Posted 1 year, 3 months ago at 3:56 pm. 3 comments
However vague and exiguous, I’ve nil but fond memories of the ekka.
I remember vivid colours, lights, fireworks. Looking up at the sky in wonder and awe, gasping, shrieking and “Ahh”ing at appropriate intervals. Tired little legs wanting to give way despite how adamant I was to stay alert. Laughing at the ridiculous looking dogs in the dog shows. Holding hands with Mum/Cousins/Aunties/Siblings, wanting to go on scary rides but never plucking up the courage. The way my heart raced, fingers wrapped tightly around the chains when I finally did. On the ferris wheel, looking down at the sea of colour, watching the crowd surge to and fro. Greasy Dagwood Dogs. Strawberry Sundaes. SHOWBAGS! Falling asleep on Mum’s shoulder, content, face sticky with tomato sauce, stomach far too full from countless lollies. Eating the leftovers until my stomach hurt. Growing up a little, and going to the Ekka with a boy. Getting a stomach full of butterflies, looking anywhere but at each other, while holding hands on the chair lift. Finally going on the REALLY scary rides and deciding it’s more fun than anything in the world. Going on the REALLY scary rides until they’re not so fun anymore and I wanted to sit down for a while (No, I feel fine. I’m not going to vom- *bleh*). Going nuts with a crazy blonde in the makedo Living End moshpit. Deciding that moshpits, even make-do ekka ones, are more fun than anything in the world until I got kicked in the head. Secretly wishing that the stunt cars will run into each other. Remembering how much I loved the fireworks when I was little and pretending I was 9 again. Hoping they wouldn’t end, despite the neck pain. Falling asleep on a stranger on the train.
Although the objective changed as I got older, the basic premise remained - walk around until you’ve seen EVERYTHING - and then eat lots of lollies. Hell, if I end up going this year, that’ll more than likely be the case.
I fucking love the Ekka.
Posted 1 year, 3 months ago at 6:33 am. 2 comments
Blogging is different on a keyboard.
As redundant as it is, I’m partial to painstakingly writing down each word, taking time to pause and allow the impact of what I’m watching unfold before me to wash over me, envelope me completely, so I can decide whether it is infact a giant bunch of bollocks or not. Unfortunately for my literary ego, the answer is usually a yes. Not just a yes, a Yes. Perhaps even a YES. Sometimes it’s something along the lines of a giant flashing light, a crimson alarm wobbling back and forth while I sit there, chin on palms, trying to figure out exactly where my semblance of writing ability took itself after highschool. He always joked about fleeing to Aruba. Damn deserter, I hope he gets skin cancer.
What I’m trying to say here is that when I blog directly from brain to keyboard, there’s something missing. Paper and a slightly gnawed pencil (or, in periods of sheer desperation, a pen) allow for crossing out, doodling in margins, writing “You’re a bit of a wanker” without anyone else having to see it - and it’s effective as a means of communicating. It’s as though I’m able to illustrate emotion, occasions, people etc in a far more accurate light than when I’m just wiping my fingers on the keyboard. I think the problem with typing directly onto the keyboard is the inability to go back and see what you would’ve originally written. There’s no drafting, there’s no scribbling hastily and muttering “I’ll leave that there so I never, ever do that again”, hell, there’s no drawing kitties all over the place. I happen to enjoy my dismal attempts at kitties all over the place.
All that aside, there’s certainly something to be said for the convenience of typing directly to computer. Like a built in thesaurus. When you’re done? Click, publish, gone. No evidence of any actual blogging forethought - just a final copy on a page. When I take the time to put pencil to paper, I scribble furiously, occasionally looking over one shoulder to make sure noone sees what I’m writing. People have tried, and I’ve snapped at them - it almost feels as though they’d be able to see my minor vulnerabilities after seeing something I made with my hands. Ridiculous, really, considering I go from there, to typing it all in here (whilst making minor modifications, I must admit) where I’m inviting the entire world to the Jessica-insight table for a lovely dinner and a slap in the face.
I’m sorry for all the slapping in the face. God, I’ve gotta go find someone who can teach me how to write.
Posted 1 year, 3 months ago at 11:59 pm. 0 comments
- Ahhh. PMS. Right. Hearing y’loud and clear, bod. #
- TWITTER IS NOT INTEGRATING WITH BLOG. #
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Posted 1 year, 3 months ago at 11:12 pm. 0 comments
Edit: I think I had the best weekend ever. Not only did I get to show my mega-awesome boyfriend around Morayfield, I got to go on a loong walk with my mega-awesome best friend.
Life is good 
