Author: albertinefraser

Posted on by albertinefraser

Buried in the last of the snow, shining for no one to see, I stood over it and smoked, reminding myself to breathe.

I kicked it with my shoe, compelled to pick it up, knowing somewhere deep that today there would be no good luck.

It hid in my pocket while we were given the bad news, as our world fell it was indented in my hand with my lighter and tissues. 

Days later it rolled across the floor as I finally got changed, I rushed to grab it, hold it close, feeling deranged. 

It sat on my bedside table while we put him in the ground, giving me a hope I could barely say aloud.

Days that felt special, days that felt like shit, I’d put my hand in my pocket and clutch to feel it.

And then, on the first day when I felt truly fine, I put my hand it my pocket and found it gone, no longer mine.

How did I get here?

Posted on by albertinefraser

Perth is hot, incessantly hot, yesterday it was 43 degrees. You know when you get dressed straight after a shower and your bodies not quite dry yet? Every second in Perth feels like that, your clothes are constantly stuck to you.

Living in this inferno (tell me again how climate change is a lie) has led to hours of lying around in Hyde Park and King’s Park and Scarborough Beach, essentially any patch of shady grass within walking distance of a bakery. All this time spent lying around like a whale far too far from the sea has given me plenty of time to read and tan (burn), but also too much time to think about what I’ve done/am doing with my life.

This morning, whilst doing my best Free Willy impression at Hyde Park, lying next to a melted iced latte and staring at the sky, I had a thought, a deep thought, this is what blogs are for right?

When I first arrive at the park I find a nice patch of dappled shade, under a tree I’m hoping a spider won’t fall out of, not too close to anyone with a baby, or the bin, or the people doing exercise classes, the perfect spot. And then, slowly, as the morning passes the sun commutes west, so does my shade. So I shuffle further and further across the grass to stay sheltered, no longer under the tree but still in the shade it’s casting. Eventually, when I run out of snacks, or give up and go off in search of somewhere with air conditioning, I get up to leave and realise how far away I am from the spot I originally chose. Without noticing, I’ve migrated.

See how I’ve had too much time to think? My remaining brain cells have made this a metaphor for my life. I left college, went to uni and sat myself under the tree of a psychology degree, then a psychology masters, then a psychology job. But life got in the way. I needed some time off learning, further away from the tree, my dad died, further away from the tree, I realised I actually enjoyed running bars, further away from the tree, my local university doesn’t offer my masters, further away from the tree, and now I’m spending a year in Australia, literally thousands of miles away from the tree.

The point I’m trying to make in that incredibly run on sentence is: I’m now eons away from the life I imagined. I’ve unintentionally and involuntarily drifted to a life I neither planned nor chose, all to avoid emotional sunstroke, to stay in the shade.

So my deep, Carrie Bradshawesque question is: Having realised how far from the tree I am, do I struggle through the heat back to where I started, or do I find a new tree?

(Don’t panic, I’ll do a post about brunch or something soon so it’s not all this depressing).

About me?

Posted on by albertinefraser

Wow, okay, hello. About me.

Taking it back to GCSE English here (I got a C), with a classic Who? What? Where? When? Why?

Who? So hey, I’m Albertine, can’t believe I’m using my real name on the internet. I’m an English (although technically now also Australian, shout out to dual nationality), Psychology grad (although don’t ask me any psychology based questions, because I swear my brain muscles have atrophied due to lack of use). I’m nearly 25 and terrified about ageing any further. What is it about 25 that sounds so much older, wearier than 24? Sometimes it feels like any minute now I’ll be wearing a pant suit, hashing over my third divorce and wondering where my youth went. I am a vegetarian, a smoker, a drinker, a fantastic friend to a few selected humans and an absent friend to many. It takes me 3-5 working days to reply to a text unless I really like you and I spend the majority of my time with a green smoothie in one hand and a cigarette in the other. I’m a piece of shit in many ways, but hey, at least I’m self-aware.

What? I’m currently unemployed (hence the blog) for the first time since I was 17, although I’m a bar tender/manager by trade. Is bar tending a trade? More on this later. God knows why I spent years of my life studying difficult and complicated things at uni only to continue to work the job I had all through uni. Fuck knows exactly what this will be, but as I’m currently the only one reading it, I’ll be okay if it turns into nothing.

Where? As of recently, Australia. Currently in Perth, WA. And I have to say, as much as the sun soaked streets of Perth are a major upgrade from dull English cobbles, Perth is not the one. For a month me and my fiance (more on this later) have been living in a weird limbo, somewhere in between ‘we’re on holiday’ and ‘we’ve relocated to a foreign land’ at his sisters house in North Perth. It’s been lovely and mind numbingly boring (again, hence the blog).

When? This section seems a bit redundant here, but incase someone stumbles across this in a bleak future where nothing but Trump and the movie robot Wall-e have survived- The year is 2020, the planet is slowing burning, in fact they’re still trying to put out most of NSW, England has just left the EU (sigh), the latest fashion trend is a surgical mask designed to keep diseases out and the majority of the developed world is run by middle class, fat, white men. Two of whom have floppy blonde hair.

Why? Why am I desperately typing away into the internet void in hope of someones approval? Well, firstly I always wanted to do creative writing when I grew up but was swayed by a really good psychology teacher and the thrill of being actually good at something. Secondly, as I mentioned before, I am really fucking bored.

What to expect from this, one of billions of pages of internal drivel posted by a 20 something wishing they had book deal or something important to talk about? I imagine it’ll be mostly me moaning about things that are probably my own fault, maybe some restaurant and bar reviews, some more moaning about my ultimately very privileged life and filtered pictures of Australian beauty spots. Buckle up kiddo.

Oh also, I’ve called the cyber cry for help ‘Abandon’ because I am abandoning my normal life with abandon.