It's My Life

In the park I took my shoes off and started spinning, fixing my eyes on the lemon in my right hand. Everything blurred except the lemon and a fly. It took a while for things to reassemble.

In a shot glass I mixed two-thirds rum to one-third lemon juice, and skulled it. Julien insisted that they did something like this in the Dominican Republic. In any case, the combination worked for me. Refill.

I tested an expensive sanitary napkin by squeezing a lemon over it and watching for leaks. It was a first, for me, holding up the pad and watching the liquid disappear like magic.

At the shopping centre a person dressed as Santa was handing out sweets from a basket. I approached with a lemon and placed it among the treats. "A healthy option," I explained. Santa said something like "ho ho ho" and offered me a chocolate by way of exchange.

At the market I found a ride designed for children. For two dollars the machine moved a chair in slow circles, spinning in time with a clown. I placed a lemon on the chair, inserted a coin, then stood there staring like a weird parent.

In an effort to force myself to relax I placed a lemon on my belly while lying on the bed and let it go up and down, up and down, up and down, more and more slowly.

During a day of training at Scienceworks Museum I visited the Sportsworks exhibit, which featured a machine measuring the speed at which yellow balls were pitched. I substituted a lemon and managed 49km/h - fast enough to break the fruit against the wall.

So stressed was I by depending on other people to arrange finances for my home-loan that I lowered myself to the floor, squealing like some other species. Usefully, there was a large lemon within reach - I stuffed it into my mouth as if it were a mute, and I a trumpet.

Sarah filled a plastic bag with lemon juice, before dinner, then pierced the bag over my ear. I'm not sure how loudly I squealed as everything was muted. I thought about my brain. Later, I could hear very clearly, as if the world had been amplified.

At a South Melbourne fish-and-chip shop Julien poured vinegar over a slice of lemon, saying: "I wonder how this tastes." Answer? Exactly like an oyster, so we did it several times. In fact we repeated it the following evening, at dinner, inviting our guests to suck. Why pay more?

At an arcade in Box Hill I played Tekken 6 as a girl character, using a lemon to press "punch" and "kick." I won the first round, easily, although my opponent was hardly moving. The use of a tool seemed to activate special moves in which my character became a violent butterfly. In round two I was not so lucky, as my opponent could suddenly fight. I left quickly to avoid inserting another coin.

While standing in a bath-tub I broke a lemon over my head, letting its juice cascade down my face and body. It stung me, and blinded me; but, later, I smelt good.

I had the hilarious idea of attaching a lemon to my phone charger and plugging it in. By morning the connection was completely destroyed, clogged with pith, juice and peel. I had to buy a new one.

I made hummus from scratch and by hand, beating the garlic and chickpeas together in a mortar before mixing through the oil, tahini and lemon juice. It made three cups of paste, which were quickly eaten.

I attached a lemon to the back of my bicycle with a long piece of string, then rode off through the park, looking back - like Achilles - at the carnage in my wake.

While walking in Middle Park I saw a home decorated with a Christmas wreath across the road from a tree bearing lemons; so I picked a lemon, crossed the road, and added it to the wreath.

I've written mini rants here about the love that is Northland Style. Don't know what else I can even say about it. Sometimes I write about it just hoping that someone'll understand just how intense it is, but now I don't believe that words really can explain the...

can't even say it without inducing groans. I would just say it [what it's like] (because it's the truth) but I can't bear to think of the eyeball rolling from people that don't understand.

Oh, hell with it. Our heartstrings, all invisible, are coming out of our chests. There's a web made out of our heartstrings, some thicker in connection to others, some cable sized, some hose sized, some just a bundle of strings, but all there, all with a million nerve endings and each of those nerve endings with hundreds more on them.

We'll get through this. Our thoughts are all on Daniel, but let's not forget his hose cables, for those are aching too. This is not to say that any of us are hurting any less, but like I said, there are cables and there are hoses and there are hoses that have had so much love pumped through them that they are extra sensitive to pain from the constant wear.

I'm talking about the two Rs, Red and Richard. Even if one of them has a hard time speaking.

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At twilight I dropped a lemon from Melbourne's Princess Bridge, like a suicide. It met the water with a plopping sound, went under, then resurfaced for its last ride out to sea.

I pushed my bike-lock through a lemon and attached the fruit to an unmovable chair.

I washed, dried and flattened a piece of lemon peel for my fashion-designer friend, who stuck it under his machine and sewed black shapes across it. After a few minutes of pure concentration the peel looked - fashionable!