Gleeful

I had a conversation the other day that resulted in a discussion on the merits of jumping up-and-down on your housemate’s bed when they’re out, wearing only a pair of your knickers. Preferably on your head. Clean ones, of course… this was not some weird fetish thing, purely a conversation on the feeling of boundless freedom, and great glee.

It got me to thinking about things that make me gleeful. Of course the above-mentioned activity would, definitely, be one (why else would it have come up?) The second one, which I may have mentioned before, is that little hole that happens when you let water out of the basin. Like a little water hurricane. It’s not just the look of it, though, it’s the feel, when you stick your finger in it. I. Love. It.

Donkeys. There’s another. I love them. Always have. My passion peaked at university. Our dusty little university had a plethora of donkeys, just, well hanging about. Many dark nights, stumbling home in our merry packs of happy students or huggy-kissy couple-pairs or just alone (in those days it was slightly safer), one would come around the corner and look down Bathurst Street, into the dip, and see a donkey, gently perusing the dustbin contents, sometimes even two of the lovely velvet creatures.

Our third year digs was across the road from the graveyard (a tragically beautiful place, good for thinking) and beyond the graveyard was the township. It was the perfect place for me, and had a steady stream of donkey passers by (some of whom I coaxed into our garden with carrots. K wouldn’t allow me to keep them, though and I always had to return them to the street.)

So yes, a little post on glee-inducing things. Perfect for a Friday, don’t you think?

September adieu

Did you see what I did there? Did you? I wrote every, single, day of September. At the beginning of the month I made a deal with myself to do that. I haven't been writing as much as I want to, so thought it'd be a good plan. Thus my incessant drivel this month! Now I feel all smug and patty-on-my-back. I also finished a 12-week writing course that I started about 18 months ago so am feeling very productive (yes, yes... 12-weeks/18 months... so my timing's just a bit out. I finished though!)

Phew.

So, as the spring wind howls outside my fifth floor window here in the windy part of The City Beneath the Mountain, I grin more widely at the things happening around me and in me. I don't care if the wind blows pollen onto my teeth. I shan't stop grinning.

Why should I?

Grinning

I just watched a video of The Black Eyed Peas singing their Today's Gonna be a Good Day song, I think for the opening of Oprah's new season. It was brilliant, and made me feel all gooey inside for humans, for being one, for living with other ones, for joy shared in music, and dancing, and, well being human.

Basically, it's them on a huge stage, with thousands of people in front of them. Their entire crowd is completely still, except for one girl in the middle, at the front. Slowly, as the song goes on, the movement of the crowd moves back, first a bunch of about twenty, then a hundred, and eventually the entire crowd moving to the music, together. One of those amazing group things that make you smile in every corner of your body - like I could even feel my kidneys grinning.

I wonder what my heart looks like with a grin?

Exposure and grinning

There are those things in the world that just seem to happen, but if you stop and think about them seriously, they just seem too wonderous to comprehend. Those kinds of things are happening in my world at the moment. The thing is, they’re things that seem too intimate, too special, too wonderous to put on this (public) sphere. This is problematic.

I need to work out in my head what this space is to me, how much I can divulge here, how sacred it is. I was discussing with a friend that I may need to have two blog personas – one completely unknown to anyone I know, and this one. I’m not going to though. I’m going (to try my hardest) to climb out of my own head, get over myself and expose myself (and not in a rude way, get your minds out of the gutter!).

I wonder if I’m convincing myself?

P.S. I have much to tell of a great weekend with fabulous people, a White Trash Party celebrating oh-so-many wonderous things, much blue eyshadow, and a blonde wig. At some point someone asked me if it was true that blondes have more fun. My answer was: "My hair colour makes no difference. I always have fun." This was a completely honest, at-that-moment answer. I couldn't have not had fun, even if I'd tried. My grin was too big.