In The Hat.

My Melbourne Cup Day Hat.

Me: MMMMssssssphugglfuckingshilillbastardgetinthereyounastyOUCH.

Gray: There are aspects of your job that I really don't envy.

Me: A man would have had to go to the Melbourne Cup Day lunch, but he wouldn't have been asked to decorate a hat.

Gray: No, had a man got the Bugsplat Visitor Centre Manager job, he MIGHT have been asked a decorate a hat for Melbourne Cup Day. I, certainly, would have been expected to.

Me: Mpppppppppppphghhghghg - Man!!!?????? - snorgyle!!snigggerrOUCH!!

Gray: Hmmmmmmm.

Me: I need more hat pins.

A blood pact with drunken thumbs.

Nadia and I went to lunch together at Basaltica, a beautiful cafe in the middle of the forest about Bigsplat - hedges of bay and lavendar, stonework, bare floors, uncluttered walls. It's gorgeous and they make a decent coffee - which is more than can be said for any other establishment anywhere near BigSplat. I wish they'd change their menu more frequently, and it frustrates me that they ruin good food by using familiar grocery items - like (I swear!) Kraft cheese spread and that nasty Trident sweet chilli sauce.

A few nights ago, I woke up in fear, deep in the conviction that the last ten years of our life were just a dream and that we were actually still in Cardwell, trying to save Hinchinbrook. This isn't the first time I've woken with this fear. It's often that time in my life that I fear is the moment of departure from ordinary chronology, but other times have featured too. Perhaps I'm sleeping on a train, or a plane, leaving or arriving. Thailand, Germany, Sweden, Hometown, Sydney. On that bus I once took from London to Newcastle Upon Tyne, the time I let an awkward young man hold my hand the whole way. Sometimes my whole marriage to Gray doesn't feel real. Sometimes I'm so calmly certain - I'm dreaming, someone of us will say to me, in a matter of fact voice. Any moment we're going to wake up, in linen sheets, in China.

I tried to explain some of this to Nadia, and failed, but it didn't seem to matter in the least. There's almost too much goodwill between us, and no urgency to anything. Sometimes I fear that I've exhausted my heart's capacity. Friends are such a terrible burden. We always end up loving them too much and being miserable when things go wrong for them, as they inevitably do.

Drinking my excellent soy latte, smiling at Nadia, I felt reserved and a little wary. Do we have to share each other's deepest fears and secrets? Isn't there a way to be friends without that agonising process, without becoming false? Perhaps I feel less urgent about it because we are no longer seeking to be understood, forgiven, redeemed. We don't regret the friends we made while we were in such spectacular despair, but we don't have it in us to do it again.

And, these days, we have all the understanding we need at Zaphod's Other Head.

Trundling along.

Monday's dance class was fine, but Honey was busy and couldn't make it. I haven't seen Freida for a couple of weeks, she's busy with her restruant. So we were just four. Renee, Lalla and Zil and us. Calypso, mainly.

(I hope you're paying attention. Later, there will be a test.)

Yesterday's (twice yearly, regional tourism strategy) meeting was way above my head.

The President of Bugsplat Visitor Centre arrived at our house at ten to nine, and we drove his car, so he could read the agenda. It's a gorgeous country road through forests and farms to LittleSplat, where the meeting was held in the well worn splendour of LittleSplat Hotel.

I found myself watching over Trouble's shoulder as she agreed to motions (because they record, for and against) that we didn't understand. She agreed on account of not wanting to look foolish. I expect it's a sensible choice, but it ~troubled~ me. She's a very pragmatic girl, Ms. Trouble. I don't think I'm fit for the world of work. I couldn't really have abstained, could I?
It would have attracted a great deal of attention.
In the old days of course, I would have had firm views.
When one has opinions, one is allowed to abstain or cause a fuss. It's not acceptable to cause a fuss because you don't understand the issues. Apparently. Perhaps Trouble would rather we look as if we understand the issues.

The sandwiches were good.

At yoga with Yama, in the evening, Renee and Lalla were there, and Jacki and Megan too, as well as lots of people I don't know well enough to merit fake names. Yama was a bit anxious about me and another student who is a fitness instructor, and she gave an unnecessary pre-emptive speech in defence of Yoga generally, but other than that, she's fantastic.

I guess we're just trundling along.

Trundle.

Life is trundling along.
Work is fine, dance is fine, yoga is fine, boxing is fine, inflicting guitar upon innocent Saturday morning Bugsplat Food Co-op shoppers is fine, SheOak is fine.
We're still lighting the fire most evenings but spring has definitely arrived. There are meadows full of "blue flags" and "pink petticoats".
I'm feeling a bit tired, and wondering why I try so hard, you know, what is it I want?
A gold star?

Curious about the etymology of the word "trundle", I found this online. So far I haven't had much time to enjoy it, but it looks promising.

I'd rather go to the dentist.

Last Thursday was the most appalling Bugsplat Visitor Centre board meeting yet and after some hours of post-meeting misery, glum muttering and huffing and puffing, we came up with an astoundingly simple solution. We just won't go!

This solution got refined somewhat in discussion with the President last night. We will attend at 8pm instead of 7pm (which is good because this way we don't miss out on Boxing) and we'll be there for an hour. Then we go home. Hooray!

That is ample time for the board to discuss business relevant to the day to day running of the Bugsplat Visitor Centre and for me to give my report and for them to ask questions. There is no need for me to sit there for four hours listening to them debate themselves in and out of corners on various political issues pertaining to Bugsplat. No need for me to sit writhing in agony as they attempt to form opinions on philosophical questions that even God has a fair bit of trouble with. The last board meeting was worse than dentistry.

Although, it is true, considerably cheaper.

Love and hate at Zaphod's Other Head.

We're on a list called Zaphod's Other Head and we love the place, maybe a little too much. In our life, we don't get to talk to a room full of multiples any other place other than online. So, maybe we get overly protective of Zaphod, and want everyone to love him as we do. Even when we hate him. Could be.

I'm going to take this little moment to say hello to Lysergia, because I know they like our silly nomenclature, and because they are so very beautiful. So, hello.

See you next year, Doctor Mud Eyes.

After six painful and expensive dates, Doctor Mud Eyes has deemed us cured.

I had a dream about him the night before last.

Gray and I were driving down a winding country lane and we hit and injured a small bird. We put the bird in a shoebox and took it to the beautiful gardens and grounds of Doctor Mud Eye's Animal Sanctuary. In the dream he was a vet, rather than a dentist, though he still wore a white coat. He was surrounded by tame creatures and flowers. We gave him the injured bird, and he cured it.

Nice work, Doctor Mud Eyes.

Six Bellydancers in Bugsplat.

I love these dancers.

There's Honey, Freida, Zil, Renee, and Lalla.
(I made those names up, and it made my brain hurt!)
Zil and Renee are both coming to Boxing with me next term and Frieda will be coming to Yoga with Yama.

We had such a brilliant dance together tonight. Everyone danced well and they were so well connected that I took a risk and tried them with a daring little exercise, a variation on something I once did at a workshop a couple of years ago; basically passing direction from dancer to dancer without a predetermined pattern; which is requires a lot of trust and good energy between all the dancers. It worked! There's some talk of costumes, and some talk of choreography.

I'm Calypso, in case you're wondering. Hi.

Last Thursday at Boxing.

We don't want this journal to be ~about~ being multiple. Just as, I imagine, a gay blogger (like me, shut UP! Oh, pay no attention to that, things are complicated enough already) might want to keep a blog that isn't ~about~ being gay... oh, look, just forget it, you can consider this pathetic analogy well and truly over. I'll just go straight to the "multiple moment".

Last Thursday at Boxing our teacher, Rocky started talking about multiple personality disorder. That's always interesting. His wife Nancy worked in a psychiatric ward in Holland, he said. "She's Dutch", he said, and she told him about a patient (the "nutcase") there who had five personalities and how they would argue all the time about where they were going to go on holiday.

So Trouble (of Polly) said;
'It's hard to share. Imagine sharing a body."