What's new in Heatherland? You may well ask, but if you ask at the promenade, you will usually be greeted with silence. BUT NOT TODAY. Here's a brief synopsis.

• Early April: Got very lovely boyfriend.
• Easter: Went to Sydney to visit an old friend, swam at Bondi, walked in the Blue Mountains, talked her ear off.
• End Of May: Went to Christchurch for a few days, saw bands, met Harvest Bird and her dogs, lounged about. Started keeping a gig journal at the newly revamped NZMusic.com.
• June: Got spoiled on my birthday but missed out on dining at delicious because it's closed on sundays.
• Late June: Started feeling knackered. Workload reduced to a trickle, productivity went out the window.
• July: Still knackered. Insufficient to stop me going to occasional gigs, but sufficient to make most other social contact a trial. Apologies where applicable.
• Late July: Revamped site. Workload perked up, I got more productive. Got a cold, hoping that now I'll stop feeling so knackered. Still have boyfriend. He's still lovely. Trying to catch up with old friends that I've been neglecting.

A family funeral thwarted my earnest intentions to blog regularly, and the high-stress event and upturned schedule quite threw me for a six. I took three days off to travel home - Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday - transforming my Monday at work into a logical friday and Friday a logical monday. I expected my abbreviated week to be a relief, but it was just disconcerting. Then two days after I returned, in the context of a weekend that was busier than usual, I developed a fleeting tummy bug, although at its passing I felt better than I had for two months. Granted, I'd attributed my earlier fatigue to the heat, and by then the weather had graciously degenerated.

I rapidly developed a mental cue-card presentation to respond to the inevitable sympathetic clucking I received upon mentioning the recent death of my grandmother. "Died peacefully.. she'd been very ill, so it was a relief, really...funeral was nice, good to see the relatives again...". My own grieving process took the form of little more than feeling extremely cranky and wishing everyone would stop imposing on me their ideas of how I should be expected to feel and just leave me in peace thanks-I-appreciate-the-sentiment-but-waaugh (At this point it may be pertinent to request NO sympathy comments or emails, thanks. I know it's only the thoughtful thing to do, but it still makes me edgy). Definitely not the best headspace to be in for an intensive three-day familyathon, not to mention my dear Mater's not-unreasonable-but-somewhat-in-your-face(-literally) views on grieving. The body was laid in state in my parents' bedroom for a couple of days so that whoever wished could view it. Once I overheard my mother nattering away to her dead mother, nudging her out of the way of the wardrobe door so she could pick suitable funeral attire. I suspect it was only thanks to a couple of the more squeamish relatives that nana wasn't trundled out to the living room to watch TV with us. Probably nana would've gotten a kick out of the idea, actually.

The funeral was nice, short and pertinent, including a brief and admittedly hilarious tribute from a local kaumatua who described his memories of that-pakeha-woman-who-married-that-slightly-ugly-fulla-Mac-Hall. Mater would say "you don't go to many funeral services where everyone's laughing like that, eh!" My ill temper couldn't help but dissipate for and after the service, although the moment the family bowled on back to the 'paca farm, I retired for a brief powernap, only to emerge two and a half hours later. During my stay Mater also insisted on poking my abs a couple of times (and encouraging other relatives to do the same) so obviously the sportfighting is still a braggable novelty. My aunt and uncle shuttled me from and to Auckland, two lazy afternoon trips involving an inexplicable number of stops for coffee and food; this is in stark contrast to the old days when He Who Made Good On Conceiving still had space to fit me into their car, and preferred to indulge in a high-speed night jaunt after work. My aunt and uncle were a touch sheepish, but I'm used to regular stops on bus trips, and appreciate the extra opportunities to stretch my legs. Languid travel suits me, I think, and I like to explore.

As for my grandmother, I didn't see much of her in the years after I left home. This had roughly coincided with my grandfather dying, so my impressions of her in those years tend to the more subdued. Even when I was still at home, I mainly remember visiting for Saturday dinner, and my siblings and me spending most of that time sitting in front of the TV, or exploring the grounds and contents of whichever home she was stationed, generally left to our own devices. My cousin, however, who spoke on behalf of all the grandchildren, remembered longer, more interactive visits. It's common knowledge in our family just how much nana cooked (like - All The Time), but it took my cousin to remind me how much nana laughed. It had been quite awful to see her so ill and frustrated in her last days, but for the rest of her long and sometimes difficult life, she was a star.

It is Thursday afternoon, and the internet's down. Theoretically, this ought to improve my production, except I now have no remote access to the client's servers, hence am incapable of performing the more pressing tasks on my checklist. Normal climate has resumed: the trees outside my window have evolved over the course of the day from dry, to wet, to dry, to throwing their branches about.

VNC info: failed to connect to server.

My throat and ears ache. I'm unclear whether it's a pending cold, or head-muscle strain from giving Susie a beating on Tuesday. My eyes feel like they're bulging out of their sockets: it could be either of the latter, or simply from using them to read 1280x1024 (times two) in my warm, dry office.

I believe right now I may benefit from turning my back on mass media. I'm exhausted from hearing about the state of the planet, and hobbled justice, and angry self-righteous people. I have yet to work out how to shrug off the heaviness. Concentrating on my work, in favour of the good-bad-&-ugly of local political blogs, will probably aid me no end. I may need to take some forceful measures to swear off.

Oh, my internet connection has returned. Two days, two posts, about 550 words, and still nix to say. My current plan is to keep writing rubbish until I can remember how to enjoy writing.