Author: <span>Rebecca Matheson</span>

Ok so I didn’t write yesterday. I might as well do it now as the train is relatively empty meaning that I don’t have other eyes reading this.

Today. Comparitively better than yesterday. Work yes. Melbourne like a freezer but still beautiful. Went out the back to feed Job around 7:15am this morning, still hints of sunrise, full moon, sky completely clear and an eagle. Quite surreal.

Work was work, fairly enjoyable but left wrist playing up again. And now I’m going home.

There is a guy infront of me (not same seat set). He’s wearing an orange work vest that says “Push me for responce” (spelling as written). I wonder if he knows…

Yesterday. One of those days. Fell up stairs on way out of Spencer St. A weird guy on the the tram. Skitzophrenic – or something not quite right. He was leering at anyone female. Sat opposite me and tried talking…’why wont you talk to me’. I might have said fractionally more than nothing if it were someone else. I’d say hello to the asian guy 🙂 the one who repeats ‘channel 9 news’ over and over, but this guy was plain creepy. Ignored him and had to reread the one page of my book about three times for it to make any sense. Pity that, being the last page of Hitchhikers, you kind of want to end in style. He finally moved. So nice unsettling time. Hate stuff like that. Semi bothered others. just noticeably hanging round other women a few seats down.

Lunch with Jess C – that was ok. had to do most of the talking….(omitted part) Few awkward silences. It is worth the effort to get to know her better. I feel older than her, which in reality is not true.

Hmm don’t know what made me class yesterday as ‘bad’ I guess the morning’s stuff. A foul mood.

I did get a photo of my door (have I mentioned the orange door?). Took it in a hurry so not hugely great. Can’t put on blog til Burkie goes out and finds it for himself – somehow got me to promise that. something about it being ‘new’

I have my eccentricities (sp?) – if anyone else appreciates quirks in the same way – well.
The door is probably not worth half a blink to many … person walks past, “oh orange door” and promptly forgets.

A good thing – went to Alecia’s for dinner with Jess W an dSam. Lasagne – got to meet a few of her housemates. Played a game called Apples to Apples. Highly enjoyable. Love company and doing things out of the ordinary.

This writing is such a mess – hopefully recognisable to get down somewhere elses. This is in the notebook – originally for Group Focus stuff, it now lives in my backpack and serves numerous purpose, random thinkings on trains on occasion.

*Nunawadding Station

Should get to Moorolbark by 6:15ish maybe fractionally earlier.

It’s funny how you catch the same train every once, even twice a week then you are waiting on the platform and see the screen change to 5:16 Moorolgbark and think, “Oh good – this is mine. Why’s it not going to Lilydale?” You get on anyway and 5 minutes after sitting down realise you normally get the 5:23 which completely…

*Mitcham Station

…explains why it is not a Lilydale train and feel rather stupid for not giving it half a though initially.

Called Dad/Em/Home/Laura and finally got through to Laura who isn’t at home. So recalled home and eventually got on to them. Mum’s picking…

*Heatherdale Station

…me up from Moorl. and we are going on to Eastland.

And I am changing tenses (writing) all over the place.

I’m reading Provence a book about France. Has no real story line as such, beautiful description. People rant on and on with crappy metaphors. This guy – when he uses them- creates far better ones.

*Ringwood Station

Actually there is a story. Just a guy and his wife’s year living in Provence. So more small narratives of their life. I think it is true, I recall seeing the date 1989…

*Ringwood East Station

… somwhere.

I am sittin gat the wrong end of the train – 3 I think from the front which means I have to walk lots once I get to the sation – then again, its’ Moorl. maybe not.

Haha I could bore myself writing this. But can’t be bothered with more France right now. I have Relient K up nice and loud.

*Croydon… hmm not so late

Called Mum again to come now so I don’t have to wait in the cold.

Stopping now. nearly there.

The end of lovely boring train ride which I quite enjoyed.

🙂

*Moorolbark Station

———–

*long wait in the cold

General On The Train

scintillating

scin·til·late

To throw off sparks; flash.
To sparkle or shine. See Synonyms at flash.
To be animated and brilliant: dinner conversation that scintillated.

v. tr.
To give off (sparks or flashes).

General Words

To keep track of what I’ve read as my other lists that I make always seem to get lost or stop…

Read and Blue

by all means if you have read any of the books, comment away.

Only recording from today, it’s too difficult to go back and remember the ones before.

links to Amazon purely because there are reviews there… should you by any chance be interested.

Blogging Books General

Words. God gave so much to the world before words. I think of the excitement in recording what has happened – the same that everyone has. Photographs, letters, journal entries (blogs for that matter), stories, movies, cd, recordings of voice, home videos, a child’s handprint in clay or dough, all those mementos, those tickets, pieces of thread, a feather – people’s ‘spooky boxes’.
Why does it mean so much to record our history? We all know whether we acknowledge it or not that we are going to die one day. Oh yes, it’s nice to think we can leave behind a little of our past for our grandchildren to wonder over, but those birthday cards, notes from friends, leaves, coins – what are they to any other? Why do we care so much?

Why if you were to grab something when your house was burning down would it be those things, memories in their pitifully concrete form. What are memories after we die? Or heaven forbid get Altzheimers *sarcasm*. We spend so much time recording our lives and for what end? It’s selfish in many ways, the way we hoard what’s precious to us. We could for instance go out and make a bit of difference in somone’s day. But then do we keep those things because someone made a difference in our day?

Words, a way to record, to communicate, to solidify history, to pass on what could be pointless or maybe even useful information. Does a cookbook hold higher honor than a novel? Where does feeding imaginations lie in comparision to what could be more practical? Can you write without a dream, without anything to impart?

Record the happenings, the present, the future even, and most definitely the past. To what end? A respite from the now? How people pour over photo albums – even those belonging to others.

Are we so caught up in the intricracies of our lives?
Or is that why it’s so important?

———————-

What would you grab if your house was burning down?

What’s in your ‘spooky box’?

General


How I like my coffee.

I somehow ended up owning multiple cups, all brown and green “very bec”
Also a testimony to my stingyness as they were either presents or like the cup in the middle cost me a grand total of 50c (new, not opshop).

That saying, I dont think I’ve ever used the really little one – mum got that for me somewhere. The secondone up (from the right) is the one probably worth the most, Laura got that for Kris Kringle for me (we did it on schoolies… so I ended up getting 2 Christmas presents from her). The very first one is possibly the best for late night coffee, it being the largest and if you make the coffee the same colour as the cup it’s pretty well perfect.

The 50c cup is useful as it accomdates for the tea drinking… trying to drink tea out of a latte cup, don’t even go there.

Whatever the case, this is evidence of the slight collecting gene I’ve inherited from my mother (by no means as bad) and I have well and truly eased off since about 4 years back.

At least this is practical.

Coffee General