After several years spent forging a new life for yourself in a new city, there’s nothing quite like catching up with old high school friends to go some way towards closing the divide between your old life and your new, and reminding you of where you’ve come from. Especially when they’re old friends who have known you since you were 12 and have dozens of incriminatingly dinky sleepover photos featuring yourself.

On Saturday night I attended the 21st birthday party of Susan, a friend from my first high school. I was unsure as to what to expect, since I haven’t seen Susan for about two years, I didn’t know which other old friends would be there, and it was at the Glenferrie Hotel, where I’d never been before but Stu groaned when he learned where it was (I might add that after experiencing it, I hope to never do so again, but that’s a whole other rant).

I was more nervous than I probably needed to be. See, I left that high school at the end of Year Ten for another. Some bad shit had gone down for me personally (culminating in a nervous breakdown on my part) in the last few months of that year, and I never really talked about it with most of my friends. It impacted my friendships as going crazy and not talking to friends and all but dropping out of school kind of does, but by the end of the year, most things seemed to have been resolved. Then I changed schools and gradually lost touch with most of my old friends. We’ve always stayed friendly to some degree, but time and distance and the fact that I had never really explained what happened to me in those hellish months preyed on my mind and my inclination to keep in contact. There’s a lot of stagnant water under my personal bridge that I wish would move along, and sometimes I link it to people who were a part of my life in those particular times, like some people link songs to events in their life. It’s not fair on these friends of mine and it makes things a lot more difficult for me.

Wow. That was oblique. Sorry. This is what happens when you feel the need to give background on something but contains a lot of stuff you don’t really want to write about on a public weblog. Maybe one day. At any rate, this is my long-winded way of explaining that I was worried about this party; worried there would be a sense of fraughtness.

I needn’t have worried. I’m not sure if it was alchohol or because they knew I was coming and were waiting for me, or a combination of both, but when I arrived at the Glenferrie with Stu in tow, I was descended upon with much gleeful shrieking and hugs. I was instantly comfortable and felt stupid for worrying.

Of the core group, Tara, Lauren and of course Susan were there. Lisa, who didn’t go to our school but was always in on sleepovers and general teenage girl malarkey, was also present. Notably absent were Shannyn, who is six months older than me and got married last year and is now 5 months pregnant, and Mel, whom no one has seen for a while but has been through some bad times herself recently. She never did well at school, but she was a gifted musician and last I’d heard of her, a year or so ago (I haven’t seen her now since Tara’s 18th birthday party, nearly four years ago now), she’d gotten into a music school in Melbourne and was living up here. She’s since dropped out of her course, moved back home, and sparked some concern with her drinking habits. Her younger brother died recently in a car crash, a month off his 18th birthday. I didn’t know what to say when I heard that; I never know how to acknowledge other people’s loss and was selfishly glad that it was Lauren sitting next to me telling me, rather than Mel herself.

Lisa, with the issue obviously weighing on her mind, blurted out ‘I kissed your ex-boyfriend! I’m so sorry! It was ages ago and I still feel bad!’ This was, of course, the guy with whom I wasted spent about three years of my teenagehood. I found that I genuinely didn’t care, which kind of surprised me. I mean, logically, it was after we’d broken up. It (both the breakup and the kiss) was a few years ago now. I think I’m supposed to be angry, and jealous, and take her down bikini-clad in a pool of mud, but I honestly don’t mind, and that does kind of surprise me. I think I’m supposed to be questioning my choice of friends or something right about now. I’m amused by the whole scenario but not entirely sure why.

However, this isn’t the first time a friend of mine has retraced my steps, as it were. Which doesn’t bother me at all (most of the time), but it does make me worry about my friends a little bit. I mean, most of the people I’ve “spent time” with, to be euphemistic about it, should come with warning labels and/or OFLC-style classifications. You know,

“Dating this person will turn you into some sort of batshit-crazy Daniel Cleaver clone. Best avoided by most. Rated H for High Level Emotional Drama.”

“Sex with this man should not be attempted unless you are, shall we say, “adventurous”, as well as extremely morally flexible and don’t mind not being able to walk or sit down properly for several days after seeing him. Rated R18+ for Drug Use, High Level Sex Scenes, and Extreme Sadism.”

I ended up dancing to the jukebox and even briefly to the woefully bad covers band even though I wasn’t drunk, a practice which is virtually unheard of. I just couldn’t say no to Lisa’s little sad face.
‘I’m warning you,’ I said, ‘I usually only dance when I’m drunk, and there’s a reason for that: I bust a pretty mean move.’
‘Hey, that’s okay,’ she said. ‘I bust a move so mean, it makes people cry.’
The night ended up being tear-free in the end, and I even succeeded in getting Stu on the dance floor, a previously unheard-of act. I can now firmly state that watching slightly unco engineers get their groove thing on to ‘Push It’ is one of my favourite sights in the world.

There’s not really much else to say, in terms of a narrative of the evening. It was fantastic to see everyone and, wanky as it sounds, I do feel happier about these relationships now, and less divorced from my sense of place among these old friends and with my past (there goes that obliqueness again!). Plus I got to drink and giggle a lot and discover that some in-jokes just never grow old. Also, I caught myself checking out the cleavage of a girl who turned out to be a bitchy girl from high school, who just happened to be there and was not linked at all to Susan’s party. That’s the kind of blast from the past I could deal without, even if it did come in an intriguingly presented package.

Just a quick one, since my time budget is looking like something from the Howard government regarding funding for refugees.

Big news: I got into Honours! For sure-like. I started on Monday.

Unsurprising news in light of previous news: I’m damn busy and stressed out already. In a good way, but still.

Requirements are two coursework subjects taken over two semesters, and a minor thesis. At 15,000-18,000 words I know it’s minor compared to requirements for higher qualifications, but it doesn’t feel very bloody minor at this end. My coursework subject for this semester is about poetry, and it’s super happy-making, but also scary and intense. It has already rekindled my dormant adoration of William Carlos Williams, which is probably just as well considering I have to write an essay and lead a seminar on his work.

I am all excited, and happy, and tired due to a rostering bungle meaning I’m working a five-day week in addition to Uni. Fortunately it’s just for this week, and sleep is something that can be caught up on.

I have a meeting with my thesis supervisor next Monday. She is one of those academics who is simultaneously inspiring and terrifying. I have a big crush on her and want to be just like her when I grow up.

More later!

My short holiday with Stu was absolutely wonderful, despite the fact that I am now firmly entrenched in the realm of Person Who Goes on Romantic Holidays With Their Significant Other, Ooh Yuck Boygerms. Despite my panic merchant side getting anxious that something would fuck up, and my cynical side giving me shit for acting like, well, a smug married (I’m not quite sure how I manage to be simultaneously deeply in love and very happy but also incredibly leery of that whole Being In a Relationship malarkey, but I do), everything turned out well.
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Today I discovered what it is like to have to take one of your parents to hospital.

It is very scary, even when you know about it in advance. Fortunately, everything is fine.

Sonya: Arrgh! You’re confusing me with your big words!

Me: But I can’t help it! I’m an English…words…person.

Not long after, the conversation disintegrated into penguin and monkey impressions and general smuttiness, made slightly traumatic by the fact that alcohol reduces Sonya’s ability to contextualise what she’s saying (”You want your dad to WHAT?! Oh, we’re talking about your boyfriend now…I see.”).

Friendship is a beautiful thing. Particularly when there’s context involved.

I won’t be around again until sometime much later in the week. Like all good smug marrieds, Stu and I are going away for a jaunt in the country for a wee while. We leave in a few hours. Am I excited? Fuck yeah. This will be the third time we’ve been away together but the first ‘proper’ time, the other occasions being a trip to Queensland late last year for family purposes, and a weekend earlier last year where we spent the entire time in bed…asleep. Kids, if you’re going away somewhere nice, try to make sure that you catch up on sleep and recover from your working week before you leave.

It will be nice to get away from stuff for a while, and to have some time just to relax and chill out. We’re heading up to the Dandenongs, where I haven’t been in ages, hence the excitement. Mmm, mid-winter bushwalking! Also possibly horse riding, although Stu is a bit sus of that one. He’s just recently purchased a digitial camera too (snap snap, grin grin) so there will no doubt be plenty of instances of me telling him to take photos of the pretty scenery, and discovering he’s taken several shots of my arse as I walk ahead of him.

We’ll be staying in a darling little B&B with no small children in sight to boot, which makes me feel absolutely yuptastic. I’m not sure if I can redeem myself from this, even though I will be yupping out while working on some particularly odd pieces of fiction (by my own standards) and clad in non-traditional yuppie couture such as my Red Meat Bug-Eyed Earl t-shirt.

It’ll be swell. See you sometime later in the week!

New Australian webzine Lustre is seeking submissions of high-quality erotica. Their first issue is to be launched in September, with new issues published quarterly.

If I may get on my high horse for a moment (and I may, because it’s my damn blog so I’ll do as I wish), it’s about goddamn time someone did something like this. Since the demise of Australian Women’s Forum and, if I may be so egotistical, to a much lesser extent the zine I used to co-edit, Eroticus, there hasn’t been any sort of outlet in Australia for erotic writing beyond that offered by Picture magazine’s (or is it People? I always get the two confused) dubious letters pages. And you know, sometimes people want more than a dodgily written 300 word piece about a highly improbable situation involving threesomes (’How I Discovered My Girlfriend Was Bisexual All Along’). Some of you might be thinking right about now ‘wow, Aimee, you sure know a lot about the content of this magazine you’re hanging shit on.’ I do have to confess that many a year ago I did receive a nice cheque from Mr Packer for some writing of high dubious veracity (considering it was a “true story”) and similar quality. This is what happens when you have to adhere to a magazine’s house style, and that house style consists of capitalising “naughty” words and is prone to discussing female anatomy in terms of “norks” and “beef curtains”. Sorry, that should read “NORKS!!!!” and “BEEF CURTAINS!!!”

I have no integrity.

Anyway, I seem to have gotten a little sidetracked, as is my wont. Should you want to submit something to what looks like being a fine magazine, go and check out their submissions page for more details.

Cheers to tom for letting me know about this.

The big news I received today was a letter from Uni informing me that I have been offered conditional acceptance to begin Honours in English Literature at the beginning of next semester. Hurrah! Also, eep! Honours has always been part of the Great Uni Plan for me (other parts of the Great Uni Plan, or GUP, have consisted of staying awake during lectures and trying to avoid clueing my tutors into the fact that, while I do a lot of additional reading for tutorials as well as essays, I have a terrible tendency to make stuff up as I go along). I’ve wondered at times if it was going to happen, or if I was making the right decision, all that sort of thing. The truth is, though, that it’s what I’ve wanted to do for a really long time, and if I really thought I was going to get nothing out of all this, I would never have studied Arts in the first place. The humanities are what I’ve always had a passion for, and I consider my undergraduate degree to be the building blocks for the education and to some extent the life I want. I think this is potentially a very expensive way of looking at things.

I did mention that the offer is conditional. It’s conditional only on my passing this semester; I’ve met all the other Honours criteria already. Unless I am very much mistaken and have overestimated my academic performance this semester, I don’t think passing is going to be a problem. It’s been a hectic and stressful semester but I’ve come out of it relatively successfully, even if in the aftermath my brain has run screaming into the ether. Hence, it’s pretty unlikely that I won’t be starting Honours in a couple of weeks, and about a week after I find out for sure. I love the timely manner in which Monash administrates things.

I’m pleased, and excited, and a little dazed. I’ve been preparing for this for a while; I’ve even had a couple of meetings with my thesis supervisor, and I’ve picked my coursework subject for the coming semester (not that that was hard, given there was a choice of three, one of which I have absolutely no interest in and one of which is run by the creepyass professor I like to call King Leer). It all just feels kind of strange; I feel a little displaced or something, but I couldn’t tell you why.

My family are all really happy for me, and were very excited when I rang them all today. My brother-in-law in particular was very enthusiastic and chatty, but I think that might have been less to do with him wanting to be congratulatory and supportive and more to do with the fact that my sister has just gone back to work and he’s looking after the kids, and he’s desperate to have a conversation with someone who can form full sentences and isn’t prone to discussing the antics of Maisy the Mouse at length.

In other news, my nine-month-old niece took her first steps on Monday. It’s been something of a bumper week for my family so far.