Beer bottles

So a couple of weeks ago I came home to find an empty longneck VB bottle on my front step. It was hardly the strangest thing I've found on my front step -- I've had real estate fliers, an empty condom wrapper, the remains of a chicken meal, during the whole New Year's weekend a futon with a florid blood stain, and one day my car was sprinkled end to end with pieces of meat -- looking like a kebab was dropped on it from a great height. So I put the VB bottle in the recycling, washed my hands very thoroughly, and went on with my evening.

The next day there was another one. My first instinct was to send some sort of "leave my step alone!" message, like smashing the bottle and leaving the bits of glass there. But that would only inconvenience passers-by, and I imagined the person leaving the bottles would be inspired to throw the next one against my door, rather than just leaving it whole on the step. So I recycled this one too.

The next day there were two bottles, and one of them was not quite empty. "Well, good on you, for not finishing," I thought as I carried the bottles to the recycling. "At least you're not desperately addicted."

For the next two weeks I found bottles on my step almost every day. A few days there was none, but most days one or two, and after I went away for the Easter long weekend I came back to five bottles on my step and three on the neighbor's step.

I kept trying to think of ways to discourage this. Leaving a sign, "Please don't leave beer bottles on my step," I thought would only provoke the bottle-throwing. Leaving a bin to put the bottles in might work, but since I live on such a Gone-in-30-seconds kind of street, I didn't think the bin would last very long outside before some passer-by decided they could use it at home. Maybe sprinkling little notices about Alcoholics Anonymous about? But that was more pious and judgemental than I really am. I don't mind living in this neighborhood, and I don't mind what people do, and it would be especially hypocritical of me for begrudging someone one large beer a day.

So I decided to look forward it to it. And it immediately stopped. I haven't seen a bottle for three or four days now, not on my step or on any of the neighbor's steps.

Is that a happy ending or a sad one?

Philosophy will save my life

I spent the long Easter weekend in Tasmania visiting my friend, and caught up with some very old friends for a very beautiful and inspiring time, but mainly I want to talk about what I did last night. A while ago I signed up for a mailing list from the Sydney Uni Philosophy Department that tells you all the philosophy events on in town. I had no idea there were so many -- I get messages basically every day. I keep meaning to go to some evening talked on the 2nd Tuesday of each month, but they're on the other side of the bridge and all and you have to rsvp and pay, in addition to getting there and back, so slackness always wins out. But then I saw one at the Gaelic Club, which is right on my way home from work, and the topic looked interesting, and so I endeavoured to go.

Nearly didn't make it, again from slackness and also from fear of the unknown -- who would be there? Would it be intimidating? Would all the people be weird and needy? Would they be opinionated and stupid, and I'd have to sit for three hours and listen to them rant? But I thought, just go, Ellen. Also, I'm looking into Speed Dating at the insistence of my counsellor, and thought, I should go to one real event with real people that's about something, and is something I'm interested in and good at etc., before I go to something cattle call and meat markety like that.

So I did, took the long walk up the stairs and found the group, and was greeted warmly by the convenor. The people weren't old, or weird, or stupid. They were all quite thoroughly trained, and had very smart and insightful things to say. The format makes it quite comfortable, and also really interesting, and you're moved to really listen because your turn to talk for three minutes will always come up.

I probably bragged too much, showed off. I'm sure everyone there is more credentialled than I am. And there was absolutely no "Who are you, where are you from, what do you do", which is probably in the spirit of pure inquiry and equal voice that informs the group.

I went to dinner afterwards and was so tired, and it was so hard to get up this morning, but it was so great! Just hours and hours of the kind of discussion I used to take for granted -- dorm room stuff, staff club lunch stuff. I was so glad of my training and education. We touched on every single big topic in philosophy, and I of course came around to the question that has always gripped me -- in what sense does the number 8 exist? What is the ontological status of formal systems (of course words, not numbers, really move me, but the same answer answers both questions). And I realised why I went into the field, because the work on that question is really technical and rarified and not something you'd ever do a Philorum presentation on.

Anyway, it was like coming home again. Gave me perspective at work all day. Made me feel older, and capable, and less worried about my hair. I have signed up for a Dialectic in the botanic gardens on Saturday, with the convener who seems a very smart and interesting guy. They meet all the time, and it sounds like there's a good core group, who also attend other talks around town on the circuit.

So, although I've been many years out of the game, a Philosopher is still what I am. And my people are still out there. You don't need the academy. You don't need any money at all!

If I can keep going, it just may save my life. (And we'll worry about finding true love...later!)

Spare Mother, also Part 2

Work is going very badly. A site is probably not going to launch on time, the client is ragingly angry but not willing to be flexible or do anything much really to help, and I so just don't care that I'm not drawing enough attention to the project at work, I'm not corralling people to help, I'm processing content and things but not staying back late or cancelling my trip on the weekend or anything, I just want a holiday. The site will be late, the world most likely won't end although they are telling me that it will, it's probably all my fault, but I just don't care any more. Burned out.

But I did a good thing today. Arranged to catch up with my ex-defacto-step-daughter, who I hadn't seen since October, really since right after he and I moved out, and we were still close enough back then that he came over to help me put my Ikea bookshelf together. Went to pick her up, all coolly polite to each other, brought her to my place for fish and chips and Black Books on DVD. I was worried that it would be weird, or she'd be resentful, or she might have turned into a moody teenager, or she might have all sorts of questions about the separation, but it was so easy, and just fine. She's a ray of sunshine, that girl, so stable, and friendly, and interesting to talk to. Easy-going. I know there's quite a bit of subterranean stuff going on, and she's 12 so this is a very important part of her life, but she's just so matter of fact. I am proud that I did the right thing and arranged to see her. I am glad to be keeping contact. I know that it will be important for her when she's older, so I will continue to do the right thing and be there for her. I'm a grown-up who cares about her -- that's sort of what I've been all along, because she has more than enough parents to parent her. Such a lovely kid. So, that went well, and sets the stage for future visits. And I stayed and chatted with him a bit more when I took her back, and that was fine. I feel less wrenched now. More objective. And certainly able to handle the grown-up doing-of-right-things, like making an effort to spend time with my ex-defacto-step-kid.

One more day before holiday. Wish me luck!

p.s. When step-kid was about 3 she couldn't remember "step mother" so she from time to time called me her "spare mother", which I thought was great. Everyone needs a few spares!

Blank Monday

It's a Monday night. I'm actually home from work at a reasonable hour. I could have stayed back and done about four hours of content entry, in fact the client meeting the deadline probably depends on it, but I don't have the energy. I'm ready for a holiday (Tasmania on Friday, yay!). I should work on my book, I should tend to my finances, I should cook an ambitious and nutritious meal for myself. I could go to the movies, I could buy another season of The Sopranos (I have actually saved more than enough gold coins to cover the cost of this). I should read Love in the time of Cholera because I'm never going to finish it before book group on May 3. But I can't seem to make myself do anything.

This is just the state in which S. used to lie me on the couch, cover me with a blanket, and turn on The Lifestyle Chanel, and then begrudgingly make me something to eat. Oh, I would love to sloth out (on a couch - no couch any more, I watch tv from the dining room table), and have someone cook me dinner. But in fact, I can probably get through the antsy, unsatisfied, petulant feelings and actually get some of my list of things actually done.

So I suppose that's another good thing about living on my own.

The Goat

Today I went to see a play called "The Goat, or Who is Sylvia?" by Edward Albee. I went by myself, as part of Carol's Club, a group advertised for singles and people whose partners don't like the theatre. At the last play I went to at this theatre, there was all kinds of talent, lots of dashing tall young men who looked like they were in the appropriate age group, and were dressed interestingly like they were sort of artistic or intellectual. So I guess I was expecting a similar crowd, or hoping for it. But it turned out to be all old ladies, all but one, but he was more interested in the young assistant who was making up name tags and never came over to talk.

The play itself was about the betrayal by a man of his perfect marriage, even though he still loves his wife very much, and the aftermath where he has broken everything in all of their lives and it can never be repaired. And it also involves murderous jealousy of the Other Woman. So it was all a bit close to home. I stayed for the discussion afterwards and got to hear the lead actor speak, but although it was a great play, very elegantly written and dealing with so many contemporary themes in such an insightful way, still, the whole experience was fairly disappointing.

Why did he leave me in this state having to go places by myself? Where does one go to meet eligible 35-45 year old guys in this big anonymous city? I'm feeling a bit sorry for myself, after a good week. I will keep on keeping on, though, sort of just treading water to get through this stage, until my future arrives. But god it can get lonely.