My blog got bogged

I'm sorry, my devoted 6 followers. I am a terrible blogger. A terrible, uncommitted, shitful blogger. I have not written in over 2 months! The shame is lurking over me like the veil of debt that I ONCE had.

Ok, to say once is taking liberty. No, I haven't miraculously eradicated it all in 4 months. Although taking on some extra work as an 'exotic dancer' did cross my mind. However, the outcome as it stands today looks like this

Personal Loan: 

WAS: 4646.28  

IS: 3,943.90

Credit Card 1: 

WAS: $953.21 (limit $1000

BLOODY CLOSED!!!!!! CLOSED!!!!!!!    

                                Credit Card 2: 

                                 WAS: $5957. 59 (limit $6000) Limit now $5000!

                                  IS: $ 4897
 

                                 Fines (F*#K!): 

                                WAS: $1684.00….

                                 IS: mmmm, $1534.00...screw you infringements court, you are clearly not my priority

                                 Misc (education, bills etc): 

                                WAS: $1220

                                 IS: 50.00 (woop)

                                And the grand total..

                                WAS: $14461.08

                                IS: $10424.90

BOOYAH. 

If I may carry on with my bragblog, I have also finished my showreel, written my cabaret, scored a theatre gig (paid, woohoo!), landed some presenting work, moved cities and saved the world. 

The ONLY reason I'm carrying on in what may seem an irksome, skite-like fashion, is because we all have goals that we want to kick (in the balls). We all have dirty debts (wether they be financial or otherwise) and we all have that bucket list of things to do before we die. 

If I can do this, anyone can. 

A Japanese Proverb

As we've established, everything about my 2011 is tres zen. That is, with the exception of frequent boozing, failing to meditate, abandonment of yoga for aggressive weight training, incessant chewing of fingers, ice cream binges, and intermittent career related anxiety that is literally giving me the shits. Yes, literally. Everything else? Totes zen. So of course, nothing other than a Kikki K 'Inspirational Diary' would do, to document the chaotic array of tasks that constitute my life. Every couple of weeks, I'm greeted by a page that enlightens me with some sort of inspirational hogwash, hogwash that I am convinced has graced the page at the perfect time, by the divine powers of the universe, specifically for me. If you take note of my status updates on facebook, you'll see them. I regurgitate them, secretly hoping that my friends admire my innate wisdom. Truth is, I'm a big fat fraud, such pearls could only belong to famous Poets, Buddhist Monks, or a Japanese Sage.

My little mantra of the moment is:

A few entries ago, I blatently confessed my deepest dreams and desires. And while it was effing hard, it gave me a concise idea of what I want. The next step was to take some action. For years, and I mean like, ten of the suckers, I've meandered around in this dilly-dally of a direction towards some vague way of living (that's the action without vision part).  It was the reality of having very little to show, well at least from where I stand, at my ten year reunion (this year, dammit!), that gave me a kick up the proverbial to get moving.


So now my daydreams have action. I said I want to present, so I'm filming a Showreel..featuring everything from rockclimbing to drag queens. I said, in a grandiose statement, that I want to tour a cabaret around the world. Well, I've at least started locally and booked a space in Melbourne, come June. I said I want to write for mags, so I've enrolled in a Writing Course, to see how I can fine tune these ramblings into some kind of feature article. Every day is action. Or if not, it's at least some crappy job that is supporting all of the above. And it's these very actions, that are making my crappy jobs that little bit more bearable.

Oh good Lord. I started writing this on the 7th of MArch, and today is the 4th of May. I forgot to post it! Cue PUBLISH POST button!

Madness and Manifesto.

I have a rather strong memory regarding a Year 2 assignment on road safety. We had to create a cardboard poster, displaying our understanding of the topic at hand. The task details are not so vivid. What is vivid, however, was my audacious interpretation of this simple cut and paste type of deal. A basic cardboard poster was not enough for this precocious 8 year old. Mine came complete with a three minute song and dance routine, that was to be presented to the class (you can imagine their surprise) come assignment day. I, with a little help from my mother, who has a lot to answer for come to think of it, got all Suzi Quatro like, and rewrote the lyrics to 'Devil Gate Drive', aptly substituted with 'Wear you helmet when you ride'. I'll leave the costume assumptions to your imagination. I want to cower into my neck with embarrassment when I think about it now, but my God, was I well chuffed with my efforts then!


What the hell happened to this fearlessness?


As this seems to be the canvas for confession, I'll admit that the first half of these past few weeks (yes, it's been that long since I've fondled the keys), was not the greatest. The perceived doom of my 27th birthday was banging away at my mind like monkeys cymbals, every clang a reminder of what I've 'failed' to do with my colossal 27 years on the planet. Ah, the invisible march of time can be so suffocating for something that is really nothing but a self imposed sentence? I began to develop, well more like indulged in the existing, anxiety pertaining to all of my shoulda, coulda, woulda, didn'ts. All the bad guys came out to play (worry, fear, self-doubt..blah blah crappy blah), and adding salt to the wound was a rejection letter from my old mates at 'Insert name of bank here'. My consolidation loan was denied, the letter reading something along the lines of;

Dear Ms. Ryan.


Suck balls. You will never get your financial shit together. We, of every single bank in the world, will see to that.


Yours, with not an ounce of remorse,


Team Arsewipe. (hahahhahahahsuckedinhahhahhaeatshitahahahahahloserhaahahahahhaha)

Add to this a small but shitful car accident, where by I side-scraped the left side of my car with another, to avoid the douche who was approaching too close on my right. Cut to wide shot and I'm left footing the bill. A bit hard to bury that one in the denial pile when the treat who's car I scratched (who feels the need to intercept every second word she says with 'basically' ARRRGGGHHH) calls me incessantly with the latest updates. It was somewhere around this point that I titled me head back and screamed 'Why Gods of karma? Why?!?!'

But then something happened. I'm not sure what (anti-climax), but somehow, somewhere in the latter half of this time that has lapsed since my last post, all this USELESS fear and regret dissolved into a peaceful calm. Not only an acceptance, but a celebration of where I'm at. Yes, it's helped that I have been working hard, in jobs that I like, and that I am slowly but surely making a dint on my debts. But I think the key was, that in the same way I laid out all of my dirty little secrets in a bid to come clean, so too have I laid out all of my hopes, dreams and aspirations in a bid to have them realised.

Positive thinking/ visualisation and I go way back. Ever since my parents bid adieu to one another some 17 years ago, my Mum, in post-divorce haste, had my brother and I closing our eyes, taking deep breaths and leaving our worries at the worry tree. Bless. Hell, if I did that now there would be a worry forest and I'd be armed with a chainsaw! Anyhow, point is, I really am well equipped to handle my demons with some sort of positive guard.

So, I took heed. First came the vision board, totes Opes style (ahem Oprah...duh). It was a lovely Sunday night, glass of creative juice (aka Vino) in tow, sitting on the floor in a cathartic ocean of magazines, photo's, travel guides and newspapers, cutting and pasting a representation of all that I aspire to. And it was fun! What I noticed however, was that despite the gamut of imagery depicting how I want to be...STRONG! EMPOWERED! (don't cringe, it's hard enough admitting this) and the romantic ideals of where I want to go..EUROPE! NEW YORK!... there was a distinct absence of what I want to do, particularly on the career front.


It was at that point that I realised....I'm not entirely sure of what I want to do? I've spent a lot of time thinking about what I don't want to be doing, one needs only to scroll through the this blog to see that. But as for what I want to do? Exactly? Hmmmmmmm. Yeah, yeah, I know I've always had grand aspirations of marking my mark as an 'actress'. But the truth is, when I really think about it, I want to do a hell of a lot more. And now that I have really thought about it, there's a lot more that I can offer.

Some famous bird by the name of Madonna once said ' A lot of people are afraid to say what they want. That's why they don't get what they want.' Well, thanks for the hot tip Mads, because just as I cyber-divulged all of my dirty ways earlier, so shall I, in the spirit of my audacious, fearless 8 year old self, cyber-proclaim what I actual want. May I add, that this is not easy to do. And for that reason, I do so in bold red. 

I want to explore and present life, people and their complexities, places, diversity, culture, arts and of course, humour. I want to do this through the mediums of TV, documentary, radio and the written word. The greater goal being to educate, inform and inspire. I want to do radio show, write a column in a magazine and even a book or two. I want to perform multiple cabaret shows (the art form where for me, music, theatre and life meet), perhaps in several countries. And I want to continue to foster my passion for performance, doing the odd musical, and meh, the odd film. And I want to fly to the moon.

Wow, that was scary. And freakin hard! But it had to be done. My manifesto, if you will. Even though I've only got around to publishing it now, it's been brewing for the past few weeks. And, call it a coincidence, but since I've put it out there, things are coming to fruition. Perhaps that's why I haven't had as much time to write, because I've been busy doing!

There's no point letting our dreams lie dormant, with captain fear snarling at them like a guard dog, forbidding them to be released into reality. Heck, I'm in my late twenties now!! It's time to take action. And buy the look of things, I have a hell of a lot to do.

So I best get cracking! Wish me luck.

A rant, if you will....

I've had trouble writing these past few days. It seems totally redundant to be even hinting at whinging, when we are engulfed by these tragic stories and images from the Queensland, and now Victorian floods. My crap pails in insignificance and I refuse to give any energy to my comparably minuscule financial problems.

The only redeeming fact that comes from any such tragedy is the way in which it summons the heart and human spirit. The way in which people Australia wide have rallied together to help those who have suffered is truly remarkable. I have been glued to the TV in awe of the resilience, strength and camaraderie that the everyday John Citizens exhibit in salvaging their homes, towns and cities. Strangers become friends, gloved up and knee deep in muddy water, getting the job done.

And I can't handle working an eight hour shift in hospitality? WTF.

It's a little surreal to see peoples belongings, cars and even houses floating down a river. I mean, we work hard to build ourselves a nice life. Filled with nice things. So we can eat nice food, and go to nice dinners. If we're extra successful, we'll drive a nice car, maybe with a European badge. We'll move out of our apartment to a nice house, and every year go on a nice holiday, with our friends who also have nice houses. We'll have kids and bust our balls so they have nice toys. We'll send them to a nice school and buy them a nice car on their 18th birthday. It'll all be very nice. 

I don't know about you, but I have totally subscribed to this ideal. Just last weekend, whilst sitting on the Harbor front in Balmain with my boyfriend, I admitted that my desire for a 'quality life' was beginning to surpass my need for creative fulfillment. Easy to say as you watch yachts sail by, with Sydney-siders sipping champagne, their laughter echoing through the aqua-tapestry of our beautiful city. It's true, I have totally surrendered to this international religion that is materialistic consumerism. 'I want to have nice things! Perhaps some vintage pieces to adorn the lounge room. And a new car, my God I'd love a new car! It pains me to drive down the street in that beast with four wheels, it's sooooo embarrassing! And I swear, I feel like I have been wearing the same clothes since December. I'll go to fashion hell!' My internal dialogue. The amphetamine ants, running ramped.

But such thoughts quickly dissipated into guilt and remorse as I watched, on my 42 inch plasma, furniture, possessions and cars literally swept away by mother nature. Serving to remind us that a far greater beast is at play, one that we have not a scrap of control over, no matter how hard we work or how much we earn. I look around my lounge room at all of my possessions. The fruits of mine and my beloveds eBay-agonizing-labour, all to ensure that our abode was picture perfect. 

And what the hell does it matter.

We have a friend staying with us tonight. He's just arrived after a 14 hour drive from QLD. I quote; 'People's stuff is lining the streets, army trucks come along every day, collecting stuff to dump. There is crap everywhere'.  At the end of the day, it really is just crap. Meaningless, worthless. Breakable, disposable. So why do we place so much gravitas on possession? So many of my financial insecurities stem from a need to keep up. To have more, to be more, to get the house and the shiny car.

I agree that it is incredibly challenging to unsubscribe to this reality. It's how we've been cultured. We know better, so we strive for it..it's the human condition. Perhaps awareness is the key. Perhaps I'll have a little more perspective next time I spend seven hours in Ikea, hotdog in hand, angsting over the duck egg blue? Or aubergine? Who knows, maybe I won't rush around like a mad woman when I have friends coming over, getting those 'finishing touches' to the apartment that truly validate my success as a human.

I know, I know, it's easy to sit here and rant. What am I going to do about it right? I'd love to make a whopping donation and contribute to this devastation. My reality at present dictates otherwise. So in the absence of charity, I'll aim for clarity. Look around, value and appreciate what is truly important. The moments shared with loved ones, who love us for who we are, not for the junk we've acquired. Be grateful for what we have, regardless of age or quality. I know that when I go, I'd like to be remembered not for the thread count and origin of my bedsheets, or the designer frocks in my closet (no fear there, none to date), but for the passion, love and conviction I show others and instill in all I do. To me, that's a quality life.

Perhaps this will be my point of focus from here on in. Or at least to strike a balance. Care to join?

Oops, I did it again.....

I'm supposed to be at a friends birthday drinks right now. Well, two friends actually. One on either side of the city. But instead I stand typing from the front desk of...wait for it....my job. Yes, in the spirit of this new year/ new me caper, I took heed. Now it may very well have been more entertaining, at least for blogging purposes, to have succumbed to the perilous ways of hospo-crapity. I'm sure my tale-tellings of booze, bad moods and bitch slaps to drunk hoons across the bar would've been totally hilarious. Totally. Hilarious.

But I met myself halfway. I just could not concede to don the apron and bar boots. I think I'm scarred by the last pair, which became so well worn that the sole split from the toe and started flapping at me like a scathing tongue hissing 'Sucked in Ryan, you're so far from getting your shit together that you're still here scrubbing bar scunder and what's that in your hair..the remnants of cock-sucking cowboy slop? Mmmm. Tasty'.

So here I am back in my old safe-haven. The gym. I do recall the last shift I had here, some 6 months ago in the peak of winter. I remember stripping myself of the garish black uniform like I was unleashed of chains, thinking, this is it. I am NEVER appearing on the payroll of a fitness club again. Oh, the bitter taste of my foot as it rams itself in my mouth. Still, better than the taste of my foot if it were covered in bar fungus from split shoe.

Now the gym is not a bad place to be. In fact, it is a great place to be. I am a huge advocate of healthy living, hence my inspiration for becoming a Personal Trainer as a 'back up' to my creative pursuits. Albeit another $4500 spent on 'you can become a PT in a flash' qualifications. And another $2500 spent on naive business schemes (thank you Fitness First). However, this is not something I regret and I have had some amazingly inspirational experiences and clients because of it, my current one included.

Point is, every time I have worked in a gym, and this will be my 6th crack, it has served as a reminder of where I'm not...singing and dancing (or some version of) my way to the top. Now I need not point out that a fitness club has a remarkable way of sapping every last ounce of energy out of one. Hell, people walk in looking ready to take on the world (in the form of a spin bike) and leave looking like they've had said spin-bike impaled up their nether-region with all life force left on the floor! So it's no wonder that there is a palpable energy transaction at play. As an employee, perhaps it's the 5 x 4.45am alarm bells. Or a continuous song cycle of Ke$ha (dollar sign..seriously?), Britney and Boy Bands. Perhaps if it were Babs, Bette and Liza life would've been a little more cabaret. But it was all sweat, smells, and sounds that soon became spiritually violating.

I take full accountability though. It had nothing to do with the gym itself, and everything to do with me. I tend to go a little hell-for-leather on the job front. The 'yes' girl. Yes, I'll do that shift. Yes, I'll stay back. Yes, I'll work 15 days in a row til I wake up with eyes so bloodshot that I could very well have punched cones for breakfast and become so highly strung that I burst into tears when someone informs me that the soap dispenser is out. And in all of this consumption I loose, or I should say, have lost sight of the bigger picture. Lord knows it's common to us all, especially we arty folk. Sometimes we are fortunate enough to make a buck doing what we love. Other times, we just have to suck it up, knowing that the worst will pass and that we are on some path, however skewed, to our ideal destination. I have an exceptionally talented friend who is a singer/ song-writer. I'm hearing his music everywhere and reading about the fruits of his labours via his award nominations, concert appearances and radio interviews. To me, he's made it. Yet he still has a job as a dish-pig in a Surry Hills cafe. Case in point.

So here I am at the gym. Ready for round 6. I've left the runners at home though, and am instead behind the reception desk, where I can...you've guessed it, write. See, there is method in the madness. Something feels different this time. I know that I am not throwing my soul into a plight I am far from passionate about. Rather, I am doing what I need to do to support the bigger picture. Combined with all my other ventures, I'm on my way to busting my moulah-making goals. More importantly, I'm off the crutch that was *shudders again* Centrelink. I will admit, it wasn't easy to pick up the phone and ask for my old gym job back. Especially as when I left last time it was for a 'glamorous' Theatre job. Seriously, Theatre and Education is totally glam. But the eye is on the prize baby. I probably could have sat around for the next few weeks waiting for work to pick up, bu there is no rest for the wicked and wicked I seem to be, well, according to *insert list of debt collectors here*.

Speaking of work picking up, the diary is indeed filling up with all things wonderfully creative as the month unfolds. As this is a blog dedicated to confessions, and for the most part all you've done is listen to the dirty ones, I may as well take the liberty of declaring some positive ones in conclusion. In the coming weeks I have an array of gigs including a film, some fun presenting and voiceover escapades  and a weekend away where I get paid to chat and look pretty. She's become an escort! I hear you cry. Close, but no cigar. (Needless to say though, the thought has crossed my mind). Ten points to me. This stuff makes me happy.

But for now, I shall be content and resolved in my few stable shifts a week here at the gym. I'm catching up with old friends, in a positive industry and I'm bloody thankful that I'm getting home at a reasonable hour sans cock-sucking cowboy slop.  And as a bonus.... I can while away these reception hours with my musings.

Oh, and pay my rent. Score!

Will who?

It's amazing what you can do to save a buck, I smugly proclaim, as I enjoy (endure?) the lentil patties (lentil slop?) I have resourcefully concocted from the selection of pantry goods I refer to as the 'armegeddon stash'. On any other occasion, when disappointed by a Mother Hubbard fridge, I would have taken the five minute trot down to Coles, which is conveniently positioned in the not-so- conveniently positioned Birkenhead Point (factory outlet for Marcs, Mimco *drools*, Oroton, Nine West, Cue *sighs* etc) shopping centre. My mother has quite the knack for whipping up a delicious meal out of the most underwhelming ingredients. I have always attributed this to her growing up in a family of seven, as a by-product of the depression era. Well, as we've established, I have my own little micro depression, which on a good day, is not at all making me depressed as such, but rather acutely aware of the 'in vs. out' within my financial forays. 

I've found many a way to make-do since the new year clock, and in turn this blog, started ticking. As discussed in my last garble, there's little coming in to the A. E. Ryan account at the moment, so the shortest term solution? Ensure there's little going out. 

It starts at breakfast. I have (and I hope the disproportionate self pride that I am feeling resonates throughout these words) GIVEN UP CAFE COFFEE............ (allowing moment for due admiration from reader)...................Yes friends, a girl whose entire mood, day, view of the world, ability to relate, react and respond depended on the intake and quality of caffeine she had each morning, has bid adieu to the morning ritual that is the Cafe Latte. Well, Soy (Bonsoy preferred) Latte to be specific. Of course I insist on having the one variety that costs at least an extra 30c (if you're lucky), 80c (if you're not). So particular and dire was my need for good coffee that when trying out a new cafe, I would loiter about for a good five minutes a) examining the mugs of patrons b) listening to the sounds, or hopefully lack there of, that the milk nozzle made and c) observing peoples reactions as they took their first sip. Indeed, it was an ordeal and it hurts to talk about it. Anyhow, I worked out that if I buy even 6 coffees a week at $3.50 a pop, that's over a grand a year! And that's if I keep Sunday as the holy day of abstinence (pfft..as if). I know where I'd rather put that big G. Yup. Straight to the big St George. 

So instead, I have turned to dirty dish-washing water.... I mean instant coffee.....for my morning caffeine fix. I figure I'm killing two birds with this one. I save myself a pretty penny, and, eventually get so disappointed by my Moccona freeze-dried that I opt out of coffee altogether and make the puritan switch to Green Tea. I've always longed to be one of those freaks that actually drinks that bin juice of a morning out of their own accord (probably after their daily meditation, arseholes). Whenever I do the whole faux-zen thing and opt for Green Tea, I pull a face reminiscent of a two year old upon their first shot of medicine (or an 18 year old upon their first shot of tequila, take your pick), fantasise about my absent fatty, creamy latte, say screw the research that coffee increases cellulite, and, like a soldier retuning home from war, scream 'come to mama you decadent soy latte you!' At this point, the Barista usually asks me to leave.

Moving on. 

I've also developed a fail proof tactic when faced with the battlefield that is shops. Like many a female, I have an astounding ability to convince myself that I 'need' a new garment, shoe, bag, matching bangle every time I go out. I recall spending one 40 degree New Years day trekking Sydney to find not just any green, but a kermit-the-frog green bangle to wear that night. Cut to midnight, my hands are clapping about in the air, and not one person gave a brass razoo about the bangle. So I've created the 'I've just spotted my stalker ex-boyfriend' tactic to keep me out of those evil shops to start with: 1- call in absurd imagination 2- picture an awkward ex who I simply cannot run into 3-colour the situation, all imagined of course, with some kind of stalkerish past where he'd send black roses and steal my underwear off the clothes line 4- Fuel the repulsion with him having pungent halitosis breath, which would make me projectile vom all over the wedges I would've otherwise been ogling 5- I thus have no choice but to turn my head away from the shop, avoid eye contact at all costs, and keep marching towards my destination as though I was never in the vicinity. 

Ok, ok so my dramatic fantasy could be replaced with basic willpower. But if you'd care to refer to my first post and it's explicit detailing of monies owed, you'd see that basic willpower and I have never been properly acquainted. By the way, I thoroughly recommend you try the 'stalker ex boyfriend' method. If for no other reason, people walking past will get a kick out of how paranoid you look. Especially if you're like me and pull reactionay faces to the imaginary haliotosis breath.

There are things that I will not compromise in this plight. I will not deprive myself of food, and certainly not wholesome food. The day that I eat Mee-Goreng noodles every night, is the day that they are actually from a real Armageddon stash (touch wood, never in this life time). I will not deny myself decent skincare supplies. And by this I don't mean microfoliant ocean crystals that are hand picked by Greek goddesses from the Mediterranean waterfalls where Jesus bathed. I just mean good, quality skincare. 10 odd years as an acne sufferer has earned me a right to that luxury. What I will do however, is be discerning. Discern between the previously blurred wanting and needing. Find out how long I can stave off new supplies and get creative, perhaps, with what's in the kitchen and bathroom. Make do, do less. My boyfriend and I had the most glorious day together yesterday. It involved a long walk, a good talk, reduced price sausages and a cheap enough salad. Admittedly I did buy a coffee, but that was my reward for getting through the entire weekend spending as much as I have in fingers and toes. My point is, it is possible to get by on the cheap. Happily. In fact, it's quite satisfying.

What's that...oh...I think I feel willpower tapping me on the shoulder! Perhaps we'll be friends after all.

Oh crap. I just remembered the final batch of lentil patties I had frying on the stove top. They would've been at least 25c each!

Accountability. Dammit.

This week, life as we know it resumed. The hoards of 9-5ers donned their corporate garb, bidding farewell to the silly season and welcoming, or not, their working year. For me, this meant crawling out of the sanctuary that is public holidays and facing my denial pile- the collection of letters from the past month (and I don't mean the Christmas variety) that have been growing like the mould in a share-house bathroom. In any other year, I probably would have let this fester until it looked like some sort of abstract art installation. But not this year. Not in my 'year of change'.

Sometime ago, I heard a saying which has since stuck by me. 'If you always do what you've always done, you'll always have what you've always had'. It ain't Shakespeare, but it's simplicity is pretty poignant. So, rather than sitting back waiting for my problems to fix themselves, I sorted through the collection, trying to come to some sort of arrangement that will, if not immediately, resolve each of my 'arrears'. Update 1: I have applied for a debt consolidation loan and would appreciate all readers to send positive approval manifestations to the powers that be. Update 2:  I've knocked a whopping $75 off the grand debt total! Up(sad)date 3: I've added another $25 to my credit card. I shall not be discouraged, however. A good soldier stands up, wipes the dirt off, and battles on. And Lord, have I the battle.

Actually, screw that. Surely a 'battle' is a state of mind right? If we constantly refer to things as a 'battle' or 'challenge' or 'hardship' Lord knows that's what it'll be. I don't want to get up on my proverbial soap box and preach all Rhonda Byrne like, but experience has certainly taught me that our outlook becomes our reality. So, to apply this not-so-rocket-science-like principal to my own situation, that's exactly what it shall be...a situation. Not a challenge, nor dirty debts, but simply a situation that I am improving. Day by day, action by action.

So, I hear you ask, what said actions shall be taken to rectify this situation? On that topic, I've given much thought. As mentioned in my previous post, the cash flow isn't abundant at the moment. Clearly, this needs addressing. Pronto. You may find this hard to believe but I am the type of leisurely lass who feels totally and utterly suffocated by full-time work and its inherent (shudders) routine. The thought of waking up to the same alarm, at the same time, catching the same bus, going to the same office, having the same lunch break...(you get my drift) ignites a visceral reaction in me. *DISCLAIMER: I have no opposition at all to those who abide by this lifestyle. In fact, I wish I could. So often I crave the security and stability that comes with a steady full time job. In no way is this a judgment on this choice or those that take it, but rather an observation of myself in response to it*

I have tried the 45 hours p/w, sitting at a desk gig. But, despite working for one of the world's best small businesses (I kid you not), I still sat at my desk convinced that counting the freckles on my convict Irish skin would provide more creative fulfillment. So poor was my aptitude for this kind of venture, that when my boss sent me out to buy his cigarettes, not only did I neglect to oblige his request, I somehow lost the $20 with which he gave me to do so. I dare say that part of my problem was that every time I swanned up the street to run errands, I suffered a severe identity crisies with Belle from Beauty and the Beast (yes, the cartoon) convinced that the shopkeepers were singing 'Look there she goes that girl is strange, no question. Dazed and distracted can't you tell', while I gazed up to the clouds, replying out loud, 'There must be more than this provincial life!'.

And we wonder why I forgot the cigarettes.

I have sat trawling through the gammut that is job search sites for the past few days, my soul slowly draining away with each click. Now fear not, I am not entirely unemployed. Nor am I by any means lazy. I make ends meet (I use the term loosely) by, in keeping with the standard 'struggling artists' way of life, juggling about 87 different jobs that require me to traverse greater Sydney, often in the same day, usually sporting a myriad of degrading costumes or outfits, but always enabling me to exercise my 'confident and outgoing personality'. Yes, I work for various companies as an actor, promoter, presenter, voiceover artist, personal trainer, kids party entertainer....the list goes on. January, as it turns out, is one hell of a dry month. I have this painful voice of reason (probably the same one that enabled me to blitz my HSC, damn her), that is tap-tap-tapping me on the shoulder, reminding me to put my pride and ego aside and revisit my old friend, hospitality. That wonderful world that sucks your social life dry, but in turn, replenishes your funds as there is simply no time to spend them. The thought of coming home at 4am reaking of bar mats, with the soggy feat that only another bar battler can relate to, makes me want to cry. Suck it up Ryan, voice of reason barks. Short term sacrifice for long term gain!
Oh god. Can I do it?  But what about my next month of Friday and Saturday nights that are already perfectly planned? I can already taste the champagne! (I hear my mothers voice echo in my ear...'Amelia, you have champagne taste on a beer mans budget') Beer? Try tap water.

So is this all part of my year of change? Putting life, as I have known it on hold, and doing all that I can to improve my 'situation'?

Damn this accountability!

Talking dirty

I've been meaning to write a blog for a while now. Not only to appease my nearest and dearest, who have been encouraging me to do so for some time, but I thought it might act as tonic. Perhaps clear the ramblings that race about my mind, like a pack of ants charged up on speed. However, every time I sat down to navigate the keyboard, the words failed to reach my fingertips.  I could never seem to find a point...you know, a reason to actually spew my thoughts out into cyberspace. And so it went, onto the really-should-but-probably-never-will-pile. 

As I woke on this glorious sunny Sydney morning, I was mentally bombarded with the typical musings pertinent to a new years day. What can I do, how can I change, to ensure that this year is bigger, better and brighter than those before it? This fresh, hopeful positivity slowly gave way, as the speed snorting ants began their invasion, reminding me of the gargantuan financial (now there's a dirty word) changes I need to make if I ever want to get some sort of 'order' in my life (exactly what order means will be explored at a later date). Now such thoughts are not new to me. Since I signed my first sordid credit card transaction some 9 years ago, I have been spiraling down the hell hole that is debt and despair. Not for one second do I contest to be alone in said hell hole. Everyone has their financial woes. But let it be said, mine, and the control I seem to hold over them, is at an all time bad. Perhaps it's because my 'late twenties' are looming and I feel a foreboding sense of responsibility (another dirty word). No longer can I bask in the denial that the early and mid twenties brings, where student living is still standard and a round of jager bombs takes precedence over paying the monthly phone bill. Perhaps it's because now I spend my time attending the lavish birthday parties not of my friends, but their children. I go to weddings that in price would feed a small island, and housewarmings that celebrate investments...rather than intoxication. All the while, I remain the shitful friend that struggles to scrounge a present to bring to any of the aforementioned affairs. 

So as the sun sets on this first day of the new year, I'm going to talk dirty...lay all my little secrets out on the table....or screen, as it were. When blissfully ignored, debts (uggggghh) can blur into a bunch of numbers and zeros tucked away in bank accounts that never really exist. Until you get the call from your friendly customer service professional to remind you that you're three months behind in credit card payments, the mailman delivers another fine from your old mates at The Infringement Court, and Vodafone suspends your account. Again.

So here it is folks, my situation as it stands. I know these things really should be kept private, but I feel that if I take this public I will finally face my finances and take accountability.

Personal Loan: $4646.28 (a pleasant surprise-I thought that was sitting around the 6G mark! Woo hoo, things are looking up!)
Credit Card 1: $953.21 (limit $1000)
Credit Card 2: $5957. 59 (limit $6000)
Fines (F*#K!): $1684.00
Misc (education, bills etc): $1220

Making a plum total of: $14461.08

Now I realise this is not entirely consuming. Sizable, but not slit-your-wrists bad. What is consuming however, is that the 'in' (what comes into my bank account) truly does not match the 'out' (what is needed to make this sad state of affairs manageable, at the least). Many, if not most people that I know will have a far greater dint in their pocket. That dint however, is probably due to a house, a child, a wedding....wonderful and rewarding things that come at a monetary cost. If I had such momentous things to show for my dues, perhaps my rant would not be underscored with such woe. All I have accrued is a bunch of bags, dresses and shoes that are probably a) lost b) in a Vinnie's bin c) stained or d) hanging like lifeless limbs in my closet. Additionally, I have a Music Theatre CERTIFICATE (note Certificate, not a degree, just a $20,000 dollar way of discovering that I can't dance), and oh, I am also paving some of Victoria's new footpaths thanks to my hefty fine fiasco.

So yes, here I stand, almost 27, with a certificate in Music Theatre, ready to conquer the world. Or at least, my debts. Much of my problem (the phrase 'There are no problems, only resolutions' springs to mind-BAH) is that I have dedicated much of my life to a career in the performing arts. Not the most stable of careers, I hear you cry. Yeah. No shit. But hey, when I formulated these dreams as a child I had no idea of the lifestyle that comes with such a pursuit. And as my gal pals sit and discuss mortgage brokers, I wonder where the hell my next gig is coming from and kind of wish I had romantic childhood aspirations of becoming, oh you know, a neurosurgeon.

I have always been one to follow my dreams. Wildly, sometimes blindly, but always with love and conviction. And though it may seem otherwise, I have always believed that what is in you heart far surpasses what is in your wallet. However, when the inherent anxiety of wallet woes starts to infiltrate your heart, mind and general well-being, it is time to take action. For me, that time is now.

Now I am not a hopeless, or helpless kind of girl. I mean, woman. Gulp. I'm reasonably talented, attractive after a good nights sleep, vibrant at the best of times, neurotic at the worst, and yes, I have a decent brain between my ears. In fact *cue gloating* there was a time when I actually duxed my high school HSC with a UAI of 99.40. Proud moment much? SO WHY THE HELL HAVE I SPENT MOST OF THIS LAST YEAR ON A CENTRELINK UNEMPLOYMENT BENEFIT!?!? (I told you I am talking dirty). Yes, I shudder over the fact, but I don't have enough fingers and toes to count the amount of times I have crept into a Centrelink office, wishing I were in disguise, to make a claim. Don't get me wrong, I have no issues whatsoever with those that are on a government benefit. But it's when drunk Bobby at the front of the line starts shouting profanities about alien encounters that one really starts to question what one is doing with oneself. Especially when one was dux of their freakin school. So yes, I needed a little help from the tax payers. No, I'm not proud of it, but I've chosen to take on a competitive industry and work isn't always abundant. And, like everyone else, I am plagued with doubt and paralysing self-analysis. And, like everyone else, I desperately crave the clarity and direction that will shed some light on exactly what the hell I'm supposed to be doing with my life! But I'll save that for another day.

Right now, my only plan, in this moment, is to take charge. Through this blog, or diary if you will, I will document my each and every action, not only in eradicating the digits you see above, but to find the empowerment we all deserve. Not only financially, but holistically. Scrap the really-should-but-probably-never-will-pile and just have one big DONE pile. Now that would be nice. Sometimes, we just need to stand up, lay it out on the table and take accountability. Get the ants out of our head and hand it over to the universe.

We have to get dirty before we can be clean right?