There has been a nearly constant nag in my mind telling me: you must write that down. You must document that memory, that moment, so that you can easily recall and share it with your friends, family, and the World Wide Web, and most importantly, so that you will NEVER FORGET IT EVER AGAIN, no matter how far in the future you want to recall it, no matter how far in the past it originally occurred. 

And then there is the equally constant nag which reminds me how essential it is to live in the moment, enjoy each breath of air and each glimpse of the sunset over the water and each thought of pure genius (har) that my mind conjures... and to file it away in nothing but my own memory. To savour the now, and to enjoy the bittersweet loss of a faded but perfect memory. 

So what do I do? Spend an hour a day typing on a blog, which could potentially be better spent staring out at the infinite ocean across the road? Maybe some days, maybe not others - I've come to terms with the fact that life is changeable, unstable and unpredictable. And I'm going to enjoy it, damnit!

So I'm in a wonderful, intimate, loving relationship with a man I have loved for nearly a decade. We started at 18, passionate, crazy, fiery and full of hormones. It ended, then four years ago we were drawn back together (can I call it fate?). Every guy I'd dated between was compared to this one - no matter how lovely, he just didn't fit the bill. Now we're together again, I know it's for realz. We're in love. Made for each other. Two halves of a whole. All that jazz.

We've also recently (3 months ago) stopped making love. My decision - NOT his, and one made after a pregnancy scare that I still haven't really gotten over. I feel guilty, as it's a huge way that we used to share intimacy, connect spiritually, and show our love on all levels at once. However, I've recently been coming to realise that the Christians might have a point. 

Don't get me wrong. I'm not afraid of the Big Hot Eternal Burny-place; neither am I afraid to be 'judged' - by anyone, let alone the big man in the sky. 

I just feel that the idea of physically committing yourself in the most intimate way should be kept until you can ensure security - and today, that means financial, legal, binding security. And I have to get sexist here, it's WAY more intimate for a lady, simply because that's how lady parts were made - she literally lets a man inside to her very core, her most vulnerable, personal space. It's fulfilling and nice, sure, but it's a damn big deal. 

I'm also not trying to blackmail him into the Big M; I'm just starting to really believe that evolution played a bigger part in this 'Christian' law than what they want to admit. 

To improve. My home; my productivity; my relationship with my lover, my parents, those around me; my work; my study; my habits in general. 

It all seems so overwhelming at times - but then I remember, I have a lifetime to get these things in check. And if some of those things pass in the meantime before I've 'improved' to my own unrealistic standards, well, so be it. I've tried. 

As long as I'm trying to improve, I'm improving. 

the paleo diet and I have been exchanging sultry glances across the room. 

it looks so good. so tempting. so natural. so right.

I'm caught in a seemingly nonexistent, undefined ideology/philosophy that there is a creator - a god, if you will - but one who merely set everything into motion. It may not even exist any more (in our realm? In our time? What even is existence?), let alone 'hear', 'see' or 'adore' every one of its creations. But this idea, rather than throwing me into a state of hopeless despair, is what drives me to improve, to love, to create. My insignificance in this universe is inspiring - it makes me feel more connected to the world, the universe, and the beings within it than ever. I am one of an unimaginable number. My body will exist for a finite amount of time. There is no all-seeing, all-loving and all-powerful entity setting my path, guiding me, or keeping me safe from harm. I have no special purpose, I am not unique, I have no divine right over any other creature or thing on this earth. 

Why is this a depressing thought to so many? Why do people seek out some mystical 'truth' - an antidote to this insignificance? It makes my heart sing that I've been given this great privilege of life, of consciousness, of the very ability to wonder; I'm not going to waste it by pretending that there should be more. 

Hypothetical:

Your own child is suffering with a mental illness, is malnourished and frail. You can’t afford to feed him or her, let alone fund their education. They lack communication skills, and so you are their only voice. They can do nothing but hope that you will help them. Yet you look past them, and see your neighbour’s child knocking on the door, asking for help.

You choose instead to provide for your neighbours’ children, those whose parents have also given them nothing – by choice, or necessity. You choose to neglect your own suffering child to give shelter, food, education and comfort to a stranger rather than uphold your responsibility as parent.

The Government is – or should be – a parent to its country. It should provide for its own citizens, especially those in desperate need, like a parent feeds its child, and ensures that child is warm at night. When that parent neglects that responsibility, they should not be allowed to take another child under their wing.

Australia has an enormous homeless problem, as well as unemployment and poverty. Too many of our children - and adults - are illiterate. Mental illness, as well as many other disorders go untreated, due to lack of education and resources. The services that are available are extremely limited, and often far too expensive to be affordable on an extended or intensive basis.

This is in 'response' to the recent controversy over this front cover of Honi Soit, the free newspaper published by the University of Sydney SRC. I originally put it on my facebook page, but it’s something I feel so strongly about. More rants to come, promise.

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Regarding the Honi bungle with the lady parts – honestly. Does the feminist/PC/equality movement really believe that the way to fight sexism and gain equality is to take our knickers off, effectively giving sexist men what they want? (remember 'the boys did it first' people – a man is probably more likely to enjoy the sight of a lady-bush than a woman is to enjoy the sight of a flaccid wang). The ‘it’s the thought that counts’ justification of slutting it up to prove we’re ‘equal’ and saying ‘just because I’m overtly displaying my sexual organs does NOT give you the right to treat/think about me sexually’ just doesn’t work. Yes, sexism is wrong. No, printing sex organs on the front page of a free magazine isn’t going to stop it. It’s a simple fact that the female body is viewed as more sexually available – it’s not CORRECT or GOOD, but it’s a fact.

We need more intelligent, witty, self-respecting women in the world who are able to raise the equality standard, not lower it.

As someone dealing with social anxiety, writing a regular blog gets pretty intimidating.

I have this destructive idea that I can't post unless I have a pre-planned, researched, witty, interesting and unique mini-essay really holds me back with actually just getting on here and writing.

Not shouldn't, but can't.

So here's a post to prove that it IS possible, and that I won't break the internet with something pointless, uninteresting, & fewer than 500 words.

Just a little ditty I thought up, sitting on the back step this morning. First thing I've written in years. Based heavily on a film called Unrelated [if you've seen it, it's obvious], but also just things on my mind.

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I sit on the back step with my coffee cup in both hands, looking out at the yard. The chickens stalk through the ground cover like tiny dinosaurs, hunting for insects and worms. Swallows chase each other like miniature bomber planes, screaming their fury at the world. Crickets sing frantically in the hot air. The sun bakes my legs and feet – I lean back to keep it off my face.

Footsteps along the wooden boards.

Two long legs step down and fold next to me, feet together, knees apart; the smell of hot skin and fresh sweat coming off him in waves. I glance over at him, my lips lifting in a shy, lopsided smile, which he reciprocates with a broad, overly cheerful one. There are tiny beads of sweat on his forehead and his flushed cheeks. His chest rises and falls quickly, catching his breath. He looks out at the scene. ‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’