Shut up Head!

So, I'm really tired and don't feel like blogging, but I'm afraid I'll forget the things I've been thinking about this evening if I wait til morning. Plus, Happy Valentine's Day from the future.

I FINALLY finished What is Literature? by Jean-Paul Sartre. As you may recall, if you've been sticking with this blog from way back when, I started this book, forever ago. Well, it was hard for me to read post college because the French are extremely esoteric or at least the translators are. So their books are often way more difficult to read while fatigued than the Germans, at least that's been my experience and that seems to fit with the cultural stereotypes as well.

To be honest, I only read 3/4 of the book because the last quarter is specifically addressed to the French writer in 1947, which, happens to be nowhere near me, so I decided to skip it, even though, yeah yeah, I probably could've learned something from it. Well shit, I'm in bed and the book is across the room, so perhaps detailed reactions etc will have to wait for another post. But as you also may recall, I really enjoyed the first half of the book where Sartre has this great distinction between poetry and prose and the use of words and language etc. For everybody's sake, I think I'll make a brief outline for this post, to help me stay on track.

1) Sartre's use of words (ok I just got distracted re-reading old posts to see if I've discussed this before) I think I promised to, but never did. My theory on my own use of words and why I always misunderstand/am misunderstood.

2) my growth as a writer eerily paralleling the historical progression of literature Sartre outlines in the third quarter of his book. (this will have to wait until I have the book in my hands as opposed to across the room)

3) thoughts on community size, as it relates to government, literature and cultural saturation, the need to categorize and therefore classify people (the myth of a classless society), how this all ties in with ethics (prompted by thoughts of 1, 2, many).

I think those three will be good enough for now. There were more, but I have Alzheimer's and what I've remembered is enough to make me not feel bad for letting it all go.

Ok, Numero Uno:

Recall from my previous quotations of Sartre about the difference in language use between prose and poetry. Gross summarization, Prose=words used as signs Poetry=words used as objects/sounds

Ok, well I often get in vociferous arguments with friends, family, and strangers that often are entirely due to the fact that we aren't using language the same way. This started most noticeably in high school where I could almost universally get defeated in debate over some technicality or inconsistency in my argument. This was the main thing that has made me skeptical of a life in law. While I've improved my ability to argue, I can tell I still have that weakness and continue to use words in the same way I did in high school.

My theory, is that as an extremely sensitive (not romantic, just sensitive) person, I tend to use words, certainly as Sartre says they are used in prose (or in normal conversation for that matter) as signs. However, while most people's word use acts as sign pointing to the commonly agreed objects, like bike referring to the object with two wheels and a handlebar. I find my own word use tends to refer more to an emotional state I've associated with the word. (No wonder I'm impossible to understand, right?) Now this isn't completely crazy, here me out. I think being sensitive also means you have a fairly well established ability to empathize. So, my word use often refers to not purely MY emotional state but a more general 'agreed' or common emotional state. Should I clarify emotional state?

By emotional state I mean, your feelings, perceptions, associations, psychological relationship to whichever object, the word normally refers. So for example, a normal person would use the word bike to refer to the two-wheeled machine, and would use the word bike when trying to communicate about the two-wheeled machine. With me? Pretty straightforward.

The difference I perceive in my own word use, is that sometimes I will use a word, like bike, to not necessarily communicate any thing to do with a two-wheeled machine, but instead to communicate fondness for a recreation, nostalgic childhood affiliation, or general unattached affection. Do you see how all of those things can be tied into the word 'bike'? So, I catch myself (this is NOT on purpose) using bike in a situation that has nothing to do with bikes, because I'm not talking about wheeled objects, I'm talking about childhood affiliation. (does this mean I speak with an even further removed metaphorical language? weird). Anyway, I catch myself doing this a lot and most of the time, it confuses people. I don't know why I do it, I think it is because I do see words as colored with feelings, emotions, and so many more things than the object.

Actually, I think everyone does this, but perhaps just not to this extreme. Like for example, think of when you get angry with someone and intentionally try to hurt them with your words. You can a) call them names b) bring up shameful or stupid things in the past c) threaten them with some sort of punishment but what are you really doing? Do you actually think that this person is an anus? Does it make ANY sense in an argument to dig up unrelated past events? and are you really never going to talk to them again? Obviously, none of these things are true, and obviously in this situation you are using your words metaphorically. But you can see how those words are not acting to refer to the objects that they 'actually' mean, you're using them to evoke a feeling in the other person. You're calling them an asshole, not necessarily because they are one, but being one makes one feel bad (you hope, to have the intended effect). Is this making any sense?

Ok, well, I sort of communicate in this manner all the time. And, for all the confusion and misunderstanding, I kind of really like using words that way. I'm aware of it and I'm not gonna stop. Words refer to feelings, not things. The only reason, this mode of communication SORT OF works, is because of empathy and the sensitivity to shared feeling associations to certain words. Like, I'm sensitive to the fact that you look fondly on riding a bicycle as a child, and so can select bicycle as the word to communicate nostalgic happiness. Haha, I feel like I'm admitting I'm crazy.

Wow, that tired me out more than I thought. Well we're skipping two anyway.

Numero Tres:

I'm not sure I have the energy for numero tres. So this might just be little notes to remind me what to fill in later.

New Zealand is small and easy to govern. There aren't any "greats" in literature like there were in the past several centuries, I attribute this to everyone becoming a writer (literacy a bad thing? haha, kidding) just like Walter Benjamin talks about in Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction about how the cheap camera made everyone a photographer, or the photograph made everyone an artist, or whatever. I can't remember exactly, but it was this democratization of art, that suddenly saturated the world of art. And Benjamin's conclusions/opinions aside (I don't really know for sure what they are, he's tricksy), I'm opposed to this. Is this because I'm in a pseudo-aristocracy (oh shit, that was supposed to be explained in numero dos, but we skipped it, so try to re-read this post after next post, please). But, the general feeling I have of this day and age of literature, art, and yes, even academia, is this overwhelming feeling of lost, and lostness, and an inescapable milieu. Yes, Sartre, being situated is ok and inescapable, and yes, Sartre, the adolescent writer writes to escape his milieu, but what happens when everything you write ALWAYS shoves your milieu right back in your face and that milieu is such god awful mediocrity!? There's a craving for direction, but nobody can decide on a direction and we still have a sizable constituency arguing against the possibility of a responsible direction. What the hell?

How am I supposed to write? Who am I supposed to write to? To write is to commit to at least the idea that you can make a difference (he says that somewhere early on) but in such a saturated market of writers, how the hell does one go about making a difference? Especially when you have to wade through tons of shit to find a half-decent contemporary book out there. Perhaps, it's all there and I just dislike the current style. hah. But seriously, I think there's just too much, too much everything, choice in jeans, writers trying to do their thing, too many people.

Whoa, I guess this is ethically dangerous, but I have to pursue it. Doesn't a society get too big? Like, can you reach a critical mass of independent minds/voters that can actively and responsibly participate in governing themselves? I suppose that's why we graduated to elected democracy, but are we getting too big for that? I mean it worked in the past when you only had an elite ruling class, bourgeoisie, aristocracy, what have you, governing and any one else in the 'society' was just labor or consumer or whatever. (it worked, not that it worked well, or ethically) but what I mean is that government could operate because those who were included in running it was small, the unethical part was that it governed more than just those responsible for governing. So is most of our political structure overblown? Do we need to downsize? But what of community, it doesn't change the literary saturation that bothered me to begin with. There is no escaping the global community and the like. And I suppose, I can't argue for limited literacy (although, its happening whether any argues for it or not).

I guess what I'm really asking is, where is the intellectual elite? Everyone has become "elite" in their little "specialization" which pretty much negates any elitism, it's just fragmentation then...and as an independent mind (heh, I hope?) I cringe at this realization, but I'm longing for some leadership. Which, I think affirms/confirms my idea that we're just really lost. So I kinda forget how this related to limiting community size, in order to maintain ethics and how it would somehow improve the literary condition...

I just realize that I don't know enough to get us out of this mess and so I'm looking for help and I don't want to despair at the thought that nobody knows how to get us out of this mess. (they don't need to know they know either, they just need to do what they do and have it be it)


this is a pretty long heavy post for having been so tired, so I think I'll just hit it and quit.

Oh but actually just kidding. In honor of Valentine's Day, I will reproduce my favorite Valentine's Day poem that I came across a few years back and still delights me to no end:

It's so nice
to wake up in the morning,
all alone
and not have to tell somebody
you love them
when you don't love them
any more.

What Just Happened?

So I stumbled across (unsure of how to appropriately categorize while maintaining anonymity)'s blog and spent hours, literally, catching up and reading all the comments. So, I'm quite fatigued, but since the read was oh so stimulating and my hosts made me watch "The Nativity Story" (in February?!) my mind is at least partially working, so why not blog.

We all know, or at least some of you know, that I simply cannot watch movies (films) like The Nativity Story. I refused to see Passion of Christ and The Da Vinci Code. Mainly because I have an open enough eye to get upset over themes, motifs, ways of representation etc but not enough perception or ?self-grounding? to be able to do much other than spin my wheels. Which, pretty much just ends up leaving me upset and frustrated at myself and the world. I try to limit it to at least one at a time. because otherwise I have a hard time refusing ice cream. and lets be honest, with my biases, if I'm not running regularly, I need to be refusing ice cream.

I'm still waiting on a good book. I have a large to-read list, obviously, but really no access to books. In this small conservative town the library is open for four hours three times a week over the middle of the day. I haven't even bothered to check out their selection. A term I particularly like that I came across while reading this blog was DIY spirituality. yes, I like it. Because, it so quaintly contains most of the people I've come across in New Zealand. And I'd be rude to say it's annoying, but it is fun to see such a direct relation between the cornucopia of DIY projects I've been helping all of these people with, and the DIY attitude they seem to let spill over into every aspect of their lives, including spirituality. I just realized, it's been a long time since I've been around some good ol' fashioned Catholics, not the new we're gonna thump our doctrines as insanely as fundamentalist Protestants. Perhaps it'd be nice. I gave myself credit while I was in Takaka, because in circling the main triangular block of the town several times in the rain upon arriving there, looking for my hostel, I noticed a nice looking Catholic Church. I think I entertained the notion of going to Mass, for exactly that, entertainment. So I didn't go, but I give myself credit for considering.

And I guess while I'm in a Religious Mood and we're talking Catholicism. I'm thinking now, of the one Catholic tradition, that I have a helpless affinity for: Eucharistic Adoration. Perhaps, it's because this ritual is so unbelievably blatantly pagan or what, but its just so strongly religious in ALL the myriad meanings definitions innuendos and EVERYTHING. the all inclusive religious term, Eucharistic Adoration is EXACTLY that. I love it.

For those of you who aren't Catholic (or Protestant but attended Catholic school) or for those of you who are Catholic but still don't know what Eucharistic Adoration is, I'll give a brief, lay Catholic's explanation.

The Eucharist (this is backstory) is consecrated and transubstantiated (actually transformed into) the body and blood of Jesus Christ (it was unleavened bread and cheap wine). Normally, the Eucharist is consumed by parishioners during the celebration of the Liturgy, i.e. Mass. but this special ritual is when the host, the body of Jesus Christ, is placed in this display case (monstrance) (not from monster, but latin-french whatever, of monstrare or montrer respectively, meaning "to show", think demonstrate) which is often gilded in gold, solar in theme and all shiny pretty and sparkly. It is placed on an altar in either the main church or off on a side shoot place, where basically, you just go a look at it for extended periods of time. You adore the Eucharist, duh. It's placed in the center of the solar theme, surrounded in gold and if you've got a creative Church group, probably has fancy lighting. Good Catholics probably pray the Rosary while adoring the Eucharist, but I like to just go sit there and look at the thing. Then I try to go on astral journeys and eagerly rush out of the room after an hour or so and think about what just happened. Did I mention, you adore the Eucharist whilst kneeling? Well, you do.

So I miss that. I haven't adored a shiny piece of gold in a submissive position lately, and I think, people need to do that every so often, at least I do.

(i got caught up over that last sentence on how to order the clauses "a shiny piece of gold" and "in a submissive position lately" because I thought it sounded confusing, as to which noun the prepositional clause referred, I or gold. but then I realized that a shiny piece of gold can't be submissive, so obviously the prepositional phrase is referring to me. Problem solved)


to be perfectly honest, i don't really know why all this Catholic stuff came up, oh, well i guess I did watch the nativity story tonight. And then spent hours reading a Jewish woman's blog. So nevermind, scratch that, I do know why it came up.

I get frustrated often with how much I don't know, and I actually feel a bit deceived (am I surprised?) by I'm not sure whom, the big amorphous S.? (society) oooooo, or wait, popular science? , actually I'm not sure whence this comes, but isn't there an assumption that knowledge is discovered? Its one of those phenomena that I'm cognizant of most of the time, but still submit to emotionally/psychologically, (wait, did I just define addiction?) Sorry this thought got SO lost. Let's start over and be straightforward and simple.

I feel deceived when I feel like I'm learning less and less the more I learn. is that clear? it doesn't seem quite fair. And yet, I know its (t)rue? or SHOULD? be true, that I learn less the more I learn, but something I still catch myself emotionally/psychologically submitting to, is this belief that the more I learn, the more I should know.

It brings me back to my love of my first book on the blog reading list. Voltaire's Bastards. Saul's big ticket point, in my opinion, is the big ticket, i.e. most important, is the co-opting of discourse (god damn it, he even talks about how we succumb to it ourselves as critics and academicians, and i friggin just typed co-opting discourse). His big ticket point, is that in this day and age of ideological Reason, Rationality and Science, that we no longer have the words, or mental space in which to stand opposed to the reigning norm. There isn't any way to say No! or This is Wrong! to the ideology of Reason, Rationality and Science. And we saw a little of that same dynamic with the Bush Administration. The attitude and 'discourse' of the Bush administration was very much the logical extreme of a broader Western dynamic: namely the lack of oppositional language. Instead of With Us or Against Us, Good vs. Evil, we instead have a polarization of Rational vs. Irrational, Reasonable vs Unreasonable and Science vs. Magic/Religion/Belief/Superstition (enlightenment vs medievalism) substitute your own favorite buzz word. And what's ridiculous further, is that we've associated those terms on the left side with Modern, which STILL, is equated with Good. And so, the big ticket point, was that there's no acceptable space for us to say NO! to something that may be Reasonable and Rational, but also downright Ridiculous, (well actually, things like ridiculousity are actually things I support), so let's change Ridiculous to Unethical. that's better.

Sheesh, I need to go back to school...
...or to bed, actually.


I hope you all enjoy reading this post as much as I'm enjoying the thought of you all reading this post.

Low Tide in Takaka, abreast the Abel-Tasman National Park.



Me in Tahunanui, as you can see, by myself.



This is when God carried me. Hah.



Crab Shadow. It's a sweet pic. I'm an artist.



Pretty much sums up the attitude of my trip.



Beach at Karamea. It's always this empty beautiful.



A nice walk to enjoy the sunset in Karamea with friends.



The aforementioned sunset walk.



Zen retreat at the back of the large organic garden in Karamea.

Damn Dirty Brits

I had a thought while I was picking strawberries today. Over lunch my host and I were talking about hating the Brits (his family is Scottish) because I haphazardly mentioned that I had Braveheart on DVD. So of course, it led to my enduring incredulity at the ability of tiny island with no significant natural resources of it's own to somehow colonize a vast majority of our planet. So we were talking talking, blah blah, the second conversation I've had with Kiwis that I've been like, whoa, you did not go to the Claremont Colleges. The first Kiwi postulated that Europeans were simply smarter, that's how we colonized the planet. Oy, my host wasn't that bad, but whatever. It got me to thinking about OUR american strategy. As it compares or contrasts to the British strategy. So I'm going to break it down like this...

British Strategy:

Induce a difference in a potential colony's population in order to stir up domestic strife. Play one group off the other so as to minimize British cost for subjugation. Use diplomatic tricks like not holding your part of a treaty, backstabbing, unassailable superiority complex. All of this is known commonly as Western Government. Build Empire, because we all know that an empire is the ultimate goal of a people's existence.

American Strategy:

Use vast cache of domestic resources to overwhelm any potential colony with brute force. Use diplomatic tricks on your OWN people and don't worry about subjugated people, because they are subjugated with overwhelming force.

Ok, so those are the mean rant reasons. But I boiled it down even further. (Everyone likes simplified polarization right?)

British Empire: Use civilization and development as an excuse to subjugate a people and the resources they reside upon.

American Empire: Use dispensation of civil rights and liberties as an economic currency that can then be traded back for trinkets, thus differentiating American people and subjugated people by amount of trinkets).


Haha, whatever. It was just a thought. But it does seem interesting how the American Government has begun to use civil liberties and 'rights' in an economical sense. Trade your privacy for safety from terrorism. Trade your political efficacy for cheap gasoline. etc etc.

Anyway. I'm really tired because I worked a pretty long day today. I helped remove wallpaper from the main bedroom and put up sheet rock (or Gib, gibbing? I don't know if this is something else, or simply a different term for the same thing. It looks like sheet rock) because it was rainy and wet last night/this morning and so, like I've previously mentioned. Strawberries don't like getting picked in the rain. But then it cleared up this afternoon and so we had to go pick the WHOLE field. In case there is any confusion about how strawberry patches work...you don't have acres and acres of strawberries to pick, you pick the same bed every morning. Strawberry plants (and particularly these two varietals) produce berries consistently when in season, so each day the plant has at least a few new ripe berries. Which is just fantastic because it means picking the same patch over and over and over. And let me tell ya, it's really fun. I actually was really relieved to be doing housework today. Although, the outside housework sucks because they have me scraping the loose paint off the outside of the house with this metal scraper thing which basically makes nails on the chalkboard sound, really loudly, each time you use it. Gross.

I am listening to the Counting Crows right now. They are good. I also tried Video Skype yesterday and well it's sweet. I suggest anyone who wishes to interact with me download it ASAP and video chat all day long.

I've been going for bike rides lately, I don't know why. They have a broken down old road bike (have I told you all this before? I honestly can't remember). It only has one gear now (gear shifter is gone) and its a hard gear, plus the brakes don't work. But for some reason I really enjoy riding it (i've never EVER enjoyed riding a bike before) (seriously). So I've been going on hour/hour and half rides out on to the farm highways. It's kinda nice. Perhaps I'm just craving the exercise? That could be it. But it makes my hamstrings tight, which is the last thing I need, since my hamstrings are ALREADY the tightest things in the world, and its NOT cool. Especially because it pulls on my back muscles which get all bent outta shape hunched over picking strawberries for hours each day.

Also, can someone who's in the States and is being bombarded with campaign shit please let me know what happened to campaign reform as an issue? Is it even discussed anymore? I thought that was really important.

We are going to a festival on Saturday. I hope it's nice weather and that we have fun. After the festival I am going up to Christchurch in preparation for my flight home. let's be honest, if the warm weather that has suddenly hit LA abates in any degree I'll be pissed.

I had mock job interviews play in my head while I was picking strawberries today. I think I'm ready. Bring it on. I haven't had meat in over a week and to be honest, I barely even notice. I think most people could do it. Just try not having meat. It's pretty easy. Thinking of vegetarianism, I always think of making sacrifices, but once I remember that vegetarians can have beer, wine, ice cream, ....to be honest I tried to list other essential foods for me that you might think borders vegetarianism, but none are as important as those 3, so, yeah. Those three did it for me. I was like, ok this is easy. Like eggs, they can eat eggs, but I don't really care that much about eggs.

Oh, that's right. I was going to upload some photos. I'll do that in a separate post.
I'm sorry, I really am drawing a blank about shit to say. Maybe photos will help.

Good Luck out there people.

Trickling Time in Timaru

Today is an overcast day. I woke early this morning at about quarter to seven. I knew I had a full day of work ahead of me before my hosts returned from their festival in Blenheim. I had moved from my bedroom to the coach in the living room since they left. Something about being in a more central part of the house made me feel less alone. I could also put on the stereo to fall asleep. The amber streetlight would spill in through the top of the large French doors not covered by the curtains. The coach is pea green, fuzzy, and its arms slowly slope upward toward the end to create a snug little bowl to lie in. I spent Friday and Saturday night tucked in cozily and listening to music, succumbing to sleep before the midnight hour.

So I woke early today. I got up, relieved myself and put on a pot of coffee before climbing back into my nest on the couch, grumbling at the grey skies. Checking the weather online I see this morning is supposed to rain. Just great. I have a ton of berries to pick this morning and one thing strawberries don’t like, is getting picked in the rain. But I haven’t much of a choice now do I? So I get up and pour my coffee before it’s quite ready and eat a slice of toast with raspberry jam in four large mouthfuls. I decide without going outside that it’s going to be chilly enough to wear long sleeves. So I pull on my orange fleece over my white tshirt, slip my bare feet into my sneakers and opening the large sliding glass door out the back. I decide this morning’s soundtrack will be Kill Bill and as I push the thin, slightly broken, road bike down the driveway Nancy Sinatra begins to croon. Pedaling out into the street the drizzle begins to worsen and soon I’m glowering under my brow out at the roadway. I was right about the temperature, the rain brings that cool that summer rains do, that give you just enough of a shiver to be uncomfortable.

By the time I get to the farm I’m fairly damp. Good thing I’m wearing my bathing suit, which I haven’t changed out of in the past 3 days.

I proceeded to pick 21kgs of strawberries. For those of you either unfamiliar with kilograms, strawberries, or the relationship between the two. 21 kgs is literally a mountain of strawberries. My back would like to mention that it’s quite sore.

The foul weather and the resistance of the strawberries to be nicely picked wore my patience down to a sliver. “Fuck berry picking” I thought. My hosts had mentioned a few days ago that people from the city would pay to be able to go outside and pick berries for a while. And it’s probably true, but the operative clause there is “for a while”. And, I tried to remember that I’d be appreciating the outside time, while I was wishing I was home and had a ‘normal’ job. This may be a thing of the past soon enough I thought.

The one positive of the morning was the weeding I had done yesterday looked quite nice this morning. The aisles between rows and rows of strawberry plants looks clear and clean. One thing I’ve noticed about farmers is that they rarely get everything done, completed or put away. There are always dozens of unfinished projects lying about a farm and forlorn tools that were doing who knows what. What needs to get done, is redefined and most certainly in sense always gets done. But the state of affairs around the farms I’ve been on have been a loosely controlled chaos. Especially when the ‘farm’ house is also being renovated. It looks like their lives are in shambles. But somehow it operates on the day to day. So I tidied up the house a bit as well, more for my sake than my hosts. But you all already knew that didn’t you?

A week seems like a long time.

And to leave you all with a smile, my lunch yesterday was a bowl of vanilla ice cream and two beers.

Strawberry Fields Forever: A Reprise.

So I picked strawberries again. It's a bit of a different set up, different strawberry varieties (who knew) and took some adjusting. Also, I'm having a hard time getting out of vacation mode and back into WWOOFing mode. Something about going home makes me want to just, wah wah, waste my time moaning and groaning in a hostel somewhere. I am having troubles getting into work. I don't like having to do things and I think it's particularly bad simply because I have something like a plane ticket home to say, ahhhh I just want to go home, ahhhh I just want to leave. Which, before, was never really an issue because well, duh, I had just gotten here. So that's difficult. But the large festival they are going to this weekend, at which they'll sell their strawberries with ice cream, I will be left behind, tending the farm and the house. Which, actually. Will be fantastic. I really would like to go to the festival and I think it'd be so fun and cool and yadda yadda, but I think some time alone would also be really great. I guess, because then I can act how I feel, mopey and dumb. Anyway. yeah. It's been interesting to discover both through Ireland and here, how much of a social person I am. When taking those personality tests I was always placed as somewhat of an introvert, mainly because the categorization is based off the question of whether you go into social situations to "recharge" or prefer to "recharge" on your own. Well I definitely recharge on my own. I don't recharge with other people. But uh, once I'm done charging the last thing I want is to be alone. A battery's purpose is not to recharge, derh. It's purpose is to be in a city and surrounded by tons of people and different people and shit going on and all that jazz. Parties, and talking, and humanity fer chrissakes. Then I can retreat when I get tired to my little personal space and recharge. Yep. I really crave sociality. And, well, socializing with strangers is just not cutting it anymore. I want my friends, my family the people I care about, the people that I CHOOSE to be social with. Those people. I want them.

Besides griping about how much I want to come home, I don't think there's much else to discuss. I am about to tackle a book called "Eros, Agape and Philia: Readings in the Philosophy of Love" I wrote a paper (for which course?) about the difference between Eros and Agape. Eros being a Greek philosophical type of Love and Agape being the Christian conception of Divine Love. So yeah. Figured it'd make good reading material. I am lamenting both my physical and mental out of shapeness. I need to read and write and think critically again and I need to get back to my running. Traveling was a wonderful hiatus a wonderful newness and a good break to sort of delineate my collegiate and post-collegiate life. I now have a definitive enough break in my life where I do feel like I'll start anew when I return home. I am not sure I would have moved on, or felt like I was starting something new had I go on to whatever right after graduation. I'm glad I've placed this gap. But, looking at the end of the gap, I can see that much of what I thought about myself, what I want, what I like, is still very much the same. Which, I suppose is a good thing. I've known from the beginning that I had no "reason" to go on this oversea adventure. No craving desire to escape, to experience something new, to really do anything of the sort. I was quite content with where I was and how things were when I graduated and so my eagerness to return is like awaiting something you had but suddenly got put on hold for 7 months. ya know? maybe Wow, tangent, I tried to tell you about a book I was going to read and flew right back to wanting to come home. Can you tell what's on my mind? Yeah, it's getting kind of intense.

My hosts here are vegetarians, and they cook really good veggie meals. Did I mention this already? Ok. Well, today I picked strawberries and then washed plastic tubs, and other various festival going ice cream/strawberry holding producing, selling items. And now, my host is cooking me dinner. Hee. Stir-fry. Yum. Is there anything else to say?

Oh, and all you nosey nosey gossip romance novel reading fools, this is NOT a gushy mushy flowery dowry lovetale. This is a blog, in fact, it's the blog of a very anti-gushy mushy flowery dowry lovetale person. So tough cookies. You can ask me personally. But blogosphere? Check no. Done and Done. Later people.

Recap...Sorta, plus some New Stuff

So I have left Christchurch. And Nelson. I took a couple weeks to travel and stay in hostels and really just not work. In Takaka, it was awful. In addition, I think I got a computer virus from the wireless there. I suppose that's what I get for spending so much time on an unsecured network. Or maybe it's not a virus, just something else. I don't know, but Microsoft Word and my Apple Dictionary are not working properly. So far those are the only two affected programs. Anyway. I spent a lot of time alone in Takaka. It is the gateway to the Abel-Tasman National Park, Golden Bay and several other areas of interest. However, they are all farther away than walking distance, and although my hostel host assured me hitching was really easy to get to all these places...I guess I just didn't feel up for it. I was just feeling blase and really, all I wanted was to sit on a beach all day and not do anything. But instead, I ran everyday from the hostel to the nearest cool attractions, were, I admit pretty darned cool once I got there. But the solitude was intense. The hostel was practically empty and anyone who checked in was in a couple, trio, or some other social situation. No other loners. So I was there. Plus, this hostel owner was somewhat insane and whether he liked me, or felt obligated to 'entertain' his guest...he hung around me a lot always, always, always talking. And mostly about how he has ESP. So yeah. Quality. It was alright I guess. Looking at him, no longer paying attention to the babble coming out of his mouth. His eyes enlarged by his thick glasses. Staring like a fish out of a bowl and talking excitedly about who knows what this time. It made my mind run around my empty skull only too aware of the echoing vacuum inside. I was alone with myself, listening to this man leaving middle age and latching desperately onto my youth, which the tighter he clasped the more and more I felt my youth as not my own. He made me feel old. So my mind and I sat back in my skull and watched this quirky show through my eye sockets, laughing to each other every now and then.

I left Takaka. initially I had planned to go down to Timaru (which is where I had plans to work) but my hosts informed me they wouldn't need me for several more days. So now I had more time to kill and a plane ticket home waiting for me at the far end of the next month. I decided to stop off in Nelson then. To kill a couple days. I had seen a suburb of Nelson that looked promising that I didn't get to visit last time I blew through Nelson on my way to the Marlborough Sounds. So I decided to check it out. I stayed at the Beach Hostel, hoping the namesake was close by. And indeed it was. So I spent a few days walking the few blocks to the sandy beach in the sunniest spot in New Zealand (they have the most sunny days in the whole country). this is what I had needed. I decided to go out to eat instead of cooking for myself...the chips and guac with rice and coffee of the past several days was getting to me and I wanted a real meal. So I decided to go out, to a restaurant that was probably too expensive, but I just ordered the seafood tapas which was, arguably appropriately priced and a glass of Sauvignon Blanc, from the region. It was a nice wine and went with the tapas. Green mussels, calamari, prawns all in stunning sauces. Prawns and guacamole are surprisingly good. There was live music that evening which is what originally drew me into this attempt at Cuban flair. The Jazz Night, disappointingly was a man with salt and pepper crimped hair to his shoulders wearing a black leather beret and trying oh so hard to be jazz. He played on an electronic keyboard and sang awfully. Perhaps the wine and cigarette before his performance wasn't the best decision. Anyway, it was humorous enough until he murdered Billy Joel's New York State of Mind, cleverly, I assume, slightly altering the lyrics to a Nelson State of Mind. Shaking my head and sipping my wine I must have drawn the attention of two couples sitting at a table not far from me. I had occasionally made casual eye contact with them throughout my meal (when dining alone, without a companion to occupy your attention when not eyeing your food, you are forced to wander the other tables, especially if wall decoration was sparse, and to avoid looking quite strange staring at a plant...so, I had made eye contact with them a few times) and one man eventually got up came over (after we'd finished our meals) and invited me to join their table.

So I did, and they bought me several more glasses of wine. One couple was a brother sister pair both also leaving middle age. The brother, interrogated me about my schooling and why I thought teaching would be a worthy profession. I think he liked me. The other couple were middle aged and I learned had a 22 year old daughter at home that they jokingly were "trying to marry off". And that's how I landed a dinner invitation for the following night. Well the night drew on and on and finally we decided to retire. The brother lingered and after the others had pulled ahead and we were outside he tried to kiss me. I politely declined and turned to make my two block walk home. I couldn't help but find myself yet again, smiling broadly and slowly shaking my head. Where the hell was I?

The next day I went for a run and spent the day walking the beach, doing what I've become not necessarily better but more practiced in: killing time. At around 4 in the afternoon I wandered over to the address I had been given the night before, following the slightly drunken scrawl on the cocktail napkin to find my meal for the night. I walked up and up and up a hill, past wealthy looking houses and in and out of fantastic views of the bay and the beach below. Arriving at the numbered address I found myself standing in front of a large and formidable cherry wood gate connecting two imposing stone pillars. I pressed the button below the camera lens hiding behind thick glass. "Ah, yes, hello, come on in I'll be down" I heard through the intercom a few seconds later and the heavy gate began to slowly withdraw. I strolled along a stony path through impressive gardens and a multitude of exotic looking plants before coming upon a large expansive wooden deck with a beautiful large fat palm in the center. I walked up the steps to the deck where seated at the table was the husband from the bar the night before hiding from the Nelson sun behind dark glasses and refreshing himself with a generous glass of white wine. With sheepish grins on their faces the couple re-introduced themselves saying "Nice to meet you sober" with genuine but uncomfortable laughs. I smiled as large as I could, the words "My kind of people" hiding behind my large teeth. Then I met the daughters, there are four of them. The youngest two being twins. The eldest though, was in one of those crippling unfair summer dresses. And after being given an ice cold Corona and being abandoned to the deck while they finished cooking, I simply leaned over the deck railing and soaked up the sun and blue of the bay and the distant mountains and the golden brown of the sand on the beach below. Where the hell was I?

After a delicious meal and some extremely expensive bottles of wine, it seemed I fit right in and we all had another wonderful evening. The kind that seem to go well simply because it's summer, how could anyone be upset? It was such an easy going pleasantness that was almost identical with the gentle summer breeze. And so I walked home, tipsy and in the dark feeling, as I descended the steep hill, that I was on top of the world.

I woke the next morning alone in my dorm room with an overcast head and an overcast sky. I made the executive decision then, that I'd stay in bed. And so I did. The excitement from the evening had waned and I again was facing my plane ticket home. Feeling blue and sentimental, blaming it all on the overcast sky, I decided after a cup of coffee and some oatmeal to put together a photo movie from my time abroad thus far. So I spent most the morning and early afternoon working on the computer. I then got a call on my mobile from the daughter inviting me out to lunch at a cafe she wanted to try the next day. Sure! I said, knowing that I still had some time yes, still more time, to kill and what better than spending it with someone! So I put the computer away and went out into the clearing sunny day and walked along the beach before taking a nap in a pile of sand. That night. I had oatmeal for dinner.

Well, the lunch at the cafe, as I've said before, turned into a full day of hanging out in the brilliant sunshine. And what a day. It was great and by the end of it, I found myself invited to yet another dinner the next evening. This was going well, considering I had resigned myself to spending the money to stay at hostels and eat my own food. Here I was getting a considerable amount of free food. Well, at dinner the next evening, it was arranged, that since part of the family would be traveling to Christchurch the next day, that I was more than welcome to ride with them. This was so fantastic. Because, hitching, well, like I said, I wasn't feeling it. I had seriously considered shelling out the cash for a bus trip down, but no, here again, I found a free ride down, better than hitching or the bus. So I found myself staying in a nice hotel room in Christchurch, and it was insisted upon that I take on of the main beds instead of the cot in the living room. Feeling guilty, like I'm known to do I began to sabotage my enjoyment of this generosity. I began to feel trapped and after nice meals out, sleeping in the main bed and general concessions being made on my part I felt I needed to leave ASAP. I helped the daughter move into her new flat, lifting washers and dryers, fridges, couches etc. And drank more expensive wine and ate expensive food. Finally Sunday came and they were returning home, so after dropping me off on the south side of town, I bid my farewell to the departing car. With a new lease on life and unencumbered by debt, I strode with my extremely heavy pack with a bounce in my stride down the side of the highway looking for a decent shoulder from which to hitch south to Timaru.

I am now in Timaru and will be picked up by my new hosts shortly. I feel oh so excellent about being on my own again, even though I cannot begin to appreciate how much that family did for me. It was unbelievable, and I was assured I wasn't the first. Well phew. But now I'll be WWOOFing again and not only that, but my plane ticket home has started running to greet me. I cannot wait.

* * *

I have arrived at my WWOOF host's house. It was drizzly today so I haven't seen the farm yet but did a bit of house work (they're renovating) and chatted with the two American WWOOFers that are here, both living in Montana, one from Boston. The hosts are great, younger couple and vegetarians. Score. Plus, the woman is a cousin of the woman I WWOOFed with in the Marlborough Sounds. How perfect. We seem to see eye to eye fairly well already and it should be a nice place to spend my final weeks in New Zealand. However, since they are doing house renovations the lights are all not hooked up to the electrical system and I find myself once again living by my headlamp at night. It's chilly today and I'm sleeping in my sleeping bag until I move into the room the other WWOOFers are occupying (they leave tomorrow). It's a bit reminiscent of Ireland, except, not as chilly, dry, and I'm sleeping in a nice big bed. But the headlamp chilliness, sleeping bag, changing in the dark bit. You get the idea. More coming tomorrow with my first day of berry picking and perhaps more reflection on how I feel in my final days. Ta da.e eye to eye fairly well already and it should be a nice place to spend my final weeks in New Zealand. However, since they are doing house renovations the lights are all not hooked up to the electrical system and I find myself once again living by my headlamp at night. It's chilly today and I'm sleeping in my sleeping bag until I move into the room the other WWOOFers are occupying (they leave tomorrow). It's a bit reminiscent of Ireland, except, not as chilly, dry, and I'm sleeping in a nice big bed. But the headlamp chilliness, sleeping bag, changing in the dark bit. You get the idea. More coming tomorrow with my first day of berry picking and perhaps more reflection on how I feel in my final days. Ta da.