I called and made an appointment at the high security aged care facility, for Lottie. Finally, I had done it. I’d had the phone number for a week, but, I’d been sick and it had been scratching at my mind the whole time. Lottie, Lottie, Lottie! The old place wants to turf her out, apparently too obstreperous. There I’d done it.
Immediately, my thoughts were on other things. A reward. Medicinal.
It was about 19.00, when I started to give it serious thought. Actually, it started earlier. Maybe, 17.00. When I was stacking the wood, what time was that? I'd just got back from the supermarket, firelighters and cigarettes. Oh yes, did I mention that? All through my cold last week, like a chimney, I'm incorrigible. My car didn't want to start with the first or second turn of the key, after I came out of the supermarket. But the wood man said in an hour, that's why I drove, you bastard thing, I had to be quick. “You've just got to go!” and it just started. I don't even believe you can “will” something to happen. An inanimate object? Please? The parking inspector was there, standing in the car park next to the one I chose. I was parked before I noticed him, as it so turned out. So, I took notice of the time, It was 14.30.
It was cold and I wanted a fire, now! The fire wood was on its way. I was out cutting wood for the fire. “Bring! bring!” Was that my door bell? I nearly didn't hear it, I was at the back of the yard. Can you imagine, after my sob story? That really is an hour, yay for ABC Wood! Yay for me. Cute, Italian delivery boy, with a stutter, which only made him more adorable. Forty, forty five. Lean, tight. I would have blown him. He backed his ute in the back, badly, on an angle. Oh, let me do it. All looks and brawn, like that is a bad thing, you say. Tilt and it was off, crooked. And he was gone. There, I’d done it.
Well, it was after that, when I sat on the back porch and had a ciggie.
Everybody thinks I am just going to make my mind up and go back to work. But, today, I decided that not working was a valid choice too. So, it was go back to work, or not work and enjoy it and feel guilt free. They were the choices, that's what it came down to, that’s what I decided. After 10 weeks off. And there, on the wicker chair on the back veranda, I decided that I am not going to work this week, and I am going to enjoy. Reassessment, next Monday. There, I’d done it.
So, I decided that I was going to act like I'm unemployed and I decided to call Guido and get some pot. It took me a while, perhaps 2 hours, I agonised over the decision, did I want to be that person? Didn’t I want to smoke less, not more. So, I started to really think seriously about it at 17.00 and I called 19.00 and I was there by 19.30. Nice joint hello, lovely.
"So, what have you been up to?
Light and easy. Guido is on light and easy? Guido? I got the full low down on Light and Easy, telling me it's virtues. "I don't care as long as I'm not hungry, if I'm not hungry. Food isn’t that important to me. It’s cheap, cheaper than the supermarket.”
It was a surreal moment.
"I'm beginning to feel it for the first time, mate. Gotta do something. If I still want people to think I'm half decent, I've gotta be half decent.” He was scratching his neck. “There is no way around it. There are no free lunches, as I'm always telling you. If I want people to continue to think I'm fit, I have to be fit." He shook his head. "You have to give 100%, all the time. 7 days a week, if you want to make it in any thing you do. Otherwise you are fucked and one of the poor people. Fuck that. Fucken do it when you can, so you can still enjoy it when you can’t."
The joint was kicking in, he lost me at feel it for the first time.
We watched Winners and Losers and some dating show, with an annoying straight boy who had to find the chickee babe of his dreams. He had beautiful eyes, though, and we decided that the best thing he could do was to die and donate his eyes to medicine.
I decided not to tell Shane or Sam. Not that I’m going to lie. I’m just not going to tell. Simple as that. It’s just for me. It’s for writing, I know, I write better when I’m stoned. Hemingway had booze. What is the difference? It’s my unemployment, anyway, I’ll masturbate if I want to. I don’t usually see Sam until Friday, even if I am seeing him tomorrow night, as it turns out this week. I can be stoned for days on end, writing. Hoo-oo! I don’t have to smoke while he is around, it’s probably a good filter for me, a break, a breather, anyway.
But... Sam messaged me.
What are you doing? Why so quiet?
I’m watching TV.
Why aren’t you picking up the home phone?
Dam! ...I’m watching TV with Guido.
Too engrossed to pick up the phone?
I’m at Guido’s.
Pot head.
Even so, he doesn’t need to know I bought any. Offer no information. Surely, that’s not lying.
I buzzed home. I only had the one joint at Guido’s, as soon as I’d got there, I’d been there three and a half hours. I was making good time home, despite getting every red light. I did my tiny side street cut through, to get around the street blockages. I turned up the first side street, to see a cop car parked across the corner blocking the way I wanted to go. There was a man being made to stand at attention, surrounded by six coppers. I could see their epaulets and the whites of their eyes. There were two more cop cars behind the first one. I stopped and went to reverse, but at the last minute I just wanted to get out of there, so I turned right instead of left and headed along the other section of the t-intersection opposite to the way I’d usually go, only to find the big side street I wanted was still blocked off at that point. So, I had to back up again, bloody hell, beam me out of here! I was stoned, after all, but only a little bit, but it would still show up in any test. And I had pot on me, of course. Guido is quite generous, he’s always had a soft spot for me. He always gives me a big bag. At the last minute before I stopped altogether, I saw a lane way diagonally across from where I was and shot forward and turned up there, just to get clear and away from all that blue and white. It turned out to be a dead end and I had to reverse again. And while all of those mistakes, were caused by the angle of the cop car, blocking my way in the very first place, the coppers should know that, I was still driving around somewhat like, well let’s say, in a fashion that would draw attention to myself.
Relax. Drive back to the main road, turn right, just relax. I took the long way around after that, determined not to be noticed again. Could you imagine? Blah. Who needs that? And it’s all 40ks, around my place; it is the, shall we say, relaxed drivers optimum. Cruise home on slow, smiling all the way. The bitumen mesmerizingly clean, due to the recent down pour of rain.
I was home sitting on my back veranda at 23.00, decisions made having my first J.
I’m going to get those tiny filters and I’m going to roll joints without tobacco, by hand. It is a skill I realise I have, just recently, after how many years, it’s ridiculous. The secret is the roach, or the filter, it gives you the cylinder shape so easily. Through necessity, at Sam’s place, late one night, on the way back from Bolago, no machine. He was gobsmacked.
I’m going to have two in the morning and two in the afternoon (and a bedtime j, let’s be realistic) But that’s all. Nothing more. I can’t turn into "trough man", surely, I can do it?
No tobacco, so you see it is practically smoking aversion therapy. It’s a distraction and I don’t feel the nicotine withdrawal. When this runs out, I will be over my nicotine withdrawal with even noticing it.
They were the promises I made.
Guido said no food after dinner, nothing until breakfast. Those words just made me think of plum jam toast, late.
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