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I deleted 1024 text messages from my phone this morning.

This was a minute job that I had been avoiding for quite a while. Not because I am unable to use my hands or because I don’t know how to do it. Every time my phone took 5 million hours to load a photo or refused to take a picture for lack of memory, I knew some deleting was in order.

I know I’m crazy as a coconut, but I just could never do it. Each of those little texts was a pocket of a memory. A reference to a long forgotten in-joke, a reminder of why I dated that guy, a reminder of why I dumped that guy, late night mini conversations from friends continued in a sleepy haze and bland reminders about appointments kept.

I’ m one for hanging on. I hoard organisers from high school and university (there’s something blissful about realising that on this day in 2001, an English essay was due…) Hidden in the depths of cardboard boxes, deep in storage is a tiny sparkling bucket of erasers my Dad bought me when I was home sick from school in Grade 1. I constantly refer to the past for tips about the future.

But this is a new year. Some say a new decade. So, I’m resolving that the only object jammed up with memory will be my head. It’s a new day, I have an empty inbox and I feel good.

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Happy

I’m just like all you others.

I watch ‘Grey’s Anatomy’ and think ‘ooh yes, I’m a professional too’ (I just save Prep’s yoghurt covered lunch boxes which have fallen in the bin, not lives).

I read autobiographies by women who inspire me, who work in political positions and are elected by others who support their cause.

I stalk Michelle Obama & Princess Mary on the net and ponder, ‘Hmm, I too could study law. I might land Prince in a bar, then could help rule a nation while wearing gorgeous frilly dresses’.

I take risks, I travel and crave new experiences in the same way that I crave Malteasers. I try to encourage the kids I work with to strive to reach their full potential and to think about other people. I then discover they are much better at it then myself, as well as most adults I know.

I hang out with independent, like minded girls and women, who can rock a cocktail dress as well as a political conference. I think about the future a lot.

The more I read about the past, the more appreciative I am that I live in the present. I am aware that as a woman today I have choice. I am thankful to those who fought so that I have that choice (even though I totally don’t agree with Germaine Greer’s opinions about the Crocodile Hunter…). I also feel fortunate that I was born into a country where freedom of choice is viewed as a right.

Then I have D&M (deep & meaningful, for those not up with my Year 9 girl vocabulary) conversations with some gorgeous, smart friends, who are overwhelmed with the choice, with the freedom. Who want to stay home and not have a career, but support husbands and children. Who know that this is what they want, who know that this will make them happy. And I can see their point.

And who am I whether to say it’s wrong or right? Do we have too much choice? Have our choices made us happier?

Tell me what you think.

When I was 12 I made a time capsule. (I lived on a farm and spent many a long, boring hour thinking about the future, when I wasn’t rocking out to Hanson and cutting out pictures of the Spice Girls from TV Hits magazine). The big plan was to reveal it when I reached the far away, imaginary age of 21.

My 12 year old self, possibly decked out in my favourite 1997 outfit of black baggy tencel overalls (yes, tencel… don’t judge, you were probably wearing it too) and aqua Piping Hot oversized t-shirt, thought that by16 I would be pretty much grown up. By 21, I would surely know all there was to know about the world.

I have a hazy recognition of tucking an assortment of symbolic items into a cardboard Nike shoebox, wondering what life would be like then.

My high school diary, scribbled with notes from new found friends, bragging about how a boy smiled at us on the train (A boy! A real life boy! Needless to say, I went to a girl’s school…) My journal, purchased by my parents on a day trip to the beach, where I wrote riveting accounts about what I ate for lunch and how I had bought some new stickers for my collection. A copy of Dolly magazine = my 12 year old self’s Bible. Considered contraband in my household in my early teens, I used to sneakily buy it after school because life wouldn’t be worth living if I didn’t know the latest entertaining issues covered by Dolly Doctor. (Does anybody else remember the infamous letter about the chick with the Barbie dolls and interesting urges??!!) A Yo-Yo. Photos of my good self sporting some ridiculously oversized headbands (what’s changed?)

Hidden inside the box under a cover of crunchy pink tissue, much to my mortification/fascination/curiosity I found a cassette tape that I had recorded of my favourite songs (‘MmmBop’ anyone? Appreciate it, I probably spent a good 30 minutes next to the radio listening to the Hot 30 Countdown, poised to pounce on record to get that). I also felt the need to discuss my life.

12 year old self predicted that by my early twenties, I may have achieved the following:

Moved out (Ba bow!) Been to Uni (Check). Moved away from the farm (Check). Travelled to Sydney (Check. Dream big Laura!) Gotten married (Again, ba bow!) Had kids (Hahaha. No.) Be working as a vet (I think I failed to recognise that I pretty much can’t do Maths). I also predicted that in the future, I might have a flying car (I think I watched a little too much of ‘The Jetsons’), I would probably use a machine to listen to music rather then listen to CDs (Bingo! How come I’m not working for Apple?)

Life at 12 was simple in a way, but much more complicated then life now. I spent a lot of time reading magazines in my room, writing letters to my friends, daydreaming about marrying Zac Hanson and praying that one day I would be as cool as some of the girls at school, who flounced around in curvy bodies,  blonde highlights and black tattoo look necklaces.

And I would definitely reach Sydney.

*Inspired by one of Mollie’s posts…

Almost 24, yet safe and secure in the knowledge that:

I am taking advantage of the period in my life when I can still eat chocolate for breakfast. It’s ok to still have your friends over and part take in play fights, involving hair pulling and a very queasy tummy after jumping around too much following the consumption of Thai take-away. I can still get away with talking like I am 15. Like, totally just get away with it. I’m on the precipice of a time when it’s acceptable to buy tissues because they have Hannah Montana on the packet.

Degrees: Check. Job: Check.

My friends and I have reached a suitable age when we can criticise teen fashion (white socks over leggings? Hello?!) but still follow them if we find said fashions to be of a superior class (Headbands? Yes!) I’m still young enough to plan and dream about stupid schemes and dreams, which still have a remote possibility of coming true (live in a Northern NSW treehouse? Sure, why not. Marry a Prince I will meet at a bar, a la Princess Mary and become future Queen of European country? Hell yes! Work for a fashion magazine? Look after native animals at my house? Have an organised filing system in my classroom? Be on ‘Dancing with the Stars’? Shack up with Hamish Blake? Dare to dream…)

Saturdays are for spending the morning in pajamas, eating overpriced salads for lunch and dancing all night. Sundays are for sleeping in, gelati, chats on the balcony with people you partied with on the previous night, reading the paper, watching movies and doing last minute work preparation (while eating toast for dinner).

Having said that, it’s perfectly acceptable to spend Saturday night watching DVDs and eating burnt microwave popcorn with fabulous people.

I’m mature enough to be besties with the more mature ladies at work, but still young enough to love discussing the Teen Choice Awards with the Grade 6 girls.  Old enough to make grown up choices (buy a house, get married, la di dah…), young enough to kiss random boys at parties. Old enough to drive, young enough to car dance. Draw wisdom from movie quotes, gain inspiration from great women, adore my friends.

Yep, not bad. Not bad at all.

Ok, so it’s Sunday night. And we all know that on Sundays people rest (I do believe that is the original intention of Sundayness), are spontaneous and also get meloncholy and bored. Today I have fallen head first into two of those categories (spontaneous & bored) and decided to jump on the blog bandwagon.

I thought that perhaps a blog would be a good idea, mainly because it seems more entertaining than writing school reports, I am so stereotypically Gen Y in my whole Lily Allen/Miley Cyrus/Taylor Swift approach to life and I spend so much time on facebook chat that people are beginning to talk …

Plus, maybe one of my other fellow fabulous bloggers will appreciate my terrible Dad-style jokes and pointless stories as much as my Prep kids do…

xx

Why was the penguin standing on the marshmallow?

So he wouldn’t fall into the hot chocolate

(You can’t say I didn’t warn you…)

Days of My Life

October 2017
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...and it got me thunking... A dip platter is my idea of a perfect meal beach Beyonce` would know Bill Cosby was right and kids do say the darndest things birthday girl bloggers bloggers who rock boys with black nail polish are the sex bushfires champagne child of the 80s chocolate Christmas cupcakes make the world go round dancing to cheesy songs could end war forever david jones dogs are some of the best people i know dreaming family fashion fashion thrills me forwards free friends morph into family frogs Gen Y gluten Gossip Girl XOXO half a letter and half a list Hamish Blake gives me a lift on my ride home Hard to believe but sometimes we are even cooler then Carrie Bradshaw headbands are what dreams are made of Heels equal power honest I'm actually 15 i'm bored therefore i blog i'm such a girl i adore kids books I am you are we are Australian I can't remember as I was a bit smashed i love HK and all its mango drinks i really hope you don't know me i still believe in Santa i wish i spoke in amazing quotations I would have a Diet Coke IV if i could jokes just a moment life long love Lilo Lily Allen Melbourne Miley Cyrus miranda kerr my friends are the best friends once upon a time i loved Hanson parents are intesting sometimes read my brain sad but true sometime i think little kids are smarter then me Spice Girls Spring has sprung Summer Sunday Taylor Swift teaching this show is my life travel unrealistic is more realistic we're all dying too weekends when I'm bored I'm crazy when will i will i be famous? Winter yes i rock singstar

Stuff I Wrote