The Light Is Fading To Black Beyond The Windows

I should have stayed and helped Mark. He said he wasn't sure if he was going to get it all done on his own.

You know, Marks still the one who I think of when I think of getting old with someone. He's the one I think of being in my life forever. He's the one who I wonder how I'll go on living if ever he were not here any more.

You know, Sam just understood that, naturally. Not that there isn’t room for him. The fluidity of relationships, we can make, we do make, have made, them up as we go along. It’s another reason why I don’t care about gay marriage. There’s nothing wrong with love, I just think it draws the model too narrow.

I should be helping Mark when he needs help.

I have got a lot on my plate, though, you know. I'm not exactly slacking off. And he's got Luke.

But, they had guests staying, and I sometimes get antsy when there are guests staying, I'm never sure what I can do, what I want to do. It is hard to relax, despite them getting in the car and going out for the day.

Besides, Mark had got an ounce of pot for his best friend's best friend. Guido supplied it, agreed to do it in future. Mark didn't ask me, he just said he'd put it in my car and his friend Mark's friend (are you keeping up?) would call me.

Okay? Cool. Why not.

As I accelerated onto the highway at 120 k's, I wondered if  I'd feel like Shapelle Corby, if the cops pulled me over, and I dropped back to the legal limit.

Don't smoke any of it, said Mark.

What? I thought. That's like giving an alcoholic booze to deliver. I knew I could get two joints out of it, probably a bit more without causing any alarm. You know, some anal retentive withstanding. Most pot heads are just grateful to have supply returned, they don't notice.

Antsy over gusts, my arse. Who was I kidding. I wanted to leave so I could lay on my couch and get stoned by myself. Sad but true.

I got in the car and left.

Cyndi Lauper sang the blues.

Besides, I'd give someone a bud for reconnecting me to a source, I thought, as I removed a bud from bag one. He'll never notice. It looks no different. I've been stealing dope from dope bags for many years, they never notice, pot heads don't. Automatically, my self-editor kicked into action... ed note - now there's a claim to fucken fame, if ever there is one.

I built an open fire and got ripped.

I think that smoking is bad for me, as I look up bleary-eyed into the darkened room, the open fire's shadows flickering in the room, I snigger, it makes me steal and lie and become reclusive. The light is fading to black beyond the windows.

We've been smoking dope since the election. There is no correlation, it just happens to be the night we broke the drought. I bought some, then Shane bought some. And Sam has smoked quite a lot, despite declaring that he hates it at every opportunity. He still reaches out for it and he still gets a great big hard-on from the effects.

I'm just saying that's too long. I'm not complaining about the outcomes, you understand. Time to give it a break. It's hardly just the occasional one, anyway you read, you know, after two weeks. That much I know.

I eat mandarins and kiwi fruit and bananas. I haven't had a banana in how long? Oh, blush, except for Sam's. I eat yogurt with passionfruit, raspberry jam toast, cumquat jam directly from the jar. I eat honey and yogurt toast, it's like ice cream and maple syrup. Honey and yogurt is a symphony.