Welcome to “Another Important Piece of Writing” a weekly newsletter/life update/writing exercise/rant/potenially the next most important piece of literature from the 21st century but probably not.
It has become abundantly clear over the last few years that my body wants a baby. She is FANGIN’ for it! Whenever I see a newborn I’m rendered immobile and struck with the overwhelming need to tickle or grab their tiny little goddamn feet. God they’re soft, how are they so soft!? I find myself stretching my face into shapes that seem counterintuitive to teach a baby, why would you ever need to look this alert and likeable in real life? But I just want them to love me, no matter the cost! It’s disgusting, I’m simping for an infant!
The weirdest thing that happened in recent years was when I was holding my friend’s very young baby. Instinctively, I lock it into my baby shelf (what I call my hips now) ever so snuggly, and without even thinking start to bob up and down and at what I have to imagine is some sort of soothing, calming pace. Nobody ever taught me how to hold a baby or what kind of rhythm soothes one, it’s just something that happens automatically without thinking. It’s as if my ovaries take over like I’m in Ratatouille, and I become this fertile little flesh puppet decidedly too stupid to make my own decisions, now thrust into unconsenual impending motherhood.
The creepiest part was when it was time to hand over the baby to my then boyfriend to hold. Naturally, he panicked and didn’t know what to do (men, am I right!!). I tried to instruct him on what to do, and where to adjust and to just calm down, but I just found myself very strangely bobbing in place like an NPC stuck in a corner.
I don’t want kids, I simply don’t have the time, money, energy and most importantly worthwhile genes to pass down. My body doesn’t care though and because of that my brooding/nesting/mothering nature has manifested into other psychotic outlets, like constantly showing people pictures of my fridge like a proud mother.
I needed a mini fridge for my studio and I managed to find one that had its own separate dedicated fridge and freezer space (!!!). It genuinely looks like somebody just squished down a full size fridge and I couldn’t be more obsessed. It’s so fucking cute, I want everbody to know!
I am just separately proud that at the ripe old age of 27 I finally own my own white good. Considering I won’t be bringing life into the world, being proud of this seems like the logical next best thing. You wait, it’ll just be me, my mini fridge and the climate apocalypse.
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I posted a video on Instagram of myself getting violently blown around by the rain and wind on my way to my cafe job with the caption “pay people to stay home in dangerous weather conditions challenge!” Although joking… I wasn’t really. I mean if the government isn’t going to properly commit to climate change action, then they should at least address these increasingly ~random~ once in a century weather events that keep occurring every other month, right? Like they don’t have to believe in the cause (god forbid they read one (1) study) but could they at least start realising that whatever the cause of these freak weather conditions – this shit is going to get expensive!
I’m an essential non-essential worker, I’ve realised. I’m not a first tier essential like healthcare workers or grocery store staff, but people need their stupid fucking coffee and dumb little treat every morning to feel like they have a semblance of control of their lives. The thing is, people can live without that service for a day or two. For the love of god if there is torrential, property destroying weather PAY. ME. TO. STAY. HOME.
Aren’t I just so much more of a liability out and about trying to get my connecting train from my bus – both of which are late due to increased traffic and trackwork – then proceeding to blindly walk through the streets because the rain is pelting down into my eyes and I can barely see where I’m going? I’m a public insurance nightmare!
There’s thousands of little versions me’s out there doing the same thing to make sweet fuck all an hour, while desperately risking their health and safety to do a job that people can realistically, for two seconds, live without.
This is very much a pipe dream, I realise! Especially for a government who won’t even raise the Jobseeker payment TO the poverty line, but a girl can dream!
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A fun thing I realised recently about living alone is that I recently had to consider how long it would take for people to, god forbid, realise I was dead. Guess what? It’s longer than a day. Oh honey, It’s waaaay longer than a day.
Preferably, I’d love to be so booked and blessed, to be in such constant contact with people in my life that they would know THE MINUTE something had gone awry and I wouldn’t have to be found dead in the first place – but that simply just ain’t my life. I’m a little recluse with a small number of friends, who is generally too broke to go out to extravagant events or make any crazy scenes.
I actually kind of like it. It feels like I’m skimming under the radar and if need be, under a very special kind of circumstances, I could disappear. It makes me a great secret agent asset if anything. Let’s say the government needed somebody who was just unknown and just unimportant enough to the grand scheme of things, that they could pick me up and plant me in a new location without too much suspicion and fuss. That could be me! I could be a Bourne or a Bond but with the ever so needed gender diversity the series have been lacking!
I guess my point is, check on your friends. Make sure they’re not dead etc.
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I’m going to Melbourne in about 3 weeks to do some of the ol’ stand up comedy, but it’s also kind of a birthday trip (yes my birthday is coming up, no I don’t want to make a big deal out of it, stooooopppp!). I went down earlier this year for a few days to see the comedy festival but since I barely got to see the city during the day, it warranted coming back to see what the hullabaloo was about.
I’m from Melbourne originally but moved when I was 6 to Queensland. We would go back occasionally when I was a teenager but once we drifted away from my Dad’s family who live there, there was no real point. I didn’t think I’d been to Melbourne since I was 17 until I realised I actually did visit for a very hazy weekend when I was about 23, when I was drinking very heavily and in a really toxic friendship/roommate situation. I’d also just gotten some inheritance from my dead Grandma, so booking a last minute Melbourne trip was just something I had the luxury TO DO. I don’t even remember what we did outside of visiting Cotton On, H&M and binge watching Peep Show (all I’ve which I have no memory of, is it worth a rewatch?) but I’ve heard there’s more going on down there.
Last night I did a very basic “things to do in Melbourne” google search and every website basically just said “visit the laneways and see the graffiti!”
First of all, the city is a grid system – the whole bitch IS laneways – I’m bound to see a fucking laneway apropo of nothing. Secondly, seeing the graffiti is like a 10-15 minute activity? 30 mins MAYBE if you feel like doing a goddamn photoshoot in front of it, but at this point that’s a pretty cheugy thing to be doing (as is as using the term cheugy).
All of this to say I don’t really have any idea yet what I’m going to do to fill my days yet. Maybe go to the zoo? I feel weird about zoos being vegan and all that (I know, I know) but I do love seeing animals. In saying that, I read about a place called “Collingwood Children’s Farm” that lets kids feed baby calves and other little farm animals. I’m thinking about whipping out the pigtails to get me somma that sweet under 12’s discount so I can cuddle me a cow.
I’ll let you know how I go.
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