Weekend football

Matt and The Bean Stalk

Matt, actually, has the perfect set of genes for me. Italian. Thick, black hair. And the perfect bulge in the front of his jeans. I don't think about him that way, never have. He's been a friend for too long, not to mention now being Shane's boyfriend. You would have thought that I'd have been attracted to him from the moment I met him? But I didn't. I never have, actually. He's always been a friend's friend, or someone's boyfriend.

But, just lately, yesterday and the last time I was on drugs, something had happened in my brain. Yes, the last two times. Suddenly, out of the blue, for no apparent reason, I've tuned into the bulge in Matt's pants. Yes, like all good Italian boys, he packs a great pants bulge. Like an inverted triangle; the very tip is attached at his arse and the rest just flows out into the full bloom of something beautiful. Bumping out, creasing in the middle at the bend in his bulge; lying sideways, coiled perfectly to the left.

Packed, checked daily by their mothers until they are sixteen, kissed until they are ten. With all that love and all that nurturing, how can they not turn out to be the prettiest peckers ever.

We were in jangly, jitter, post party morning; we were operating in staccato, strobe was the mood - big eyes, broken movements, short sentences. I was sitting on the floor with my elbows on the coffee table. Shane and Matt were on the couch opposite, playing with the iMac. Matt was sitting level with my eye height. Shane and Matt were chatting together, lost in each other's company and lost in new technology. I was drifting, listening to music; quiet, subdued, really patchy. I think I had the twitches. I was facing Matt directly. I was just naturally looking at his lap, they were the levels we just happened to be at.

Naturally, Shane has told me about Matt's dick. Big, thick, uncut. A monster, from all accounts. "Well, a beautiful monster," said Shane.

Nice and full, like a fist, pushed out, packed, pulsing. Or was I pulsing? I was looking before I even knew that I was. Something beautiful, you couldn't help but look. I was drinking it in. There was something solid and tubular, thick, seemingly straining, a little, at the wrap of the denim. He's got nice, thick thighs to frame it.

Matt fills his jeans, mighty fine. I gazed at him, bulging out, freely.

Mark and Luke came back, I barely remember them. Oh, messy, I admit. Really out of it. I think my third was kicking in. I sat up and tried to talk, but it was difficult. I just felt like lying still and letting the moment wash over me. Luke and Matt were rolling joints, they seemed to be coming from all directions.

I glance at Matt. He was looking at the iMac screen, smoking. His eyes darted away from my glance, as I looked up. he glanced back, smiling. He looked away. Oh, yes. I see, I thought. You've noticed me looking.

Shane was in explanation mode, in Matt's ear.

Matt was smiling, coyly. Blushing. He spread his legs to push forward - I gazed down at his package, it moves up and then slides towards me, his cock is pointing upwards, to Matt's face. I can see the out line of the big vein that runs underneath, pushing up into the denim of his jeans. - to give the joint to Luke. But Luke doesn't respond.

"So who... " said Matt.

I look up to see him looking over at me. As our eyes meet, Matt laughs, kind of self-conscious. Tries to subdue the smile. I take the smoke, he goes back to Shane. Matt glances back and then looks away.

I decide to keep my gaze on his face, to see what he is looking at. He keeps sneaking looks at me. Smiling. Turned on, just the smallest bit, I could sense it. He was twitchy. And distracted.

He looked at me. He looked again. He glanced for a third time, to see me catch him looking again. He smiled. He looked back at the iMac.

He looked. He looked again. He waited a moment, then he looked again. The cheeky smile staid on his face.

"Matt?" I said. He looked instantly. I hold the joint out to him. He stopped smiling and took the joint.

"Thanks."

I sit back down on the floor and rest my head in my hands, with my elbows on the coffee table. I exhaled deeply. Matt glanced down at me. I smiled and raised my eyebrows. He looked back at the iMac screen.

I'm exhausted. I wonder what time it is? I want to go to bed, but I can't summon the energy to head up stairs. Besides, I'm in the middle of obsessing about Matt. I usually obsess about some one when I'm on pills, usually someone out, who I flirt with gently. It's never normally, well, hardly ever, about friends, certainly never about a friend who has a boyfriend, who is also a friend. No, that never normally happens. But, there I am, obsessing about Matt. Not sure why? There you go.

The TV is on. At some stage there was a Will & Grace DVD playing.

I close my eyes, it is peaceful, quiet. I wonder what I am doing? I should just go to bed.

I open my eyes up to Matt's legs. Up a fraction more. His legs are open to me, little matt is pushing up against the denim. Quite a mound. A hand suddenly goes over Matt's bulge. Now, it looks like he is feeling himself up. It's hot. He seems to have the same thought at the same moment, and the hand disappears again.

Nobody can see me, except Matt, my hands are around my face. I followed the stitching through the middle of the pants, from underneath. Slid my eyes over the contours of his balls. Slid my tongue up his shaft. Sniffed his pubic hair. And what a nice Italian boy, is he, I thought.

I slid my eyes up to Matt's face. His eyes darted back to the iMac. He was wide-eyed. His face was intense. He was smiling broadly. He was blushing... flushing red.

He glanced back. Smiled, as he looked away.

Glanced back. Smiled, as he looked away.

Glanced.

The smile didn't come off his face.

He looked at me and made big eyes, quickly. He held my gaze, looked away beaming, despite himself.

I've never seen him look so handsome.

Mark and Luke left. It must be time for me to go to bed, I thought. Time to stop.

  

Slow Down You Move Too Fast

 I don't feel anything. I feel numb. It's like it has all just stopped, that very moment in musical chairs when the tune is shut off. That moment of silence when you are still racing, about to make a run for it.

Everything has stopped.

It's like my brain hasn't caught up yet. I still catch myself thinking I need to iron a shirt. Or, I think I shouldn't be sitting up watching The Late Show. I shouldn't be watching a movie in the afternoon. I still feel that anxiousness. I still feel as though there is something else I should be doing.

Total freedom makes me edgy.

I think it's because we are all taught to work for the future. We are trained to look to tomorrow and security. The govt even takes 9% because, even though we are going to slog our guts out all our lives, there is going to be no one to look after us when we need to have someone wipe the shit off our arses.

I can't relax, just yet. It's the silent scream.

Deep Sea Diving

Those Annoying Phone Calls

I've been getting a lot of those annoying phone calls, now that I'm home during the day; sales people, discount opportunities, time share, name a planet, buy gold, "This is your lucky day," who are as sunny as sunny, with their, Australian-as-apple-pie, speak.

Usually, I just ignore them - yes, I do screen calls - and the answering machine kicks in but there is no message left. Lately, I've answered a few.

Too the last girl, I spoke to yesterday afternoon, "This is Jenny here from blah, blah and blah, how are you today, sir?" I said, quick as a flash, "You've just caught me masturbating here, so if my breathing changes that's all it will be. Please go on."

Click. Dial tone. Gone.

I looked at the receiver with disbelief. Smirk. Bingo, I thought. Big smile. Not so hard.

I read recently that if Jesse Metcalf was chocolate... we'd all have stained brown mouths.

Just gorgeous.

Jesse Metcalf reminds me of my old housemate Nicholas, more than a bit, to tell you the truth

Chocolate around the lips...

What's the Difference?

What's the difference between a Catholic priest and acne?

Acne waits until you are thirteen before it comes on your face.

 

I Want an iMac

Wednesday night, Shane was depressed about his birthday, the following day. He’d tried to organise a simple dinner, but soon realised that he still can’t put Mark W and Matt together in the same room. They don't play well together. Mark W thinks Matt broke up his relationship with Shane. Matt thinks Mark W should go away, like a good ex-boyfriend. Mark W relented in the end, but Matt wasn't about to shift on the matter.

But it’s also about everyone having a good time, with everyone there because they want to be... not under sufferance. You might as well not try, even if they did both agree to attend.

In the end Shane decided that it was just too difficult. His birthday was ruined. Crap! That was how it felt to him, the birthday boy.

Mark W came over about 10.30 Thursday night, pissed and stoned. He drove to his place - I tried to object as he was drunk, but he insisted - and got us dope, when we told him we didn’t have any ourselves.

We took valium, washed down with red wine. We smoked pot. What the hell was I thinking? I couldn’t put two words together, in the end. Then I passed out, as the Madonna DVD went on.

Yesterday, I took David to the airport to go to Hawaii. He's running another yoga retreat, on yet another tropical Island. He's going to Bali on another, in October. He went to Bali a few months ago. And when he's sick of Melbourne, he packs up and takes himself off to Port Douglas and does yoga on the beach, which always prove successful. I can understand when David looks me in the eye and says, I love my life.

I went to mums and mowed her lawn and ate pizza for lunch. She wanted me to go to the movies, but I burned her off on that idea. I came home and weeded the garden - anything as a distraction to writing, hey - and bought tickets for the Tasty party.

We went out for Shane’s birthday; me, Shane, Matt and Sebastian. We went to Anada first, but when they didn’t have a table, we went to Birdman Eating, which wasn't so good and then, when Anada called us to say a table was ready, we went there. We drank vodka and red wine and played with the waiter, Miguel, from Canada. He had a very handsome Clarke Kent look. We got him to take his glasses off, just to see how he looked - just to see if he turned into Superman. We'd consumed much alcohol by that stage. And then we got him to take them off again for the tip, just for the hell of it. Nice boy, very cute. Lovely, really.

Nick met us afterwards, Sebastian's boyfriend.

We came home and, after Sebastian and Nick left and Matt fell asleep on the couch, we played with Shane’s perfect-way-to-cheer-himself-up-when-all-your-friends-are-being-bitches, new iMac, as Matt slept on the couch.

All I can say is WOW! I SO want one!

We took photos. We made videos. We did Warhol portraits and roller-coaster rides. I wanted to wake Matt, filming it, as he crankily came back to reality, one of the things we do when we are pissed or stoned, and quite possibly bored, as Matt always falls asleep on the couch. We see how many times Shane can annoy him before he wakes and cracks it. Shane does the pestering, I laugh and clap. (Lucky that Matt is really good natured for an Italian) But Shane didn't want Matt used as a play toy, last night... for some reason.

Matt would have been fine, once he saw the new computer. He's as big a techno head as Shane. Matt runs an on-line business. He would have been instantly captivated.

We were only messing around with the iMac and the thing is amazing! Even the way it set up, really smooth.

White dog

Conspiracy Theory

Barack Obama assignation attempt? Even the news bulletin, at the time, said that the seriousness was undetermined. Which seemed to say that it was a media beat up.

So, is this the right wing, through conservative ownership of news corporations, seeding the nuff nuff's out their, putting the idea into one of their heads. And now that it's out there... It's always the ends justify the means with conservative, right-wing thinkers.

The interviewed nuff nuff said it was because he didn't want a black man to run the united states... in a toothless, southern drawl. Give the demented the idea and watch them follow through.

Otherwise, why even give it air play? It can't just be for a headline, surely? It seemed like the biggest load of rubbish, not a credible threat, at all.

Lucky Pam

The Iron Lady

THE daughter of former prime minister Margaret Thatcher tells how her mother's dementia has left her struggling to remember the simplest facts in book extracts published in Britain today.
Carol Thatcher wrote that, on her worst days, her mother struggles to finish sentences, but shows occasional glimpses of her old self, particularly when talking about her time in Downing Street.

Just die you evil cow!
I wonder if she remembers "Section 28?" (Because the rest of us do)
For all the young gay kids who don't know, look it up to see the legacy this old bitch left.

Bloom

What Am I Doing?

Ah! What am I doing? I haven't written much. I haven't ridden my bike. I haven't stopped smoking. I haven't done all of those annoying things that I was going to get done once I had a little time. I've just been pissing around on the internet, for the most part. Ah!

Did you know there is a blog for selling ocean-going cargo ships?

Another morning is slipping away.

The sun is shining and the sky is blue and I can smell Spring in the air, yes I can.

OMG! I can waste time at the speed of sound.

And the worst part is that, right at the moment, unless I think about it, I don't really care.

I guess, I'm allowed to have some time off, of course. And I guess it is all just a part of winding down. It's drummed into us to achieve, achieve, achieve!...

Oh, big breath. Get some perspective. Put my feet up. Stop thinking. Stop. Just got to stop.

Perhaps, I might go back to bed?

Or maybe, as my mother used to say to me when I was a young boy, Why don't you sit down and write a story.

Labyrinth

Lovely Monday

Oh, what a beautiful morning, I thought, as I sat on my back veranda drinking my morning coffee, bathed in sunshine, gazing up at the blue sky, watching my cigarette smoke swirl around in the gentle breeze, reflected in the rays of light.

The start of a brand new week. I could get to like Mondays, I thought. Who'd have thought?

The lavender bushes have purple buds all over them, lined up along the fence running up the side of the court yard. They are like small, mauve, torpedoes, pointed to the sky, not fully formed. My lemon-scented Geranium has filled out just how I had hoped it would; bushy, filling the terracotta pot entirely. The leaves give off a pungent lemon smell, as I crush them between my finger tips. I brush my hand across my nostrils and breath in the taste of lemon acid drops. The cactus' leaves are pulled down by the weight of abundance of scarlet flowers, like ballerinas pirouetting in the breeze. Where, once, the white azalea used to bloom like a princess' bonnet, a sphere of delicate white petals, now grows a succulent, crimson on one side of its leaves and green on the other.

I watch the fish swim in the pond, dazzled by their orange scales, as the surface of the water fractures with the sun's light, like crystal reflecting orange facets, as the fish swim underneath.

The waterlilies have bloomed with buttercup yellow flowers, dotted amongst the green foliage.

Missy purrs loudly, as she reaches up to my leg with her paws. I reach over and pat her, feeling the sensuousness of her soft fur against the palm of my hand.

 

Bolt smolt... Asafa is mighty fine

What Exactly Is The Guy On The Right Looking At?

Asafa Powell

Sunday

The country was grand. Luke's back, he had a great time. "I can't believe how fucking cold it is, though," he said. He bought back some beautiful woven materials.

I had lunch at my sister's, with my family, Saturday. My sister lives in the country, the next town to Bolago. We tagged some lambs and put rings on their tails. We helped the little, sickly new borns, in the barn with their mothers for protection from the cold, drink from their mother's teets for the first time. We all hung over the pen walls, as my sister positioned the lambs correctly, as my brother in law held the mother. When the tractor was backed out and something was said about feed in the paddocks, I decided it was time to leave.

I drove back to the city this morning, to go bike riding with Charlie. I was nervous. We had coffee, instead. Of course, I didn't get his text message yesterday, confirming that we were still on, because Bolago has no reception. I didn't get it until I was driving out of the drive way this morning. He'd had a late night, so he didn't wake till midday. He came over in the afternoon. I stupidly made him sit out side in the cold, at the cafe, because, of course, I wanted to smoke. So I was cold rather than relaxed. Then he came back to my pace and we drank coffee and chatted. When he said he should go, I just stood up and said okay then. Stupidly. Just not thinking. You know when you regret something the moment you've done it. I should have said, you don't have to. He'd already said he wasn't doing anything tonight.

You're a Star

You're a star! You pulled off the highest scoring dive in Olympic history to win gold.
Congratulations!

It's amazing the homophobia that comes out at the very mention of an athlete being gay.
"What does his sexual orientation have to do with winning gold?"
"We don't report that athletes are heterosexual, so why would do we have to mention they are homosexual?"
"Who gives a damn about his sexual orientation."
"Matthew being gay is totally irrelevant to him winning gold! Why bring it up?"
It's still true, that most people would still like us to shut up about being gay, presumably so they can continue to be bigots unchecked.
Although, I did kind of like this comment...
"I just wanted to say the relevance of this athlete being openly gay is simply that nearly all countries involved in this Olympics would not send an openly gay athlete. In fact, there are approximately 85 countries that would send him to prison instead, and some countries where he would be executed. It is a wonderful opportunity for Matthew Mitcham to have such comfort and acceptance as he wins gold for our country, as well as setting a leading example to other countries that are not so accepting."

I'm sorry for straying off the point into gay rights. When the message should have simply been...
Go Matt. What a wonderful comeback. What a fantastic achievement.

Aw! Cute!

Jones said Milne would have been the initiator because "to try to make people feel uncomfortable" he often comes up from behind teammates and grabs their hands. Explained Jones: "Most blokes pull away but it seems Justin's quite happy there."

May 2005

The Men in My Life

I've got a date with Charlie, Sunday. Ha, ha. We're going to have lunch and then go bike riding along the Yarra. How sweet.

Luke comes home from Cambodia today. Yay! It'll be good to see him, it seems like he's been gone forever. I've missed him.

My brother is down from Brisbane. Who cares. Sad, but true. It's funny that I enjoy the company of men, but I don't enjoy the company of my brother. We could have been the best of mates, but, really, we can barely communicate with each other.

Can You Imagine These Boys in the Shower Together?

I can...

How Sweet

Our Sexiest Aussie Swimmer

Nice smile, Andrew

Andrew Lauterstein

How Cute is James Franco?

And Sean Penn gets to snog him in the up coming movie about Harvey Milk.

Would this encourage you not to wear fur?

Janice Dickinson with a handful

He Was My Favourite Baldwin Brother, Until...

"I don't believe that gay marriage is in line with God's Word, which is found in the Bible," Stephen Baldwin said. He became a born-again Christian after the attacks on New York on September 11th 2001.

(No one who is having a happy life becomes a born again Christian)

"So, what I think doesn't matter; what I believe is what's in the Bible and the Bible says that gay marriage is not acceptable."

His hard line stance contrasts sharply with his more famous actor brother Alec Baldwin.

(And note, the bible has been changed over the years to suit the political agenda of the times, for all of those people who claim it is the immutable word of god. I think references to homosexual were ever in the bible until the early 20th century)

British Louis Smith

Louis Smith

Aussie Karmichael Hunt

As The Day Fades Away

It's amazing how much guilt I felt lying around in bed watching teev. I don't know how many times I thought I shouldn't be doing this. I guess it's going to take a little longer to wind down?

What did I do this morning? The day just seemed to rush away. I don't remember what I did? And I've only been smoking cigarettes, the registered brand name, you understand. I did wake with a head ache, which I battled all morning, I guess I should mention that. Mark is probably right when he asked me how much water I had been drinking. Usually, at work, I have a glass of water that I drink all day, in the last few days I haven't drunk any. Hence why I was in bed watching Will & Grace. I finally gave into the head ache, with an "Oh fuck it, you win, I'm going to lay my head down."

I remember what I did this morning, something I rarely do, I read my old blog from years passed. It wasn't bad either.

I emailed Charlie and, almost, organised a bike ride together, for the weekend. As long as I don't laugh, as he, inadvertently, bought a girl's bike - although, how you do that, I'm not sure. When I questioned him about it, he said it is a hybrid bike (I know not what that is?) and said that the girl's and boy's versions were practically the same thing. So, it's not a bike with a white, wicker basket and streamers out the handlebars, I'm assuming.

I got up late, 9.30am, which is late for me, even on the weekends I'm up before 9am. I wrote my journal, my private and unpublished one, caught up four days. I watched porn and ate my muesli.

Busy Tuesday

The afternoon sky is grey and cloudy. The light is on soft focus.

I'm lying in bed, with a cup of tea, watching season 6 of Will & Grace.

Yes, it's all go, go, fucken go, here!

Nice Smile, Good Heart

David asked me what I wanted in a boyfriend. I gave him a great, long list; thirty something, same height or shorter, wog boy, hairy chest, job, car, friends, sensitive nipples, foreskin...

Then I said, "Actually, scrap that. All I need is a nice smile and a good heart, everything else is optional."

David said, "Really? That's all you need."

"Yep, that's all I need."

David said he was impressed.

Not sure why.

Two of the Best Looking Boys in the Game

Charlie

I'm supposed to be having brunch with Charlie, today, in Fitzroy. He's been in Singapore, he got back Friday. He seemed keen before he left, saying he wanted to go out together on Sunday. He hasn't messaged me, though.

Should I call him? Should I wait for him? Or should I contact him? I don't know.

I should chase him, standing back (one of my worst habits) never works, unless you are Ford Model; turn his head, wear him down, however you want to put it. Turn him on. Win him over. Make my claim on him obvious; sniff him, smell him, lick him, kiss his lips. Sitting back and waiting for it all to happen, rarely works, I know that. I think it's time to take the man by the, um, er, horns.

But will that be today? I'll see.

 

Looking Good

In the Country

A rainy, old, country day. We went for walks with umbrellas and gumboots; fed the emus and saw how full the new lake is. We went into town and had lunch - we got dinner, when we were there. Neither of us felt like cooking. Then we put our feet up, in front of the open fire and watched the day drift by.

The Last Day

We had drinks, after work, for me and one of the other girls who was leaving, late in the afternoon. The CEO seemed, genuinely, pleased that I was going to return. All of my department said they'd miss after five years in the place, apparently, I'm the one who makes them all laugh. All the HR girls kissed me and said they'd be lost without me. They joked about calling me at home on Monday. The HR Director said she didn't know what she was going to do about all the knowledge, in my head, walking out the door. I blabbed about the writing I was going to do, sometimes I, just, can't keep my mouth shut. I always seem to have to tell everybody everything.

And then it was done. I left at 17.30, having only drank coke, as I wanted to drive to Bolago to see Mark, who got home at lunch time.

I thought I'd feel weird walking out the door for the last time, but I didn't. I guess it was the fact that I wasn't leaving for good, but just for a time. I was thinking more about driving to the country and seeing Mark.

I didn't feel the rush of freedom, as I thought I'd feel, I guess that will come.

Mark W., who is also on six months leave, said it took him 2 months to wind down. I hope it's not going to take me that long, but...

It rained all the way up the Calder, it was glorious to see. Pitter pat on my windscreen, washing the dust away. (I must get my intermittent wipers fixed, they have developed a mind of their own, of late)

3 days

Two more sleeps. I was late yesterday, didn't get there until about 10am. Slept in was the official word. Actually, I pushed up date on my computer, as I was messing around on it in the morning and the damn thing took an hour to download. Bugger! Why stress. Who cares. What are they going to do, sack me?

Sometimes, I have small terrors, like when I'm walking down Bourke Street or driving in my car. They come upon in a shiver, the sense of what-have-I-done rushing in my brain. Who do I think I am, giving it all up? Oh my, my, will I be okay?

I look at the punters around me, standing at the intersection, or my fellow car drivers at the lights.

We're so connected to the mice running on the wheel. Just keep going. Consumerism is the disease, it's killing the world, actually. Keep juggling, Jack... we all get our arses wiped in the end.

I look at there expressionless faces and I know, I want to do something different, even if just for a while.

This is going to be great, I think. I walk on the green man. I slip the car into gear.

Charlie Boy

Charlie went to Singapore this week for a holiday. He said he was disappointed not to be there for my last day. We had lunch together on Friday - he wanted my mobile number and my email address, so he could keep in contact. He said he was on Facebook, but Charlie Chen is a very common name, let me tell you and I can't find him. Who'd have thought. He wants to have brunch on Sunday, he even wants to come over to my side of the city. Yes, he's a southsider.

"Oh?" say my friends when I tell them.

"Prahran?" they ask tentatively.

"Actually, worse," I say.

"Not Brighton?" one friend asked aghast, as if I couldn't even consider such a liaison.

That made me laugh. Brighton people are the real nouveau riche and awful, I have found from my experience.

"No," I say. "He lives in the namesake of the Southside."

No one gets that.

Not that I've got anything to report and I may even be kidding myself quite considerably. It's just a feeling I have... and besides, I like him.

Let's see where Charlie and I can end up?

I think he's cute. I like him. He looks at me with those big, brown eyes.

5 Days

I week to go. 4 shirts to iron. No more washing needed. This time next week I should be, well, asleep, at this time of the day, hopefully. 5 working days and then I'm off for 6 months. A little coffee, a smoke, midday, lovely. Can hardly wait. No more morning alarms.

I, almost, can't be bothered to make the effort today. I'm certainly not going to put too much effort into getting there by 9am. What is going to be my motivation each morning all week? Next Monday, I guess. Just keep thinking about next Monday, that's all I can do.

Ah, the great work ethic. I guess it keeps us all off the streets during the day.

Cristiano Ronaldo... I think I'm in love

Taken in Hand

David just arrived home. "Darling, it is outer fucking Mongolia out there, I tell you." He laughed. "Seriously." David suffers with the cold. Actually, he's just spoilt and pampered and wants his life to be regulated at a constant 25-30 degrees. He's been out working. Met his accountant at Birdman Eating and is now off to yoga. I guess that's one of the advantages of not working 9 to 5, the days get more of an even weighting.

All I've done is turn on my computer, brew coffee and roll a joint.

David cornered me in the kitchen, on Thursday night, with some new self-help book - he's an addicted for self-help books. This one is about unlocking your creative energies, no matter what artistic medium is your own. Bottom line, according to this bitch, I should be able to write 3 pages a day when I'm off work. David has a way of locking into the information presented and not letting it go. I came up with many and varied excuses, all of which were shot down with a dogged determination to stick to the rules as presented.

"So you can't write 3 pages a day?" said David. "Is that what you are saying?"

"Well, um, yes, of course I can, if..."

"Good." At which point he produced a calender and roughly ascertained that I could have my screen play finished by mid-September.

"But, that's if you know what you are writing..."

"A writer writes?" said David. "Isn't that what you always say?"

"Well, um, yes," I offered.

"I get back from Hawaii on September 14th," said David. "I'll expect a finished draft waiting for me to read." He eye-balled me, as if daring me to come up with any more excuses.

I got the distinct impression that David was thinking of writing a book himself, probably a yoga book, from the tone and interest he was taking in the theories behind what he was saying.

I wanted to tell him is knowledge was scant and his interpretation, although I haven't read the book to which he is referring, possibly naive, but... I had no excuses I wanted to use. Truth is, it's nice when someone takes an interest... really. If I want to write, I, actually, have to sit down and do it. May be, I need someone to push me?