The (devil) Skirt.

Every so often Lea wakes up with the bizarre notion that she should wear a skirt. It's not something that happens very often, but when it does she prance's off to the shower happily, in high spirits at the mere thought of the prospects the day holds, a different sort of day. A skirt day.

Convined that she is going to look different and head-turningly good, Lea forgets the unnecessary details of the last time she rejected her good old cargo's, for the skirt. She forget's, for example, her decision to wear a knee length flowery skirt to one of the windiest beaches in New Zealand, and how at the time, she vowed never to wear a skirt again.

Once the idea has taken hold, Lea finds she can convince herself of anything. She is positive that the skirt is the medium through which she will unlock her previously hidden sassyness, ignoring the fact that drinking and skirt wearing, invariably leads to her staggering around like a man in a kilt, rather than anything that might loosely be defined as ladylike.

She forgets how, barely 3 months ago, her decision to explore Amsterdam in a crutchless, pale blue almost-mini-Skirt, had her faced with the conundrum of how one clambers out of a canal boat, up a 1m high wall, whilst retaining an ounce of grace.

On day's such as this, when siezed by youthful femininity and skirt-wearing-sentiments, Lea thinks back to her fore-mothers, and how they valiantly managed absolutely everything from housework to bicycle riding in their pleated masses of skirts. If they can do it, she thinks, so can I.

And thus she sets out, along that familiar road with YellowBetty, and soon comes to notice a gap in her logic. All at once, thrown into an anxious fit at the restiction of her legs and the social inappropriateness of riding a bicycle with an ever rising skirt, she remembers exactly why it is, she doesn't wear skirts. In fact, she gains a momentary insight, into why women fought so hard for the right to wear pants in the first place.

It only takes one day of trying to remember to keep her knees together, her feet down and her hands out of her pockets for Lea to banish the skirt to the back of the wardrobe once again.

There the skirt waits, patiently, until she forgets all over again...

What I didn't achieve this week.

I didn't walk the dog. Poor Baloo, my beautiful golden labrador. Shame he eats poo and digs gigantic holes, or he'd be perfect. I should mention he's not just my dog - there are 3 other people in this house, but they are manic triathletes, they have mountains to climb and marathons to run.

I didn't manage to cook anything edible. This folks, is a lesson in why you shouldn't turn vegetarian before you've grasped some necessary cooking skills. Cooking should come as easy as eating, because the latter is really hard without the former. Who said Couscous is a quick and easy meal!? Well maybe it is, just don't follow the Samremo instructions, unless you want Couscous of the variety that looks like mashed potato which even your rats refuse to eat.

I didn't manage to read any of the books i got out of the library. I managed to choose them, carry them home, add them to the pile of unread books next to my uni crap, pick them up again a few days later, carry them to uni, and return them.

I didn't manage to get a haircut, which i am in absolute need of. At least i'm sure if i could see the mirror, i'd be able to see i need a haircut. I didn't find time to reply to any pressing emails, get a decent sleep, track down my uni credits from last semester, get my scooter fixed or paint the town red.

....Yellowbetty and I went up and down many streets. I sat purposefully on many trains. And my time amounted to nothing.

Right. First thing tomorow, I'll rescue my existance...

the first..just briefly

The first will either be the best, worst or most useless. I'm going to go with useless, because i am an Arts student, and thats what we are trained to do, bullshit, waffle, exemplify intelligent uselessness. I consider it a personal strength of mine.

This blog itself is a product of procrastination. It's an attempt to commit to something that doesn't have a due date. It may get political, it may beg you to question, it may bore you to tears.

But we''ll start simple. The adventure begins today, simply because absolutly nothing amazing happened, and that itself is nothing amazing at all. I have been home from my 5 months of independent-europe-dwelling-freedom for exactly 6 1/2 weeks, and feel like i never even went away. *sighs* The sum of my existance has once again returned to a pricing gun, kitsch aussie music and koala bears. Woe be me.

Lucky for me there's Yellow Betty, my only mode of transport and trusty 2 wheeled yellow friend. I hope we can save the world together, but in the meantime, we'll just concentrate on getting to the train station and back without getting mowed down by the car driving population.

but more on that later..