Jealous much

The other day I was looking at a stranger and was trying to decide if they were a man or a woman. Thats when I noticed a giant rock on their ring finger, (it was a woman btw.) And I couldnt help but wonder, how come she has someone who loves her, who's promised to love her forever more, who's stood up in front of all their family and friends and declared their eternal love.
I'm a nice girl, I'm smart, not terrible looking and i rarely get confused for a man, so why don't I have that? The old curse screamed out - What's wrong with me?

So in true Cos form I analysed it.
Is that what I want? There are people who have wanted to spend time with me but whom I've said no to, or I've said yes but then made it exceedingly difficult for it to work; either by over analysis or by stubbornness.
Why is that? Why did I self destruct, or if your into modern dictionary terms, disturbate?
Is it that I want more? More than what? When is more enough? Or is it that I am incapable of standing still?
Is it that I want them to prove to me that I am the one? In the past I would give hoops for them to jump through to prove themselves, but when is enough hoops enough? How many rows must my man walk down?

It's like that movie pi, where a brilliant mathematician gives himself a lobotomy with a battery drill so he doesn't have the gift/curse of a mathematical mind. Should I do that so I don't analyse everything? To prevent my philosophical ponderings and potentially get me closer to a simpler, happier existence? Is ignorance bliss?

And yet, analysis or over analysis is a part of my life that I enjoy. Just read my blog! Philosophy is the study of life as we know it, of why we are here, what really matters and why it matters.

Analysis of my thoughts tells me that romantic life is what matters more than anything to me, yet my actions seem to prove this wrong. I'm not one of those girls who have a dead end job while waiting for a shiny rock. I have put my career first, my personal desire for accomplishment first, my studies first, my independence first and even my travel lust first and foremost over previous relationships on numerous occasions.

Have I only now decided that I am indeed ready for commitment having somewhat sated my selfish cravings? Is it just the next thing on the list or is it the person standing next to me? Or
is boycotting the whole thing and going to a war zone easier than admitting that it's what I want but also what I'm scared of?

Cos vs MBA

I don't fit in at Uni.
It's not just that I'm doing a postgrad course without doing an undergrad course so I'm constantly behind the eight ball, (What's endnote? Where is blackboard? What the hell is the difference between a tutorial and a lecture?) - it's a variety of reasons.

For example, I don't look like a business student. I generally wear a flanno, jeans and thongs to my lectures and carry a backpack I've dragged around the world three times. Whereas everyone else is wearing business attire with laptops and briefcases. If "Dress for the job you want" was true apparently I'd want to be on the dole.

I am also not Chinese. I sat in an airport in China for several hours and I like to eat Chinese food but alas unlike 70% of my class, I'm not Chinese and can't speak any Mandarin. (Although I do like eating them too; mandarins, not people.) This shouldn't be an issue, but when my lecturer makes remarks and jokes in Mandarin, I don't get it. Ni Hao?

I have trouble respecting my lecturers. This one I'm in two minds about and it takes up most of my thoughts while sitting in my lectures. Most of my lecturers have had stella careers in major multinational corporations and know their shit when it comes to business. I admire them for that. But as soon as they step into that classroom and abide by university policy, the real world goes out the window. When I write a report to a client no one gives a shit if the full stop in my referencing is outside or inside the bracket, not my boss, not the client, NO ONE! It certainly isn't clause to deduct 20% of the marks. Content is what matters except when you're at university, then no one cares about your opinion or the content of your article, so long as you all act like sheep and follow procedure. Bah!

I suppose the biggest reason that I don't fit in at my postgrad uni is my attitude. By the time you get to postgrad you're supposed to be there because you not only want to learn but you like university learning. Whether it be for the intellectual challenge, the peer discussions or because you really like reading journal articles, (who are these people?)
My attitude is the same as when I was in high school. "I don't want to be here, when can I leave." It's not that I don't like the course, I do. Before I started my MBA I would read business books and articles on my own free will because I like learning and I like the subject. But I struggle to learn by lecture. The inefficiency bothers me and my inability to sit still and concentrate on one thing leaves me doing everything but listening to the lecturer. I try to rectify this by making notes on the text or reading related texts on the subject instead of facebooking. Key word there is try.
It also helps when I realise I'm paying $200 each lecture for the privilege.

One down, two thirds to go. Wish me luck!

My Warning

Here's an exert from one of my (unpublished, unfinished) books, 'Susan Gilmore' - Heavy but hopefully OK writing :) Thanks to Scarlett for the line. (GWTW fans anyone?) 

I came with a warning, my Aunts warning, “She’s not as strong as she thinks she is.” That’s what she said to him. That’s my one warning, it was supposed to make him protect me, but in essence all he heard was "she is weak."

I could smell the alcohol on his breath, I could see the fury in his eyes, yet it all seemed like a dream, like something that was happening to someone else. I felt numb. I felt nothing. It was as if I was watching it all from the corner, watching the girl backed against the door, watching the man stand over her, watching him strip her confidence, her trust, her strength.
I stood and watched her face. Her confusion showed through a vacant gaze, confusion between wanting to love this man and being scared of him.
He didn’t seem to notice. She shook her head in confusion and took a step closer to him, reaching out to embrace him, help him. Her movements were slow, gentle, radiating with compassion. He stood rigid against her touch. His mouth pulled tight. As she stepped closer he violently pushed her back against the door. With a swift movement his hand closed around her neck, pinning her against the door.

Instantly I was back.

His hand crushed around my throat, my airways constricted. I felt my feet lift off the ground. He banged my head against the wooden door as he lifted me. The pressure on my neck increased. I gasped for air. My eyes wide with fear, I stared at his face. His eyes were black with rage. His brow furrowed into a deep crevasse. His teeth were gritted yet as he yelled little droplets of spit flew from his mouth. My hands were around his wrist, half pushing him away, half still stupidly wanting to embrace him.

My mind was racing, the lack of air was making me panic. I could feel my face going red. It didn’t seem to bother him. He raised his voice and my ears hurt from the assault. He clenched his eyes shut, he raised his fist, I shut my eyes, I flinched as much as his grip let me, Turning my face away from the impending blows. But his fist shot past my face, it hit the door next to my head. With each blow the wood reverberated from the force.

The instant headache was enough. This isn’t right. He shouldn’t be doing this. Not again.
I was sick of it. But was this enough to walk away? Technically, he still hadn’t hit me.
If he did hit me at least then I could leave. At least then there would be reason enough to walk away. The realisation slapped me across the face and before the words had even crossed my lips they had already spread a smile across my face.
“You missed” I gasped with a wry grin.
He pulled back, confusion etched across his face but he didn't dare let go of my throat.
Im not weak, I thought to myself, Im stronger than you think. Stubborn determination and strength coursed through my veins, "I said you missed." my voice came out cool and calm. I stared directly into his eyes,"C'mon hit me, isn't that what out want to do? Wouldn't that make you feel like a man?" I was shaking, with fear and adrenalin. Half of me wanted to get it over and done with, wave the red flag and then deal with the fallout, just so long as this was over. The other half just wanted to give him a hug and tell him everything will be OK.
His eyes searched my own, for a moment I thought he would call my bluff. I needed to stand strong, I needed one last push. "Get your hands off me you drunken fool!"

I couldn't help but flinch when he moved his hand. His eyes dropped from mine, his hand released my neck, he turned away. I hesitated for a second, poised for another fight. But it was over.
I dropped to the floor, rubbing my neck. I sat frozen, still shaking. I had stood up to him, I had found my strength. My warning had been proven false and this felt like only the start, the start of the end.

Black seams

As the sun rises it sends a myriad of colours through the stark sky. The metallic structure in front of me reflects the light, creating golden shimmering branches that reach into the clear sky. The early morning peace is only interrupted by the distant chirps of birds and the quiet hum of the box next to me. The steady predictability of it soothes me somehow. It's cold, steam rises from my breath and I lean closer to my humming friend to keep warm. The metal next to me gently rattles as a boom sounds out. It isn't menacing, it feels as though the earth has a singular heart beat that echoes deep beneath me.

The gravel under my feet gives a satisfying crunch as my boots cross the site. I look up to the distant gentle rolling hills and shrubby bushland. It creates an interesting juxtaposition to the flat open space and metallic branches. I imagine it would have the phase "architecturally designed" if it were to grace the pages of a catalogue. Stainless and Stone, Walnut and Marble, Cows and Substations.

I follow a line of people through the designated maze. Like ants we follow along the same path, each carrying an assortment of bags and random items. The dress code is similar to some bizarre nightclub, neon colours and leather knee high boots are the norm. Utility belts seem to be optional.
Travelling along next to our line of ants is a giant structure twice as big as a house. Its bulky frame and slow meander is reminiscent of a lazy dinosaur or a slowly migrating whale.

The maze leads to a sheer cliff that contrasts sharply with the surrounding flat void, yet it allows for an intimate view of the layers beneath. A stark line of black gold cuts through, a line that feeds the economy, a line that feeds families. Prehistoric living creatures combined with millions of years of heat and pressure is now the whole reason we're all here in our neon glory.


Alain DeBotton teaches us in "the pleasures and sorrows of work" that all forms of employment can have hidden beauty and wonder. Although I'm sure my brother will disagree, I think a coal mine can be beautiful and hold plenty of wonder.