a friend told me:

there's a nice big halo around the moon tonight... it's 2.15am.

Luke Warm

Luke Warm

There is something about the name Luke that is so very calm and appealing. It’s a peaceful name, Luke. It reminds me of water. Not just any water, for we all know how hard and fast and violent water can be, but gentle water. Luke is water in a still lake, toasted lightly by the afternoon sun.

Luke sat next to me, sometimes, in high school. We had a few classes together and I found I didn’t altogether not like him sitting next to me, although it wouldn’t have bothered me much if he had sat elsewhere either. And we talked, as people do, about everyday things that are everyday to adolescents, and we laughed at each other’s jokes, but not too loudly and not too hard, and I don’t remember very much else about us except blue skies and mild weather.

We stayed friends throughout uni too. While Luke kept a steady relationship going with his high school sweetheart, I seemed to constantly be in and out of love, always the reckless kind where one heart is always broken, and better when both are shattered.

So while I crashed and fell and bruised and battered my life, Luke continued to steadily build his. Like Lego. Like a picture book.

Every time I told him that I had found ‘the one’, he would gently laugh and kindly remind me that it was always just ‘the one for now’, as we both knew how likely it would be that ‘the one’ would probably not be the same ‘one’ next month, or even next week. I could only retort by saying that he was slowly becoming the cardigan man. I predicted that he would be married and have three kids with a 70k salary before he turned thirty-five, that he would live the life of the perfect, moderate, middle-class nuclear family man.

After one of my particularly bad break-ups, I needed to find a new place to live. By chance, Luke’s housemate had just moved out and he needed to find a new one. It seemed only natural. I moved in.

You couldn’t exactly say we got on like a house on fire. In fact, there wasn’t really much fire at all. Not that the house was cold, far from it. Only that everything seemed so perfectly… luke warm.

Living with Luke, I found had a strange effect on me. It seemed to have cooled me down somewhat. All that fiery lust and falling in love, while not having burnt out, did not feel quite so urgent anymore. My life up until then had seemed in constant motion, sprint after exhaustive sprint, and chaos and drama at every unexpected twist and bend. My life in the same house as Luke seemed to have slowed time down altogether. Things fell into their proper places and into a routine. Something I had never known before.

I was finding myself less and less attracted to the concept of love, something which had hitherto driven my life. The fervour and the excitement of thinking someone was ‘the one’ because they could finish a TS Eliot poem that I had started reciting, was becoming less and less convincing. I found myself rather bored. In fact, when I thought about how the words of the last ‘one’ had turned so quickly from burning insatiable desire to utter and complete indifference, it blew a bitter cold breeze through me.

Slowly I became less and less interested in finding or having ‘the one’ until one day I discovered that for the first time in a long time, I had no ‘one’ in my life. It was an unfamiliarly gratifying sensation.

I noticed other changes too. I noticed that I had never before noticed how restless I am. Living in the same house as Luke made me realise that I could not sit still for even a second. In all the noise my previous life, fidgeting and squirming and constantly changing positions went completely unnoticed. But Luke was the epitome of stillness. How could I have never noticed this?

Sometimes I watched him watching tv and I wanted to shake him, to move him in some way and see if something delicate would break within him, because surely that could be the only reason a person would stay so motionless. To protect something fragile and important. Like dignity. Or sanity. I possessed neither and so never understood their charm.

Maybe I had an effect on Luke too. One night, he came home earlier than I had expected him to, and announced without feeling that he was single again.

He and his high school sweetheart had broken up.

“Who broke up with whom?” I asked.

“It was mutual. We broke up with each other.” Mutual break ups did not exist in my life experiences.

“But who initiated it?”

“No one. We talked it over and decided it was for the best.”

“Did you have a fight?”

“No.”

“Were you unhappy?”

“Not particularly.”

“Was there someone else?”

“No.”

“Are you ok?”

“Yes. I think I am.” Then he smiled. And while it wasn’t a smile of relief or of pure joy or of anything close to what I would call happiness, it was not a smile performed for the sake of a concerned friend either, for I had practiced many such smiles and knew them like intimate lovers. It was simply a smile that said, “Yes, I’m ok.”

A few nights later, I was standing out the back having a cigarette when Luke came out looking for me. It was late. It was winter. It was cold and I was shivering.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey you too,” I answered, my teeth chattering.

“It’s freezing. Why don’t you come inside?”

“Don’t wanna stink up the house.”

“Who cares?” Well, I knew for a fact that Luke cared. Luke, who never let a cup touch a table without a coaster, definitely did not like having everything in the house stink of smoke. Who was this stranger Luke I was talking to?

“You care. And the landlord. I’ll just stay here, I’m almost done.”

“Here, gimme,” he reached over for my smoke and I snatched it away in time before he got it.

“You don’t smoke.” I reminded him.

“I can’t sleep.”

“Since when?”

“Since.. I dunno. I don’t remember..”

“You remember everything.”

“No, I don’t.”

“What’s wrong, Luke? Are you ok?”

“Nothing. I don’t know. Can we go out? I’m bored. I want to go out for a few drinks. It’s so boring around here. Come with me?”

“Sure, I’ll get my coat.”

The truth was I was curious. In all the years I had known Luke, I had never heard him utter the words boredom in relation to himself. Luke was not a boring person, and Luke was never bored. Luke was balance in all sense of the word. People like me were bored. People who could never sit still and tired of things easily and had no concentration skills nor any sort of discipline in their bodies, got bored. Boredom was the drive for the search for excitement. Luke had never had to search for excitement because he was never bored.

So we went to a local bar, we drank a lot and smoked a lot and laughed a lot and didn’t remember a thing.

Everything seemed to be going fine until a few weeks later. An old friend of mine came and paid me a visit as I was finishing my shift as a waitress at a local café. We caught up over a coffee and afterwards decided to have dinner and make it a whole night out. She told me I had been neglecting her, having lost my habit of hitting the bars on a regular basis. I told her I was sorry, and that I had been busy. And to be honest, I had. I was juggling several jobs while doing for the first time in a long time, quite well at uni. While it had never stopped me in the past, living with Luke had made it feel quite enough without the constant headaches from hangovers and achy muscles from dancing. I promised I would make up for it. We would have a great night. Even as I said it, I found I was looking forward to it. Something started to hum inside me. It may have been the extra coffee, or even just the joy of seeing an old friend again. But whatever it was, I didn’t mind it.

That night I got home very late and more than a little drunk. As I stumbled past Luke’s room, I noticed the line of light shining out the bottom of his door. Being far from sober, I had no hesitation in knocking and entering without waiting for a reply. He was on his bed, lying on his back with his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He looked up at me when I staggered toward him, but I couldn’t read his expression. I sat down on the floor beside his bed and rested my head against his mattress.

“Hi Luke. What are you still doing up? It’s really late, isn’t it?”

“It’s 5am. I couldn’t sleep.”

“It probably helps to turn the light off you know.”

“Probably does.”

“I had a reeeeeeeeeally good night tonight Luke.”

“Yeah? Where’d you go?”

“I met up with a friend and we had dinner and then we went to a bar and it was reeeeeeeeally loud and reeeeeally funny… I mean, fun.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah.. it was cool.” I’d closed my eyes. I wasn’t sure for how long. When I opened them again, I looked up at Luke and he looked sad. “What’s wrong Luke?”

“Nothing. I don’t know.”

“You look so sad..”

“Do I? I don’t know. I feel… I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? You’re Luke. You know everything!” This wasn’t, as it may seem, a sarcastic comment, I meant it as all drunken people mean what they say in drunk logic. It was true though, the phrase ‘I don’t know’ like boredom, was something I didn’t associate with Luke. But he simply laughed. It sounded wrong to my humming ears.

“I don’t know I don’t know,” he laughed some more. “I don’t know what’s happening to me…” Then he rolled over and leaned over the bed and kissed me. “It drove me crazy not knowing where you were tonight.”

“Umm..” I closed my eyes to see what I was thinking. “You are completely sober aren’t you?”

“Yes. And you are not.”

“No, I’m not. Did you just kiss me?”

“Yes, I did. I suppose this would be considered taking advantage of you…” Then he kissed me again, and as naturally as it had felt to move in with him when I had no place to stay, it seemed only natural to kiss him back. The hum that I had felt all night, the buzzing in my ears caused by the loud music and my shaky hands from too much caffeine seemed to drain out of me and it was all calm, like it had always been with Luke, at least for a while.

Being with Luke was unlike being with anyone else I had ever been with before. Luke did not get jealous. Luke did not get angry. Nor did Luke seem overjoyed at being with me. Luke remained, as it were, Luke (warm).

I once dated a girl who found life an eternal joy. Absolutely everything gave her an indescribably amount of pleasure. It was precisely the reason I loved her. I once found her staring at a patch of grass on a neighbour’s lawn. When I asked her what she found so fascinating, she pointed to the flower of a weed I hadn’t noticed. “Isn’t it beautiful?” She asked.

“Honey, it’s a weed.”

“I know… but isn’t it just… beautiful?”

In that moment, I wanted to take her into my arms and hold her and never let go. Someone so pure and good just simply oozed happiness and joy into my debauched self. Fortunately for the both of us, it was her who ended the relationship, as I don’t think either of us could have lived through the pain or guilt had it been her heart that had been broken. She had found someone more beautiful than me who made her happier than I did. Good for her. It was a relief for me to feel bitter and cynical once again.

And so I moved on and started dating a man who hated everything. I believed in balance. I needed a counter to the last few months of sweetness and contentment that she had brought into my life. My new partner had an anger so large it was a passion I could not resist. It was so consuming, it was so intense, it was so utterly irresistible to feel so strongly that the whole world and all humankind had wronged me and themselves. I’m not even sure he ever did love me. I’m not even sure he liked me. And I had no illusion of bringing any happiness into his life. It was his darkness that I admired. And the totality of it. It is addictive to feel. It is dangerous to feel.

If he were one extreme and she the other, then Luke was surely smack bang in the middle. If he were cold as ice in his love and she as hot as the sun, then Luke was the perfectly mild autumn day. If he were burning angry flames and she the cool of tranquillity, Luke would be the comfort of room temperature. And so where did that leave me? What was I?

I was a sponge.

When I was with her, I loved like she did and saw beauty in everything she did. I was consumed by the heavenliness of her world and it made me good.

When I was with him, I hated as much as he did, was cynical, was furious, felt injustice, felt pain, felt indignant, felt shame, felt disgust, felt bitter. I soaked up his loathing.

And with Luke, I was luke warm, calm but warm.

This analysis unsettled me but in the steadiness of Luke’s world, I could not hold onto my anxiety for long. Time passed and I couldn’t say whether it had gone by quickly or slowly. It had simply passed. I read in a book once that Time is the consciousness of the union of change and constancy. In Luke’s world, there was rarely any change. Time had come to a halt.

I went out with a friend one night to a club and she told me that Luke was bad for me. Like junk food. He had made me boring. He had taken the life out of me. The energy. I could not agree with her. I was not unhappy.

I went out with another friend and he told me that Luke was good for me. Like fresh fruit. Luke had settled me down. Calmed me. He told me that Luke had finally brought me up to date with being a responsible adult in the real world and that Luke was a good choice to begin building a life with. I could not agree with him either. I could not say that I loved Luke, I did not even feel a luke-warm sort of love for him.

Our conclusion came only a little while later. I was lying in my bed and staring at the ceiling, not feeling anything in particular when Luke walked in. He did not say anything but stayed at the door and watched me.

I looked up at him. “What’s up?”

He did not answer straight away. When he did, his voice sounded different. “Do you know what your problem is?” He said.

“Pardon?” I wasn’t aware I had a problem.

“You have commitment issues. You just can’t commit to anything.”

“Pardon?”

“When there is no commitment, there is no depth. That’s why you don’t feel it..” He faced was all scrunched up in a way I had never seen. He wouldn’t look at me, but stared at his feet, which shuffled back and forth, as if he really wanted to leave, as if staying there and talking to me took all his inner strength and courage.

“Luke… are you ok?”

“You aren’t committed enough. You can’t commit to anything. That’s why you don’t feel it..”

“Feel what?” Indignant.

“Love. You don’t…” He finally looked me in the eye. “You don’t love me.”

“…”

“You’re going to leave me.”

“...” Then I realised it too. I was going to leave him.

“I’m sorry..”

“No, Luke…. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not good for you…”

“No, Luke, don’t say that. If anything, I’m the one that’s no good…”

“When you’re with… other people. When you’re in love, you shine and you’re beautiful and you’re crazy and you’re passionate. You’re none of those things with me. Even when you’re heart broken and depressed, you feel it so strongly, and that’s why… that’s what makes you so beautiful. But you’re not with me. You’re just… not… “

“Luke….” I didn’t know what to say. I got up. I picked up my wallet and a jacket. I had to leave. “I’m sorry. Luke…. I have to go…”

Suddenly he looked concerned. “Now? You don’t have to go right now.”

“I think I do.”

“It’s raining.”

“Is it? Well, I guess I’m going to get wet then..”

“You don’t have to go. Where will you go?”

I shrugged. ‘I don’t know..” Then I walked up to him and hugged him, tight as I could, and let go before I started to feel it. Then I knew I really had to get out of there and I ran. I ran out the front door and down the street and further and further away until I wasn’t sure where I was anymore. And I knew I was crying but the rain covered it well. I wasn’t crying for yet another love lost. I was crying for the loss of a friend. I was crying because I hadn’t cried in a long time. I was crying because it was raining and I was wet and I felt cold and I was hot from running and I was alone again, I was homeless and I had about ten dollars in my pocket. I felt that familiar hum start in my body somewhere deep down where I had thought it would never wake again.

Queen

I am such an idiot

Taxi logic

rip off teddy's head and you end up with two toys!!

The pies were a success!

it was a LOT of work, but it paid off very well!



and this was my first batch of savoury muffins :)

xx

Vigil

I'm staying awake for devotional purposes.

I ate so much last night I feel fat. So now I'm probably heavy enough to give blood. Did you know you can't give blood if you're under 45kg?

Food is great. It makes people happy. That's why I'm determined that for the next four weeks or so, I will continually perfect my muffin recipe, changing flavours and adding flair. And I will also start to learn a variety of healthy happy yummy savoury dishes in case of emergency cases where I need to fend for myself and actually cook. Today I will be making miniature pies. Oh yes, that mini muffin tin is coming in handy! Good results will be documented. Bad results will result in the disappearance of these two lines.

I have a(nother) theory: that I am extra cold this Winter because I have somehow lost my layer of insulation fat. All I have left is that ugly spare tyre fat that doesn't keep me warm at all! I mean, what else could explain the fact that I survived a European Winter with less woolies than I have now, wearing less layers than I wear now, feeling less cold than I feel now?!?

I've been having some weird and wacky dreams in the early hours just before daylight when I finally drop off to sleep from exhaustion, and I know they're weird and wacky because I remember thinking, wow! this is pretty weird and wacky! but I don't remember at all who was in the dreams (besides myself, and let's be honest, I'm not even sure that I was myself) and what the hell the dreams were about or what happened. I remember places though... strange how location location location can have such a strong impact. I remember having to squeeze through a white paper wall and trying not to tear it and also balancing on a paper box... I think we (cos I'm sure I wasn't alone) must've been looking for something... Too much reading of the wilderness and the promised land.

I finished reading The Powerbook a few nights ago (perhaps more accurate to say a few mornings ago). I was half way through the book and the realisation hit me that I couldn't for the life of me remember how it ended, so of course, I had to finish the book in order to find out how it ended. Did she or didn't she? Yes or No? Good and bad? Happy or Sad. I had no idea. Then I got to the end and remembered why I couldn't remember the ending....

When you were little, did you ever read those choose your own adventure stories? I did. And I had to read it in a way where I could read every possible ending. So in effect, I read the entire book, cover to cover. That didn't really produce the ending I wanted at all, but instead a multitude of endings, of possibilities, without any chance whatsoever or distinguishing between reality or fiction....

I have to go to work tomorrow night in the real world.