The first compliment of the night was from a stranger waiting across the road from me, waiting for the lights to change. A young man with wide shoulders, a days worth of stubble and a ready smile. He looked like a working man, a mechanic or a builder, dressed up for a night out. We crossed the road, and as he passed me he half turned. I turned in response, in time to see him grin like a schoolboy.

“You look really hot in your jeans”, he said.

He smiled, and I smiled, and we went our separate ways. Usually a builder boy telling me how hot I am isn’t taken as a compliment. It’s considered tacky and uncouth. But not that night. I smiled to myself, that some stranger liked the way I filled out my jeans. There was no motive there, no saying sweet things to get into my pants. I’m going to call it an honest observation that lifted my spirits no end. As The Third Quarter would say, the universe was telling me to feel better.

The compliments after that came quick and steady. I was meant to be meeting a friend. A curly haired boy who last time I’d met him had been a sweet, perfectly charming gentleman. Tonight was no different, really. The cider he was drinking made him a little more honest, I think. A little bit more free with words than he might otherwise have been.

I’d interrupted a work celebration. He introduced me to many people with charming accents and cute grins. One man named ‘Bear’ kissed my hand on introduction. Another with an Irish accent picked me up and twirled me around after I made a flirtatious comment. It was pretty wonderful company to be in.

My curly haired friend brought me a wine, and then another. And then we were dancing in a crowded bar to a man playing acoustic covers. I was twirled and kissed and twirled again. It was delightful, and sweet. The whispered conversation between twirls was sweet, too. He couldn’t believe I was here, and did I know how pretty I was? How every man there couldn’t believe that I was on his arm? I believe I was being charmed, I was.

With the wine, and the people and the dancing and the sweetness . . . I really didn’t want to leave. I wanted time to stop and couldn’t we just pretend that this is how life is all the time? A ridiculously cute boy twirling me round, telling me I’m gorgeous? That my freckles are too ridiculously cute to be allowed? It was divine, and easy and couldn’t time just stop?

But, I’d already made plans with another set of friends, and I’m not one to blow friends off. No matter how cute the boy is. So, I left with a kiss goodbye and walked out into the dark. Away from the sweetness.

To be honest, I’m not really sure what I’m doing with myself. I’m loosing myself in wine and cute curly-haired distractions. Is this how moving forward is meant to go?

Hurrah! I’ve made it through another month! This month was a little harder than last. I kept forgetting to pick up the camera on my way out the door (its a big SLR, not the most pleasant thing to lug around) which meant I’d get home at around 11pm and go gah! Have to take a photo! It meant lots of photos in my bathroom, or ‘look at the camera and JUST TAKE IT’. Taking a photo everyday is not as easy as I thought it would be. It requires effort, and commitment. Still, it helps pass the time and I haven’t given up on it yet! :)

So, this was my November:

1st of November to the 30th of November. 56 down. 309 to go.

Past Months: October.

Wow, what a crazy month! More people contributed this month (yay!). I was especially stoked with the Movember photos:

(On the left is the hilarous Foo + Heidi (check out Heidis FACE! Love it!), and on the right the gorgeous Sleepy Jane)

Movember was all about raising awareness about Prostate Cancer by growing facial hair. We didn’t grow any facial hair, nor raise any funds, but I love that we all supported the people who did anyway :)

I have to say, I cheated. I did all of mine in one photo:

I had a Fake Facial in the shape of a Ginger Mo, I Jumped for Joy, and I did so near a Feathered Friend. :)

Hopefully more of you will get involved in December, it’s alot of fun and so easy to do. The idea is simple. You have till the end of the month to upload three photos (just three) to the Steve’s Orienteering Challenge flickr group. That’s it. Easy, and a fun way to encourage people to get out and do something a bit random. You don’t even have to upload all three challenges to participate. Just one or two is fine!

December Challenges:

1. Seasonal Silliness
December is generally the month of Seasonal Awesome. Christmas, or Hanukkah or just Holiday Grandness, whatever it is you celebrate, snap a shot of you enjoying the season. Sit on Santa’s lap, wrap yourself in tinsel or cover yourself in presents. Rock the Seasonal Joy!

2. You, a Refrigerator and a Self-Portrait.
In December, my refrigerator is generally filled with food. I’m pretty keen to see whats in yours. :P

3. Literary Skins
Take a pen, and a quote, and some skin and combine the three. Skins and bodies are made to be written on. They are pretty like that.

Anyway, that’s it for this month! Hope your December is filled with much joy and that perhaps you’ll decide to join this month’s Steve’s Orienteering Challenge! :)

It started off as a nothing. The person who I’d had plans with cancelled on me. So I asked some other people. The first boy was busy, with this new girl he’s seeing. The second had a Christmas Party. My other two usual cohorts had a long standing dinner arrangement. And then I put out general feelers. Someone, anyone must be free to hang out. I can’t be the only one with no firm plans for a Friday night.

And then the longer my phone sat silent, no buzzing to denote that someone would be keen to be in my company, I panicked. I feared my social circle was too small. That somehow I’d put all my eggs in one basket and was this it? I felt anxious. And alone. And ohgodwhyisntanyonetxtingmeback!

Is this what being single means? Relying on the pity of others? Scrambling to find friends who aren’t busy with their own lives? Their own plans?

I hate being single. I hate not being sure of myself. I hate panicking because I don’t know what I’m doing. And for a while there, I THRIVED on not knowing. I’d drink back some pretty coloured drinks and launch myself into the unknown. I’d collect a number here, flirt with this boy there, be spontaneous, implusive, and reckless.

But there is only so long you can spin that and still be standing upright. So I thought I’d stand still for a while. And here I am. And I hate it. I hate being a one, and not a two. And I hate that I hate it. I hate that because it’s been so long I’m unsure of myself. That I’m relearning how to sleep in my own bed, that when I visit the bakery on the way home I’m only buying for one. And that I’m still buying too much food, because there’s no one to finish what I can’t eat. I hate that there are no surprises to be had, no conversations in the now non-existant car pool on the drive home. I hate that there are no comforting hands to be held, no hugs when I want to bitch about how hard my day was, no listening to the ins and outs of someone elses day. I hate it. And I hate that I hate it. I thought I was stronger than this.

And then, as I’m working myself towards a panic attack, my phone buzzes. And with a witty in-joke, I have plans.

And all at once I want to cry at the universe for providing me a friend, and hate on myself for working myself into a tizz and clenching my teeth at how stupid this situation that is ENTIRELY IN MY HEAD is.

I hate the being single means I’m not the confident happy-go lucky person I was, not matter how much I pretend I’m am. I miss the old me. I miss my old life.

And, most of all, I hate how hard moving forward is.

The other day a friend and I walked up a mountain near my house, and we wrote my name out of rocks in the crater.

Sometimes its the simple things which make a day awesome. The random and spontaneous, brilliant company, and a gorgeous day.

What are you enjoying right now?

I wrote a snarky comment on facebook the other day. A friend mentioned that it’s been four weeks since he and his girlfriend broke up, and that it still hurt. Two of his friends jumped in to say not to worry, it’ll get easier. Times great like that.

For me, it’s been twelve weeks. And one phrase I’m really suck of hearing is how it will ‘get better with time’.

It is what people say when they don’t know what else to say. It’s the automatic phrase that people utter when someone tells you they are heartbroken. And it might be true, sure. Twelve weeks on and I’ve figured out that driving recklessly doesn’t help, I don’t have to hide in bathrooms because my eyes leak anymore and I can go at least part way through the day without thinking about how very single I am.

But it is the most useless phrase to hear while your hurting. It does not make you feel better. If time is the path to healing, then you know you’ve got months and months of pain ahead of you, and how can you look forward to that? You can’t speed up time. You can’t DO anything. You can’t help yourself, and for me, being helpless about moving forward was really difficult. Overwhelmingly so.

The worst thing about it was how every person who told me that it would get better in time wasn’t hurting. They didn’t understand how hearing that phrase made me feel like I was so, so far from happiness. From normalacy. I felt like I was on the wrong side of the fence, and nothing I could do (only time) would place me on the other side. I’d wake up every morning and really struggle with the concept of moving forward through another day. The idea of being heartbroken for weeks, months, before I felt something other than misery was positively dire.

And while perhaps it was never uttered with it, I always heard the phrase with a condesending tone. In my head I would sneer, and think how could they know my pain? How could they offer up so useless a solution while they live out their happy, happy lives? And in my head, I was ready to walk away from every person who told me that time was the way. After hearing it I often wouldn’t want to confide in them anymore, I felt distant. I know they meant it with love. I know they cared, and wanted only the best for me.

But hearing variations of the phrase ‘it will get easier with time’ was not helpful for me.

Distractions were helpful for me. Being given books to read, movies to watch, exhibitions to see. That was helpful for me. People meeting me for coffee, sending an email, getting me out and about. That was helpful for me. People taking the time to DO things with me, giving me other things to think about. That was helpful for me.

Telling me in a quick, swift, keep-on-trucking phrase that time was the only answer? Not helpful.

So if someone you know is hurting, is heartbroken and in pain. Please, do not tell them that it will get better with time. Really, just don’t. By them a coffee, tell them you’re sorry they are hurting. But please don’t pull out the phrase ‘it will get better with time’.

I went to an album launch, last night. It was the launch for Stroke, an album put together by some of New Zealand’s most brilliant musicians, most crazy people, and most fantastic. And it was put together for an amazing, amazing man.

Chris Knox had a stroke earlier this year. A stroke that removed his ability to speak, that hindered his quality of life, and put him and his family through impossible times.

And I’m so, so sad for them. Because they are such a brilliant family. Once, years and years ago, for a little while I got be part of their lives. Crash out in their fantastic and crazy home, and be part of their brilliant brilliant adventures. And they were amazing.

I guess I knew the Ward-Knox family, as just that, a family. I didn’t know the Chris who was part of Toy Love, or theTall Dwarves. The famous NZ musician who rocked the Punk Rock scene in the 80s, who did so much more than just the vogels ad. I didn’t know Barbara as the artist whose sculptures are hidden all over Auckland. They were just Chris and Barbara. Half of a crazy, brilliant family.

I remember a ridiculous amount of card games, and yelling at the tv when the cricket was on. I remember Barbara letting me down into her workshop through the hole in her bedroom floor. I remember sitting in the limestone dust hacking away at what I wanted to call a dragon, at what Chris called ‘a good first attempt’. At what John was so eager to keep because it was my first attempt at something wonderful.

I remember that it wasn’t uncommon to walk down the hall and discover Chris filming a tv segment while he sat on the toilet in his bathroom. I remember finding half eaten somethings that Leisha would leave in the fridge, and I remember sitting super still so John could draw me.

I remember making cookies in their kitchen, and finding all sorts of random things in the open pantry, and I remember the two mad cats, and I remember sweeping the carpet because it was easier than getting the vacuum cleaner out. I remember Barbara making us all hot chocolates from a pot on the stove, and the trips up to Pakiri and Chris hammering odd things onto their fence.

I remember my 21st, and Chris handing over a card he’d drawn up for me, and my cousin coming over all in a flush, asking how I ‘knew’ Chris Knox. I laughed at her, and said that it was just Chris. I remember berry smoothies in the mornings, and art on the walls, and eating vegetarian meals on the couch.

I remember being loved, and accepted and taken in by this family who were so wonderful, so amazing, so absolutely crazy that it completely blew my mind. These people who had so much love for their friends, for the people who were part of their lives. And they had many, there was never a shortage of people who were coming round to chat or say hello, or to discuss this project or that.

Last night it was amazing to see just how many people did love them, that last night at the Kings Arms there was a line outside. And that the bar manager was a bit concerned about the bar meeting it’s maximum capacity and should they go over it?

It was amazing to see so many people come together to celebrate this man, to support this family. And even better, the album, Stroke, is pretty amazing. The site says 33 artists from around the world came together to contribute, but I know there were more people who wanted to contribute too. I met at least two of them waiting in the line at the door.

Its times like this that make me feel better about the world. That in the face of some horrible horrible life changing event for a family, hundreds and hundreds of people can come together to say that they care. That they want to help, and support and be there.

Today I feel like the world is a less evil place.

If you are interesting in checking out the album, Stroke, visit chrisknox.co.nz. All proceeds go towards Chris’s recovery.