Where's It All Headed

I just had to get out this morning. Tether, at end of. Not for any reason. Every one was nice, it all went off without a hitch. But it’s been going on since Thursday, since I got there. Just had enough of people. Needed space, time for me.

It’s still hot. Bolago was like Queensland; hot, wet, I never stopped sweating.

I was just playing around with Joan Withers, I have never written her down. The drag queen story that goes around in my head. She’s my torch song drag queen; you know, ever since every little gay boy saw Torch Song Trilogy, no matter how much he denies it, he has one. Its been going through my head for years and I've never written her down. You know, there are so many stories’s running through my head, at any given minute, I should try to write some of them down. I have to channel my dream-boatness, perhaps?

I was playing around with the explorer set-up of my computer - new files, new folders. (Do I need a life?) - sorting Joan with a batch of songs that would be appropriate, when I came across a picture of Tom from 1999. It made me cry. My sweet friend.

I should have gone straight to the hospital, on my home from Bolago. You idiot!

Am I trying to do too much? I’m doing some washing, Tim and Nicholas’s washing was in the washing machine, so I hung it out. Unprovoked acts of kindness. Or do I just like to finger Nicholas' jocks? (Maybe, if they weren't clean) It all seems to be running at a million miles an hour, life, but I suddenly feel like I’m just not going any where. I want to be a bloody great success. Feel successful inside, not what other people thing, not trappings of. Feel I have achieved. Feel I have done something worth while. I’m surrounded by high achievers.

The house is quiet. I wonder if I’ll ever be a published writer. It’s all in my own hands, to be sure. I feel sad about wasting time. I feel sad about the time I’m wasting now.

Two steps away, Patti Labelle. That song always makes me cry. The first time I heard it, I was driving over to mum’s, I burst into tears. It's now playing...

Is it bad to plan how your life will change when your mother dies? Not that I want her to die, don’t get me wrong. But is it bad to be doing the additions now, even late at night as you are drifting off to sleep; with a beautiful forest beyond the window to gaze at, in the sharp moon light? I want to pay off my mortgage, buy a small house some where in Fitzroy. Write during the week, help Mark and Luke with Bolago House functions, on the weekends. Could I live on two thousand a month? The rent from my place?

Would I just piss the time away and be alone?

Alone. I’d feel alone. I will never, ever see my father again. What is it Chriso? How are you? Good to see you? Two fantastic parents gone; one of the great sadness’ of life. You lose your protectors and friends, unconditional, just when you need them most; when life has started to grind you down. You’re real tribe gone. You are on your own buddy.

There is a picture of my (long since deceased) dog under my desk, gathering cobwebs, like his and my life is. My buddy. My best friend. I hardly remember him now.

I’m listening to Cindi Lauper.

Should I get out of Mark and Luke’s life? For my life? Am I just taking the easy way out? Is it weird? Or is it fantastic? I don’t know.

I’m doing my washing.

My life would change with a lover. If I wrote and didn't work, I’d kind of, in a sense, be like Mark when he and I met. I was like really together – a career, my own house with no mortgage.

I don’t feel successful.

Am I doing too much? I have no idea. I just know, that I should work as hard as I can, surely it can’t kill me, it must be good for me. Doing good acts, that’s what it’s all about.

I know, I only ever operate on 80%. Not bad on dope… for ten years. How do I kick it up to 100%? I don’t know. Does anyone? The thing I do know is that when people have snatched glimpses of it, it has scared them.

How do I become the potential I am? On every report card?

I can’t fake it, fantasies now seem hollow. I can’t masturbate over someone any more, unless there is some chance that it could come true. I’m beginning to feel that about life.

How do I write some bloody great thing? Where do I start?

I reckon I know what it would feel like. Like some ordinary piece of writing some how got away from me and I wouldn't really know why. Just got a life of its own and there I’d be clueless in the middle. How glorious it would be.

I wonder what that roller coaster would really feel like?

I have no one to talk to. That is another of the great sadness’ of life. In the end, when it really comes down to it, you know, the crunch, act or not, you don’t have anyone to talk to. When you have to act! And one of the funniest ironies of life, that’s when people find you truly attractive.

I feel like I’m the only person who doesn't.

I didn't share in Mark’s dream, so he found some one who did.

With the other’s, I was too scared.

Leah? My first true love. What a bloody great shame to have been gay. What a different life...

How do we teach children that they are free to decide, with anything in their lives? How do we teach our children they are powerful enough to decide? And that they will probably be all right. That they shouldn't settle for second best. They shouldn't be scared.

Idiots with credit cards, it’s what’s wrong with the world; full of people who just didn't quite make it, drowning under debt. No wonder the world is pissed off.