al desko lunch

Oh, for a sandwich! Or a wrap!

I’ve never been a massive bread eater, but there are days when I would quite enjoy a sandwich, I think… but “I can’t go for that (no can do)…” (Who was it who sang that?)

Bread makes my belly produce the rudest noises these days. (Not to mention the discomfort. Argh!) Best avoided at the office. I always thought my colleague who complained about her food intolerances was just being a princess, but look, here I am, too.

I bought my first gluten-free loaf this week. Anyone who tells you it tastes decent, and that it’s pretty much the same as regular bread is lying. It’s also my last gluten-free loaf. I can’t go for that (no can do)!

Oh, I remember now. Hall & Oates.


Sydney Tower above the fog

Actually, I don’t think it’s all that surprising, the reason for my being so sky/cloud obsessed. I live in a 24th floor apartment, and I spend my Monday to Friday in a 31st floor office. My default view is the up-high.

We’ve had fog for a few days. Admittedly, not unusual for the time of year, but this week’s fog has been of the low and lingering variety, hanging around (pardon the pun) way beyond brunch.

The otherworldly effect has been pretty cool.

I realise I’m speaking as a person who has not been affected by travel delays (hello, cancelled ferries and delayed flights). It is a kind of luxury, I think.

Listening: Alive by Empire of the Sun


The Rubens

I had forgotten I had this bag – a 10 year old Gucci, in almost mint condition. It was a Christmas gift from a former boss. I used it for a bit, then for whatever reason, it ended up in its dust bag and in storage with the rest of the collection. I think it was just a smidgeon too small for daily use, and since 2005 or so I’ve only used a clutch for non-work time – the smaller the better.

Last night, in a desperate rush to get out of the house – I was running late – I grabbed the first thing my hand landed on, and it was this. It felt like bumping into someone I hadn’t seen for a while at a totally unexpected moment. I kept thinking, “How could I have forgotten about you?”

It was actually the perfect size for what I was taking along to The Rubens‘ show at The Enmore. I wanted something smallish, but not a clutch; best to keep hands free when going to see a band, I’ve found. All the better for taking photos, waving your hands in the air, holding your drink, holding your friends’ drinks, pushing people who get in your way. I didn’t do any taking, waving or pushing (thankfully) last night.

Now I find myself trying to work out if I can somehow make this rediscovered item work for me Monday to Friday. My iPad Mini fits – just! Why do I need to carry so much stuff anyway?

The Rubens were great, in case you were wondering.



The less I speak, the less I want to say. The less I want to hear of others. This week has been trying for the noise. I can only listen to my colleagues wittering on about recipes/what they had for dinner, what they’re wearing and reality TV (in no particular order) for so long.


This Head I Hold by Electric Guest


selfie with Canon

Last year, I was really into skinny jeans, but this year – a couple of months ago or so – I decided ENOUGH! I was tired of fighting my way into and out of the skinnies; remembering to put my socks on before the jeans (because have you ever tried rolling up skinny jeans to ensure your socks are completely and adequately over your ankles? It’s nigh on impossible!); seam indentations after I’d taken the jeans off. I could go on.

But I won’t.

Don’t get me wrong. I did (still do) like the skinny look (especially on model-ish body types with an alt rock style sensitivity). Because I’m not skinny, but somehow the skinny jeans did contribute a sort of a sense of being streamlined.

But I’m done now.

Boyfriend jeans are my denim of choice this year. So much more giving – and forgiving. I can actually wear these now and go out to dinner. And eat.

Plus rolling up my cuffs always makes me feel like I’m 15 years old again. Without the pimples and puppy fat and crippling insecurity.

Boyfriend jeans – for the WIN!


up close

Two days ago, I found myself wandering around the Sydney Opera House, darting my way around the swarms of mostly Chinese tourists and pigeons. It was a bright sunny morning but my ears smarted from the sharp cold wind.

I must confess that it had been a long time since I’d been so close to the Opera House. I take enough photos of the thing, but you know what it’s like, right? So often, the things that you live with are the ones you take for granted. You forget that they’re there. Really there. Even the big, iconic ones.

And so I ended up wandering around – quite literally – the tiled structure for the best part of an hour, marvelling at the shape and size – the curves!

It was quite refreshing really – in more ways than one. Oh, I should explore more often.

there she is


shiny paper

I’ve been in that state of mind this week wherein my preferred reading has been bright and shiny and mostly pictorial.

…What is it with people who don’t understand the concept of SMS? I mean, it’s not called Short Message Service for nothing. That means, if your text messages are longer than the length of the device’s screen, you’re not getting it. It also means your friends are not getting it, as in they’re not going to read your messages because their eyes have glazed over after the first two lines. I don’t want to scroll through an SMS more than once, much less twice. Really. Just send me an emoji. I did say I was feeling un-wordy this week, right?


sunny out

I actually thought I could leave the house without a coat yesterday… because it was sunny out, and I was feeling optimistic. I hadn’t even walked a hundred metres before I realised that it was a crazy notion, so I had to return to the apartment to sort out the ‘situation’.

Ah, these sunny days. They have something of the trickster about them.

But we who still have sunshine shall not complain!


coming or going?

I’m taking a risk by posting this but what use is one’s own online navel-gazing place if not for precisely these sorts of ruminations?

Late last year, I cut someone out of my life because he wouldn’t quit trying to pressure me into being someone he wanted me to be. So I ignored the emails, of which there were a couple earlier this year, I think, I don’t recall exactly because I simply deleted them without reading them, much less noting details such as dates; I unfriended him wherever we were friends (Facebook, Twitter, etc.). If that makes me seem harsh and cold, then I am those things, but the fact is I was annoyed when I called him out on his behaviour, and he simply denied it. I guess I wanted him to own his behaviour; perhaps I would’ve been prepared to tolerate his feelings about how much we had in common, and how it was somehow uncanny – we were obviously Meant To Be in each other’s lives. I simply didn’t feel the same. And the comments and hints were becoming tedious in their regularity. I couldn’t conjure up any such feelings to reciprocate, and what’s more I didn’t want to do that for a variety of reasons, one of those being I’m married, rather contentedly at this time, I might add.

This week I found myself texting a male friend about a catch-up, but for whatever reason it just didn’t work out. But on Friday and yesterday the texts took a turn towards the ‘wanting something/you’, and I honestly couldn’t figure out where from or how this had come about because we haven’t seen each other for a year or so… thus, I’m being serious when I say how…? However, this time, I decided I would do something different, and so instead of my usual blanking/ignoring/erasing, I decided I would tell him exactly how things weren’t even though I detest doing stuff like that. Because it’s embarrassing – I still haven’t worked out whether it’s more so for the person delivering the message or the recipient of said message – and I am wholly unskilled in this area of human relations. Perhaps that is the most cringeworthy thing about it all, the fact that I’m useless at this, given that I’m no spring chicken – surely I should’ve worked this all out by now?

It really wasn’t so bad. He texted back (sometime during the early hours of the morning), apologising for ‘over-reading’ -his word- and I guess in a way, that’s accurate. He was kind of transposing what he wanted over our communications – although it’s still a puzzle to me as I have been saying all along exactly how things are for me, i.e. good. That said, I don’t dislike him now, even though I was feeling anxious and irritable about the whole matter by around 9pm last night. He owned it, which makes me admire the honesty in him.

This place is ‘deep as a puddle’ and by that I mean that generally, I don’t think I’m much of a conscious learner in this classroom called Life; I don’t like to delve too deeply even though I know I could challenge myself more by doing so; often it simply feels too hard. However, the few sessions I had with the psychologist last year have left some lasting impressions in my scratched-up, dented brain, and I have found myself going back to various topics we discussed, and some suggestions she made. Me facing (via SMS, I know, but it’s a legitimate form of communication these days, isn’t it?) instead of blanking yesterday’s friend is a reflection of this, I think. Small steps, progress of sorts?


Listening: Blood Red Youth by California Wives


yes it's me

Awkward moment at the hairdresser’s today. I blame the trashy gossip magazine which mentioned some actress being on a ‘most hated in Hollywood’ scale. My hairdresser says, “Why her?… I like her.” “I don’t. She probably smells and tastes of cigarettes,” I said. Because I’ve seen photos of her in other trashy magazines puffing away like it’s her last day on earth.

My hairdresser doesn’t say anything for about five minutes.

Suddenly, I realise that I can smell cigarettes/smoke on his fingers, which are busily trimming my fringe. (How could I not have smelt/known/figured this out before?)

Excellent. Not excellent. Whatever.

I guess I am a little bit on the intolerant side when it comes to cigarettes.

So now I’m feeling a tad guilty about being judgemental about smokers and, by association, my hairdresser too. I was very relieved when he didn’t fry my hair but gave me beachy waves instead. Suffice to say, I hope the tip was enough. Surely he’ll have forgotten about it by the next visit? I guess I’ll know if I end up with a disasterous fringe or a bowl cut. (Of course I’m going to go back – just call it living on the edge. Hah!)


Listening: Secondhand Rapture by MS MR


furry friend

I’ve been extremely sleep-deprived today, and as a result, tired and unable to think straight. So all I will say is, whatever happens, however it happens, if the whole reincarnation business is legit and it really does go on, I would like to put in a request now to return as a domesticated cat. They always strike me as a species that knows just how to get their relax on, whether it’s in a sunny spot or a comfy position on their owners’ bed. I can’t imagine a domesticated cat would ever experience sleep deprivation.

What I would do for an entire week of good solid sleep.



I’ve been watching a building opposite my workplace go up for the last year and a half, maybe longer. Slowly, it’s been becoming more than just a steel and glass shell. There are plants on both terraces now, and I see that there are partitions being installed and the furniture has begun to dot the otherwise empty floor spaces.

Some days, I’ve arrived in the morning to find the roads around the building blocked off and massive steel cables stretching from all corners of the building and seemingly giant things being hoisted upwards.

I wonder how much longer. How many tenants will move in? Will the Lord Mayor or some other dignitary turn up to officially open the building? And I wonder if anyone has died on the worksite.

I’m not sure that’s a natural/normal train of thought, but whenever I see a young lad walking out of the site in his blazingly orange construction gear and hard hat, I have to stop myself from saying “Be careful today.”


Listening: Higher Than The Sun by Peace


in the pink(s)

The pinks to banish the blahs. Because I’ve been a bit under the weather this weekend. So I went for a walk and ended up spending a few hundred dollars on items of clothing I don’t need, including two in pink, because what the hell, you can never have too many pinks (or scarves… or items in silk). Even if you only wear them a few times a year. I like the colour, and yet I don’t, not normally. It calls for a certain sort of mood. Usually, under-the-weatherness. Hmmm…


sun-dappled stroll

It hasn’t slipped my notice that we are now in May… How the heck did it get here so fast?

The sun’s been out this week. If you close one eye, you could almost kid yourself that it’s still late-summer.

Oh, it’s true what they say, it’s the little things… and for those of us with little minds, most def!

Still time enough to Catch The Sun – thanks, City Riots.