JustAnne.

Dear June, You suck. Love, Anne.

**I wasn't going to publish this, but since drafting it I've had to clean cat poo out of a kitchen sink, deal with a rat said cat slaughtered and presented to me, and slept in, missing a plane for the first time in my life. June. You're a total, utter troll.**

Recently, while wallowing in an all encompasing pool of inconsable sorrow at the injustice of life, I reflected on just how much this month has sucked. There have of course been moments of fabulousness - visiting friends, career awesomeness, study radness, shopping for my new unit, buying a onesie - but there have also been a couple of things that have really kicked me in the guts.

Then I realised - this happens every, flippin' June. Last year there were certain revelations that lead me to a counsellor's couch for the first time in my life - the benefits of which I'm still undecided about.  Although, there's something to be said for paying someone to be your personal cheerleader and tell you that despite what you think - you're actually pretty awesome and you should just CTFO.

The June before that I was on a shopping detox because my spending habits had gotten out of control and the June before that I was the fattest I'd ever been and was quite miserable.

Basically, June sucks.

I think it must definitely be something cosmic. Certainly the statistics show that many people's moods drop during the winter, which makes sense. The days become shorter, the sun seems to shine less and the exhaustion of the first half of the year starts to set in. But! It's not all doom and gloom. From July things always start to pick up. And this year doesn't look to be any different.

The end of July/start of August will see me move into my very own, ready to rennovate and decorate apartment. Complete with 1960s kitchen, balconies, vast storage spaces and blank walls for me to paint and fill. July will also see me on holidays from uni after my first semester as a Masters student, and making the most of my assignment free weekends in antique stores hunting down 1950s and 60s furniture and decor.

June, as always you have been a stuck-up little cow who's been making my life hell. I'm glad you're nearly over. Bring on July, which will absolutely not be dry.

Love

I just stumbled upon the following words in the depths of my hard drive. The date stamp reads "1/10/2009 10:43pm" and the title "Typology of Love".

It's pretty dated, but they were exactly the right words I needed to stumble into tonight. So I thought I best publish them unedited for posterity. 

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Sometimes, it feels like the whole love thing is just a party someone threw that I wasn’t invited to.

Love is so fundamental to the human experience that we are bombarded by it every day.

When you’ve never experienced a particular ‘type’ of love you always seem to feel like you’re missing out on something.

I suspect there are many different types of love, so many in fact that I wish the English language had a few more words to describe it.

There is that comforting and occasionally stifling love you receive from a parent. And the somewhat conflicted, duty-bound and adoring love you give back to them. Then of course there is that strange love between siblings, a mix of jealously, competition, irritation and unwavering loyalty.

There is love you feel towards your pets, full of caring, nurturing and occasional rage as you scrub their urine out of the carpet. There is the love for the Aunts, Uncles and Grandparents who are always ready to spend time with you, or give you lollies and chocolate. We love them in a way we could never love our parents, because they never discipline us.

The love you feel for your friends, without whom the world we be a much scarier place. A love born out of choice and constructed with a fierce loyalty and an ease of communication that provides a safe haven from a strange and confusing world.

The love you feel towards your vocation, your passion in life. This is the love that drives you. There is the love you feel towards places, cities, countries. A reflection of the complex interplay of sights, sounds, smells and memories of your time there.

Unrequited love is an old friend of mine. The words agony and ecstasy both come to mind when remembering my not too distant past experiences of this.

I have experienced all of the above at one point or another. That’s pretty impressive really, that’s a whole lotta love. But there a couple that are still missing. The love you feel for a child, and the shared love with a partner.

The former I am more than happy to wait for, but the latter. The latter is what keeps me up at night.

I wrote this to remind myself of all the other love I have in my life. To remember the sheer ridiculousness of my angst.

But it occurs to me that all of us pine for the love we do not have. Because we are missing something, maybe a parent, a sibling, a partner, a child, a friend, or a really rockin’ wardrobe. This perceived absence of love seems to really stuff us around. So maybe it is good to take a moment to think about all of the love we already have. Remember the strengths and anchors in our lives, rather than what we’re desperately trying to reach out for. It’s a fairly solid bet that most of us already have some pretty fabulous loves in our life, if we ever happen to glance at them. 

 

Resolved.

Well, my new years eve/day celebrations had just about everything - good food, good friends, good booze, amazing hot tubs, sausage dogs, Bailey's, obligatory 3am tears, bad movies, more beer and more great friends. Still, as I morosley expressed in last night's hot tub, I've been struggling to get excited about 2011.

I was really pumped for 2010. It was going to be my year - totally. awesome. But I've walked away feeling a bit meh. And while in many ways I have totally kicked butt this year, there have been some rather unfun and unsavoury moments that have removed some of life's gloss.

I suppose you could probably just consider these knocks and scrapes the stuff of 'growing up', but my gosh - don't they just suck balls? I mean, seriously? Why must life keep twisting and turning and requiring me to friggin' learn things about myself?? All of this 'self reflection' and 'growing as a person' malarkey is really very taxing on my mood, my body and yes, I'm going to say it - my bank balance.

And yet, in typical Anne fashion I have an enormous list of things to achieve in the coming year. So in keeping with tradition, here is my list of resolutions for 2011, in no particular order:

• Learn how to ride a bike
• Drink less, sew more
• Pay off credit debt in order to consider new and more bountiful debt aka 'a mortgage'
• Seek professional supervision/mentoring
• Consider studying again
• Start up dance/dance-fitness again - rediscover the joy of movement!
• Go back to Weight Watchers - things have gotten out of hand. It's time.
• Be kinder to myself - recognise and value the diversity within.
• Start accepting set-ups and blind dates. Seriously, what is there left to lose?
• And when it comes to romance - just chill. the. fuck. out. And be brave. 

I have extremely mixed feelings about the year ahead. But at the same time I feel quite determined to work on the above list. So what do you reackon peeps? Do you think I can do it all?

I think that maybe I can.

Soulmates.

There's something about December. Somewhere between the insane levels of crafting, cooking and socialising, one cannot help but become reflective. My recent ruminations have lead me to believe that in 2010 I have spent a bit too much time in the land of 'glass-half-empty'. 

For some utterly bizarre reason, when I look back on the year I somehow feel unfulfilled. Despite the great new job, amazing career opportunities, fabulous new friends, moving to a great flat in a suburb I adore, holidays and countless other fantastic moments the year has given me.

Clearly, I am a total idiot.

Well no more!! Instead of pining over the absence of my so-called-soul-mate (a.k.a. "a man"), I am taking a moment to do something different and celebrate my real soulmates. I am going to name names, and they are the names of some of the most remarkable women I know.

They all contribute to my life, making me stronger, happier and somehow lighter. They are my sisters of the heart and I just don't talk about them enough.

This list is not, and cannot be exhaustive. There are countless amazing, awe-inspiring women in my life. But these ladies are very much my glue. So here goes ...

There is the remarkable Sarah - my oldest friend and someone I can always laugh and be myself with. Even when that self is just a giant blob on the couch or a hungry and cranky-panted co-traveller. 

There is Lindsay, whose understated kindness is only enhanced by her deliciously evil wit, which I absolutely adore. Especially when she is dragging sausage dogs into hot-tubs. 

My twin, the lovely Lisa. Not only are our lives disturbingly parallel, we complement each other entirely. She'll always tell me like it is and is a force of sheer awesome that I am lucky enough to bask in.

Jessie, my former flatmate and Victorian-era life-partner - the Howard to my Vince. Always delighted in life and always a joy to be around. And ever so nonchalant when finding my naked gentlemen callers in the bathroom. 

Eli, Eli, Eli. My current flat mate who makes me laugh with my whole body and who has graciously created space for me (and my vast quantity of stuff) in her life. And while I am still waiting to see the evidence base, she may indeed prove to be a Doctor of Life.

Ange - not only is she introducing me to jazz, she is introducing me to her kind, and generous spirit. A woman I can be totally open with, and share my lust for Tupperware with. Amongst other things.

Tania, a most amazing woman who has an uncanny knack for always making me feel positive about myself, even when I am quite determined not to. A big heart and a passion for recycling and sewing that I can only hope to emulate.

And of course, there is my mum Cathy. She shared with me her values, her kindness and her wit. I am who I am because of her. She is a rock star and I am lucky to have her.

So it is with these amazing women that I look towards 2011. There will be some interesting times ahead that I am sure I will need them for. But I shall save that for another post. :)

Home.

As I start to settle into that feeling of being in-between-homes, I cannot help but spend a bit of time reflecting on what home actually means. This particular train of thought all began when I was recently house sitting for my parents. And as those of you who follow me on Facebook and Twitter will know, it was quite the drama. A drama that resulted in quite high levels of cranky-pantedness. 

Still, despite getting woken up early by painters every morning, not being able to access the laundry where my clothes were, wearing my 15 year old brothers clothes back to my own house to find something to wear for work and then accidentally locking myself out of the house at 10pm and having to shimmy along the side of the house in a short skirt and then finding a giant dump in the toilet courtesy of one of the aforementioned painters - I somehow managed to indulge in some pleasant nostalgia. 

The nostalgia hit me when I least expected it, when I was baking some goodies for a work morning tea in my parents kitchen. When I used the old set of scales that required a creative combination of weight measures to balance my butter against. BAM! When I dug out the old and battered aluminum cake tins, which had once housed the core components of many creations from theAustralian Women's Weekly Children's Birthday Cake Cookbook. BAM! When I measured ingredients in the 80s brown cup measures and used porcelain mixing bowls to prepare the icing. BAM! It was all exceedingly wonderful and filled me with that extraordinary tingle - that feeling of being home.

And then I began to realise just how many elements of my mother's kitchen had now become a part of my own. We had the same can opener and vegetable peeler - and an eerily similar collection of mixing spoons and nested mixing bowls. In both our kitchens the third drawer from the top is the province of cling wrap, baking paper, brown paper bags and freezer bags. I hardly ever use brown paper bags or freezer bags! But by golly, I keep them in that third drawer from the top. 

And then I began to notice some of the 'innovations' I had introduced into my mother's kitchen. Namely, the detergent dispensing dishwand and the silicon bakeware. And I also noticed the subtleties that indicated my parents are significantly more affluent than I am. They have real vanilla essence, not imitation.

I guess there are many things about the homes we grow up in that make their way into our own lives and homes. And it's not just our little behaviour quirks (like using different coloured chopping mats for different kinds of foods) - somehow the spaces are physically connected. My mother's kitchen was no doubt inspired by her own mother and the Christmas cake mixing bowl that once belonged to my grandmothers kitchen,now living in my mother's kitchen will now doubt make its way to mine someday.

How strange is that, to think of your kitchen as a physical link to your maternal line!?

I wonder if men feel the same way about traditionally 'male' spaces?

I guess it's all just a reminder that that essence of 'home-ness' is really just something that follows us around. Hidden in the guise of our habits and the way like to organise things and create a safe space around us.

A comforting thought for those of us who are about to move their life from one place to another, even if it's not moving very far.