Self Portrait 2002

I live in the hills east of Melbourne, Australia. Mostly have. Country girl with city roots. I work hard and often. Gardener, stitcher, teacher and soon to be rock wall builder. Mother. Grandmother. Other things. I'm one of the humans; tried to do better than that, tried to break free. Can't. Now it's won't. Blood pulses through my veins. I like this human thing. We're weak and strong. We tell the truth and bare ourselves. We let the other humans touch our innards. We lie and fight and hide and refuse to let them. We delight in our delighting. We see the beauty. We know nothing beyond what we know and that's ok. I revel in this human thing. Want to learn the lessons well. Want to force the door to stay open and shove a brick there if that's what it takes. Want to stay soft even when my eyes are open. Stare at the sun. My heart will not pretend as much as I am able. Blunt I'm told but it was not always so. Too late is too late and I don't want to be too late. Now is the acceptable time. Passionate about many things. Love deeply and openly. Will love even if it's unfashionable. Won't love just because it's fashionable. Feel savage and angry and fearful. Fear's not all it's cracked up to be. Fresh air if you turn the light on. There's nothing down the bottom of the garden in the dead of the night save the creatures that dwelt there before I did. Don't care about me. They comfort me in my irrelevance to their existence. Blood and flesh like me. My demons don't live down there, they're right here at my shoulder and they're real enough. Don't know where the light switch is. Get waylaid by reason. Understand till I'm blue in the face and don't even notice I've stopped breathing. Understand till I can't hide and feel like shit. Or laugh that full belly out loud kind of laugh. Love the human thing. Hate it too. 44 years old. 16 some days. 60 others. Timid. And bold as fucking shit.