Glued to the Lips

I’ve been over to mum’s to cut her lawn. It’s 39 degrees here today and 42 tomorrow. 

Oh, listen here Heuy, enough with the heat already. Fucken hell, we’re all fucken baked, don’t you get it, you big fucken myth. Get your big, white hand back on the wretched dial and crank it back a few notches to the left.

Who the fuck would have lawn? Do you know how much maintenance lawn needs. It seems like I have only just gone over and cut it, and it needs cutting again.

Still mum was pleased to see me, and that is the main thing. She rustled me up some lunch. We had a chat for a little while. She didn’t want me to go. It breaks my heart that she is lonely. She says she is lonely at night, on her own. The days don’t bother her so much, and most days she is doing something anyway.

Then it was a short drive across the Eastern Suburbs to see Tom.

Tom cried, welled up maybe, when I told him that Josh (and everyone) had been thinking of him every day. He said to thank Josh and that he could feel all the positive chi coming his way in I.C.U. Or something like that.

Today he was resplendent with such scabby lips, the likes of which I have never seen on anyone before. He says he’s not sure if they are cold sores, or not. He said he thinks that the tubes are actually glued to the lips in ICU, rather than stitched. He’s not sure if the scabbiness is a direct result of that.

He drank out of my drink when I first got there. He was gracious when I turned down another sip.

It’s hot! Hot! Hot! FUCKEN HOT!

I’m off to Bolago in a mo to escape from the swelter, but I thought I should write something first.

I’m supposed to be at Bolago working on my script with Aby, as I type. I dunno, I seem to feel that everyone wants a piece of me, at the moment and yet mostly I’ve been scuttling off to my bed room for early nights.

Tim and Nicholas have been fighting, lately, which has been a reason for heading to my room. Which I don’t mind, I love my bed so. Shut the door, shut the world out and I am washed over with that lovely feeling, alone at last.

And the heat hasn’t helped. I’m such a petal when it comes to the heat. I’d choose cold over hot, if I had to choose.

So, there you go.

Now I’m going to drink tea, smoke a couple of joints, pack me stuff and pop on my broom and whisk myself away north.

Cackling all the way!