The only bad thing about coming back from retreat is the exhaustion you feel the following day.
I'm buggered, and it's not like I did that much on the weekend.
Sure, I went down the beach every day for a walk, but that's wasn't much.
Maybe it's the new moon willing me to sleep.
Maybe I'm falling ill.
Maybe I should have taken the day off.
Regardless, no blog tonight.
I might write about the Oscars tomorrow.
I need to go to bed.
You really want to know about what I did last night?
I knitted.
I know. I'm on a writer's retreat with all of these fabulous people, and I ended up in the chapel with a few others working on the little scarves I've been stitching away at for an eternity. There's a great comfort in knitting. My friend was working on a sock. She's said that she will teach me how to turn a heel one of these days.
There's a great camaraderie in knitting, I find.
Yes, I went to the music quiz for a bit, staying for the first round, dancing along to the bangers, providing a few answers to a couple of the teams (Supertramp sang The Logical Song, which I still adore. I have done for fifty years).
Now, I'm sitting here in a Pixies band t-shirt after going for a dip in the Southern Ocean, knowing that I will be heading back to Melbourne, and my cat, in a few hours. I've got my messy set up. There's all the things I need to be a writer. Tarot cards. Notebook. Shells that were found on the beach yesterday afternoon. Decaffeinated coffee. Turkish Delight (Don't judge me too harshly - I am one of THOSE people). My manuscript. Bag of peripherals - which has come in handy. A biro.
Being honest, I've done very little writing this weekend. And this is okay. I had the trip from hell coming down here. It took two hours to get from my home in Richmond to Hoppers Crossing, an accident at Kororoit Creek snarling up the traffic for miles. There was a detour into Torquay to pick up some aprons for the kitchen crew. That was a bit of a godsend, as I was about four hours into the trip then, and the small break was rejuvenating.
Walking into Seacroft, home for the next few days, I fell into the arms of one person, had a glass of wine placed in one hand and the offer of a puff on a cigarette in the other.
That helped.
I've been fed beautifully (OH MY GOD - THE LAMB!!), laughed a lot, had some fantastic deep conversations, read a bit, facilitated a New Moon ritual (which was fantastic, but has given me the tag line, "Lynda, have you got the cauldron?" I have a knack for saying daft things with a complete lack of irony.
Yet the nicest thing of all has been just being me. Completely unfiltered, no masks, no nothing, still running naked into the sea at 7.30 on the Sunday morning. I've not thought about what I've been eating, although that changes as soon as I get back to Melbourne. I've had no alcohol to drink. We had a Pixies singalong this morning, myself, Kyleigh Wyleigh and a few other randoms, to the bemusement of others. There has been a lot of healing hugs. I don't feel like I've talked that much, but I've done a lot of listening.
The only time I was scared was when last night, at around eleven p.m., after most of the lights were out, somebody came into the chapel. Thy seemed to be hunting around for something. Being big and brave, I turned on the light and called out if I could help. It was just another Gunna looking for chocolate. As there was none to be found, it being all put away, I handed over my secret stash. All writer's need a secret sugar supply.
Oh, and there's a cat here. His name is Oreo and he is a tiny black and white tuxedo cat with the metaphorical balls of a giant. Friend to all, he takes no prisoners. Lovely little beastie. I held his paw as he had a bath.
The thing that I take home from these retreats is the fact that I have a tribe. I love my tribe. This retreat is about we strange, funny, intelligent, honest women, most of us on the spectrum in a major or minor way, who give ourselves permission to be true selves for a couple of days.
How can you not be happy here?
As I'm working tomorrow morning, then packing up and leaving for the retreat, I'll get the blog out of the way now.
I may as well do this as I pack.
Clothing:
Okay, I'm all sorted. Just have to work the morning and then get in the car.
Adore Beauty is one of my staple websites for beauty items. I love them. They're a local company, their service is excellent, as is their range of products. They use nice couriers who actually ring the doorbell and wait for you to come downstairs. They're great.
The most wonderful think about Adore Beauty is that in every shipment, no matter how big or small, they always put in an individually wrapped Tim Tam. Just one. The company have just opened physical stores - and I believe that with ever purchase you are given one of the iconic single wrapped biscuits.
But, yesterday, the buzzer went at eight in the morning. I threw on a dressing gown and ran downstairs to collect my parcel.
The box was beaten up. Not ideal, but it felt like the bottles of shampoo, conditioner and curl creme would be in the box.
The parcel was taken upstairs and opened. This didn't take much as there was a gaping hole in the box.
I checked the inventory, taking the products out of the paper insulation wrapping.
Shampoo - tick.
Conditioner - tick.
Curl Creme - tick.
BUT NO FUCKING TIM TAM! (or samples, which they are also good and throwing in the box).
I went through the paper again, feeling my way around the crumpled pages. Zip. Nada.
The courier nicked my Tim Tam.
I feel very hard done by.
And though I received everything I ordered, and in one piece, I still feel like I've been let down.
That Tim Tam is everything. It's part of the reason you buy from Adore Beauty. Not only are they reliable, fast, an Australian company with decent prices, they give you a biscuit. It's good, old-fashioned customer service.
AND THE FUCKING COURIER NICKED MINE AND I AM GROPABLE.
Bastards.
This, actually, is my 3002nd post.
Yeah, 3002 posts over the last fifteen years.
The blog all started because I wanted to document what it was to run a marathon. I never ran the marathon (but I've competed in five half marathons - that does count for something).
And I know this blog is mostly crap, But for me, it’s interesting to look back and see what was going on in my life over the last 15 years.
Over the last five years, I’ve managed to write something every day. Again you wonder why, but it’s a part of my process. I know that I’m a better writer for keeping this up. And yes, sometimes I don’t feel like it, but you do it, because I’m a writer, and a writer writes.
As for the song of the day, well, it wouldn’t be my blog post if I didn’t have a song. Half of the time it’s what’s playing in my head when I’m writing, because I always have a song in my head when I write a post Sometimes the song comes from the blog’s theme.Most of the time, it’s a song that I like.
Like today’s song. I’ve always been a big Talking Heads fan, but I remember this song with a lot of love, as this was playing in the car when my colleague picked us up for dinner at his place in Darwin. He’s not here any more, but his music taste was legendary. He’s even got me onto Amyl and the Sniffers. But I will always listen to this and think of us rolling down the Stuart Highway, with the windows rolled down, not knowing that we were going to watch some of the best thunderstorms ever from a distance. Little did we know our friend wouldn’t be with us for much longer.
It’s nice to have all of this documented.
3000 posts. Wow.
