? Did I go to the races, did I drink too much? Is it a change in the weather? Is it my diet? Is it stress?

I don’t know. There is no set factor that makes my skin worse.

There are factors that determine improvement – relaxation, no stress, holidays, positivity. But even when these things are happening, there's a chance of me getting sore.

There's no magic formula for pain-free skin.

I wish it was that easy.

 

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Times Square New York City with a splash of photoshop

The bright lights will inspire you. Even when they're pastellised by Photoshop Elements for iPad.

Chronically Blogging Australians - a new network for bloggers with chronic illnesses and disabilities

 

After a discussion about a network of Australian chronically ill and disabled bloggers, we have set one up!

It's called Chronically Blogging Australians, and its tagline is "blogging our stories of health and healing".

For now it is a closed Facebook group but we have a Facebook page in the works, and we may expand to Twitter and a website in the future. Michelle, Hayley and I are the moderators.


Feel free to come join if you're an Aussie blogger with a chronic illness and/or a disability.

The network is about sharing blogs, tips and resources, and doing some challenges, rather than focusing on diagnoses/treatments/cures for illnesses and disabilities (as always, talk to a doctor or psychologist for medical or mental health advice). Hopefully there will be some face to face meet ups too!

Blogging has helped me process and share thoughts about living with Ichthyosis, and I have met so many wonderful friends in the process. I receive wonderful messages from people all around the world, telling me that I have helped them in some way, just through blogging. And I even did my Masters thesis on the way blogging has helped me form a sense of identity. I'd love to share my knowledge and connect with other Australian bloggers with illnesses and disabilities.

Join here. And spread the word!

 

 

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Connectedness

I used to be all about craving my own company. I think it stems from being an only child. I would look forward to the end of the work week when I could spend time alone, unwinding and enjoying solitude. Now I find myself needing to spend time with other people. I still enjoy time alone, but I want to connect with others in person.

My skin is so sore right now. I've been off work sick. My legs are thumping in pain, inflamed and swollen. They rub against my clothes, hard to walk on and feel better elevated. The skin on the backs of my hands are cracked, inflamed and hot. It hurts.

My pain is private. Skin infections can be yucky, and I don't want to repulse people. Not many people see it, and it's hard to explain. It's a bit lonely. The skin shed tells many stories. I'm the main witness, along with my parents, and the medical staff. I remember how it cracks and peels and gathers in the bed. I remember how it stings and thumps and feels sore from my bones to my clothes. Unfortunately the renewed skin still has a memory, and the pain cycle continues.

I struggle with the responsibility of having a chronic illness and saving face. If I am not well enough to be at work, am I well enough to see loved ones while still resting? My brain still works, and I never stop talking or eating. Still, I want to see people. I want to laugh and have a hug with friends, chatting away to pretend its not sore.

I have been resting. Sleeping. Reading magazines, blogs and Twitter. Online connectedness isn't enough for me right now.

I needed to get out of my mind, and out of my pyjamas. I saw two friends, my movements were slow, yet I was happy. We talked and laughed over meals, and for a while, I forgot I was sore.

It was nice, these impromptu, healing catch ups. I have good friends.

(Picture of street art taken in a carpark in Victoria Street North Melbourne)

 

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Vaseline bling. On trend for dry skin.

Ichthyosis can be inconvenient. Using vast amounts of paraffin (I will call it Vaseline) to moisturise my entire body is especially inconvenient. While I am quite clumsy, Ichthyosis/Vaseliney hands aside, my catching skills are compromised by my oily grip. And nothing says romantic like a case of acne pash-rash caused by my Vaseliney face puckering up to another. Boys, you know where to find me.

My handbag is generally filled with all kinds of shit necessary stuff. It's like a portable pharmacy, with eye drops, pawpaw ointment, antihistamine, panadol and a bandaid. Because I am clumsy. I also carry around a small jar of Vaseline. In my day handbag, it is a glass jar, filled with the paraffin scooped out from the bigger jars from the pharmacy.

When I go out at night and take a smaller bag, it's generally a small Vaseline container, usually bought from the supermarket or sometimes the 7/11 if I am feeling rich/forgot my usual supply.

On a side note, I realised while at work that I had forgot my Vaseline and even though my face was very well moisturised, I suddenly felt like the world would end and my skin could shrivel up like a lizard at any time. So I went to the nearest 7/11 to purchase a jar of Vaseline but could not see any. So I asked the sales assistant. He was foreign, there was a language barrier, and he did not know what it was. He asked me where it would normally be kept. "Uhh right near the condoms and lubricants" I told him. He told me to look again. Still none so I walked another 100 metres to a chemist.

When purchasing said jar of Vaseline from a supermarket or 7/11, I pick the one from the back of the shelf, opening it and checking it to see whether there are any fingerprints or scoops taken out of it. Desperate times cause for desparate measures, and I expect many a sneaky customer to get a sneaky scoop of vasso Vaseline to use as lube lipgloss. People are weird, right. And a little bit grotty.

The bag I take out at night is generally a lot smaller than my handbag for the day time. So I get a mini jar of Vaseline for these occasions. When I went to the Layne Beachley ball, I bought a very glamorous clutch bag. It was rigid and roomy to hold my Vaseline, yet so glamourous. And it cost almost $100. Only, on the night, with my phone, small purse, lipstick (I've become a lipstick wearer since London) and tissues, plus my little jar, the very expensive and glamourous clutch bag would not shut. My clutch's lid was like a Muppet's mouth. Not so glam.

So when I saw this pre-decorated jar of Vaseline on the Puberty Blues Facebook page, I thought it was the perfect accessory for me.

If I shoved my money down my bra and carried my phone like a hyper-connected teenager, I would not need a bag. Or jewellery? It'd be like a glow mesh jar of Vaseline. The on trend accessory for those with Ichthyosis.

 

Where can I get one? What fashion houses are doing them? I'd prefer mine in silver.

I guess if I had a bedazzler, I could make one myself.

The torture of striving for perfection

“There are two kinds of perfect: The one you can never achieve, and the other, by just being yourself.”

~ Lauren King

Nothing proves how much you really want something like the feeling when you're rejected.


I feel like I'm just not working hard enough. That I'm not someone's ideal. That I want the chance to prove myself, more than the constraints allowed me to. Look at me, I'm worthy. I'm giving you all my circus tricks. No ok, you don't see what I see in me. I wish I hadn't tried.

When things are going really well, I have a fear of failure. I talk myself out of doing something because rejection may ruin the flow of good things. Footballer Cristiano Ronaldo once said “I'm living a dream I never want to wake up from." And I am loving life right now. I don't want to ruin this. I don't want disappointment to cloud my sunshine. I want to be buoyant and brightly shining. I am not one of those people styling their life for social media, but I am aware that by having created this good life, I could easily throw something in the mix that sours life. Is that too self absorbed? Unrealistic? Too safe? Too fearful? Probably.

Us creative types, maybe we are our own worst enemy. You can't measure perfection from creativity. It's not like being a mathematician or a scientist where there is a formula for the perfect answer. Creativity doesn't happen with a formula. And we are the worst of all our critics.

I don't ask someone to do something because they may say no. I hesitate about applying for a job because I worry I won't get an interview or the job. I procrastinate on starting a piece of writing (usually for elsewhere, not here) because I fear it won't move people. I don't look at my bank balance until I go to pay my rent because I believe I should have my shit together by now (but the coins are finally stacking up!). I don't tell someone I love them in case they don't love me back.

Which I guess means I don't want to step outside of my comfort zone. Which is silly, because to get where I am at this very moment, I have stepped out of my comfort zone. Like a dog chasing its tail. Seeking perfection when I should always aim for excellence.

Eventually I do start, but it's usually with trepidation. And then I realise I can, it wasn't that bad, it wasn't that hard, I am not a failure.

I know I will never fit a mould. It just comes with being different. And I know I shouldn't try force myself into these moulds. I can run my own race, even if it's not the race outsiders think should be run. Climbing the hierarchy in a pressed suit is not for me, and leadership isn't only a six figure salary, no matter how much I try to convince myself.

But I want to be good at everything. I want the things I do to be perfect. And sometimes that is torturous.

-

I wrote down all my achievements on paper. They came to 3000 words and then some. They may not have been perfect for the purpose, but they're perfect for where I want to be. And they're excellent for where I am.

I believe in me. It's time to take this self belief and turn these dreams into plans.

 

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Things foreigners know about Australia.

That. Everything is wrong about that sentence.

Oh and congrats Barack Obama on your win. Your beautiful wife is wearing the same dress as my good friends Sydney Shop Girl and Jess.

 

I loved your speech. Especially this bit.

"I have always believed that hope is that stubborn thing inside us that insists, despite all the evidence to the contrary, that something better awaits us so long as we have the courage to keep reaching, to keep working, to keep fighting."

 

 

 

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The beautiful lady and the cat. Fleeting street art.

I saw this beautiful lady on the corner of Munro and Grantham Streets, West Brunswick. She's hanging around the corner of an abandoned shop. I did a u-turn to go back and take a photo.

On the windowsill inside the shop, a cat sat, fuzzy and plump. It looked well enough. The windows were papered over with old newspapers, not yet yet yellowed, and leaving a little space for the cat to watch the passers by. There were two handwritten signs above the cat. A conversation of sorts. If an animal's life wasn't involved, it would be laughable.

The beautiful lady is fleeting. At anytime she could be replaced with imagination, a spray of colour and fumes, and a tag.

I wondered how long she will stick around, and how much she has seen. I thought about the conversations she's heard - of young couples coming home from the nearby hip bars late at night, holding each other close and laughing at the night that had just been, of the school children telling their parents what they learnt at school that day, of the arguments and tears and good news beared after long days of hard work, and hopefully not of any wrongdoings.

She'll keep all the secrets. Because, perhaps, soon she will be gone, and no one will ever know she was there, or what she knows.


I hope people stop by to stare and gasp at her, like I did. I hope that the lady on the corner is loved and respected. She is beautiful enough to be loved and respected. Though beauty shouldn't be the reason love and respect is given. And I hope that cat is loved and repsected by its owner too.

 

 

 

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The Sessions. And sex. Probably too much information.

The Sessions, based on the true autobiographical story of a man with a disability attending sex therapy sessions, shows the physical and emotional barriers to sexual relationships. It also shows the tenderness of relationships, and the impact a man with a disability had on many lives. Like most people I know, Mark longed to find his true love. Even if it was through advertising for a carer.



John Hawkes (I recognised him from Miranda July's You Me and Everyone We Know) plays Mark O'Brien, journalist and poet, severely disabled by polio. He was wheeled around strapped horizontally to a gurney, typed his work using a stick between his lips, and while at home, lived in an iron lung. While it is my preference for disabled characters to be played by disabled people, I think John Hawkes played Mark O'Brien sensitively - though perhaps those with disabilities similar to Mark's may think otherwise. Todd has also opened my eyes up to the way the audience reaction may make some viewers feel - I strongly recommend you read his review.

Mark O'Brien was asked to cover sexuality and disability for a news story. In doing so he met a number of people with disabilities who were sexually active. He was recommended a sex therapist, who put him in touch with a sex surrogate, Cheryl, played by Helen Hunt (who has a smoking body).

Because of Mark's religious upbringing and disability, he felt guilty about sex outside of marriage, and so he sought permission by confiding in Father Brendan, his priest, played by William H Macy. Their discussions, while awkward, showed a deep friendship and respect between the two. Mark's disability and desire for love and sex enabled Father Brendan's religious beliefs to become more flexible - more tailored to an individuals' needs.

Cheryl said that her occupation as a sex surrogate differed from a prostitute because she was there to help people become more aware of their bodies and sexuality rather than benefit herself. She led him through being aware of his own bodily feelings and taught him various sexual acts. At times she felt torn between the need to keep a professional distance between herself and Mark, and the way he made her feel more than her occupation.

 

Sexual status defined him. He yearned for physical intimacy. He was so used to being naked in a clinical sense - for doctors, nurses and carers - that it felt strange for someone else to be naked in the room with him. After two sessions with Cheryl, he was proud to have lost his virginity, aged 38. The loss of his virginity signified freedom, a sense of independence, physical acceptance and fitting in. He was also proud to have brought Cheryl to orgasm. It was also an indication of reciprocated feelings - a great sense of achievement. I've had this discussion with friends before. Sometimes when people with disabilities have a sexual encounter, they feel as though they need to tell the world. I sure have.

 

I liked the impact Mark had on his carer, Vera - she started off working for him looking very serious and rigid, but as the film progressed, she became more of a friend to him, a staunch defender of his sexual needs. He had strong, eager feelings for her previous carer Amanda - who showed him tenderness and affection, but I saw that she struggled with her feelings about loving a man with a serious disability.

It's not often disability is the focus of a mainstream film. The Sessions is moving, funny, and confronting. I can to this film in a number of ways, despite not experiencing the assistance of a sex surrogate/worker.

To an extent, sex has been hard to come by for me - perhaps because of the few relationships I've been in. I've wanted and needed someone who loves me and understands the sensitivities of my skin condition (see this post). I nodded along to Mark's sensitive reaction to touch - I too have heightened sense of feeling on my skin, because of the combination of its sensitivity and the lack of touch received. And I also related to the feeling of falling fast, for the slight bit of interest someone may show in me.

At first Mark found his sexual experiences so overwhelming, so new, that he had a heightened sense of feeling. There was a scene showing Cheryl undressing him, and his sleeve caught his fingers. It hurt him. Sex hurts for me - well some parts of it anyway. It's a combination of sore skin and my muscles and mind panicking. It has often meant that sexual encounters have left me in tears, feeling useless. I think that is one of the reasons I loved him so much. Because he wanted to be, and was, the one who helped me overcome that pain.

Mark did not want someone to take pity on him. He longed for reciprocated love, and for a while, Cheryl made him feel like he had it. Recently I mentioned a good friend of mine in conversation. He has a disability, is very attractive and I believe he's single. The person I was talking to said "I bet girls flock to him". Yes, because he's a great guy, I said. They replied, "No I mean, I bet girls want to save him, and being with someone with a disability makes them feel ten times more attractive." I couldn't quite believe what I was hearing, the superficialness of their point of view. I responded by saying that I can't speak for my friend but I don't want someone to feel sorry for me and so they feel obligated to be with me, nor would I want anyone to feel like they're doing a good thing/boosting their attractiveness by loving me. I was truly disappointed I was having that conversation.

That above mentioned theme was recurrent in The Sessions, and the ending was testament that people with disabilities can and do engage in reciprocated love, attraction and sex.

The Sessions opens in Australian cinemas on 8 November.

Related: read my interview with disability sex worker Rachel Wotton here.

 

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Pinching myself.

 

I feel like I am living someone else's life. How did I get so lucky? I am having the best time!

Today, like most of Melbourne, I am not at my day job. I will be doing some writing, listening to some music, and cooking. Bliss. Right after I get out of bed. My hayfever has been terrible so it'll do me good to stay indoors.

I need to eat healthier. Last night Tash and I had drinks and then we ate a hideously unhealthy meal at the Kodiak Club. We laughed, reminisced about Canberra, and talked about the big issues - bands, boys, blogging. We ate corn fritters - otherwise known as hush puppies, chicken and waffles drizzled with maple syrup, and an ice cream sundae with a warm cookie and candied bacon! You guys! It was sweet, salty, fried deliciousness.

I keep thinking that someone's going start a diet intervention after they scroll through my instagram photos. So much indulgent food!!

Tomorrow I'm having a photoshoot for a magazine that I wrote an article for. My favourite magazine. Can't quite believe it.

Next week I'm going to a cheese lunch with Chrissie Swan! Two of my favourite things!

I wonder how long these good times will last. Maybe it isn't about luck, but making it all happen through goal setting, determination, positivity and hard work?

I'm one month and three days from 31. I'm not feeling the pressure to have conventional success - a mortgage, a high flying job and marriage. I used to be worried I didn't have it all. But then 30 came along, the best year. And I realised those things may not make you entirely happy. I'm just happy I've got the opportunity to be spending time with great people and doing the stuff that makes me happy.

Living in the moment

This is what's happening right now. After the Tears, Elsternwick.

What I know about remembering.

"Memory was a curse, yes, he thought, but it was also the greatest gift. Because if you lost memory you lost everything."

~ Anne Rice



My memory is cumbersome. Sometimes I lug it around like a heavy book. Other times it's like feathers, allowing me to softly escape. It's full of beauty, of people, of good times. It can wear me down, but also lift me up. It reminds me I have lived.

I used to write poetry. It was all dark and romantic and naively sexual. So very Silverchair in their Neon Ballroom era, mixed with a bit of Australian bush poetry studied in my senior school years - a strange appropriation of diverse Australian culture. It sort of just stopped when I got happy. Maybe when I got rid of those loser boys left my life - the ones who just weren't good enough.

I was searching for an email the other day, and found this poem that I had sent to a friend, from back in September 2010.

I cringe at my poetry. I cringe at the sadness and the cliches and the vast amount of love that filled me to the utter brim. I never used capital letters. And how did I know what word should spill to the next line?

if i am the sunshine of your life,

why am I the one that clouds fall upon?

you make me feel the full spectrum of emotions,

but i heard about a girl who had a brain scan and felt no emotion,

so i guess i should feel lucky i was over the moon last night and devastated tonight. I am the one who will always love you more than you love me, and

you are the final decision maker, you pull the strings.

my response may have been diplomatic

cool, nonchalant - yeah, it's best we stay as friends

but the truth is, i'd like nothing more than for you to hold me and love me.

I couldn't work out whether it was a song lyric, or if I had written it. I even googled it. I wondered why I would have written a poem then, in 2010? I was all about blogging and writing meaningful, long winded text messages. And then I remembered, I wrote it about him. Because he was also one of those boys that just wasn't good enough. That unrequited love dragged on for so long. I must remember not to let that happen again.

-

It is a year ago since I had set off on my mini Darren Hayes tour. One night in Melbourne and the next in Sydney. That time marked the week I began to feel happiness again, after a couple of months of not. I was so broken. Darren's album helped me heal, his live shows helped me come alive again. I listened to and watched Darren in absolute awe. I remember when he looked at me during the shows. I remember the emotion I felt when he sang Talk Talk Talk and Bloodstained Heart. His voice found its way to my soul as he sang The Siren's Call.

"I can almost taste happiness, it's such a long way off..." and then,

"I've seen a hint of it, this happiness, this bliss. Just knowing it exists, I know that I must try..."

His words were like medicine, like a hug. I could feel them healing me.


I remember when we waited for him out the back of the Enmore and I whispered that I love him, and he whispered back to me. "I love you too Carly". I remember the elation, the internal shrieking, the validation I received from my ultimate idol.

I met a new friend that week - a Darren Hayes fan who was also in the queue at the Melbourne concert. I have her number stored in my phone as Candice Darren Hayes. She was the first person I called when Darren told me he loved me. I called her from a cab at midnight, because I knew she'd understand. We squealed and I talked at a million miles, recalling the joy of the moment with Darren. We Oh My God-ed a lot. And I'd only known her for 30 hours. She understood the power of being a fan.

I spent time in Sydney with good friends, eating, drinking and shopping. I walked the streets of Sydney alone in the day on the Friday, the sunshine on my face, just so happy, smiling about what had happened after Darren's concert the night before.

Those memories, they make me smile so much. My eyes light up and my hands gesture dramatically. I'm full of life when I tell people about the time Darren Hayes said he loved me out the back of the Enmore.

-

This week I feel happy. Because of a boy. He is kind, funny, happy, smart, community focused and cute. I think he's pretty awesome. I don't know what it is - probably friendship, maybe more. It doesn't have to be a definition, does it? And I don't want to share too much - I want to protect it, so we can keep creating these new memories. It's fragile and magic, like a handful of stardust. It feels good. I really enjoy the simplicity of our time together. It has been laughter and hugs and a wonky dink on his bike and him saying I've got such a happy face...that I'm beautiful. I smile when I think of him. And that's a lot.

But my memory is a lesson. I'm trying not to run ahead. I'm trying not to over think it. And I'm remembering not to let it get too complicated and enjoy this time for what it is. Happiness.

This is my entry for Sarah Wayland's What I know about... series. This fortnight's theme is Remembering. You can join in too.

-

PS - today I am guest posting at Styling You! I am writing about taking my blog to the public speaking circuit. It's a thrill to have my work on Nikki's blog - I have been a fan for years! Thanks for having me Nikki!

 

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Bob Evans - he just don't wanna grow up anymore. The interview.

(Picture supplied)

When I turned down a phone interview with Kevin Mitchell aka Bob Evans due to a meeting for my day job, I asked my manager to mark that day in her calendar and remember my high commitment and prioritisation to my day job. That interview would have been a pinnacle in my writing career. I was almost William Miller in Almost Famous. I was almost Paul Cashmere. Only less knowledgable about music and a bit too much of a fangirl to be a proper music journo. I've been a fan of Perth-turned-Melbourne singer songwriter Bob Evans' music for around six years. And then I became a Jebediah fan. Here we are after his show at The Tote.

He's frontman of Jebediah, one quarter of the supergroup Basement Birds and has been a regular on the RockWiz live tour. I once awkwardly got on stage with him to hold his lyrics! A word of advice: don't wear skinny jeans to a concert just in case you need to climb up on the stage. He and Steve Poltz also sent me a tweet with this message.

I am so happy Bob Evans has got an upcoming EP, Double Life, out 9 November, and an upcoming Australian tour, commencing on the same day - see tour dates below. He told me about his latest song, Don't wanna grow up anymore, in an email interview.

"Don't Wanna Grow Up Anymore is pretty self explanatory. The older you get the more responsibilities there are and sometimes it seems like things were easier or better in the past. Everyone is prone to a little nostalgia. For me it's my late teens and early twenties. The weird thing is, I'm much happier now than I was then. That time of my life was full of insecurity and angst. So I suppose there is a tendency to put on rose coloured glasses when we look at the past."

The song features the trademark combination of upbeat pop, falsetto, and just a hint of Jebediah nasal. Lyrically, it's nostalgic and poetic:

"I'm told from the dust of stars we
Came in to this world
And shall return.
It's foolish to try and fight it
Still y'know, I just don't wanna grow up anymore..."

He sings of simple times, being a sun-kissed kid. I asked his what he misses most about his childhood. Kevin says:

"My Dad. I had to think long and hard about this! There actually isn't that much I miss to be honest. The best things about being a kid you take for granted at the time anyway, like the endless potential and possibilities you have. You're not aware of those things. So the only thing I really miss about my childhood is my Dad, cos he died soon after my 20th birthday and he was a really good guy."

In the past year, Kevin's become a dad to a beautiful baby girl. I wondered what he'll be passing on from his childhood to hers.

"There are definitely values that I was brought up with that I will try and pass on to her, like being polite and well mannered and showing people respect. I read to her everyday and I will keep doing so for as long as I can because books were important to me when I was younger and I think kids that read do better at school. I also spent a lot of time outside playing and hopefully I can encourage her to do a bit of that too although I know these days it seems to be dying out a bit."

Kevin's been around the music scene for a while now, more than half his life. He's been playing in Jebediah since the mid 1990s - they were a band that I was pretty scared of, during my Savage Garden days - which I told him a couple of years ago. I asked him if being a rockstar has helped helped keep his youth.

"I'm not sure. I've never felt like a rock star but I'm sure that my occupation has helped keep me young at heart, cos I love it and I love the life it's given me. I definately think there is a link between happiness and holding on to your youth."

I have always enjoyed the visually creative videos and artwork Kevin pairs with his music. Leading up to the release of Don't wanna grow up anymore, teasers of lyrics were alongside nostalgic photos from the 1980s. I thought they were a real treat. I asked Kevin whether he enjoys the visual side of the creative process as much as making music?

"Ha! Not really to be honest. I don't really enjoy any activity as much as making music! I've never really considered myself very good at the visual side of art. I appreciate it as an observer but I'm terrible at coming up with it myself. When I write music I can usually satisfy myself with the end result being close to what my imagination was calling for. With visual stuff that doesn't really happen so much! But I'm glad you enjoyed it!"

Thanks to Kevin Mitchell/Bob Evans for your words, and to Kirsten at Bob Evans HQ for organising!

For more information, visit BobEvans.com.au

Meeting Maggie Alderson

Last night I went to Maggie Alderson's book launch at Readings, Hawthorn.I saw a human dog on the way.

Maggie provided answers to her frequently asked questions. The night started off with Maggie talking about how life crosses continents, and how distance becomes smaller with the internet. She said that se seems to know more about her friends across the seas than the people living in her street. She talked about her writing process - how she flicks through magazines for people and places to create a vision board. These images become her characters and settings, and whenever she is stuck, she can look up at her vision board above her desk and know where she is and where she is heading.

She showed us photos of her office - she rents a room in a town house where other artists work, so she does not get lonely. If she had the internet in her office, she said, she wouod be buying shoes and looking at pictures ofmkittens in halloween costumes all day! She mentioned how she connects with people from Twitter. Many tweeters were in the room last night.

She talked about her 'fetish objects' she keeps on her desk - "not fetish in the 50 Shades of Grey style" she said. She has a few pretty ornaments, books, stones, gifts and photos around her. She has this troll which is dressed in Chanel offcuts.

Maggie wore leopard print amd turquoise. She looked beautiful.

Maggie signed her books amd posed for photos.'i was excited to tell her that I read a page that featured a story about a bus trip, and it was exactly like our bus trip to Selfridges. we talked about fabulous Faux Fuchsia and the dedication she has to daily nail polish, and I told the people waiting in line to read FF's blog - and added - read mine too. I said, sorry Maggie, we are here to promote your book, and Maggie said to the people in line, "yes read Carly's blog too!" I die! I bought her Style Notes book which is a collection ofmher columns from Good Weekend - my favourite. I started reading it on the train and laughed out loud.

Thank you for coming Maggie. So glad we became friends!

Read my interview with Maggie here.

More Aim for the Stars goodness

If you are an Australian girl or woman with a dream, and need some extra help to get you there, don't forget to apply for a Layne Beachley Aim for the Stars Foundation grant. As a 2012 recipient, I can highly recommend it. The grant includes financial assistance plus mentoring from Layne, media and life coaching, plus some other goodies. You can find details here. Applications close 16 November.

Meanwhile, Megan from the Foundation sent us on some professional photos from our time in Sydney. br />
Surfing at Manly beach.

With Layne, The Governor of NSW Marie Bashir and husband Sir Nicholas

Beautiful girls before the ball

Layne and I on stage at the gala ball.

Having a laugh. I think this was when I told her that I am a little too into fashion despite this appearance activism stuff!

You can view all the photos (taken by Carol Gibbons) in the Aim for the Stars gallery. You can also view the videos of surfing and the ball.

I have such beautiful memories of my time in Sydney with the Aim for the Stars grant recipients, Layne and Megan, and am forever grateful for their support.

I read Layne's biography over the weekend just gone, and after getting a deeper insight into her life, I really admire her drive and perserverance, rising above the adversities she's experienced. She knew what she wanted to achieve, visualised it, worked hard and achieved it. What a woman!