Rip Tide

Been doing a lot of reflecting lately (lately?!? you say with bewilderment).
I have been amazingly privileged to get some feedback for my blog from people in my life, and instead of humbly accepting this encouragement and using my creative energies for good, I let my ego inflate and wreak havoc. Maybe it's the awkward teenager in me who gets all giddy and crazy at the thought of being accepted. Maybe it's just my natural tendency for arrogance. Either way, I was feeling pretty up myself this past weekend. I had it all; a romance (or two), an appreciated blog, a nicely developing reputation at work, well wishes from people I have gotten close to as I prepare for the next leg of my adventure.
Cue Frittany.

What's more classy than downing a bottle of red wine while chain smoking cigarettes and obnoxiously 'gangster' dancing? Ooh pepper in some public makeouts and yelling obscenities at people. It wasn't all bad...had a very electric moment with someone very special...laughed a lot...gave a few positive pep talks. But overall, I was pretty fucking annoying. I can always tell when I've had a great night versus when I've had a Frittany episode. The details are often fuzzy, and the hangovers feel the same, but there's a general sense of shame and regret after Frittany comes out. Like if I had to put up with me that night, I would be pretty close to punching me in the face.

So I've been apologizing to the necessary parties, and listening to a lot of Lana Del Rey. And it reminds me how far I have come. I clearly remember a time when I always felt ashamed and out of control, and to make myself feel better I told myself that I was ok and had nothing to be ashamed of. But that is a blatant lie, and karma always catches up with you. So one's actions should always be considered, even if one is travelling and this isn't "real life". It is real life, and if I leave tomorrow and choose to forget everything that's happened in Perth, the people I have met and influenced will remember, and it will still be real to them. And thus I've had [another] reality check and have calmed my ego down. I used to think that once you fuck up, then learn your lesson and mature somewhat things are rosy. But no, I am realizing that you just keep fucking up, and then you learn a new lesson, and so on. And yet, there's no use beating a dead wallaby. Shame is something you recognize and forgive yourself for and let go of. Guilt is something that hangs around being negative, like a cranky 90 year old at the local pub, and I have no time for that.

Which brings me to my next point - Time. Two months ago I was all set to say 'catchya Straya' and be on my merry way. But then I realized I was just being lazy, and I would look back on that moment years later and think "you idiot" so I decided to stay. As I've said before, I can feel my Perth days are numbered. And like any great experience, I don't appreciate it fully until it's almost over. I can't believe I've been here for almost six months. I haven't been up to Broome, I haven't been on a wine tour in Margaret River, I haven't been to Rottnest Island. But I have met the most brilliant people. I have shared moments of fear, honesty, joy, freedom, pleasure and so much more. I've learned to go around barefoot and not care. I've been out at a gay bar and felt completely comfortable. I've gone for a drunken midnight dip in the ocean. I've been out walking and just stared and marvelled at the trees here. I have known people, and I have gotten to know myself.

I am sad to leave. I am excited for what is to come.