I love cameras. I love taking pictures. Truly, I do. Back in the 'Bra I used to haunt the darkrooms of Photoaccess at least once a week, processing pictures and inhaling silver nitrate. I went through countless disposable cameras in my Krappy Kam phase and kept a clanking, wonderful old Olympus OM10 by my side wherever I went, until someone broke into my car and stole it, probably earning $20 from Cash Converters in the process. Now I have the same Canon 350D everyone and their mother has, but it's a fine-ass camera and well worth the money. I also have a menagerie of film cameras of varying levels of crappiness, ranging from the ubiquitous Holga to a Canon F-1 to my newly purchased Lubitel 2.

In conclusion, I love pictures and picture-taking, and I love Flickr, as it lets me look at countless amazing pictures. Here are some of my favourite Flickrites and why I like them.


The thing I like most about Flickr is that unlike, say, MySpazz, you don't really know too much about the people posting pictures. You have to piece together a story from their photos, tracing them through fragments. Will Power, then, traipses around the world with the young and maddeningly beautiful, Leica in hand, taking perfectly composed, beautiful pictures. He is cooler than I am and I like his photos.


And Diastema lives in a technicolour dreamland populated by tiny plastic animals, squid and edible necklaces.


BosseB uses anything from homemade glass plates and view cameras to Agfa Clacks and the humble Holga. He makes me want to get elbow deep in silver nitrate and glass. His portraits of his daughter are stunning.


Soulsick is from Estonia. His work is graceful, subdued and always beautifully composed.

I got 90 for my thesis.

Without meaning to sound mawkish, I have the following people to thank for this, on account of I am a whiny bint, and without having people to whine too it's unlikely I could even get out of bed:
The beautiful, charming, whip smartMSKP for her advice and support and offers of booze, Gilmore Girls and chocolate crackles.
The broader honours crew for their radness.
Clare, for wine and running.
Jissie, for her mad New Zealand accent and habit of eating lasagne off spatulas.
Warwick and Cheney, for showing up at just the right moment.
Jonathan, for passing notes in the library and withstanding the torment of scholarship applications.
But mostly, above all, Miss Chloe and my sister Blockhead, who tag teamed their way through late night phone calls about stomach aches and insecurity, read my drafts, provided notes in red pen, and laminated certificates of rizzadness. My life would be a very horrible place without you both.

All I can think of right now is this term I learnt from a class I took long ago on Middle Eastern women. For some reason we had to read novels written in the rather febrile voice of various endlessly victimised Lebanese women. One of the victimised crazy ladies described herself as 'lying fallow,' lying in wait for things to start again. On the one hand it's the kind of term you'd expect to be bandied about at a feminist writing workshop for post-menopausal womyn, on the other it almost exactly describes my state at the moment. I'm not okay. I will be okay, but I've got to stop pretending as though I am okay.

It's a combination of things. I joked during the year that my life ended when I submitted the thesis, as I literally had no plans after that. Now that I'm past that point it's no longer such a joke. I've woken up and discovered that, in spending so much time working on school things, I know precious few people in this town (but completely adore those I do). I also don't deal very well with uncertainty, and right now everything is defined by uncertainty. It feels like I'm constantly waiting for something - phone calls, emails, letters in the mail - and it also feels like nothing can start until those pieces fall into place. There's also some worrying health stuff, but for now I'll keep that to myself.

The thing that bothers me most is school next year. I applied to three schools and have heard back from two. Sydney, where I Do Not Want To Go, has offered me both a place and a scholarship. Melbourne has offered me a place but no scholarship yet. The letters were meant to go out yesterday, and when I nervously asked what the go was at the scholarship office they told me to keep checking the online system. No dice. My heart is sinking. Monash's letters were meant to go out on the 12th but still, no dice. I was saying during the year that I'd be really goddamned surprised if Sydney gave me funding and Melbourne didn't, but now I get the queasy feeling that I might have been tempting fate.

All I really want to do is sleep. I think, instead of berating myself for my lack of motivation, I'll give in for now and do just that. I'll be good soon. Things will be resolved. I just need time.

(as an aside, after leaving blogworld alone for a while I come back and discover that I'm not the only one having a rough time of it. Steph and Lady Ampersand, I am certainly thinking of you).

Edited to say: According to the website Melbourne is offering me an APA. I read this and felt oddly apathetic. It only hit home today when I went to the gym and realised that I wouldn't have to find another gym, and would now be here for three more years. I'm so joining thepowerlifting club to see if I can get my bench press groove back.

There is much to say, but I have no time to say anything worthwhile. However. I just came home, high on Xanax and lugging too many bags, to find a letter. The letter was an offer for a PhD.

In Sydney.

There is only one word to describe how I feel about this, and that is ambivalent. I am very, very ambivalent.*

More on this later.

(P.S Mel is a delight and made my conference going much more bearable, and she didn't seem to object too much to my strap-on** ways)


* I'm also thinking that it must be really gosh-darned easy to get into this doctory nonsense because I ain't that smart with the book learnin' corntarnit.

** I mean this in the primary school sense.

In Canberra.

Very, very glad I ran into MSKP the other day before she went forth for holiday fun.

Highly broken out and self-conscious about it.

(have) skipped the first day of my first conference so I could tweak my dreadful, dreadful paper.

(have) spent the day scratching myself, watching America's Next Top Model, singing to the cat and pushing back my cheesegrater cuticles.

Oh, and also working on Secret Big Project 06/07.

Was going to use my Metcard on an Action bus.

Lamenting the lack of decent coffee in Belcompton.

Hopefully soon I'll prise myself free from my motivation rut. Soon. Hopefully before I have to give two motherchuckin' conference papers.

Le sigh.

I wonder if they'll let me bring my cat.