Celebrating 40 years on this earth
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The Day of the Jackhole is a day that is 100% about me. Me. ME!
It is the one day in my life where I am permitted to be both a Jackass and and Asshole and get away with it.
Why? Because it’s my birthday and on November 15th, 2011, I will have been alive for 14,610 days. That’s 40 years.
This is my Jackhole Memoir. (more…)
I exist. I’m pointless, as many babies are. About the only good thing you can do with me is prop me up and take a photo. My hair is dumb. Barely there. It’s astro-boy curled. My face is fat and docile. I look exactly like my Kewpie doll. This Kewpie doll. Look at it. For many years, I will play with this doll by pushing my fist into the soft side of its inviting head (more…)
Christmas, 1974. I’m a total tomboy. Disappointing for my mother, I’m sure, but she does her best with the dresses and frilly socks. But my truth is Matchbox Cars. Cops and robbers. Riding a 44-gallon drum and pretending it’s a horse. I live in isolation on a farm and I have a brother who lives for playing a game called ‘fights’ (more…)
We are moving. We are getting in the mini and moving. To NSW. We are bundled in to vehicles and trek our way south. It is a journey of 1,000 miles. We stop at a hotel. More than one, I guess. Moonie the cat is with us. I love Moonie. The cat tail in the picture above? That’s Moonie. We stop (more…)
I am living in the shearers quarters with my family on my grandparents farm. Outside my window is a Apple Box tree that has a large knot in it. It looks like a monster, and at night I lie in my bed with my rippled bedspread pulled up to my chin and think about that monster and how it wants to come in and eat me. Out of the blue, it snows. It’s unusual and a first time for me. Snow. I am excited, though none (more…)
I am powerless. And missing a front tooth. It’s the day of school photos and for some reason, my Nan is doing my hair and my Mum is not there. Where is she? I am wriggling and squirming and generally being a grumpy jackhole because my Nan is trying to put hot rollers in my hair. And I don’t want them. (more…)
“It was me who picked it up”.
I am a notorious liar at this age. My face is uncrackable. Unbreakable. Untruth-telly. I’m not proud, but I can’t seem to stop myself.
I find a human skull. A whole skeleton, as it turns out. In the weeds. Near a small creek. More like a soak actually—these are drought times. My brother and his friend, Rodney, are about to set up camp there. For a weekend of being boys, giving each other chinese burns and farting into their sleeping bags. It’s what I imagine boys do for hilarious fun boy times. (more…)
In the rolling heat of a late afternoon, my school uniform clingy and damp, I wander down the right side edge of the big oat paddock out the front of our house. It’s called the oat paddock because it once had oats in it, I guess, but it doesn’t now. Now it is fallow. I am with my brother, carrying an empty Milo tin with holes punched (more…)
High School. In town. On the big bus, with the big kids. I’m going to the same school my brother goes to. Oxley High. The agricultural high school. I find out that most kids in my class live in town and have never planted a radish, let alone stuck a cow in its ribs with a cattle prod or had a grumpy sheep snot a dirt-filled mucous ball on their jeans. (more…)
Tom Cruise. Bruce Willis. Johnny Depp. I plaster their pictures over everything (though I still have a thing for Michael J. Fox.) Slight crushes on pretty people. Long hot summers in cotton school uniforms. Year 10. I’m a grown up now. Behavior suggests otherwise.
I am at the (more…)
It’s the final year of high school. I am locked in a desperate battle with Glendyn to be the best at art. He is blissfully unaware of this. Blissfully! (This might be the first he has ever heard of it, actually.) I want to be an artist. Or a graphic designer. Secretly. But something within me says: “Be practical, farm girl. There are so many people out there who are better than you.” So. I am going to be a nurse. (more…)
I’m at away at university, living in a bedsit under someone’s house. It’s the first time I’ve not lived with my family. I ride my bicycle to class, sometimes I drive. Look at the rube. She’s never lived in a town before. Never had access to shops. To convenience. She lets it consume her like a horrible no-restraint rash. (more…)
I pull out of the Canberra Times parking lot on my bike. Turn right. There’s a small bit of sidewalk that I ride on for half a block before heading out onto the road to tussle with traffic. Down the road I go. And now I am flying. Literally. Through the air. Without my bike. (more…)
I’m in Australia. It’s New Year’s Eve. My parents have gone to a party, and I’m sitting in the back yard on a plastic chair drinking an old woman’s drink of Baileys and ice. All the lights are off and it’s blacker than black out here. Except for the sky.
Looking up, the sky is alive with pin pricks of light and satellites moving and activity and twinkling. So many stars. The Milky Way. The Southern Cross. Orion’s wearing his belt low and hippy tonight.
I lean back in my chair, headphones in and count down to midnight. Swatting mosquitoes and sipping my irish drink.
I love this sky. I play Led Zeppelin I until the clock strikes oh six.
I did it. I rode my asshole bicycle with a brain across America. Yes, I had a setback. Bad accidents suck. (more…)