Thoughts, half-listening to a playlist for Taylor, half studying or something.

I was just thinking how the podiatrist asked if I was in pain, and I said no. She said if I was in pain then she would tell me I have to find that bucket-load of money and get the stuff done. Get the shoes. Whatever. 


And then walking home, I realised, yes, actually I was in pain. I am always in pain. But like a colourblind child does not know what he is missing, I don't know what walking is without some sort of pain. But I did not think of that when talking to the podiatrist, because it is a constant. We do not notice the constants in our lives so much as we notice the anomalies. But I decided a few years ago to not be a complainer, ever.  I am not perfect, but when you think complaining is not an option, you do downplay the pain, even to your own brain. I always liked thinking of Dory in Finding Nemo, 'just keep swimming, just keep swimming.'


It's been an up-and-down week. I went to the beach. I went to the doctor, the podiatrist, got jabbed with a few needles. I got a super-good report back from my lecturer on my 602 report. I clutched an ice-cream container and vomited and cried. My funds are diminishing rapidly and I am thinking of options to increase them. Tomorrow I am exploring the museum and then going to Jesse Sheehan's cafe gig in Kingsland (!) with Ocean and Olive. I have talked to my mum like four times this week! I think that is the most, ever.


I found out a different friend has got cancer. I found out a different friend (my age, too) has got engaged. The news always seems to be 'cancer, cancer, engagement, engagement.'  Too many cancers, a nice amount of engagements. I suppose in both regards I think how lucky I am for I do not want cancer nor am I keen for a quick engagement at age almost-19. 


I was thinking today (in the shower, yes) that my grandmother was pregnant with my Mum at my age! She got pregnant and then they hurriedly got married. I like it when grandma tells me how her father was very angry and how scared she was to tell him. I like this story because it makes grandma seem very accessible to me. I have not talked to my grandma about my youthful mistakes but her stories nicely remind me she is not perfect.


I turn nineteen on Monday. I have always used that phrase of speech. I 'turn' nineteen. On the calendar I write, on people's birthdays, that Michael 'turns' 17 and Dad 'turns' 56' and Mum 'turns' 44. It sounds so sterile, for most people write on the calendar 'SONYA'S 19th BIRTHDAY!' Instead, the clock ticks over and I turn into a nineteen year old female human, a New Zealander, even, and I get up and go to class and mould into my new age. It is drizzling, drizzling, drizzling.

There goes me, on my fourteenth birthday, in my parents house. I remember my fourteenth birthday so vividly and so clear. I remember how clean my room was, the collage of pictures Teresa stuck on my wall, the poetry book she gave me of her poetry and how it excited me so. I remember all her kids there for dinner, and Nicky coming 'round after school before she went to her schools' open evening. I remember having no class third and fourth period to watch the sports exchange, and telling every single kid I saw as I walked around with fifthformer Floyd, that it was my birthday. I remember that the day was so so sunny.