Home late and..

...covered in ink from my course. Enjoying leftover picnic potato salad for dinner. Loving that my mum did my dishes. Wondering what the golly gee whizz bejeepers to wear to work tomorrow. Feeding my cat corn chips (hey - he asked for them!). Wondering if I should break my blanket ban on stoopid petrochemical face greasers, sorry, cosmetics, and buy wrinkle cream. Loving that my community college students are as in love with printmaking as I am, and all want to quit their days jobs and ink up instead (or at least as well as). Wondering if its wrong that the most exciting thing about the new job so far is the coffee machine and the dead spunky boy who sits in my pod. Really too spunky - I think it could quickly become an occuptaional health and safety issue...

Yesterday lying on the lawn of a park under a big old tree had some great quotable quotes from Sparkle Cowboy - will relay as soon as he reminds me what they were... I do remember something about an abundance of sugar daddies bringing on late onset diabetes, and a fond reminiscence of the text message that said 'I think I broke my toe dropping a bottle of mandarin vodka on it at the gym Christmas Party'. We agreed that he is without a doubt the most Sydney of us all, but Mango Mitsu was declared Paddo worthy after some particularly arch comment,which of course I can't now remember - I blame the rose.

General blog talk in the park(yes, meta narrrative here we go)led to much gentle musing on the revealing or quasi revealing nature of blogs. The Russian dollies of truth. The character drama posing as autobio. The crumb trail to the centre of our beings. I had to confess that at my most blogific (hey mermaidgrrl, there's a puntastic word for us!) when away I was concurrently using 3 blogs and a paper diary. I had to explain that they each had specific roles and functions ie. blogs were handy for emergency yet discrete debriefing while in another country working long hours in a somewhat repressive desk job (watch me type - oh yes just typing very important worky typing things here, nothing to see,move along), two of the blogs were just for me as musing space (the PG rated material, the wafty quotes for handy storage and retrieval, the seeds of stories etc), and the paper diary as my most private and free outpourings and wonderings, messy and colourful and with drawings to boot, in a way that a tidy little public blog just isn't. Could be - but isn't. So yes - blogging? Crafted artiface where we divulge little safe secrets and make ourselves funny and erudite? Write ourselves up as clever wry heros in the stories of our lives? Present random polaroids of our days? POst on the message board to buddies? Explain ourselves to some unseen questioner? Who knows.

Oh crap, look at the time! Bath and bed. For the character of this blog at least.

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NB News Flash - New Litttle Brittain Series starts this Wed for those of you so inclined. My teve has come out of the closet (literally), at the request of my most recent house guest, even if not reinstated onto mantle piece but now perched lopsided on a chair...