Out there - 9/27/2000

Well…this is my first entry…think I’m gunna cry… *whimpers*

Just kidding! I don’t cry unless it’s really necessary, it’s a rule I have.

Ew…a dog barking at my kitties :( I don’t like dogs :( They slobber everywhere…I guess puppies are cute though *g*

Well, my friends are depressed and when they’re depressed I get depressed, especially when I’m the one who has to counsel them back to non-depressivity. It’s really quite stressful.

I don’t know any of you, well except one of you but I still haven’t seen your diary yet *raises eyebrow at you, you know who you are*. But that is a treat for later, hmm? I’m glad to be here, I’ve heard great things about this place and I think it’ll do me a great deal of good being here.

My mum is telling me to get off the net, but I really can’t drag myself away. I’m addicted. :)

Well that’s it for now, a random collection of blather from a newbie who is not sure what to do or what to say. Hope you enjoy my sheer eloquence. Till next time…

Dictynna

p.s. Dunno why I called myself that, it’s just one of many cool names from Greek mythology—got it outta the “Dictionary of Greek Mythology”, incidentally.

Wish I had some perdy clouds on my background - 9/28/2000

Hmmm, I came back. I didn’t give this up after a single entry. Wowee, aren’t I good?
I have an essay to write, but I’m so slack. I’ve written the introduction. 2,900 words to go…

I miss my friends when they’re not on-line…it makes me feel sad to know I won’t talk to them for a while. I’m working a LONG day tomorrow, and don’t know how I’ll survive. Lots of coffee, now all I need is a bed to lie down on when there are no customers—which is like all the time…

*sighs* Back to university next week, and then only two or three weeks to go before I’m on vacation for four long months… I can’t wait! Just to relax again…it’ll be so nice to get rid of this stress. Every time I think about my essays I feel sick. It’s my own fault, I left it too late again.

Hehe, I just had a thought. What do people think when they see my diary title? Chronicles of Doom. *laughs* It was kind of a joke, of course…

Well…*sighs again*…I’m trying to think of my quote for the day. I love this quote, I don’t know why, it just speaks to me for some reason. I can’t even decide what it means to me, but I come back to it EVERY time…it must be something special. Maybe it means a different thing to different people, but for me it means…

Well, judge for yourself:

“To make yourself feel better, you make it so you’ll never, give into your forevers, and live for always and forever…”

(from “Jellybelly” by Billy Corgan, Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness)

*shrugs* That’s it. Till next time…

*waves*

....... A ghost that lives - 9/28/2000

living ghost it is frightening to see you
living your life
with your shimmers and sparkles
and i often wonder
how long you will last

others before you
had paved the way
but the going gets tough
and the road gets rough
can you navigate your way?
with the people who love you
surrounding you
blocking you at every turn
encircling you from above and beyond
above and below

everybody knows
you steal the show
everybody knows
you’re lovely

i fear for you whenever i see
the delicate depiction
of your physicality
as i struggle for breath
i marvel at the power
a slender blonde guy
can hold over me

you are so pretty
fragile and tough
but is that enough?

in the face of adversity
i try to defend you to the
utmost of my ability
but in the end it seems all i can do
to admit that you are
oh so beautiful

Something I wrote on a message board somewhere, before editing and replacing it with something less risky: I shouldn’t have let my wrath touch these boards, sorry. You asked what has got me so angry? Well, I’m angry at always being leapt on as soon as something goes wrong. I’m angry at being blamed even before I’ve done something, just because I’m BOUND to do something eventually. I’m angry at _______, although my anger is cooling and fast turning into pity and sadness, for constantly harping at me for being a human being. You have no idea how much he has lectured me since I’ve known him. I know he does it to everyone—well most people—but eventually you’re bound to get sick of it and refuse to take anymore. Actually I’m using the same method on him that I use on my father whenever he beats on me verbally—ignore, nod, stay silent, or just say “ok”. You can’t let it get to you. That’s just the truth. If you let it get to you then the one who got to you has won. Whenever I let things get to me, I stuff up and ruin things for my friends and for myself. I’m not going to jeopardise my future at this place by reacting anymore. Blaaaah…just rambling. I’ll take this away now :) Dictynna Kinda happy really

---

Not really happy, not when I see what I wrote. It brings back the sharper memories of the moment when I got so angry. If I don’t look at it, I forget about it and get on with life. But looking at it brings everything rushing back, like I said. This is a diary, so it’s not supposed to make sense to anyone but myself.

---

I’m thinking about the one who got me, without even knowing it. I’ve never fallen in love so quickly, and with someone so out of reach. I feel like the biggest idiot there is. I hope it passes soon, because surely it isn’t healthy. Got to find someone within reach. The problem is I think he may love me as well.

---

Dead end
Seeking salvation
Slow confusion
Where do i go? Dead end
See the abrasion
Anguished face
Turning back to me Lay low You wear your Bruises like badges
Bristling with arrows
You stand in my way to
Protect my sore secrets
And here I am
Where you can’t see
Feels like betrayal
Smells like fear
It’s not my fault
But I feel so weird
I feel so bad Never knew a person
With such high standards
And such compassion
Never knew a human being
With such capacity for love
Someone so attentive
Living by a code of honour
Turning my world upside down
And you never even see it You say you’re not into “that”
But I can see it in your speech
I can tell by how you talk to me
Or is it my imagination
Playing sweet tricks on me? God I’m in love with you
A happy day out of my life
And all I can think is
Why why why? Sometimes I can’t sleep at night

---

BLARGH Can’t write more…must go die…lol.

What great friends I have……. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ D: Yeah :) man it’d be fun to read other people’s histories…i’d have to severely edit some of them of course LOL Q: lol..or sell them as the “adult” version…laughs D: LOL yeah but some things I don’t want some people to know *g* There’s nothing x-rated, just tender secrets LOL Q: awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww D: *s* tender as in they hurt *G* y’know…I would kill to see some other people’s histories though *hands twitch* *g* Q: laughs….tender as in hurts…that sux D: yeah it does but y’know, my own fault *g* Q: awww…now in a I am feeling for you…hugs D: don’t worry about it, it’s just luv y’know :( luv sucks! LOL but don’t be sad, I’m not :) most of my friends are in the same boat so I don’t feel alone at all *s* ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Thank the gods for good friends… I’m goooing now… Got a life to take care of, a future to dream of, and a bed to get out of…. :(

Almost done…just a week to go before most of my worries are over…but in that week I have to write a phenomenal amount on a phenomenally obscure subject…Yay.

“Your new life begins right here…”

What a beautiful song. It makes me wanna cry…*lol* And:

“It is now time
To make it unclear
To write up lines
That don’t make sense
I love myself
Better than you
I know it’s wrong
But what can I do?”

Good ole Kurt, never fails to mystify. I think that’s where a lot of his strength came from actually, everyone vying to offer up the best—or what they thought was the best—explanation for lyrics that supposedly didn’t mean anything. Well sometimes I think that’s what they meant. Nothing. And because of that, they meant something. On that note, I’m going to sleep—if I can, damn insomnia…*mutters*

Hmm…I haven’t been here in a while. I was busy. Then I was preoccupied. Now I’m just distraught. No point saying why, might as well just write about it in poetry. If you could call it that. Better to call it “poetry”.

---

“Shards” Honesty
A virtue?
Why does it sting?
Why when I’ve found
Gems
And jewels
And wear the crowning jewel
At the front of my crown
Must a little tired virtue
Bring it all down? Realising I’m alone
Because honesty does not work for me
The love runs deep
Too deep for comfort, too close I can’t escape
Frightened I’ll jeopardise
That single precious chance
By being brutal, honest
By saying how I feel Inside I’m twisted under
Outside I’m doubled over
I’m keeping my face calm
True flat expression, emotionless eyes
Don’t smile
I might just cry
Can’t risk the backlash
Can’t let it run dry Knowing he will wait
Wondering if I can take it
Feeling crazy, fragile, frayed
I need him to hold me
Tell me he was telling lies
But he is so far away
In so many ways
And he doesn’t know
And I’ll never tell
I’d rather die
Than see that look in his eyes Hold myself together
Binding up the tattered parts
Holding in the shards
Won’t crumble, shatter now
Won’t fall apart until
He moves on and breaks me apart Inside I’m twisted under
Outside I’m doubled over
Down the hallway he watches the mirror
And wonders where the good times went

I thought I’d seen it all. I really thought I knew the taste of betrayal and the effects it can have on someone. I was wrong. Betrayal, deception…and I loved this person. Problem is I still do. I won’t get over that, but I can’t get over the deception either. How do you get over it? This person is someone I love so completely that it hurt physically even before he revealed his deception. It’s hard to reassure someone else while nursing your own wounds and trying desperately to maintain the ruse in front of countless others. So many people are affected by this deception. Well they would be if they knew of it. They cannot know of it. I have to keep it a secret from everyone. So not only have I been deceived, but I’ve been weighed down with this immeasurable burden. Right now my life is amazingly complicated. At least I’ve finished uni for the year, that’s all I can say.

I am so sick of people who are short of patience. Why do I have to put up with this crap? The answer, I guess, is I don’t. The last thing I needed today was to come on and be made to feel depressed by the people who mean the most to me. A friend of mine died the other day. This diary has gone from being reasonably cheerful to downright sombre. I’m not proud of that. I hope I can improve matters soon. Meanwhile, I love this song, although it is hardly relevent to my situation, I still love it. ~~~~ Please die Ana
For as long as you’re here we’re not
You make the sound of laughter
And sharpened nails seem softer

And I need you now somehow

Open fire
On the needs designed on my knees for you
Open fire
On my knees
Desire’s what I need from you

Imagine pageant
In my head the flesh seems thicker
Sandpaper tears corrode the filth

And I need you now somehow

Open fire
On the needs designed on my knees for you
Open fire
On my knees
Desire’s what I need from you

And you’re my obsession
I love you to the bones
And Ana wrecks your life
Like an anorexia life

Open fire
On the needs designed on my knees for you

-Daniel Johns. ~~~ I don’t have the energy or strength right now to support my friends. I know they need my support, and quite a few of them at least are in situations as painful as mine, but I don’t have the energy to deal with them. For that I feel guilty, I suppose. But there’s nothing I can do. I hate this feeling, and I want it to go away.

I saw that major theme or whatever it was, and I was listening to a particular song at the time. I decided to write about it, because music is so important in my life. I’ve grown up with music, receiving sustenance from the sounds I love. Music is so therapeutic. Right now I am listening to “To Forgive”, a sad, beautiful song. Before I was listening to “Here Is No Why”, which features a couple of words that I have always taken comfort in: And if you’re giving in
Then you’re giving up For some reason this simple statement makes me feel warm inside every time. I rewind the song and listen over and over. It’s to do with how the musician sings it, I know that. It’s to do with the fact that at this moment in the song, the music reaches it’s crescendo. But it’s also what the lyrics are saying. It seems so simple, maybe too simple, but I love the simplicity. It makes all my stupid worries seem just that—stupid. It’s a good feeling. Anyway…that’s why I love good song-writing. It holds a magic you can’t find anywhere else. Life-sustaining magic. I think sometimes we all need some of that, don’t we?

Taken from the travel diary I wrote in 1998 when I went away with my father, who is notorious for…well, all sorts of things really! For the first leg of the journey I was with my father and Peter, my uncle. In New Zealand we travelled briefly with my grandfather. From then on it was just Dad and I. Aaah, sweet bliss. *LOL* February 3rd. When Peter had finally pestered us enough that we could hardly find more sleep, we got up and packed the car up for another day of driving. Dad kicked himself for being too lazy to take that photo, and I smiled smugly to myself. That'll teach him not to be lazy, I thought. In actuality, he learnt no such thing, but I wasn't to realise that until later on. Anyway, we drove onwards to a tiny town (if you could call it that) called Southern Cross, the details of which I totally forgot within minutes of leaving the place. … Dad and Peter flirted with the barmaid, whose name I can't recall. She was a pretty girl of about 18 years, with an open smile and an infectious laugh. I sat there looking from Peter to Dad in amused disgust as they persevered at something they'd never achieve. … After the meal—when I was utterly convinced that I'd never go to Kalgoorlie again if my life depended on it—unless someone paid me to do it—we all agreed that it was time to head off. Peter too was fairly disappointed with the dump, and this was one idea of his that I could readily understand. Dad said nothing of what he thought—or if he did, I must have missed it! The next hole we fell into was Menzies, a small town on the road to Leonora. … So I drove out of Menzies, now a "real driver", and Peter cracked one of the few jokes of his that made me laugh on the whole trip. I'd always made a point of saying that, ironically enough, L platers were probably the only people on earth who actually stopped at stop signs among other things, and yet learners are considered among the most dangerous of drivers! As we headed for Leonora, Peter said: "Oh well, now you don't have to stop at stop signs." Dad and I both laughed. … I stocked up on water, using my Frij bag despite Dad's disapproval. He kept insisting that it was a waste of space and that it had no use. He was proved wrong when I drank icy cold water—his was luke warm at the best of times—and when I used it as a very comfortable pillow! … At Leonora, I saw the beginnings of what would be between Dad and Peter. They had a little "debate" over the water in Leonora: Peter said, "You can't drink the water here," after Dad suggested we replenish our supplies.
Dad said, "Why not?"
"Oh…it's filthy!"
"Have you tried it?"
"You try it!"
"Have you tried it?"
"You try it!"—more forcefully.
"I'm not gonna do that!"
"Take my word for it, you can't drink this water!" As he walked away, having decided the argument was over, Dad called back, "I drink water." Over the next few days they had many such ridiculous arguments, while I sat in the back rolling my eyes and gritting my teeth. Not having had enough of arguing for the moment, Dad quickly found something else to argue about: "By the way Peter, do you know that folding is bad for the maps? They get ripped and damaged. You can't read them. You can't read where the folds are." Fair enough…And in one last sullky rejoinder, Dad called out: "Folding isn't the be all and end all!" Can anyone see why these two frustrated me beyond words? Oh, but this was only a small taste of things to come! … February 13th. My cousin Sarah. She shows me her magazine collections (Dolly & Girlfriend). I tell her I used to collect those too. Tell her I once liked Barbies. She can't believe it. She likes the Backstreet Boys and Hanson. Oh well. … February 16th. Grandad. Same old Grandad. The first thing he said was, "My beautiful grandaughter. Look at her!" and gave me a huge bear hug. Incredibly revolting living conditions. Five different meats (including DOG food) in freezer which isn't working. Kitchen aclutter with things & stuff. Hallway lined with loose planks. Dogs locked in an AWFUL conservatory—mouldy, slimy, moist. Rooms musty. Doesn't seem embarrassed at all. Doesn't surprise me that half the family refuse to go in there! … March 4th. Dad & Grandad swim and Dad tries to communicate with his innovative sign language which even a monkey couldn't understand. He was trying to tell me something about the photo I think, as I found out later. … Many photos are taken, and Dad teases Grandad by testing the ABS brakes constantly. We go back down to the chateau and argue over a campsite. Finally we find a place in the backpacker's camp. … March 9th. United Airlines—"the friendly skies" my ass! Grim faces, almost dry tones of voice, impatient orders at landing & other times. Phew-ee! Des Moines: Dez Moines according to Dad! Chicago: It’s mystical to me Dad saying Mitch-ih-gan instead of Mish-ih-gan. Eve after he heard others say it correctly. Dad’s “accents” when around foreigners. New York: In NY get pulled over. 5 summonses, Dad takes a photo and this time I almost can’t put up with it. San Fransisco: homeless shelter, wedding, plane 11/4. Dad asks (in laundromat) “When you yawn, do you have little bits of water coming out?” while gesturing to his open book & shirt. Spewin’! I replied, “No!!” … [ctd in next entry] --------------------------------------------------------------------------- More buckets of joy…! - 11/21/2000

March 27th. Grandad’s birthday - Dad wanted to call him (at restaurant where we had steak, hash browns (me) and salad and coffee). Waitresses very nice! Dad got hold of Anne, Grandad wasn’t there. Anne got our card! Dad scummed a big plate of shrimp then counted them laboriously. Dork! … March 28th. This was the day Dad was stopped by the police on the way to Wounded Knee National Historical Site. He was going ~ 90 mph. $223.00! Fuck! … April 3rd. We get a ride with 2 African Americans. Say “You got black people in Australia?” “Yes, the Aborigines. Ab-or-IJ-in-nees!!” They were nice, especially the driver. … We go to Bernie’s Bagels (“always fresh”) & have a lovely coffee, Dad goes & rings Roma. Comes back, says she sounded great. She was giong to get us. “Shall we have a bagel?” “Yep!” Gets a garlic one. Mmm! We get another (onion). Guy’s incredibly funny, gets everyone laughing. Reminds dad of a character in a movie who’s real friendly & makes all laugh but is really unhappy himself. “What if they fired him and he went & killed himself?” in a sarcastic/cynical tone. I think the guy’s great. Name’s Holling or something. … April 4th. Wake up to Dad & cup of tea. Eat a choccy. Dad & Roma’s hair appointments. Dad’s luxuries & mine NOT. Go to hairdressers, Dad & I read while old ladies get their hair done. I rip out a pic of Gwen Stefani cos she’s so cool. We go, Roma’s hair looking more round & hair-sprayed. Not so rough & fluffy. … April 7th. Wake up to Roma coming to wake me up with a cuppa. Says “Good afternoon. It’s almost afternoon!” I getup, have a shower & go out. Look at clock, it’s only 9.30 am!! Fuckin’ early. On the road it’s raining. I put my headphones on and rock out while Dad and Roma (or mostly Roma) talk. I eat some chocolate and have a Reese stick and some bread sticks & cheese. At one point I overhear Dad saying, “Well, yeah, maybe it would be better…if we stayed with you again tonight…” I have mixed feelings about this. I either want to get to LA or just don’t wanna be at Roma’s. … We go to pool room. Roma and Dad have two games of pool, Dad wins both. We leave, go for a walk, Dad gets a bit out of breath, we have dinner. I start on the police letter and realise I haven’t got a copy of my license yet. Therefore, Dad suggests we wait until Los Angeles to do it. I figure we’ve already used up the fifteen days so we might as well get into more trouble! I’m scared about getting in trouble. We have chocolate mousse and cream for dessert. … April 8th. Hitchhiking. I imagine them saying, “Yeah right!” or “Fuck off!” or “Not on your nelly!” One guy up-yoursed me, and I felt like crying ‘cos it was SO HUMILIATING. … April 9th. Have coffee and a shower, and then Marty drops us off at I5 (interstate 5). We hug and shit. Dad and I go onto entryway and wait there for a ride. We are picked up by a surgeon whose friend had died yesterday. I searched his eyes for tears, they looked a bit watery. He took us to Roseburg-he lived in Eugene, and he was visiting his son who lived in Roseburg. It was a nice car-a big comfy 4WD-for once. We walked along the road until we were on a suitable place to wait. We were eventually picked up by this weird guy in a really shitty (the most shitty so far) car, man. The window on the passenger side was covered in plastic and taped up, flapping SO noisily. Oh, and the car only has the front seats-the back is filled with his belongings. Dad makes me sit in the middle-why and how could he do that? But I was not surprised, from all the horror stories I’ve heard from Mum about her travelling days with Dad. This guy was pretty passionate about his politics, and he asked us what we thought about the whole Bill Clinton thing. He went on to say that “I don’t car who Bill sleeps with, as long as he doesn’t want to sleep with me, you know?” That was a pretty amusing moment. He took us to Ashland where he and his eight kids and his girlfriend lived. Dad and I had a coffee and a bagel, and then got back on the road-like woohoo oh yeah cool man. THIS time we got picked up by a truckie which, I don’t mind admitting, was pretty exciting. I’d heard from Mum and Dad that trucks were fun to ride in. The guy’s name was Mike, and as we soon found out, he was a mad Christian-the worst type too-born again!!! How did we know? His Christian tapes. I’ve heard them before, but only on Sunshine FM when I accidentally tune in for a split second or two on my way to Triple J. No, this was far worse than I could imagine-my WORST NIGHTMARE. Hours on end of “we will embrace…”, “Jesus is alive…”, “I love Jesus, he loves me…”, among other mad mumblings, and Dad and I were tearing our hair out and gnashing our teeth-though we hid it pretty well, not wanting to offend Mike. One thing I don’t understand about that familiar saying, “Jesus loves you”, is how a person can say that, but in reality they actually mean: “Jesus loves you, unless you’re gay, a single-parent, or an athiest”…I mean, gee, what a legend Jesus is, right? Or is it God who hates gays? Sorry, guess I’m just overly cynical for my age. … [ctd…]

--------------------------------------------------------------------------- It never ends! :) - 11/21/2000

Along the way, we learned how Mike was once a cop-and, from his own mouth, he was “a real bastard” too. It was his rebirth into Christianity that saved his wretched soul, and he breathes a sigh of relief even as we speak. But there’s just one thing I don’t understand…If Mike’s come to Christ, why does he still go hunting…? Plus, if Mike is truly with Christ now, when will he learn that women are not just dithering servants to cook the meals and clean the house? Well, I guess he’s gonna have a pretty difficult time learning anything of the sort, as long as their are Tammys around to be happily subservient. As soon as Mike had kicked off his boots, he got on the internet and went to what was surely one of the pages on his Favourites list-the bible on the net. We didn’t see much of Mike after that, except when he went off to sleep and said goodnight to us. After a lovely meal of…what the hell was it again…we settled back in Mike’s living room to watch some wholesome t.v-Christian videos. One of them actually wasn’t too bad in the end-it was about Noah’s Ark and all that-because it didn’t go on and on about Christ the Lord and all that stuff. At one point, I could not resist making a cheeky comment-and since Mike wasn’t around, it seemed safe enough to do so. When there was a loud roaring sound on the video: Me: “Oh no. They’ve invented chainsaws already.” Dad: “They hit land,” curtly. Thinking back now, it makes me laugh. Dad was not laughing. Finally we settled down to sleep. … April 10th. We leave and are very tired by now. Go along Market (?) Street. Dad is hungry so he gets out the cheese and crackers (bonus) and it is mouldy. I tease him but he cuts off the mould and eats it anyway—GROSS! Starts to feel sick. … April 14th. At Disneyland I saw a girl with a silverchair tee & felt immensely proud & nationalistic. Forget Howie Howard and Corty Court and those losers…just remember the ‘chair and the ‘Dirt (Magic). … April 15th. Dad’s a prick,, but hey, you always warned me of that huh? Last night when he (and I) thought he’d lost my passport, he showed me this little piece of paper that (at first glance) only said 8/3/98 on it. He said I had to have it to get onthe plane. I said, “But that’s the 8th of March.” He said: “Look at it,” almost yelling. “Can’t you read? It says immigration, you can’t get out without it.” I finally saw the 8/4 stamped over the top, and by now I was very upset. I said: “I can’t believe how rude you are.” He said: “Well I put it right in front of your face and you can’t see it. What do you expect?” “It doesn’t mean you have to be a complete jerk!” “Oh, for Christ’s sake!” “Or maybe it does, since you’re you.” FUCK. I’m starting to wonder…maybe I DON’T want to go away with him again? I don’t have to put up with his crap. James, don’t accept him being rude to you, ok?! Punch him! I sure feel like it! … I told Dad B + V weren’t expecting him, and while you told me not to feel pity for him, I still did. Disgusting, isn’t it? He doesn’t deserve PITY! I said he could find a nice, cosy… HOMELESS SHELTER!! YAY! He said…”Fine.” He he. … Dad embarrasses me…with his unruly (and DEFINITELY not attractive) hair and his rude and abrupt nature. Blah blah… He told me he’s been told he’s “abrupt and rude”, and at first I didn’t believe it, but I’ve had a little time to watch and observe… … April 28th. Wake up to sound of plane, as I predicted. Later—people at windows. [The things I let Dad get me into! If I lived around here, I’d surely never live it down! Thank god I don’t, huh?!] … April 30th. We woke up at about 7.30 in the morning-like spewin’!-as people were shovelling snow right outside our car. It was SO EMBARRASSING looking like an utter derro-but surely I was used to it by now, right? WRONG! I tried to ignore the feeling that people were staring at me like I was some sort of lab specimen taken from a dog’s bottom, and read my Dean Koontz book for an hour or so-it was “Strangers”, so I didn’t have much trouble getting lost in the literature. Then I got up and tried to find a clean pair of socks. When I was unsuccessful, I settled for some dirty-and really gross-ones. When Dad got up, he reminded me of Thing One-or Thing Two, whichever looks the most like Cro-Magnon Man. We went around to the Visitor’s Centre, but we couldn’t find it so Dad decided we didn’t need it. I decided that it’s brekky and teeth time, and gathered up my gear. … Dad then told me I’m just Mum, because I don’t ever know where we’re going; I don’t know it’s the wrong road because, to me, it’s the right road. etc. I just said “yip” repeatedly, hoping to piss him off but feeling pissed off myself. When we were on the right road-though how would I know if it was right or not?-we travelled through gorgeous hills with snow, snow, snow! Many a photo was taken. Dad (of course) spotted a sign advertising coffee, and we leap at the opportunity for a caffeine fix. … On the way out, I bought those casino cards when Dad wasn’t looking. We drove down the mountain, and Dad made me ride in Rebekah’s car-which smelt absolutely disgusting and looking like it had been dumped in a big pile of poo and dirt. I didn’t dare breathe while I was in there! But aside from the stench, the ride was quite an enjoyable one. … [ctd…!]

--------------------------------------------------------------------------- Major woah inside! - 11/21/2000

 

Why major woah? Because it actually IS ending! :)

April 31st.

Driving across fields of snow and looming, majestic mountains, I suddenly got Soundgarden’s “Nothing to Say” in my head.

…

May 1st. VENICE.

Dad: “Just look at all the history, just in the walls…”
Me: “Pity you can’t see it.”
Dad: “What do you mean you can’t see it?” in annoyed tone.
Me: “I mean I’d rather be here in daylight.”

Blah blah. Snide comment (“…don’t wanna walk anymore because it’s dark…”).

…

Have a pizza, feel like a dero.

Dad: “Doesn’t it make you feel good seeing other people having fun?”
Me: “No.”
Dad: “Because you’re jealous?”
Me: “Yeah.”

Gave him my opinion on him (“the cat who walks…”) and how he’s a slime-ball. Finish pizza (“marinara”-CRAP) and run for bus through the maze.

…

May 2nd. FLORENCE.

We leave the car and walk round, get to Piazza something or rather and I get forced into being a model by an overly friendly Italian who “loves Australians” and who draws someone who is NOT me. Though he’s copying mon face.

…

Dad: “It’s a bit of a disappointment after Venice.”

…

May 3rd.

Dad explores the town, goes where he’s not allowed and stuff, has a GREAT time.

…

May 7th.

In ze middle de France - Dad pronounces things SO funnily (Mooli, ChompSELeese etc).

Dad told me that when I was in the Office de Tourisme de Paris, two guys came up to him and asked, “vous parlez anglaise?” and he said, “sorry, I only speak English”, and they said, “we were asking you if you spoke English”.

We got a bottle of wine & joked about Di & Dodi, I told Dad his interest in the site of the accident was sick. Found myself mixing up words ie. “They went too it through”-about Dad going through a red light.

…

Outside the Ritz, snobs all around, wine, psychadelic experience with “everlong” & closed eyes (rollercoaster, like I can feel tha earth spinning).
Imagined someone saying:

“When one is drunk, one becomes aware of the spinning motion of the earth…”

TOURIST BUS - Dad pointed out flashes from inside bus - flashes from carmeras! I’m actually apalled.

…

May 11th.

Why is Dad allowing me to listen in to his bullshitting? “I really felt something for Jo…” (Yes, using Giovanni’s nick name already). But alas there’s a catch. Dad and Giovanni exchanged approximately 5 words during our stay…and he “felt something” for Jo? It makes me sik!

He is SO SLIMY! Why does he have to do this in front of me. They don’t know I’m here. He speaks with a slick, TOTALLY ICKY voice! How was he different and when did his mental problem arise?
I NEED ANSWERS!
NOW!

…

Tell you what honey, I ain’t makin’ no more exceptions for Dad. He can go down in his own slime.

Verena: “What’s this…honey?”
Dad: “It’s Trisha’s.”
Verena: “I HATE honey!”
Dad: “Yeah, it’s been a bit of a nuisance.”

Yeah Dad, except when, with nothing to eat, you ate half of it, right? JERK.

…

May 14th.

Oh, and Hillary and Fidel Castro are in the same hotel in Geneva but will not meet. Verena said, “maybe they are meeting secretly in the night!” And we laughed.

…

May 15th.

Once I actually said to Dad:
“You must be so embarrassed to be you…”

…

May 16th.

There’s a weird, kinda bald lady in the terminal. Everyone looks at her weirdly, looks like her hair is falling out.

…

The weird lady keeps edging closer to this long, dark-haired girl. I’m almost wanting to call out, “Hi!” and pretend we’re good friends. Oh, her bus is here now so she’s got up. Lucky her.

That lady’s sort of a hunch-back…of London, not Notre Dame.

…

I LOVE OLLY. “Call me pathetic, call me what you will…” (Greenday).

…

Still sleeping…I should be too!

Another guy asked me where the airport bus leaves from…BAD MOVE guys. 10,000 people will miss their buss…and all because of me…Still, they weren’t to know.

…

I’m bullshitting, just like in my visual diary, but the difference with the visual DIARY was, I always STOPPED blabbering at some point…

…

I can’t describe how good it feels to escape Dad…

…

On their peanut packets, under “ingredients” they have “peanuts, edible oil and salt.” Like, in what kind of food do cooks use inedible oils, I’d like to know!

…

The only good thing (emotionally and spiritually) about being placed in “economy” class because I don’t have as many little bits of papery plasticky stuff - i.e. money - as some other people, is that I’m not a loner. In fact, we losers are pretty much the majority, I think.

If anyone didn’t laugh then (which is highly doubtful considering my grandly appealing sense of humour) IT WAS A JOKE DUDE! CHILL MAN? OK LIKE TOTALLY LIKE DUDE??!!!

…

Hey, there’s Bill “Billy Boy” Clinton, on telly. Haven’t seen him for SO long! Hee hee hee hee. Did I tell you that Clinton joke? Yeah I did. Funny huh? I’ll bet you can get 100’s of pages of jokes about Clill and Clillary (Blinton and Hlinton). We’ll soon see…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Just thought I’d share…with the world!

 

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Reflections - 11/23/2000

 

I’m amazed that it took me so short a time to forgive. The pain is still there. I lost a friend, and thought I might’ve lost two, but in the end I managed to save at least something.

It’s hard to ignore someone who’s telling you repeatedly how much he loves you. It’s hard to just block out the words. I know the saying goes, sticks and stones…etc, but words are important. Unfortunately, if someone says the right words, they can get away with anything. It’s hard to turn your back on someone who’s pouring their heart out to you.

I miss my friend. That’s something that’ll never change.

***

My Dad is travelling with my brother and my grandfather right now. They are somewhere in the States, in driveaway cars. I did a similar trip with my Dad in 1998, and I guess I was reminded of it because my brother is writing home in the same sorts of situations I found myself in. That’s what the previous few entries were about. Interesting to me, maybe no one else, but this is my diary, so I’m shrugging. The entries were parts of my travel diary. Reading back over it, I can grimace and laugh at once. What an amazing journey.

I learned a lot about my Dad during those three and a half months—sometimes more than I wanted to know. I also learned a lot about myself.

Hard lessons, and it wasn’t easy to bear. Now my bro is going through the same thing. My father is a very difficult man, even though he seems to mean well. He hurts people without even realising it. Or maybe he does realise? I don’t know.

America was my favourite place; I know quite a few people who say, “Why??” when I tell them that. A few of them are Americans, and can’t believe that someone would want to go to the States above any other place. I did and do. I want to go back there, stay for longer, and be more comfortable. That’s what I’m saving up for I guess. I will not do what I did with my father, because most of the time I was too stressed to really enjoy myself.

I remember after my world trip, returning home to Perth, I was more happy to see the place than I could ever remember. I think I’m getting to that stage where I need to go away again, just to be able to return and feel lucky to be here. Perth is the capital of Western Australia, a pretty spread-out city despite it’s comparative smallness. Spread-out, but definitely, undeniably small. The big bands often miss this city on their “national” tours.

We have beautiful, (as yet) untainted beaches, nice river and beachside cafes, a relatively low crime rate. Everyone who visits Perth is amazed by how laid-back we are. I guess I should be thankful. Living in Perth is a bit like taking a never-ending vacation. We all work—well, most of us—but we have paradise at our doorstep.

What do I have to complain about? Not much I guess. I have some friends who are thinking about moving here from overseas. Everyone who visits seems to want to stay.

But a lot of people who live here want to leave.

***

I’m not religious.

Your beliefs are your own, and I have mine too. If you shove your beliefs down my throat I will not take kindly to it.

The simple truth. I do not appreciate hypocrites. My words are sounding harsh even to my own…eyes. :p But I thought I should be honest.

I don’t know where this entry is headed. I’m very into rambling these days. *g* Maybe one day this journal will be graced with entries more worthy!

My apologies… :)

~*~*~*~

 

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I know America rocks. I want to go to Europe though. [Meladori Magpie]
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