A Flick Of Her Eyes

The strongest memory I have of my time with Heide is of her glancing back at me, in the rear view mirror, when I was sitting in the back seat of her car. Something from Radiohead's Kid A was playing on the stereo, and with a half frown and a pair of the brightest, most blue eyes I have ever encountered, she looked back to see that I was okay. Or, at least, that's what I think was going on.

The day had gone pretty well, apart from the unnecessary trip halfway up Vancouver Island. I had been thinking that the correct turn off was an hour and a half back, but, being the tourist, I did not want to be the know it all with the map. We got to Cathedral Grove eventually, and it was nice enough. Perhaps it would have been nicer earlier in the salmon spawning season, with dead fish lining the streams it was maybe not the best Canadian wilderness it could have been.

On the way back to Victoria, in the car, was the eye flick in the rear view mirror moment. It had been a tiring day, and I was in the back because one of her best friends and ex-boyfriend was in the front. Yes, you did read that right. Looking back, I was so naive in ways of the heart, I hadn't intended to do the truly madly deeply thing, and believed her when she had said the previous relationship was over. Very stupidly naive.

I had only crossed the Pacific Ocean for a ten day holiday to further a friendship, I had thought. There was hopefully going to be a bit of fun as well, but I don't think I had thought it was going to go anywhere in particular. And then, a few days into the trip, she said she wanted to come to New Zealand. In a few months, I was told to understand, not anything immediate. How my life would be different if I hadn't allowed myself to hope for that outcome, or to fall under the spell those few words set in motion.

In my mind, as shorthand for the relationship, Victoria and Vancouver Island equates to good, Belfast and Northern Ireland, the much anticipated second visit, equates to some of the worst time I have had since my suicide attempts in high school. But there were awkward points in Canada as well.

Tipping my glasses off the bathroom sink, causing one of the lenses to smash, was not the most positive of moments. And there I was again, apologising to her for a few moments of my voice being raised. The feeling one night of being left alone in a strange house, a strange country, parked in front of that awful Geena Davis pirate movie while the others got up to goodness knows what. That one I think probably directly attributable to my self worth issues, which can dissolve into petty jealousy. Yes, I can pinpoint the ugly parts of my personality.

Though at the time, and looking back now, the bad and awkward moments in Victoria were overwhelmingly outweighed by the good. If it was to be a bit of fun, and I wasn't going to see her again, I may not have signed up to the loan that my bank was basically giving away at the time, I may not have had my heart shattered into ten thousand pieces a couple of months later, and I may not have been susceptible to a rebound relationship in which to just float in to while really having a million and one doubts about it all.

Though I do try not to blame things on other people, I made the decisions, even if clouded by emotions, and sometimes they are painful to work through. Hmm, I was hoping to say a few more positives about the whole Vancouver Island thing, but my enthusiasm levels are just running a bit low.

When I do talk to Heide now, like, once every six to nine months or so on instant messenger, she says she was afraid to 'let go' with me, as I made her 'too comfortable'. She says she really enjoyed most of our time together, is sorry she made me so unhappy for that extended period of time, and speaks of her life now as having taken the safe, boring options.

Hmm.

I better wrap it up here as I could just go on about this topic. And prefer to think that I am making some sort of sense at the moment and ending it, before descending into full rant mode.

Gitmo Redux

I try not to do the following anymore, on the whizz bang new blog, but today I am going to link to multiple err links in the one post. Not all in the same paragraph, of course, that would just look messy. Nowadays I try to limit my links per post to one and one only, but I have read three stunningly good opinion pieces this weekend, and I want to mention them all. Stunningly good in my own personal opinion of course.

The first was to do with Khalid Sheik Mohamed, locked away in Guantanamo Bay after a period of time in CIA extra-judicial facilities, god knows where. This week, he gave confessions to planning September 11, the 2002 Bali bombing, beheading Daniel Pearl - I am so glad I resisted watching that on the web myself - and various other atrocities. This was at a unlawful combatant status hearing at Guantanamo Bay itself.

Anne Applebaum in the Washington Post puts it best -

'Who could have imagined, in September of 2001, that one of the deadliest terrorists in history would admit to the destruction of the World Trade Center -- and that the world would shrug its shoulders?'

This shrugging of shoulders of course, is indicative of the general Western reaction to the fact that any confession the guy has given is tainted with the possibility of torture. The ends do not justify the means, and most people seem to have recoiled more from the torture than 9/11. Well, maybe not recoiled, but grown accustomed to the history, and any confession derived from even the possibility of torture is considered by most people to be useless.

As the New York Times followed up in an editorial today, Bush was advised that it would be better to close Guantanamo and relocate the prisoners to the mainland by current Defense Secretary Robert Gates, supported by Secretary of State Condi Rice, but the Prez took the advice of Cheney and Attorney General Gonzalez to keep it open. So it has been kept open, only to witness the debacle of fake confessions we had in the past week. Well, maybe not fake, but -

'When Khalid Shaikh Mohammed — for all appearances a truly evil and dangerous man — confessed to a long list of heinous crimes, including planning the 9/11 attacks, many Americans reacted with skepticism and even derision. The confession became the butt of editorial cartoons, like one that showed the prisoner confessing to betting on the Cincinnati Reds, and fodder for the late-night comedians.'

And to the wider war, the one on terror if not on Iraq, Zbigniew Brzezinski, former Secretary of State of President Carter - yes, that is a blast from the past - puts into words what I have been thinking the past few years, that the war on terror is partially a front to create a climate of fear, doubt and panic into the Western world.

'That America has become insecure and more paranoid is hardly debatable. A recent study reported that in 2003, Congress identified 160 sites as potentially important national targets for would-be terrorists. With lobbyists weighing in, by the end of that year the list had grown to 1,849; by the end of 2004, to 28,360; by 2005, to 77,769. The national database of possible targets now has some 300,000 items in it, including the Sears Tower in Chicago and an Illinois Apple and Pork Festival.'

Mr Z also goes onto a pet thought of mine, that for all the security in the world at airports and buildings and the like, no one has set up security screening points for shopping centres, which would be a nice easy big dumb target if anyone wanting harm actually got near one. Or all those extra security guards that have been employed since September 11, or the huge inflation in security budgets for events the world over - you get someone committed enough, and there is no way you can stop them.

Not even to start mentioning the war in Iraq, the US Attorney General under fire for lying about sacking some federal attorneys, the potential death of wild orangutans in five years time. No wonder some people submerge themselves in the minutae of celebrity lives, the real world is a scary scary uncertain place.

Oh to go back to the days of a show about nothing, and some stains on a dress leading to a presidential impeachment. Whither the 90s?

Ding Ding, Round Four

Soo, yesterday I went and had my fourth therapy session. About half way through the session, with me saying how work was, how I had written down ten things I didn't like about myself, causing me to feeling unworthy of other people's love blah blah blah, the shrink found my glass jaw.

I had been giving another guided tour of the best and most popular destinations in the patented Pauly Depression Tour Thru The Nineties, when the doc came out and said that I did a whole lot of listing and overviews and such, but not so much of the in depth stuff. That stumped me for a bit, and I realised I had been coming across all John Cusack out of High Fidelity, Number Five With A Bullet and all that. Nerdy making lists, in other words.

After I had absorbed that, he asked whether there was deeper stuff to talk about, because to him it just seemed that I skimmed over things all too easily. I had said to him that with the list I wrote up for the session, the ways in which I feel unworthy of love, I had just knocked that together the night beforehand. If I had allowed myself time, no distractions, and a lot of pens, I could have gone far further into depth on those ones and really cut myself to shreds.

Shrink said that with most people, the past is the past, it is left there and has little or no bearing on their present states. He wondered if that was the case with me, or whether I had some facing up to the past to do. I told him that yeah, I could go deeper, but it would mean my answers would be slower - he said that was fine, and he wasn't pushing me, it was just another alternative to what we already discuss, and I didn't have to if I didn't want to. But hell, if I don't sort myself out when I am the most clearheaded I have been about my problems in decades, well, what better time could there be?

I had a think about things, and what is holding me back, and I think the major one affecting me still is my self loathing. I wouldn't go so far as to call it self hatred, have come a lot away from that particular precipice, but self loathing, yeah, that's a reasonable term, considering the circumstances. Also, I know my strengths and limitations within myself, but with the whole relationships question, taking on board the needs, requirements and the rest of a whole different other person, that still freaks me out sometimes. Maybe more than sometimes.

For this week's session 'homework' I was asked to write about my school ball, last year of high school and all that. In between two major major depressive episodes, suicidal even. I did another witty comeback with him, saying I could write about the ball itself, but did he want me to write about what happened before and afterwards as well, because that wouldn't be so easy. He said yes, he would like to see it all down on paper - I said I think I write things better than I speak them.

Then I said, oh, well I blogged about it a couple of years ago, so I can print that off and bring it in. Therapist then got my glass jaw again, saying no, I won't let you get away so easy - and your little dog too, in his most threatening wicked witch impersonation. Okay, so I exaggerate - but what he did say is that sure I can print it off, what I wrote a couple years ago, but he wants me to experience the bitterness, the tang of self defeat, desperation even, by reading it all out in session, and when I hit a particularly emotional bump, to underline it in pen.

For the first time since I started going to therapy this year, I walked away and got on the train to work with a sense of fear, of dread in my stomach. Usually I go away happy that I have unloaded issues and all that, but just the thought of going back to 1993 in my mind, scares the hell out of me. I remember, that when I blogged it, I was trying to be as honest and as forthright as possible, so it will be an interesting journey in session in two weeks time.

The shrink brought out a saying this week, got to feel a bit worse to feel a whole lot better. Something like that anyways. I guess I am partially fearful of meeting 1993 Paul and perhaps liking him again, for whatever fucked up reason this time around.

The Pot and The Kettle

There has been a lot of talk in national politics the last few weeks about judgement and accountability. The newish Leader of the Opposition, Kevin Rudd, has had an extended honeymoon with the public - and what does that term, honeymoon, mean when it comes to politics, no one has ever explained that to me fully?

Then a couple of weeks ago, the senior leadership on the Government side of things, primarily John Howard and Peter Costello went all attack dog on Rudd. The crime being that he met up with corrupt consultant, and former Western Australian Premier, Brian Burke, three times back in 2005. Burke has been the subject of a corruption enquiry out West that has seen three state Cabinet ministers sacked, and who knows where that will end up, state wise. The strange thing is, that the state government is not in any danger of falling, even if an election was held today. Strange.

Rudd didn't give the best account of himself when the accusations were flying, seeming to ignore the attacks, pointedly, with his back turned in Parliament, while seeming to feed other front benchers to the lions, trying to reply to the questions. Then he scurried out to a press room, and gave a forty minute conference to the media. Congrats, mate, but it still isn't sticking up for yourself in the House of Reps.

But Rudd stuck to his guns, once he had sorted out what those guns were - yes, he did meet Burke, after his state colleagues had pointedly been warned off contact with the guy; no, the leadership of the Labor Party did not come up in discussions; no, he was not asking for any type of favour or sponsorship; yes, if he had known what he knew now, he would not have met him.

The government was up in arms about judgement and accountability, but it turns out they doth protest too much. It turned out that one of their own ministers, Senator Ian Campbell, had talked to Burke for about twenty minutes at a Perth racing industry meeting - bang, less than a day later he was sacked.

Then the person they asked to take Campbell's portfolio, Senator Chris Ellison, seems to have had shares in a company Burke was consulting for, though he hasn't resigned yet. Last Monday, just two days after the Campbell resignation, it was announced that three Liberal MPs in the Brisbane area were being investigated by the Australian Federal Police for discrepancies in their printing costs. Maybe about work being charged for but not completed? Something like that anyway. And the PM had known about the police swoop for several days. Hmm.

Then next, it was the Opposition's turn to guillotine somebody - Kelvin Thompson, who was shadow attorney general, for giving a whiter than white reference to a constituent who has turned into one of Melbourne's drug lords. Smart thinking, 99.

And now the heat has turned back onto the government, with Minister for Ageing Santo Santoro misplacing his share register information when making the obligatory statuatory declaration. He had $6000 worth of shares in some biotech company which researches health stuff for the elderly, which had doubled in price by the time this discrepancy was found. Apparently this is a conflict of interest, find that a bit harsh myself, but then he then sold the shares, and gave the profit to a charity, that on further investigation wasn't actually a charity.

And then you have the Foreign Minister, Alexander Downer, having a go at Rudd about how his father died when he was eleven, and whether he - Rudd - is telling the whole truth about that. What the fuck?

How all this pickiness is even on the radar - a few dodgy meetings and probably tens of thousands of dollars misappropriated - when there is a huge elephant in the room called the AWB case, I do not know. Bribes totalling $300 million dollars, to Saddam's regime before 2003, to ensure that Aussie wheat got into Iraq around UN sanctions, and all the responsibility is dumped on the private company.

The Prime Minister, the Foreign Minister and the Trade Minister don't actually read the cables warning of the issue from the diplomats on the ground, or the UN, or anywhere else. They would apparently rather be considered incompetent than criminally negligent.

But that was 2006, and the accountability limbo bar has been set a heck of a lot lower this year.

Pop Culture

I thought it about time I put a list entry in here, at least to give an indication of where my entertainment dollar goes to.

The five movies I am considering to go see this weekend -
Hot Fuzz, The Good German, Letters From Iwo Jima, Music and Lyrics, Rocky Balboa. Rocky is looking the likely winner at this stage.

The last five movies I have been to at the cinema -
Stranger Than Fiction, Pan's Labyrinth, Little Children, The Last King Of Scotland, Marie Antoinette.

The last five DVDs I have bought -
Mulholland Drive, United 93, Syriana, Donnie Brasco, Good Night and Good Luck.

The last five CDs I have bought -
Nirvana by Nirvana, Hit by Peter Gabriel, Greatest Hits by Neil Young, Twenty Five by George Michael, I'm Not Dead by Pink.

The last five TV shows I have watched -
ABC News, 7 News, Rage - or part thereof, ABC News, SBS News - see a pattern there?

The last five magazines I have bought -
The Economist, times five.

The last five news articles I have read -
All on the BBC site, Italy beating Wales and Ireland beating Scotland in the rugby, Courtney Love being sued for non-payment by a detox centre, British military satellite Skynet 5 being delayed in launch, and President Bush vows to sort out the FBI on a Patriot Act issue.

The last five books I have read -
The Bonehunters by Steve Erikson, Armageddon by Max Hastings, Fiasco by Thomas E Ricks, The Economist Pocket Book of World Figures 2007, and Midnight Tides by Steve Erikson.

There, that should sate my 'blog as set of lists' urges for at least another six months.

I Feel A Disturbance In The Force

Well, it has been exciting times in the Brisbane newspaper market this week. Well, as exciting as Brisbane newspapers ever are, work with me, give me some latitude here.

In the Fairfax corner, there has been the launch of 'the paper you have when you don't have actual paper' - the Brisbane Times. It is good to have another viewpoint of purely Queensland news apart from the incumbent, which is on actual newsprint - though usually when you look for local Brisbane stories in any media, the coverage is pretty light whichever way you go.

First impression of the Times is that it has potential. At the moment it does have a feel of a hobby job for Sydney Morning Herald journos with time on their hands, they need to do a bit of fact checking - it is 20 years since Brisbane won the basketball, not 22 - and what is it with the Blogs? They are my least fave part of the SMH and it looks like Fairfax are importing them north of the border, aargh.

On the News Limited side, not only do they have the major Queensland daily around, this week they launched a free afternoon daily as well. mX, short for metroXpress, which has apparently done quite well in Sydney and Melbourne so far.

I have no idea why. My initial take on it is that it is either a newspaper as imagined by gossip mag editors, or a gossip mag as imagined by the newspaper eds. Oh, there is the free thing about it I guess.

Example, from Wednesday's edition - front page, above the fold, is one of the Pussycat Dolls dancing a bit too energetically and losing her skirt. Below the fold is the Indonesian airliner crashing, the initial reports. Page three filled with 'entertainment' stories, about Kevin Federline shaving his head in sympathy with Brit-Brit, Ralph Fiennes having more sex, and Paris Hilton having drugs as told by Courtney Love. Prince William getting married on page five, and that's even before we get to the designated Entertainment pages of the thing.

And all the cutesy side bars with 'It's true!' or 'No sh*t Sherlock' - apart from the fact that I hate cutesy graphics, it has that Women's Weekly 'Mere Male' or Readers Digest ' Did You Know' feel to it. Which has felt an ancient concept ever since I can remember.

And the worst of it, most of the world news is shunted to one paragraph summaries under the title Doom and Gloom, next to a wonderful weather graphic showing showers. And that photo of the Killing Fields museum in Cambodia, umm, that is so a file pic that could have been taken anytime in the last twenty years. Or, the horoscopes, aka, Should I get out of bed tomorrow? Ack.

We will see how the latest media battles develop. I have little hope of mX getting the imperial thumbs up - from myself that is - based on the evidence so far.

My Life As 24

Now if only I could get Keifer or, preferably, George Clooney to play the part of me...

Between the hours of 6pm and 7pm, Tuesday -
Come home from work, to find my mother, and father to a lesser extent, in a self-styled 'tizz'. Bad news from across the ditch - my grandfather, after having a pretty positive morning, even going out shopping with my grandmother, had several coughing fits in the afternoon. At least two of which brought up blood. Doctors and nurses called, and came on house calls, and it is not looking positive. My mother books a flight out the following morning to get to Tauranga at 6pm the following evening - one way ticket and will stay there until whenever, or my grandfather gets better.

5am and 6am, Wednesday -
Make a promise to myself to wake up in time to see my mother off. So this is what 5.30 in the morning looks like, it has been years since I have seen it. It is worth it though, as I give Mum a big hug to see her off into an uncertain day, and for the days and weeks ahead. Until my grandfather gets better.

6am to 7am -
I try to get a bit of extra sleep, but find it difficult to. The dog jumps up on the bed next to me, and I let her, at least for this morning, and the cat curls up to the other side. Would make a good photo, if the room wasn't so messy. I give up trying to sleep after half an hour and wake up, shuffle around a bit, the whole sandy-eyed feeling is not nice.

8am to 9am -
I start striding past the bus stop, but I can see the school kids are still there. Good, my bus hasn't been. Another five minutes of clockwatching, and I am sick of waiting, and feel I should catch the train to be on time, or close enough to it, to work. Two minutes slog up the road, the bus sails past me, and the rain goes from a light to a heavy drizzle. By the time I get to the train station, I am very drowned rat.

9am to 10am -
The boss heads over to talk to me. I feel guilty, as I have been fixing up something from yesterday for the last ten minutes, rather than working on any new stuff today. And the fix up thing is my own fault for not fact checking enough. But the boss only gives me an award for excellent customer service and team work - buying all those lollies finally gets me somewhere. I go over the sick grandfather and lack of sleep thing, and get out of taking phone calls for the day - helps I think that I am only there for half a day, before blagging off to a medical appointment.

2pm to 3pm -
After getting to my appointment twenty minutes early, and waiting another ten minutes, neatly finishing off this week's Economist - hey, it had the Wall Street tumble on the cover - I get in to see the neurologist. Recite my history of seizures, yet again, and try my best to describe what happens before I black out. Pins and needles in the back of the head rushing to the front seems to remain the best description. Poked, prodded, tapped as per usual, advised to try out epilim instead of dilantin, the latter apparently makes you drowsier than needs be. Bloods in three weeks, an EEG and follow up appointment in four, and still considering an MRI. Whatever the cost, I want this sorted out as much as I can. I want to know what is going on. Avoid the salesperson in the pharmacy as much as possible for being overly chatty, not so much to me as this divorced woman who the saleswoman baits into telling as much bitter history as she can get. Very uncomfortable.

5pm to 6pm -
The News. Prime Minister says for Australia to prepare for bad news. No, there is no repeat of September 11, nor have we invaded Iran. An Indonesian airliner on an Indonesian internal flight has crashed. Some Australians were on board, along with a lot of Indonesians. The Sumatran earthquake from yesterday is bumped well down the news, if it appears at all. Scooter Libby is convicted of perjury for that Iraq war evidence smear campaign. Reminds me of his former boss, Dick Cheney, on the television the other night, lamenting the state of US military hospitals. The way he glared down the camera, I just knew he wanted to nuke Walter Reed Hospital - freedom will be on the march in the hospital wings, very very soon.

Yes, that a random 24 hours in the life of moi.

The First Hug

This morning, I gave my mother her first hug of the year. The last one, I think, was on Christmas Eve, as I flew interstate for the holidays - we aren't much of a touchy feely huggy family, much to some people's disgust. I think the last hug Mum got from one of us kids was when my sister was flying out to Melbourne in January.

So, an early morning flight to New Zealand, my grandfather has taken another turn for the worse, but will get more into that in the next entry perhaps, and I got up at 5.20am for the first time in years to see my mother off. And to give her a big hug before she headed to the airport. She hadn't gotten any sleep last night, and I felt as if I was the stronger one in the hug. Strange that, when you tend to think of your parents as infallible, invincible and indefatigable.

I like to think that because I give hugs rarely, that when they do occur, they are all the more special and memorable. I would like to think that, at least.

Hobbies and Interests

I would say that my two main hobbies would be photography and movie watching. Followed a bit further back by reading, both magazines and actual books.

And no, not the skin magazines nor the celeb ones. Although I am cutting back on the Economist, unless it has a B2 bomber on the cover, for some reason I have transferred my current affairs interest to Insiders, ABC television Sunday mornings. Yes, Video Hits has nothing on the musings of Piers Ackerman and Andrew Bolt. Wow, exciting times in the Paul household, I can assure you.

Though I digress. My photography thing is usually sufficiently sated by the Flickr thing, and the various Brisbane meet-ups that are held. One of the girls said yesterday, at the Gallery of Modern Art, it is good to be with people who don't think you are weird to take photos crouching down, sitting on the floor or at other awkward angles. Had most of the day out at GoMA and the Queensland Art Gallery, along with lunch and a follow up beer.

With all the culture around, felt very Ferris Bueller's Day Off, when they eventually get to Chicago and go to the museums and art galleries. Yes, I know that was probably a full two minutes out of the movie, but has probably stayed with me more than most of the rest of the film. Nothing like culture, the fine arts, even if it takes forever to convince most of my family and friends to come join me on these type of expeditions.

One of the parents said why would they go in to see splotches on the wall - I think I had answered that in my older blog, when I went into GoMA last, that whether it is good or bad, the important thing is your own reaction to it, and you can't do that from the suburbs. Was a very good, very fulfilling day - I enjoyed myself heaps.

Anyways, so that is photography sorted. But on the movie front, the local social scene is a bit more bleak. When I was a teen, I got into the habit of going to the movies by myself and being comfortable with that. Another habit from that time that I have not been able to break. I console myself with the thought that I can go when I want to what I want, but sometimes wonder what it would be like to go to the movies with others.

A couple of years ago I went onto a couple of those meet up sites, completely being up front in only wanting friends and/or activity buddies, specifically thinking movies, but of course, those sites are usually for people who want to hook up for more than just movies, and my profiles hardly ever got activated. And that last sentence was far too long with too many thoughts in it.

What with the photography being so well catered for by an online group, last night I googled Brisbane film club, movie club, movie meet up and a couple of other variations thereof. And what did I get, pretty well nothing and nada combined.

Just checked with craigslist about five minutes ago, but nothing and nada there either - at least talking movies. A possible movies by DVD night at Ric's Cafe that was mentioned in a blog about three years ago, but not sure whether that is still going.

Surely in a city of one and a half million, with a thousand immigrants a week from either out of state or out of the country, surely there would be some other people that don't have partners or friends that they go to the movies with? I have seen other single people in the theatres, I am certain of it.

Surely there should be some movie club in the city that can organise going to see movies - hell, perhaps giving options of several movies to go to per week. Or perhaps role playing the David and Margaret At The Movies thing? Or see movies, then spend a couple of hours deconstructing what has just been seen over a coffee or two in a (nowadays, not so much) smoke filled jazz cafe? As they would say on The Fast Show, Niceee, Grooovy.

I would even venture the idea of organising something myself, but with any idea of any plans beyond my birthday so vague, I won't know if I will be staying in Brisbane until I was actually staying. And the gut feeling tells me I doubt I will be staying here - I feel as if I am at the beginning of a game of pick up sticks, and they have just been thrown into the air, and I can't see where they will fall. The past couple of years, focussing on financial stuff, have felt very very stable in comparison.

But, to get back to the original point, a Brisbane movie group would be nice.

Thirty Seconds Thinking Time

One of the women at work was trying to nut out wording for an invitation to her twins' first birthdays, and opened the floor to suggestions. My one, thought up within thirty seconds when I should have been taking notes from the order I just took - hey, it was late in the afternoon -

Come join us in celebration of the last year.
Washington and Moscow* have touched everyone since March 2006.
Please help make their first birthday special.

I got an aww of appreciation from the mother, although, because she plays favourites, she would change the order of the names. Due to the wording being my idea, I will likely get a copy of the invitation, but doubt I am actually being invited. The life blood of the work social scene has passed me by sometime during the last few months.

It was nice to be told that I write poetry well, though I wouldn't class it as poetry myself.

* these may or may not be their real names