Sometimes I wonder if my tendency to attach meaning to even the most ordinary things is a product of my being a reader or a writer.

Reading shows me many possibilities. Writing makes me want to seek more possibilities.

Symbolism, metaphors, analogies, lyricism…

Did I learn these from reading or writing? (I suppose the two go hand-in-hand.)

Lightning, butterflies, a speeding car, an ominous cloud…

Do I dramatise things because that’s what I’ve been shown, or because that is what I seek?

Still water, a familiar scent, refracted light, cautious footsteps…

How do I know if it is excessive? An affliction?

Nervous excitement, a poem, fallen leaves, a dream…

Of all the possibilities in the world, I’m not sure if it’s possible to really change this. I’m not sure if I would.

A waterfall, memories, a soothing melody, sunshine…


a logophile’s quandary

For the longest time now – like, seriously, I can’t even tell you how long – I’ve been meaning to write a post about some of my favourite words. At one point I even started compiling a list, but then I realised that there were just too many words for one post. Then I thought of that A-Z blogging challenge that some of the bloggers I follow participate in from time to time, and I thought that’d be a good way to space it all out, but then it’s so much effort…

Let’s be realistic here – it’s probably never going to happen.

And I can’t just write about my most favourite word because that always changes, and mostly it’s just too hard to pick just one word at any one point in time. What I did notice along the way, however, is that I seem to have an affinity for words containing the letter C, or words that have a C-like sound in them. This does not, however, mean that I like all words that fit this bill. I’m also not sure if the presence of the letter C is just a coincidence (which it could be because I also like words that are C-free).

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afternoon contemplation

Today was a lovely day. A blue sky, mild weather sort of day. Brisbane springtime at its best. Around mid-afternoon, after having met up with a friend for lunch and a general catch up, I made my way over to my favourite grassy spot in South Bank to just sit and relax.

I’ve gotten into the habit of always (or almost always) bringing pen and paper, and a novel with me wherever I go; but today I’d also brought earphones, and decided I just wanted to sit back, listen to music, and people-watch. (Well, initially I did try to write a bit, but the inspiration wasn’t really coming, so I didn’t worry about it.)

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rethinking alcohol

For some time now (over the last few months? this year? since last year? not really sure…) I’ve been pondering about the drinking culture in Australia, and reflecting on people’s relationships with alcohol (including my own). You don’t have to be an expert in public health to know that alcohol contributes to a lot of health problems (long- and short-term), and can lead to death. For some time, I’ve been thinking of writing a post about all this, but just kept putting it off. But when I read this post by George at The Off Key of Life, I thought I’d lend my support and do my bit (and basically add my two cents’ worth).

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non-specific apathy

From time to time, I find that I am struck with what I’ve termed “non-specific apathy”, which is exactly what it sounds like: a general unexplained feeling of non-feeling.

I suppose it’s kind of close to a melancholy sort of feeling, but it’s not quite as sad. This non-specific apathy is, however, bad for motivation because if you’re feeling apathetic, nothing really matters, right?

I don’t think it happens to me often, but, apparently, when it does strike, it can be quite obvious to others.

Ok, so this is kind of entering into new territory because I don’t tend to write overly personal things on this blog, but, like I always say, this is my blog and I’ll write what I want.

Over the years, I’ve come to learn that I’m supposedly quite good at concealing my stress and worry about a lot of things. I cannot tell you how many people have told me, throughout high school, uni and work, that I never (or rarely) seem to be stressed out, and/or that I seem to be a very happy/enthusiastic person.

The latter observation is actually quite accurate because I do have a tendency of approaching new tasks/challenges with enthusiasm and alacrity. The former observation is possibly also reasonably accurate, but I’m not sure to what extent it’s a conscious/subconscious effort to appear cool, calm and collected.

I suppose, then, that when I stray from this composed visage, it might, for those who know me well enough, be obvious enough.

(Side note: If you’ve happened to notice that, in these last few months – specifically, since the start of this year – I’m using a lot more commas in my writing, it’s almost certainly because I’ve been reading Charles Dickens’ David Copperfield; and the bookish amongst us all know that Dickens is renowned for his long sentences, which, of course, cannot be constructed without a healthy sprinkling of commas and other punctuation marks.)

However, part of me does wonder if, on some level, I don’t actually try to conceal this apathy at all, and would actually prefer that it was noticed. But, I mean, if it’s a general apathy, why would I care who knows and who doesn’t? Sometimes I wonder if it’s a kind of quiet cry of distress, or maybe a silent call for help. Maybe it’s some weird self-preservation strategy for when I’m feeling emotionally overloaded. Yeah, that sounds plausible… I’ll go with that.

fraught with assumptions

The other day, when I caught the bus, I noticed that the bus driver was probably a bit older than the average driver. I had noticed this as I got on the bus (because I always greet the driver as a common courtesy), and I thought to myself that he must have been driving buses for years – or decades.

As the bus pulled away from the stop, I asked myself, given the apparent age of the driver, whether I trust his experience, or whether I should be worried because of his years. I realised, of course, that both options were fraught with assumptions.  Continue reading