Naive Psychologist

Here’s what I wanted to do today:
Write first draft of synopsis of first (unfinished) draft of new big writing project for submission to the September round of project assistance grants which would probably not be successful this round, but would at least help me to focus myself and clarify thoughts and provide pivot for further developing my ideas.

Here’s what I could be doing which wouldn’t be achieving the Most Important Thing, but would at least be productive:
Typing up minutes of school council meeting for distribution as promised.
Hanging out washing that has just finished.
Folding clean, dry washing.
Bringing in dry washing from the line.
Tidying, then cleaning, desk which is such a mess it is getting me down.
Thinking about tea, because there are house guests who will want feeding at some point.
Writing interesting blog post about family holidays or about rotten things in my fridge.
Cleaning fridge.
Defrosting freezer.
Sending proposal of Very Good Idea for an article to an editor who will ignore my email.
Ringing The Mister to apologise for being a bit grumpy on the phone earlier on, then explain why I am feeling a bit grumpy, thus making him feel slightly bad for forgetting once again, thus regaining the upper hand and the power to choose where we will dine tomorrow evening and which movie we will see this evening while house guests care for children.
Unpicking the toes of the socks, find out how to do proper socks, then finish socks, then deliver to friend.
Ringing Grandfather to ask how he is getting on.
Reading a book.
Gathering information about internet censorship and China and contacting people who might be interested in campaigning on said issue.
Similarly, gathering information about child soldiers and contacting people who might be interested in campaigning on said issue.
Going for a walk, thus gathering ideas and momentum, improving health, the chances of losing a bit of the red wine pudge and well-being.
Organising father’s birthday present.
Playing the piano.
Finishing essay which someone is interested in.
Studying more about organisational diversity.
Phoning a friend to moan about pathetic life.
and so on…

Here’s what I am doing:
Hitting refresh on bloglines every five minutes, listening to Days of our Lives and getting pissed off with myself whenever I look at the time

A meme. From Kate. My first ever.

1. One book you have read more than once

I have two children, ages five and about to turn four, so many books are on current high rotation. More than once. More than twice. More than a thousand times. Some of the ones that I am happy to read over and over:
Mr McGee (but a lot of the other Pamela Allen is extremely difficult to read aloud – I know this is slightly controversial, but it’s true);
Diary of a Wombat, Jackie French;
Gordon’s got a Snookie, Wayne Harris:
Let’s Get a Pup, The Gruffalo’s Child, pretty much anything by Martin Waddell, Maurice Sendak, Pierre, a Cautionary Tale in Five Chapters and a Prologue. And for the nights when the day is just over: Rosie’s Walk. 27 words (update: this is wrong, it is 32 words).
And the current favourite: Tashi. Tashi and the anything. Genie. Demon. Giant. Anything.

2. One book you would want on a desert island
Something about survival skills and how to light a fire and so on. Or else a phone book from a really big city – preferably the yellow pages. It would give you lots of ideas and new things to think about.

3. One book that made you laugh
I read The Commitments in a Las Vegas laundromat. It was very, very funny. And so was Las Vegas. One of the best nights of my life. Shane Maloney’s books make me laugh, and I laughed a lot at the first couple of Janet Evanovich books I read. The first part of A Walk in the Woods by Bill Bryson was hilarious.

4. One book that made you cry
The Bridge to Terabithia by Katherine Paterson. And if I need a cathartic release, I go to bed with it, and read until one o’clock then cry myself to sleep.

5. One book you wish you had written
I’m not letting myself lust after other people’s writing at the moment.

6. One book you wish had never been written
Every book has it’s purpose? You have to write one crap book before you can write another, better book? This is copping out, isn’t it? I get really annoyed by stuff like The Rainbow Fish, which was a full-on marketing exercise, not a book.

7. This week, the two books I am reading before I go to bed are:
Black Swan Green.
The Comedy Bible: from stand-up to sitcom – the comedy writer’s ultimate how-to guide. Which I think says something about the true potential of my latest idea.

8. One book you have been meaning to read
Dark Victory. It’s on my shelf, but I just can’t bring myself to read it yet.

9. One book that changed your life
Vector Mechanics for Engineers.
You’d have to fall in love with someone who’s got that on their bookshelf.

Now tag five people:
I think I’ve left it too late. Go and do it if you haven’t already.
Thanks Kate. That was ace.

‘Hey Mum, don’t forget to look in your drink before you go to sleep. I gave you a surprise.’

And then, not long after I finished posting about my visit to the airport, I was back in the car and I heard that there has been an alleged threat to explode bombs which have been carried onto planes in hand luggage. It is serious, and people in airports are not worried about which magazines they will buy.

Of course, the post is rendered pathetic. And I am thinking I’m glad I live in Adelaide in the most feeble and self-congratulatory way, and I almost let myself think I should stop listening to the news, and it is taking all my effort to remember that we must condemn terror, not our human rights.

This morning, I dropped my father off at the airport, because he is going on a short trip. This is a job I performed with the good grace and maturity you would expect from someone my age. I do not have a photograph of myself being graceful. Such moments are hard to capture on film.

At this time of the day, there are very few Men in Suits at the Adelaide Airport, because by now they have been in their Very Important Meetings for well over two hours. There are, however, very many people using their out-in-public tone of voice to say: ‘I told you to stay away from there.’ Also because they are in public, they add such reasonable codas as: ‘it’s dangerous, and I don’t want you to hurt yourself’.

Here is my father’s plane. As he was boarding, I squinted for a bit, and it made him look like a rock star boarding his private jet after last night’s sold-out performance at the Entertainment Centre.

These are some of the places from which people will be arriving today. They will also depart for these places. However, I happen to know that you cannot go buy a ticket to Moomba without getting permission from someone or other. When you get to Moomba, you get a drink bottle and training on how to recognise the signs of thirst. This is second-hand knowledge. Live vicariously or not at all.

Here are some faux-retro bottom-holders:

Which are, I imagine, the kinds of things you can whip next door and get from here:
I can’t say for sure, because it is a place where I have never been.

The newspaper stands in airports make me feel connected to the rest of the world and today I bought two newspapers, but one of them was The Advertiser. The woman behind the counter made me hand the newspapers to her so that she could scan them, and I was a bit scared of her fingernails. They were long, and the nailpolish was more than a little chipped. They are the kind of nails which are too thick to bite. For some reason instead of taking a photo of the newspapers, I took a photo of the books and magazines.

For a long time after my father’s plane has taken off, I watch the planes coming and going, even though I know that it will cost me a fortune in car park fees.

In a few minutes, this plane will turn to the left and fly directly over my grandfather’s house. When I was young and slept on a fold up bed in the smallest room of his house, the planes woke me up in the morning because I wasn’t used to them. I think of the times I was living in places away from Adelaide, and my grandfather came to meet me. My father would have done it, but he lived two and half hours away. More by bus. I remember how flat and how purple Adelaide used to look to me then. I think of the meetings in Sydney I don’t go to anymore. I think of the trip to London I made last year, and how it was, being two flights away from my boys. I think of the trip to Portugal my heart wouldn’t let me make.

I think of saying goodbye and of saying hello.

It is just a trip to the airport, but nothing is straightforward.

By storing a replacement toner cartridge in my cupboard, and remembering that I have done so, I have foiled the universe’s attempts to foil my attempts to never miss a deadline.

Be upstanding with me in my moment of victory.

Please be seated.

As you were.

On Sunday, when the late-winter sun was at its most perfect – warm, not too low, clear of clouds – and when my children were at their most playful, and when my partner was at his most relaxed, I went into town to listen to some “Comfort Women” tell their stories.

And one of them told us that every night when the sun starts to go down, she starts to feel the fear. Because that is when the soldiers would start lining up outside her door.

Today is the International Day of Action for the Justice of “Comfort Women”. Go here to see what you can do.

All right, keep using the bookcase as a climbing frame and launch pad, but don’t come complaining to me when you break your neck.

Pour one more glass of red. Let it slosh around the sides when it pours, let there be a clunk when the bottle goes back to the bench.

Turn down the lights, lean back in your chair. Sip on your wine, sip again, close your eyes.

Augie March. Moo, you bloody choir.

Go back to the best, the best, the very best night of your life. And then further back to the one that was better than that. The one you can only bear to think about every now and then.

What a night. What a song. What a night.

None of this:

A bit of this:

And a shit-load of this: