The sky was a delicious amber blue in colour. Almost an apricot danish amber. I’m hungry just thinking about it.

As soon as the 8:17am to Flagstaff Station is boarded, the mind goes from its usual podcast powered 4th gear to a more sedate and almost drone like 2nd gear. The turbo cuts out and what is left is someone who sounds like a broken record.

Who is full of useless analogies?
ME!

Instinct brought me back here and it also instantly takes me away. My colleagues can keep ribbing me with the usual comments about me having issues and even going out of their oh-so-kind way to enquire as to whether I am on some sort of illicit substance.

I haven’t got over the death of two very important people in my life. The tiny shard of hope (eh, what’s that? Foreign concept to me) I do have will honestly get clumsily flattened by my stupid Leo nature and size 7 Chucks.

Please allow Keyboard Cat to play me out. I gotta take a step back, attack my Moleskine with my 4 colour pen and draw a diagram.

I’m sorry, my friend.

Back in high school, it seemed to be so easy to let a guy know that I liked him. I spent many a lunchtime in the library with my pencils, sketchbook and pens drawing pictures, comics and creating other bits of silly looking “artwork” that punctuated the thought “I’m that weirdo chick with the pigtails in 9D that listens to all that freaky sounding stuff on her walkman, usually gets detention for wearing her faded band tshirts over her uniform and sucks at Maths. Oh yeah, by the way, I really like you “

Most of the time going to all that effort succeeded in getting a hello out of them or even a round of four square or Kanga cricket. Other times, the pictures would end up in the bin and I’d spend months upon end being laughed at for being “the stupid girl in 9D who draws pictures of dragons and castles” (trust the stupid girl in 9D to be a sci fi/fantasy nut from such a young age)

I was never any good at letting a guy know I liked him. A simple “Hi. I like you.” is about as difficult for me to wrap my lips around as it is to pronounce the surnames of the Turkmenistan swimming team. It’s a different story after a few vodkas but that’s besides the point.

I like someone and I suppose, have liked them for a while now. Every time I want to somehow show this person that I like them, I seem to just either quietly freak out and mess things up or just trip over my words to the point where I’m typing a fluent combination of Lithuanian and Swahili.

I just wish it was as simple as drawing a picture and sending it to them.

Hi. I like you.
With love from me and my Derwent pencils

…and I wonder, do guys dig that sort of thing…….or am I just thinking like the silly girl I used to be back in 1992?

I’m sorry, dear customer. I can understand how you must be feeling because you’ve been waiting in the phone queue for more than four minutes and have to be subjected to a very lacklustre sounding recorded message telling you that if you don’t pay up on time, you’re effectively screwed. The thing is, I can either whiz through the call previous to yours and either confuse that customer or piss them off even more than they already are.

Next time you call through and get annoyed for having to wait an extra thirty seconds to ask your usually stupid question, please remember that shouting at me will usually make me go into very scary robot mode and you don’t want that….you DON’T want that. My monotonous voice has been knowing to cause great distress among friends, family and my darling ex.

Bored out of my skull, I’m sitting here on what is a scorcher of an evening in the melbournegirl bunker of pseudo-doom™ downing Peroni, listening to 65daysofstatic and thinking about life on other planets. Alcohol makes me think about weird shit and how it all connects back to how lonely I am. When one of your old mentors calls you “socially inept” just because you were the kid in school that had no friends and spent recess and lunchtime in a corner of the playground sobbing your eyes out, it can stick to you like glue even after being away from that hellhole for what seems like eons.

Loneliness chews away at my insides like bad beer (hello Carlton Draught) and as desperate as I am to find some group to belong to and have friends whom I can hang out with, there’s that fear. It’s the fear of letting go for a few hours. It’s the fear of feeling so self conscious about the way I look. It’s the fear of being judged. It’s the fear that takes me back to that meeting with my high school mentor in the social-welfare room. It’s the fear that not being up with all the web 2.0/social media hullabaloo. It’s the fear of knowing that I’ll either sit there without much to say or I’ll freak out and run away.

It’s the fear of being human and how that fear ultimately killed my best friend. The fear of rejection and acceptance.

So I’m wondering what life on other planets must be like. It sure as hell must be easier than this.