I Like To Feel Them Struggle

 Subject: 11.11

Hello

It is a lovely day here, sunny, blue sky. One of the Danish girls have been sick, so Sebastian hasn't been out and about as, I'm sure, he would have liked to. Too much holding her hair out of her eyes, I guess.

Only Tuesday, many days to go before the weekend.

Bigish smile.

Christian

I answered the phone to Mark just as my email appeared on his computer. Spooky, hey?

Subject: Smoking

22.09.05

Maud. Spinster Aunts? Going back to the dirt unopened? I think I’m thrice divorced – or, whatever four is, now I count back – and you? Unmentionable ex-husbands – or, not so unmentionable now – fingers up ya clacker, here sit down on this. Rotate! No, no, no, spinster Aunt relationship, I don’t think so.

Sanity is mere perception and wholly overrated – if you go in for the universally accepted principal of mum, dad, one whole kid and one that bleeds all over everything from his missing other half. It’s a construction to help all the receptionists of the world make sense of their poultry lives – chicken or fish. Chicken or fish? It’s a bench mark for the lowest common denominator, otherwise they’d jump. Not, at all, sure what is wrong with them jumping, myself. If I was hanging onto the rail of the Westgate as support, you know what I’d be saying. “Do the world a favour. You know you want to.”

I’m eating lovely chicken soup and whiling away a few moments before it is off to the dentist with me to have me stitches removed. (not the dissolving type, after all) Yay! At least now, after, I’ll be able to talk properly again.

Oh Jasus! Is that the time. I must now leave you just for a short time.

Goodness me, it costs a pretty penny to keep my teeth beautiful. Have you been to the dentist lately?

Tom got the cancer-free all clear. No tricky little squiggly ones in his bone marrow any longer. Now, if his bladder would just stop bleeding and he would stop throwing up, they might just let him out. He’s down to 61 kilos and if he drops below 60 they are going to put him on a nasal drip feed, which, as you can imagine, he is fighting. But no cancer. There is some question about his kidneys… dialysis was mentioned, so he has decided to stop having that extra lazy hit of morphine just to while away the days.

Aby’s in New York bagging me an Italian skater boy. I want to feel him struggle as Aby hands the cheese-cloth bag over to me at Melbourne Airport. Over the shoulder and home to, well, let’s face it, bed. I want to feel him wiggle, as I have my hand firmly placed on his arse, for transit.

24.09.05

Oh, what a lazy day. Goodness. I got up early, started smoking dope early and went back to bed. It’s now 19.24, I think. Woosh, which way did Saturday go. One could say I’m nearly incoherent on dope. One could say.

I had my stitches out. My mouth didn’t hurt, never more than what felt like pressure on my teeth. Oh, it’s hard to explain. Not pain though.

27.09.05

Have had a constant supply of dope, either my own, or passed to me in a bong by the strapping Nicholas. And I’ve had gorgeous Italian Sebastian staying. I haven’t thought of you once, Doris. Well, I guess this is the once.

Big smile.

Bongs. What is it with the young? No money, I guess.

Tom says that bongs are tantamount to mainlining. She always was so dramatic.

Still licking salt. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. I’m supposed to be fabulously wealthy, by now. And reclusive. Ah, one can dream, I guess.

There’s four of you. Hick! He, he, he.

Zelda.