Shady Lady Fights Back!

Gone!

Audrey — Wed, 26 Aug 2009 08:24:19 +0000

This blog has moved – find me at www.audreymash.com

Checking in

Audrey — Fri, 21 Aug 2009 16:46:10 +0000

Now I know I am not being particularly verbose this week, but let me explain. I have two reasons for my uncharacteristic reticence. Firstly is the fact that I have, quite simply, been drunk since Tuesday. In fact, you could say since Sunday, with a short break on Monday. Yesterday I spent the whole day sharing my (small) room with the three loudest boys I’ve ever met. And we had only arrived home at about 6 am. After which we all had to squish into my very tiny single bed and try to sleep. Trust me it will be blogged about one day, but at the time it did seem to prevent me from getting the time to write. Also my general skankiness over the past week has left me reluctant to share the more intimate details of my life. Again, one day I probably will. The post which went up on wednesday morning and was taken down again 5 minutes later sparked so much interest that I fully intend to rewrite it (taking out only the parts which might cause unnecessary offence to people I care about) and let y’all know just how dodgy I really am.

But more than that has been the fact that in the few moments when I have been able to to sit in front of a PC I have largely been trying to work out how to copy the content of this blog into it’s brand spanking new page! Yup, that’s right, the utterly awesome Richard has given me a home of my very own at www.audreymash.com. How rad? Soon that site will have all of the content which is currently on this one, as well as (obviously) new things. So next time you want to come and read what I have to say about life, check there first. I think I’ve figured out how to move the files now, but I need Richard’s help to do it, so it might still take a day or two.

That’s the admin. Right now I am sitting at work, librarianing, and am so tired I could die. But I have to go out after this – out on a date of all things. I know what you’re thinking – ‘Who would date such a Shady Lady?’ Well I’m thinking much the same thing. I also had difficulty understanding what the man (shall we call him Mr X? I like that…) was saying over the phone so I don’t know what his plans for the evening are. All I know is that I am dreaming of my bed and I have to be back behind this desk as of 8am tomorrow, and therefore I am far less excited than I should be. Plus I really don’t know this guy at all. Or anything about him. Guess one date can’t be that hard, but it is possibly literally years since I last went on one. Eeek.

Right. One hour 15 minutes left until I can get the faaaark out of here. Run home, change at light-speed, head out to North Riding and be polite for probably about 2 hours, sprint home and pass out. Sound fun? Not to me…

Vegan Condoms

Audrey — Wed, 19 Aug 2009 16:36:41 +0000

Did that get your attention? I really have nothing more to say on the subject, but it seemed necessary to throw it in here at some point. In fact, it is not true that I have nothing more to say. I always have something to say. And the notion of a vegan condom so intrigued me that I had to google it, which led me to this website. Yes people, there really is a website called vegancondoms.com. And that in turn led me to the sensualvegan.com site, where they sell vegan sex toys and the like. Who knew? More to the point, who wanted to know? Too late now though, you will always carry the burden of this knowledge in your mind. When you toss and turn at night, your dreams will be filled with giant animal-friendly sex aids.

Eurythmics – I Need A Man

Audrey — Wed, 19 Aug 2009 10:13:10 +0000

Thought I’d put these lyrics up here because… well really, they say it all. Come back in approximately 7 hours for something a little more entertaining…

I don’t care if you won’t
Talk to me
You know I’m not that kind of girl.
And I don’t care if you won’t
Walk with me
It don’t give me such a thrill.
And I don’t care about the way you look
You should know I’m not impressed
‘Cause there’s just one thing
That I’m looking for
And he don’t wear a dress.

I need a man…
I need a man…

Baby baby baby
Don’t you shave your legs
Don’t you double comb your hair
Don’t powder puff
Just leave it rough
I like your fingers bare.
When the night comes down
I can turn it round
I can take you anywhere.
I don’t need love
Forget that stuff
You know that I don’t care

I need a man…
I need a man…

I don’t need a heartbreaker
Fifty-faced trouble maker
Two timing time taker
Dirty little money maker
Muscle bound cheap skate
Low down woman hater
Triple crossing double dater
Yella bellied alligator…

Birdsong

Audrey — Tue, 18 Aug 2009 10:44:25 +0000

This is a piece which I wrote when I was 16. It seemed to be so apt, and to sum up so much of what I was writing about here, that I wanted to share it. There will be more of my writing coming soon – I’ve been sorting through my poetry and finding it better than I expected.

Off to the side of the path, a snake rustled throught he grass. Birds sang in the trees overhead, joining in with the chatter of the monkeys to help cheer us on as we climbed. Heartened by this encouraging chorus we pushed onwards, past the trailing creepers which grabbed at our hair, over the roots which appeared from nowhere to trip us and were surely placed by some malevolant teity intent on turning us back. But we didn’t stop and we didn’t turn back, for through the tree branches overhead we could see the sky, clear and blue, and with that ahead to call us on we didn’t mind the aches in our muscles or the scratches on our arms. We didn’t mind it at all, not even the rivulsts of sweat trickling down our faces and our backs, leaving sticky patches under our arms and the straps of our packs. At least, I don’t remember minding.

I know that I minded sometimes. I minded when the heat got too much and the clothes hanging from my pack to dry snagged on a twig so that I stumbled and fell. I minded when our water had to last two days and so we couldn’t cook. I minded when he joked and laughed with the others and not me, that man, that boy who was supposed to be mine. I minded when I fell and pulled someone else down with me, and his hand reached out first to her, and only later, as an afterthought, to me. Mostly, though, I minded when one of them came to walk beside me and to tell me that he wasn’t good enough for me, that I ought to let go. I minded because I knew it was true, but in my reply I would have to betray one of us; him or me, and I always betrayed myself.

But I know that on that day, the day when we climbed the dune, I didn’t mind as much. Or perhaps I did at the beginning, but those memories are gone now, locked in the past, and I don’t want them back. On that day none of it mattered. Not the backache or the headache or even the heartache. I finished the climb and saw why the birds would want to sing. I understood the monkeys’ laughter. I didn’t care if my heart was broken; I had found a place where I didn’t matter. I stood there. I stood at the top of the dune and stared out at the vast expanse of sand to the sea, and its blue seemed to reflect not only the sky but all of the possibilities of life. Standing there with my pack still weighing me down, I forgot him. I forgot myself.

Oh, I was roused from my stupor; of course I was, and as the others went about their nightly routine, laughing and washing, chattering and cooking, I smiled and pretended to be interested. I curled up that night at the base of a tree, tangled in the roots, not caring if it was uncomfortable. It was home. From then on I didn’t mind. I didn’t mind any of the sweat or the pain which it had taken to get there. I didn’t care when he slept on the other side of the campsite; it was less important than the sound of the waves breaking on the shore. But I did mind when we left. As we walked away from the dune, back down the beach towards civilisation, my pack seemed to weigh a thousand tons. I remembered all of the little things which I had minded before. And then I remembered that one day I could go back, and in that place I wouldn’t care when he wasn’t there with me.

Adventures in the township

Audrey — Mon, 17 Aug 2009 16:06:48 +0000

Eish. Today is a day of hangover and pain. But whenever I wake up with pounding pain in the back of my brain I feel compelled to ask myself one big question – Was it worth it? Today, despite the bumps on my car and the pain in my head, the answer to that was a resounding yes. Not because anything particularly spectacular went down last night (Except for some incredibly bad driving. I need to learn to relinquish the wheel in these states.), but rather because I tried something totally new. For the first time ever I ventured out of my Northern Suburbs comfort zone and into the depths of the townships. I partied in Soweto.

For most white South Africans the townships are an alien place where we dare not venture. After 14 years of living in Johannesburg it had never occured to me to visit one. The notion of going in on a guided tour was distinctly unappealing. I didn’t want to be one of a gaggle of tourists peering out through the minibus windows at the ‘natives’ going about their daily lives. Somehow that felt too colonial and exploitative – although it is a valid way of bringing employment and awareness to these cities outside the city. But the history and inaccessability of the townships is what gives them a strange allure to a traveller like me. How can I be going to do a Cape to Cairo trip and explore Africa, if I’ve never explored the Africa on my doorstep? So, what other way would there be for a whitey like me to get in there? The answer, it turned out, was simply to make friends.

So, last night, a LOT of liquor down (there had been multiple bottles of wine. And a couple of draughts at the Bo.) I called my friend Manga, a denizen of Soweto. I wanted a party, and on a Sunday evening my options were limited. My rationality had also been mildly impaired, and so, much to his suprise, I said ‘No worries, I will find you. See you in 20 mins…’ and climbed onto the highway. By the time I climbed off again, I was in a different world. That said, it was a different world and yet immediately familiar. We drank, we danced and while it seemed a little odd to be the only white girl (person?) in the seething crowd of humanity (and a little odd for there to be such a party going on on a Sunday night), I at no point felt threatened or even uncomfortable. Or not more than could be discounted as paranoia.

Despite the normality of it all, it still felt rather like an adventure. And it broke down a barrier for me. I no longer feel that there are parts of my own (adopted) country which are off limits for me. I will return to Soweto, probably in daylight and probably sober – but also at night for parties. I have no more fear of the unknown. Just a pounding head and a desperate longing for my bed. I also rather suspect that my hangover means that this post is badly written and less coherent than it should be – I apologise!

And and and! Before I forget – I want to add on the end of this that (despite the drunkenness of yesterday) it was a drug free weekend. Hopefully the first of many.

Today is a good day

Audrey — Sat, 15 Aug 2009 12:54:34 +0000

It’s all right there in those five words. Today is a good day. Today is the sort of day which had me bounding out of bed (albeit only at 11:45, but for me that is early these days) and throwing open the curtains. Once I had seen the state of the sky I threw open the French doors too, and spent a little while sitting on the step smiling at the plum blossom and the blue sky, while Minx (the world’s stupidest cat) purred in my lap. There isn’t much in life that I enjoy more than a summer’s day.

Sitting in the sunshine, basking in the warmth, and five minutes later as I bounced around the room with a Mika DVD playing full blast, I began to reflect on my relationship to the seasons. More importantly, the three way relationship between the weather, my mood, and my drug use. Is it coincidental that every winter, for as far back as I can remember, illegal substances have come to control my life to a point which has had me on the edge of breakdown, and every summer I’ve kicked the habit? (Or at least reined it in sufficiently for it to scare me less.) Last year summer was spent completely sober. Admittedly this came about as a result of a stint in rehab, but the rehab was needed because the winter had broken me so badly. The year before that I had almost gone to rehab at the end of the winter, but instead I packed my bags and spent two drug free months in Brazil before coming home and staying of the powder until, you guessed it, winter came around. The year before thatwas definitely not sober, but I was 21 and I was loving every second of the drunken pool parties and the long summer evenings. What I was notably not doing was smoking the crystal meth which had been slowly insinuating its way into my life over the preceding winter.

Reflecting on this up and down cycle reminded me of a day, almost exactly a year ago, when I felt like I did this morning. An overwhelming sense of bliss and hope for the future. Nothing could get me down. Things should have been able to get me down. I was driving my ex home when the joy kicked in. Five minutes before I had been heart-broken. We had broken up just a few weeks before, but were still spending a lot of time (and nights) together. He had stayed over the previous night – giving me a flutter of hope that this could still be fixed – and had announced that morning that he had a date in the evening. My mood went from wonderful to bitter in a matter of moments. Suddenly the world was a dark dark place. Until, that is, we left the house and I saw what a beautiful, beautiful day it was. The first signs of spring and summer were in the air. The sky was blue, the birds were singing and the blossom was out. All the harm that the boy could do me seemed inconsequential against a background of such a bright new world. I sang through the drive, dropped him off and gave him a goodbye hug, still smiling.

Of course, the mood didn’t last. Two weeks later he was engaged and I was about to start rehab. That, though, isn’t quite the point. What it has left me thinking is about why.Not why does summer make me happy and winter make me high. I know the answer to that. And the patterns speak for themselves. I suspect I could go back a decade and find that the same thing has happened to me every year. But rather why do I stay? Why not run away and find a country where the sun shines all year round, where the birds sing and the flowers bloom? If the difference between happiness and addiction is as simple as changing my climate, what has taken me so long? This, then, is my promise to myself. By the time that next winter rolls around, I will be ready to go. Next April will not find me pulling on my woolly jumpers and stocking up on cocaine. Instead I will be somewhere on the tropics in a strappy top with a virgin Daiquiri. Because sometimes being scared to make the big change is what is killing us.

The Gone Away World

Audrey — Wed, 12 Aug 2009 16:21:35 +0000

Right off the bat I think it is important to clarify one thing about this book. Not everyone is going to like it. It is vast, and full of tangents, and the bulk of it consists of a 300 page flashback. It rambles and takes side-trips. It defies classification – is it sci-fi? Is it fantasy? Is it even set on Earth? Is it a comedy or a post apocalyptic nightmare? If you need to know the answers to these questions, don’t even start. If you don’t like your books to have (to quote this review) ‘black humor that often covers the tale’s furiously beating heart’, then the book is not for you. That said, though, I cannot see what is wrong with a book having wit and soul all in one. Some of the questions dealt with in here are the big ones, and the (very) dark humour which often covers them is what is stopping The Gone Away World from being a heavy text and transforming it into a roller-coaster ride.

The basic premise of the novel is that, in a post-apocalyptic future, something has gone wrong with the Pipe, the only thing able to sustain the remnants of civilisation. Gonzo Lubitsch, the nameless narrator, and the rest of their friends from the Haulage & Hazmat Emergency Civil Freebooting Company are called in to do what they do best – be professional heroes. At this point the flashback starts, and we are given the full history of Gonzo and his sidekick, from childhood, through adolescence, university (and political awakening) through a World War and the subsequent apocalypse, until the present day and the crisis they find themselves solving. Along the way we pick up hints of the bigger issues which will come into play when the book eventually returns to saving the world, 350 or so pages in.

The flashback bothered me at first, but once I had settled into it became in many ways the most enjoyable part of the book. It was the last part, set in the (future?) present, which I was unhappy with. The lack of a name for the narrator began to worry me as soon as I realised it, and when other reviews mentioned that it tied into the ending, my suspicions went on to high alert. I will say no more on that, because in the end it was not enough of a flaw to spoil my enjoyment of the book, but suffice it to say that I was right, and it led me to feel a little cheated.

All of the reviews which I have read have been torn between loving the whirlwind, up and down, backwards and forwards crazy pace of the book, and feeling exhausted by it. I loved it. I laughed and gasped and stayed up all night. It is funny, and very smart. It raises lots of big issues without being weighed down by them. There are lots of fairly obvious influences here (you may recognise glimpses of some of the greats of dark wit), but they are borrowed from and assimilated into something new, and something genuinely original. Had you told me a week ago that a book could be part kung-fu film, part war epic, and have a troupe of mimes as a crucial element, I would have laughed, but this manages all that, and to be serious at the same time.

This is the first book by Nick Harkaway. I will be at the front of the queue when his next comes out.

And now?

Audrey — Sun, 09 Aug 2009 23:49:41 +0000

1:40 am. Just got home. I just snuck out of the flat of a boy I rather like and left him sleeping because my emotional deadness has reached a point where I can neither cuddle nor spend the night. To make it even better I then invited more mates round to mine – they will be here any minute. So instead of getting some sleep (which I didn’t last night, so we’re pushing 48 hours here) next to a lovely man, I am going to misbehave some more and pretend that’s ok. Will I ever learn? Do I care? Right now, with the joint and the bottle of wine in front of me, the answer has to be no. But come Tuesday morning, and the end of the long weekend, things must be different.

Wait, have you heard that before?

What scares me the most this time is that I have turned into all the things I never wanted to be. I have turned into the men who broke my heart over and over. I have less emotional availability than they did. And I can’t bring myself to care. It makes it all a little easier, if truth be told. I don’t feel exposed, or vulnerable – but at the same time, I do feel very alone. I am not sure how one would break through this new shell, because I’m not sure where it came from, or when. And as long as it stays, I am on my own on this journey, whether anyone else tries to be there for me or not.

And if the boy I snuck out on reads this: I’m sorry. Creeping out at 1:00 am felt a bit like a cheap trick, but I couldn’t stay. The oldest line in the book goes something along the lines of ‘It’s not you, it’s me.’ But I don’t know how else to phrase it. I’m working on it, if that helps…

Exhaustion takes hold

Audrey — Sat, 08 Aug 2009 10:18:00 +0000

I know I am too tired to be out in public today, because everything keeps making me cry. A friend sending me an e-mail telling me they worry about me and I only need ask for help had me hiding my head under the desk to mask my sniffles. A quick look at this (wonderful) blog’s Nepal photos reduces me to an emotional basketcase who is desperately trying not to leak tears while muttering under her breath about wanting to go ‘home’. Hell, even just writing this seems to be challenging. In a way, though, perhaps it isn’t such a bad thing. Being poised so close to the edge of complete emotional breakdown forces me to evaluate and re-evaluate. Maybe that e-mail should be a wake-up call. When even those who I wouldn’t call close are worrying, perhaps it is time to listen. Maybe the fact that Nepal photos still stir reactions like that in me means that I need to stop being practical and ‘realistic’ and start working out how to get back there. Maybe all that being this tired has done is strip away the protective layers I keep between me and the truth. Maybe.

Either way, I’m planning on sleeping like the dead as soon as my shift finishes.