The wind of change

... is one of my favourite karaoke songs. Any bridge which has the word 'balalaika' in it has to be given props.

But enough about that. I'm just writing a short post because I've been offered a job, which is full time (and therefore, I think, somewhat superior to my current two-casual-jobs arrangement).

Ordinarily, I would be quite excite, and indeed, part of me is. However, the fact that the job I'll be moving to is ostensibly the same job I had - albeit in a different faculty - almost three years ago - somewhat dulls the shine. Am I moving backwards? Or, slightly better, but not much, just stagnating? I'm a little unsure, but I hink that perhaps I can make something more out of the job this time around. I hope so, anyhow. Worst case scenario is that the job will be a pocket of stability for a little while, which isn't all bad in these times, so everybody keeps saying.

Perhaps my apprehension doesn't so much spring from fear of change - I think these days I actually embrace change (I should be a motivational speaker) - but rather from a little regret about what I will leave behind. I have really quite enjoyed woking at both of my current workplaces. The people are kind and friendly, and the work has been challenging, yet rewarding.

I keep coming back to the notion of 'gen-y' and 'gen-x'; specifically in relation to the supposed 'gen-y' ethic of selfishness and prioritising career aspirations over loyalty to employers and dedication to one's job. I have often wondered which camp I belong to, as I'm sort of on the cusp, in terms of age. This is borne out, I guess, in the conflicted feelings I have about changing jobs now. I don' want to leave what I have behind, and I don't want to let the peopl I work with down, but at the same time, I think this option for a stable job is a wise career move right now.

So I guess I'm just gonna follow the Moskva, down to Gorky Park. Because change, after all, change is a good thing.

Teenage renaissance

Ok, so this blog post is sort of about Taylor Swift.

I know she's another insidious popteen songstress, with the blonde locks and the airbrushed flawless skin. I (refuse to believe but) know she's probably autotuned to within an inch of being Britney.

Witness exhibit A: Love Story

But damnit, I can't stop listening to her sticky-molasses saccharin-toothache of an album.

In part, I think it's just because I've always had a weakness for well-produced pop music. The propsect of running into the track at karaoke in the next few months also excites me - so listening is in fact just practice?

I think there's something a little deeper going on here, though. I was having a slightly drunken conversation with a musician friend of mine about her (he was the one who clued me in on the autotune) and he said he understood while I liked her - he knows me pretty well - and also he could see why she's so popular right now. It was a couple of weeks later that I found out she'd been at number one on the Australian charts for a few weeks. Basically, he said that globally, the market is ready for Swift's style - simple, catchy melodies, uncomplicated (almost naive) lyrics about teenage love, innocent optimism.

Witness exhibit B: You belong with me - note the tried and true ugly-duckling-makeover-gets-the-guy plotline in this one.

Which makes sense, with the constant bombarding of gloomy economic news, and the imminent threat of pandemics, unrelenting news of injustice and wars. Some bubble-headed escapism in the form of a pop tune isn't such a bad thing.

And here's where I get self-indulgent. Things haven't been totally peachy since I came back from my tour of duty in 'Nam. Plagued with annoying (but thankfully not serious) health problems, and struggling to find my feet again with professionally as well as socially, added to some - let's face it - woeful dating adventures, I don't feel so much like I've been treading water, as struggling to keep my head above water.

I can see myself emotionally cocooning. Not unlike what you do when you're a teenager, can't figure out what's going on, and are waiting to grow into who you're 'meant to be'. Who would have thought you can go through that stupid identity-searching teen angst more than once? In any case, the reason I think I'm guiltily enjoying this simple-minded pop music is because I'm waiting for the time when I can stop being a chrysalis again.

I wonder what colours my new wings will be?

Melancholalia

Years ago, when I was with some friends at the pier in Hobart, buying freshly shucked oysters straight off the boat from a fisherman, I came across a woman who was a little bizarre. She was on her own, and seemingly speaking to no-one in particular. Only she wasn't having a conversation in her head - or maybe she was - but instead she kept repeating the same phrase over and over again. "Wouldn't have a clue... wouldn't have a clue... wouldn't have a clue..."

It seemed she perhaps had some mental problem, but in any case, this was my first and only encounter with someone who appeared to suffer from echolalia, often associated with autism or Tourette syndrome. People with this condition involuntarily repeat snippets of something they've heard someone else say.

It's been about two and a half months since my relationship with D ended. While in many respects, I've come to peace with this, and for the most part I'm ready and eager to move on with my life, I often find my mind wandering back involuntarily to my relationship. I well up with regret, resentment, and melancholy, and what I know to be futile and irrational feelings of inadequacy. Then after a while, I brush them off, think of happier things, and surround myself with friends and find an equilibrium again.

Part of me wonders if this melancholalia might be a sign that I still haven't resolved my emotions, and dealt with the breakup properly; that in maintaining my composure and control, I've somehow emotionally wounded myself. Or perhaps not wounded, but rather poisoned. The poison seems to well up, and then when things might otherwise become toxic, the overflow valve is released...

melancholalia.