I FINALLY TRIED VEGEMITE (& MY MENTAL BREAKDOWN CONTINUES, OF COURSE)

Back by popular demand! Big thanks to my wonderful Nana and my dear friend Matthew for insisting on some fresh content. I can’t believe it’s been over a week since my conjunctivitis meltdown. The only thing that’s changed is that the conjunctivitis has mostly gone away. (According to Google, eye infections can still linger even after symptoms disappear. So I don’t know if I’m officially conjunctivitis-free yet.) I’m still a mess in literally every other aspect of life, don’t worry. For example, it’s Wednesday night, and I check out of my current hostel tomorrow morning. And I just this moment booked my next hostel. (My Christmas hostel. Weird to think about.) I was mere hours away from being homeless. I just keep pushing it to the limit and one of these days it is going to backfire so hard. 

You may be thinking, “But, Sophie, why move hostels? Why go through the hassle of packing up and moving a block over? Why go from paying $200 a week for an 8-bed dorm to paying $210 a week for a 14-bed dorm? Why not just extend your stay?” To that I say: this hostel gave me pink eye and a smelly homeless man. It’s time to move on. Now you’re probably thinking, “Um, what the fuck is this you say about a smelly homeless man?” And to that I say: two nights ago a literal homeless man staggered in at 1:30AM. I want you to imagine the worst smell that has ever graced your nostrils. And then I want you to imagine something infinitely worse. That’s this man’s scent. It was like he drank an entire liquor store, smoked 16 packs of cigarettes, and then spent three weeks rolling around in a dumpster. You know how usually your body can adjust and get used to a bad smell? That didn’t happen. He was also incredibly under an influence. Who am I to say exactly what influence, but he was definitely influenced. 

So he staggers into the room, immediately filling it with the most pungent odor. And then he turns his phone flashlight on and stumbles over to my bunk. I’m confused because I hadn’t noticed a new backpack or suitcase in the vicinity to indicate a new bunkmate. Then he struggles to get up the ladder to the top bunk. Fully clothed, mind you. Shirt, tattered jeans, belt, sneakers. Sneakers. He ends up shaking the whole bed, missing the bottom rung and slamming his grimy shoe on my mattress and then exclaiming, “Oh fuck! Sorry. Bloody hell!” I know exclaiming is the literal worst dialogue word, but it just was an exclamation. He didn’t yell, but he didn’t not yell. He was emotive, but not that emotive. 

Thankfully, I had a friend in the room. A fellow American. She had just finished studying abroad in Thailand and was in Sydney for a few days before traveling around New Zealand. We immediately started messaging on Instagram. Neither of us could believe the smell. Where was his luggage? Did he just find this room key on the sidewalk outside? How was no one else in the room awake for this fever dream of an experience? After a few minutes in the top bunk, he made moves to get down. But he absolutely had no idea how to get down. He swung his legs over the side railing, nowhere near the ladder, and then had to shimmy his way over to the ladder. And then he just kind of pitched himself forward into the neighboring bed and eventually the floor. I don’t know if I’m describing this well but it was just deeply unsettling and unlike anything either of us had ever experienced in a hostel. Usually drunk people in hostels are either loudly social or just having sex. As my new American friend put it, this man brought such a chaotic energy to the room. And also the smell.

Anyway, he went in and out of the room a few times, struggling to navigate the bunk bed every time. I kept hoping he was going to take a shower. He never did. My friend and I finally fell asleep at 4 in the morning. We got up to go on a free walking tour of Sydney and he was still passed out, still smelling like ass. On our way out, we asked reception if he was supposed to be in there. He was indeed a paying customer, noted in the system as a late check-in. We mentioned his erratic behavior and, of course, his smell. We found out later he was meant to check out that day and someone from reception had to go wake him up. Apparently he legitimately had no luggage so he just hopped up and walked out. 

So that was a long and kind of pointless story just to say that I need some fresh vibes in a new hostel. Also, ever since my emotionally dark week of conjunctivitis, I’ve had this negative energy inside me. I’ve been feeling kind of sad, kind of irritable, kind of aggressive? Like I want to fight someone. Not physically. Because clearly I would lose. But like I’d be down to make enemies right now, if that makes sense. Like the other night some guy was trying to talk to me at a bar and I clearly wasn’t interested. One word answers, distant body language, grimacing a lot. Finally he was like, “I’m Tristan!” and I just looked him dead in the eyes and said, “Very cool. I didn’t ask.” He was so confused and then mildly angry and then he kind of flipped me off and stormed away. It felt so good. That’s the best example I can think of to describe my energy right now.

I had a Hilary Duff voiceover movie moment that night. It’s like you the scene opens on me dancing in a crowded room but me eyes are a little sad and listless and there’s an angsty voiceover saying some shit like, “Do you ever feel so alone in a crowded room? I’m not like other girls. I’m different. I’m complicated.” I don’t know why I associate that with Hilary Duff but it feels right. I know that’s super dramatic and I swear I’m not as unstable as it makes me sound, but 6 weeks of being outgoing and energetic and nice just to make surface-level “friendships” is fucking exhausting. Realistically I’m doing fine. I think. I just miss having people know me. It was really nice having that American girl to hang with for a few days. And another girl from her school was in Sydney for a few days too so I did some sightseeing and going out with them. Obviously they don’t know me, but they know American college/young adult culture and that went a surprisingly long way. 

Okay enough of all that emo shit. A girl from my work told me she had to get new Vans (the sneakers) because she left hers outside overnight and they were filled with spiders by the morning. FILLED WITH SPIDERS. So filled with spiders that she had to BUY A NEW PAIR OF SHOES. Australia is fucking wild. Another girl from my work had never had a PB&J. And I had never had Vegemite. So on our break we went to the brekky bar and had a cute little cultural exchange moment. Vegemite was fine, I guess. I just don’t really get it. It tastes kind of like ass and you’re supposed to use such a small amount… because it tastes like ass… so I don’t really know why anyone would go out of their way to put a little bit of ass on their toast. Is there nutritional value? I can’t imagine it’s anything a vitamin can’t do? And a vitamin is less painful than ass toast? And if it’s not supposed to have nutritional value then I really don’t get it? My coworker was appalled by the amount of peanut butter and jam I put on her sandwich, though. She kept asking me if I was sure I was doing it right. She didn’t like the PB&J that much either. So overall I guess it wasn’t a super successful cultural exchange. 

What else… I’ve been pretty into the McChicken recently. My favorite late-night maccas snack. Oh, I haven’t been wearing makeup out because I could still have the conjunctivitis bacteria in my eyes. You know that moment when you’re kind of drunk and you look at yourself in the bathroom mirror at the club? And it’s like you’re seeing yourself for the first time? And you’re like, “Damn, I look like that? I hope the real world has better lighting.” That’s a tough moment when you’re au naturale. 

I’m officially a proper tax-paying member of Australian society! I got my tax file number last week so now I’ll get taxed 15% (I think?) instead of 40-50% (I think?). I don’t know the specifics, I’m not an accountant or a nerd. I just know my tax rate is a lot more reasonable with this little number. And I can apply to get all of it back at the end of my year anyway. I am getting paid into my Australian bank account, though. And I don’t actually have a bank card for that account yet. I went to the bank my first day in Syd to activate my account and the woman said they couldn’t mail cards to temporary addresses (i.e. hostels). And then she said I couldn’t just have it sent to the bank. The kicker is, I know for a fact they can send it to a specific branch and I can physically pick it up. It’s on their website and I know people who did that. But whatever. I’ll figure that out later. Just add it to the list. Not being able to immediately spend money is realistically a positive in my current situation. I’m only booked at this new hostel for a week. So in case you were worried I would ever find stable accommodation… don’t be. I’ve still got New Year’s and beyond to stress about! Can you imagine how boring this blog would be if I had my shit together?

P.S. The featured image on this post is from my trip to the zoo during my first week here. I haven’t been taking a lot of pictures and I need to start doing that. I’m in Australia and my Instagram is basically dead.