kitty

Enough

It has been pointed out to me that keeping this blog title and the original name I wrote it under is not helpful in moving on for anybody. So this is the last entry here. I won't delete anything I wrote because it is part of my life and maybe one day I'll read it back.

Now I am going to start a new blog about my current life. That makes, what, three or four now. That makes sense as my changes and I develop differently. Read the new one if you like but, as always, its mostly written for my benefit.

Day 3

Today to Bell Gorge and a lot of walking, swimming and generally cajoling along older people who thought they couldn’t do it. One woman had a panic attack in the middle of the night (she’s a bit weird generally) and decided to calm down with a lot of valium. Man, she was flying, but her balance sucked and I hoped and prayed she didn’t want to go down to the lower gorge because I had bad feelings about that.

On the walk down.

Bell gorge 002

Beautiful scenery. It’s actually a lot bigger than it looks but I am right at the top.

Bell gorge 009

And at the bottom.

Bell gorge 013

Day 2

My day started really early when I woke up, petrified that I’d missed my alarm clock. I hadn’t though, but 4,30 was close enough to my five waking time to make me not go back to sleep.

At 5 I went down and cleaned my truck, inside and out. It was covered in red pindan dust from the day before and I felt bad about being at a swish resort looking like a poor relation. I wore yesterday’s clothes so that the dirt went onto already dirty clothes (as an aside, the night before one of my passengers had very unflatteringly failed to recognize me at the bar when I was clean and brushed and polished) and I got filthy. I decided to move the truck because I was really tired of walking miles around the bloody resort to the back car park every time I needed to get something from the truck. Unfortunately, I neglected to inform Superior Tour Leader Wayne of that fact and he had a minor breakdown, thinking that somebody had stolen the truck, when in fact I was just parking it in front of the resort.

Speaking of the resort, there is a camera which is just in front of it, called “Broome Web Cam” or something like that and it broadcasts in real time. I am very tempted to publish a time and go and cavort in front of it. After a couple of cocktails at the sunset bar.

Off to Derby and the giant old Boab tree. This was used to house Aboriginal prisoners years ago, on their way to the lock up in Derby. It’s hollow and the white police officers used to lock them inside for the night, setting a guard at the entrance.

Tourday2 001

Lunch at Derby, a visit to the art community at Mowanjum and then onto Imaji Wilderness Camp. We drove over the Leonard River,

Past Queen Vicky’s Head

Tourday2 008

And through the King Leopold Ranges.

Tourday2 012

Tour day 1

First day of the trip yesterday and I must have only slept about 4 hours. It was just off full moon and very light at night and I kept waking up, convinced that I’d missed my alarm clock. At about 4.45 I actually went into work, loaded up on the pink Piglet, I had a backpack on my back, one on my front and one at my feet. And there was probably still room for a whole family of Indonesians if I was in Bali. Man, I love that thing.

Last minute packing, filling of thermoses with hot water, checking ice in the eskys. And away we went.  Pickups all around town took about an hour and we’d left by 7 am, for a long day out to Cape Leveque. Poor passengers. Most of them were elderly and the road was atrocious, not having been yet graded after the wet. Corrugated, rutted and wash of washouts, it was also boring as hell on either side, just red dirt pindan dust and low acacia scrub.

We stopped for morning smoko at Beagle Bay. The last time I was in that area I was nine years old and remember being absolutely fascinated by the altar made of pearl shell. It’s still there and still absolutely gorgeous. They’ve also carried the shell them through and it’s now embedded in the walls and floor as well. Just beautiful.

I am constantly amazed at how passengers put their trust in me and assume I have omnipotent powers. I’m also amazed at how well I rise to the challenge. I’d forgotten how good I am at this and how much I love it.

Lunch was at Cape Leveque tip and involved me preparing bread rolls, salad and cold meat, plus fruit cake and fruit and museli bars. I really wanted to have a swim but being the one in charge means that I am so busy there really isn’t many spare moments. I also wanted to keep a trip diary, in the form of letters and photos, just a little bit each day, even if I can’t put it online so I suspect that I’ll be sneaking from my sleep to do so.

Cape Leveque. The nine year old thing here too also. I remember vividly a photo taken by my parents in around this same spot where I was bare assed naked dragging poles and a tarp for a beach shelter. I mentioned this to my pax, who were very amused.

Touday1 007

Long trip back to Broome but we got to stay at the Cable Beach Club. The swishest hotel ever. My room is amazing and the toiletries top notch. Shame I don’t have a honey to share with – my codriver Wayne brought his wife out from Broome to stay the night with him, lucky so and so.

View from my room.

Touday1 004

Oh well, I have lots of work to do, lots of truck cleaning and I am too busy really anyway. This place cost $500 million to build and covers 18 hectares. I got lost lots walking from the truck to reception to the bar. Make the most of it, I thought, as this is not a usual stop for our trip but only because the itinerary is different and rain has washed out a lot of the road we should be on. Next trip will not have this luxury.

Off tomorrow

Such a busy day today.

It was what they called a ‘prep day’, meaning preparation for the trip. This involved final things like cleaning the truck one last time, going out to fuel up, check oil water and tires etc and shopping for the week’s supplies that weren’t included in the tour stays. Things like lunch on the first day, fruit for a week, museli bars, biscuits, milk and so on.

It also involved phoning around the passengers and confirming pickup times and telling them what they needed the next day. Things like they could only take 16kg of luggage, and no, alcohol for a week’s drinking was allowed to be separate to that but glass was no good because it would break, and yes, that the itinerary had changed and that I was so sorry that Head Office hadn’t informed them as they should have, but it would be a fantastic day nonetheless. And how excited I was to do this special tour deviation because most people never got to. And that we got to stay in the fantastic $500 million Cable Beach Resort and eat breakfast and dinner there and watch the sunset and how lucky we were. And that the whole tour had all these wonderful deviations because of the wet weather and that we were going to see a REAL LIFE DIAMOND MINE!!!!!!! And most people never got to do that and how lucky they were. Etc. I hope I convinced them. I almost convinced me. 

The truth is somewhat different. The actuality is that these people will drive  a hell of  a long way for a day trip that is really not that special and will end up in Broome again for the first night, some of them even at the same place they were already staying at. Then, instead of getting to see the whole wilderness experience, most of the trip will be done on the bitumen. It’s not our fault; it can’t be helped. But the fact remains that we, as the crew, will be the ones that get it in the neck from the passengers.

I can talk it through really well. So can Wayne. But this trip is totally different to the trip that I will be doing for the rest of the season. It’s not very helpful as a learning experience at all. It means that the next time I go out there will be a huge amount I will be doing blind. I will have to try and find Aboriginal artwork sites from a rough drawn mud map, whilst pretending I know exactly where I am going. I will have to cross treacherous rivers, not knowing exactly where to put my wheels, and terrified because if I deviate to left or right too much we will be floating downstream instead of crossing safely. It will, no doubt, include lots of me pretending that I’ve come a certain way to point out a particularly rare example of this or that, when the truth is that I don’t have a bloody clue where I am going.

Preparation day took most of the day. I jumped on the Pink Piglet at 4, after starting at 6, and drove home exhausted. The only thing that lifted that feeling was having to refuel the piglet and finding out that it only cost me $5.45! That scooter is amazing and I love riding it around. People at work reckon it totally suits my personality. I don’t know whether that is a compliment or not.

Off tomorrow

Such a busy day today.

It was what they called a ‘prep day’, meaning preparation for the trip. This involved final things like cleaning the truck one last time, going out to fuel up, check oil water and tires etc and shopping for the week’s supplies that weren’t included in the tour stays. Things like lunch on the first day, fruit for a week, museli bars, biscuits, milk and so on.

It also involved phoning around the passengers and confirming pickup times and telling them what they needed the next day. Things like they could only take 16kg of luggage, and no, alcohol for a week’s drinking was allowed to be separate to that but glass was no good because it would break, and yes, that the itinerary had changed and that I was so sorry that Head Office hadn’t informed them as they should have, but it would be a fantastic day nonetheless. And how excited I was to do this special tour deviation because most people never got to. And that we got to stay in the fantastic $500 million Cable Beach Resort and eat breakfast and dinner there and watch the sunset and how lucky we were. And that the whole tour had all these wonderful deviations because of the wet weather and that we were going to see a REAL LIFE DIAMOND MINE!!!!!!! And most people never got to do that and how lucky they were. Etc. I hope I convinced them. I almost convinced me. 

The truth is somewhat different. The actuality is that these people will drive  a hell of  a long way for a day trip that is really not that special and will end up in Broome again for the first night, some of them even at the same place they were already staying at. Then, instead of getting to see the whole wilderness experience, most of the trip will be done on the bitumen. It’s not our fault; it can’t be helped. But the fact remains that we, as the crew, will be the ones that get it in the neck from the passengers.

I can talk it through really well. So can Wayne. But this trip is totally different to the trip that I will be doing for the rest of the season. It’s not very helpful as a learning experience at all. It means that the next time I go out there will be a huge amount I will be doing blind. I will have to try and find Aboriginal artwork sites from a rough drawn mud map, whilst pretending I know exactly where I am going. I will have to cross treacherous rivers, not knowing exactly where to put my wheels, and terrified because if I deviate to left or right too much we will be floating downstream instead of crossing safely. It will, no doubt, include lots of me pretending that I’ve come a certain way to point out a particularly rare example of this or that, when the truth is that I don’t have a bloody clue where I am going.

Preparation day took most of the day. I jumped on the Pink Piglet at 4, after starting at 6, and drove home exhausted. The only thing that lifted that feeling was having to refuel the piglet and finding out that it only cost me $5.45! That scooter is amazing and I love riding it around. People at work reckon it totally suits my personality. I don’t know whether that is a compliment or not.

My, what a big truck you've got, little girl

More boring work stuff.

I personally polished every inch of this truck, inside and out, and after first scrubbing it like an old charwoman on my hands and knees.Difficult because my hips are too wide to fit comfortably in the aisle and the seatsare very close together so that my breasts get in the way whne leaning down to scrub the floor underneath. I end up at some very awkward angles indeed: leg in the aisle, other leg on a seat, hooking a boob out of the way, all the while sweating gallons as it is like a sauna inside there.

I am SO attractive when I am at work.

But I do have a big truck! See?

To get that ladder out and climb onto the roof I first have to have a little step ladder to get up to the locker where the real ladder is stored. The passenger luggage goes on the roof. I load it up and unload it myself.

The guy down below is Bob, formerly known as Mark. He's very nice and helpful and does a lot for me. In return I sheared his head with clippers the other day. I did warn him that I had been known to run amuk in the past on my long suffering husband's head but he was okay with the idea of me causing havoc there. Sweet kid.

I have blisters on my hands and bruises all over me, I thought the bruises were dirt and tried to scrub them off for ages until I realised I was only giving myself scrapes on top of bruises. I am not very bright sometimes.

It's cool, baby

Do I look like a delicate flower?

When I came home from work today there was an air-conditioning man installing the second of two air conditioners in our household of three defective units. Fortunately, it was in the room that I sleep in so I am assured three blissful nights of sleep at least before I head out on tour and don’t need it for the rest of the season.

He wanted help putting the old air conditioner on his truck to take away and he asked if there was a man in the house.

A man!

I said that I was quite capable, that I drove trucks and changed tires just like all the MALE guides but he said his insurance wouldn’t cover it. Then he made me go and get Bob (his real name is Mark but there is another Mark being a guide too, very confusing, and this Mark doesn’t mind being called Bob. In fact, he suggested it and every piece of officialdom is now re-addressed to Bob, instead of Mark: it works quite well as long as we remember to call him Bob and if Bob remembers that he’s called Bob, which he doesn’t always).

work still

Very boring work of polishing my truck today.

By hand, every damn inch of it. It took me from six thirty this morning until just now (4 pm) and I didn’t stop. My arms ache and I am hot and tired and dirty and thinking about going swimming.

I go out Monday and I’m frantically preparing for that; cleaning, fixing up truck things like microphones and bullbars and door seals (the red dust gets into everything). In between I’ve got to shop for supplies, collect all the equipment (lots of things like lollies and five different types of herb tea etc plus other little luxuries), get my own stuff together, do some more research and pack up my room. The guide has to vacate their room for the two weeks it takes for the tour so that other guides coming into the house can choose a room (there are eight of us altogether, although we probably won’t see each other much for the next six months until the end of the season).

I have a feeling that I'm going to be very busy indeed for the next few whiles.

For Maureen

My lovely female co-worker who I share a room with, informed me this morning that she was awoken by having an orgasm in her sleep.

Apparently, it was a very good start to her day. Lucky her. That used to happen to me but hasn't for a while, worse luck.

I live in paradise, so people tell me

Most of the work crew were in town and the house was crowded as hell, people two to a room and two tents in the back garden. People were relaxing over a few beers after work, sitting around outside and the conversation was flowing, lubricated nicely by icy cold beer. Most of us won't see each other for the rest of the season, except in passing , and so an impromptue party developed.

It was decided to erect (heh!) a really big canvas tent that was sitting in the shed, in the back yard, and it would be the Pavilion of Passion. The house has been designated as a fuck free area and any bonking must be done in the Pav.

People went to the local brewery to eat but there weren't enough free tables for all of us and so we went to the Irish pub (yes,even in Broome) to wait. Unfortunately, we all forgot to go back for dinner. We went onto the Mangrove instead, a beautiful open air venue right at the edge of the bay, with live music and tequila slammers in water glasses instead of shot glasses.

There was a really good fight, with lots of blood but little actual injury, and girls dancing and making out on the dance floor. I don't think I danced. I did cry a bit because I had a horrible experience at work yesterday and it upset me so much. I drank, I remember that, and I took a bottle of champagne to the resort pool across the road and drank it in the wee hours, sitting by the pool and int he pool. It is well named Moonlight Bay.

I wore flowers in my hair and bare feet and a green slip dress and the moon was round and intoxicating and lovely and the scent of tropical paradise all around me. The warm air felt like a skin caress from a familiar lover and I ran down the road, trying to outstrip it all.

post this, damn it

So I’m lying here on my bed with an icepack on my knee. I went to the medical center this morning for a chat and some counseling and was told by the lady doctor there that I am doing really well. The whole ‘faking it until I’m making it” deal appears to meet with her approval.

I’ve got a referral to an ongoing counseling service but I’m not sure how useful that will be. I’ve always tended to think that things like that are simply paying someone to agree with the thoughts you already have and tell you that you are right. I’ll go anyway, if I can, and if I can afford it. I want to be seen to do the right thing. Isn’t that pathetic?

One thing I am sure of (and this was discussed) was that my daughters are doing really well. Their father and I have done a great job of raising them up until recently as a team, and him since then on his own. Take a bow, oh used to be husband of mine. You are doing a great job as a single Dad and I always knew you would. I have never not wanted my girls with me; I just knew it was better for them and better for you, for you all to have a little stability in your lives. Everything you’ve ever asked of me, I’ve given to you. I’ll continue to do so. You are an amazing man and any way I can help you out or support you, I’ll continue to do so.

The icepack? Oh, my knee is very swollen, very sore, oozing pus and may have a chipped patella. Apparently, we do not want the infection to travel inwards so I got a huge shot in the butt, full of tetanus and IM antibiotics. Plus I ‘ve spent a small fortune on antibiotic cream, waterproof dressings, and antibiotic ointment. And flexible icepacks. Leave it up today, I was told, ice it all day, cream it etc and tomorrow, if the swelling hasn’t gone down. X-rays.

Marvelous. I just spent a huge fortune on medical supplies and now I’m broke again, Literally $to my name broke. No eating broke.

Karma is my fucking bitch and she has it in for me. I don’t even want to postulate the thought that it could get worse because every damn time I say that, it invariably does. But I’ve had a tiny bit of nice stuff recently and that’s cheered me up a little. I’m not counting on it, though, Karma. I’m watching you.

Lowest point so far

I had a really bad day on Tuesday. Actually, I’ve had a really bad year so far. My life sucks at the moment. But Tuesday was one of those days that you can only come up from. I left work early to get to the bank before it closed at 4 (and leaving work early involves the loss of money as I only get paid for the hours I work) and bicycled the 45 mins into town, arriving red faced, sweaty and generally out of sorts. I had to pick up a credit card that had been preapproved and this was the fourth time I’d been there for that purpose as the useless fucking bank each time told me I needed a different form of income verification before they gave me the card.

I really thought I’d get it this time. Nope. Apparently the letter from my employer, which they’d said was adequate, just last week, was no longer enough. I now needed five pay slips.

I lost it completely. I informed them that I’d banked with their bank for 20 years, I’d had five property loans and repaid them all, that I was the joint owner of two properties free of mortgage and worth conservatively $750 000, that I was shortly about to come into a lot of money which I would not be depositing into their bank and that I would be closing my account and going with another bank which valued long term customer loyalty. Then I swept out, high dudgeon in full throttle.

Out of sight on the pavement I sat down and started to cry. To add to my humiliation this really drunk Aboriginal lady staggered over from the park opposite where she’d been boozing with her mates, and tried to offer me sympathy.

She was very, very drunk; to the point of illegibility and she smelled really, really bad. She sat down next to me on the pavement and forcibly grabbed my head and dragged it onto her chest. I think she was trying to be comforting. It was nice of her.

Let me paste this, damnit!

I’ve had a better day today.

A girl, who I know through the company, had some bad news (her f-in-law has a brain tumor) and her other half flew back home. She was very sad and, although I don’t know her well, I offered her a mattress on my floor if she needed a spot to stay. She originally declined but felt so sad that she called up and asked if she could come and stay. Unfortunately, by that stage I’d already drunk dinner and I was asleep.

I woke up in the morning and she was there. We’ve spent the day crying together, swimming, shopping (good on no money) and are now about to get our tarot cards read.

I have told the reader I only want to hear good news so we’ll see. I also called my

sexist pig because we were watching ‘The Devil wears Prada’ and he was making sexist comments. I am not endearing myself to my colleagues.

I also probably didn’t endear myself to the Woolworth’s lady today. I was ranting on about this and that and life to my friend at the checkout and the conversation went to the subject of smoking and how glad I was that the recent events hadn’t caused me to take it up again after a nearly ten year hiatus. One of the benefits I mentioned was that now I wouldn’t have those little wrinkles by my mouth that smokers got from drawing back on a cigarette. And then I helpfully added “But God will probably give them to me anyway, Imagine how many hookers must have, from all of those years of blowjobs”.

Arsehole; oops, sorry, I meant Anusol

I have discovered a new use for haemmeroid cream. Why do you ask, do I actually have such an embarrassing and potentially age admitting substance in my medicine cabinet? Well, last year, as some of you may recall and I had a rather large fist sized piece of my insides removed and it hurt after wards, like a motherfucker. Hence the cream, because it contains a local anesthetic and it did actually help a lot.

Much less whiny. happy now?

Here’s a less whiny post, if I ever get it to post. I have sort of defected to and followed my friends to Vox, I haven’t organized it properly though and may not for a while. In the meantime, if I can figure it out, here are some awesome pictures of really gross bruises (mine) as a result of the bike accident. Truly disgusting and bloody sore to ride on.

In other equally gross tidings, I had an unfortunate accident with a bottle of talcum powder in my room. Oh all right, I’ll come clean, I threw it at the wall. I have now gone prematurely grey as a result of the fan stirring it all up and I didn’t realized it had struck to my wet dress.

Talcum powder stuck to clothes whilst wet looks exactly like there has been a very enthusiastic bukkae (sp?) session all over me and I didn’t realize until somebody actually pointed it out. I looked exactly if Peter North had enjoyed himself immensely all over me.

There. Is that a less miserable kitcat post? Hellaciously disgusting though.

Loss

You made me believe

Gave me girlhood again

And giving up the girlish dream

Is like self flagellation

Giving up the girl hurts like hell

Giving up the girl you made from me

Cuts, bleeds, leaves invisible scars that only I can see

Because the woman didn’t turn out to be

As like to the dream you promised  me

It hurts to be the woman now

Who was the girl

Who was me

Maybe I'll double post for a while

Try here

http://kitty485.vox.com/

I am so sick of feeling like this

And it disgusts me the way I vomit my feelings onto this page, a splatter of multi-emotioned mess to taint and soil this litle corner of cyber space. But I actually write a lot more than I post; it's just I don't always remember to change the entries to 'only me'. People out there should be thankful.

I'm trying so hard to move on; to work through it but the thing is that i just don't care enough to want to look forward with any anticipation. Yes, I know I have a lot of things in my life that I should be grateful for. it's just that I can't manage to bridge the gap between theory and practice. It's like there's an invisable barrier between me and the rest of the world.

Oh well, I may get lucky (I think there's still an insurance policy on my life, held by my ex, and he might as well benefit as much as possible; I've certainly stuffed up his life enough, He can have it all as far as I'm concerned) as living in the north west is a hazardous lifestyle if you're not careful. Apparently, (so rumour has it) there was a big saltwater croc found recently in one of the hotel swimming pools. Imagine, I don't have to actively go out of my way to dice.

Sunday morning

I woke up and I wanted to go back to sleep.

Weekends are hard.

I wish I was a stronger person but right now I feel sore, physically and mentally. I tried to ride into town yesterday to get some groceries for the  barbecue I was invited to but the brakes on the bike I was riding didn't work and i crashed into a car at the bottom of the roundabout. The bike handle smashed their rear light and they yelled at me whilst I sat crying on the footpath, bledding and hurting. i said I'd pay for it, God knows how, but they were so awful, as if I'd done it on purpose. Then my bankcard wouldn't work inthe supermarket and I slowly limped my way home, wondering what was the point of it all.

Today I am limping around, bruised all over, an finding it hard to walk. serves me right. Modern day flagellation for my sins,