Dreaming and Fretting

Toss. Toss. Turn. Turn. Ah! Oh! Eyes open. Shake head.

I glance over at the clock, it is 6am.

I sit up. I gaze at the dark turning to light, beyond my balcony French Doors.

I dreamt about (my old bitch boss) Belinda again. I was working on a ship. I was really busy, with a full schedule. I was flat out working hard. Then Belinda came along and gave me a number of chores to do. I was trying to get all of my jobs done, so I could do Belinda’s. I was working hard. I was up against it. I just didn’t have the time to get them all finished, but I was trying hard. I was desperate to get them done. I was stressed about no being able to make it.

Then Belinda showed up. “Have you done those things I asked you to do?”

I started to answer her, to tell her that I hadn’t had the time.

“Actually, don’t worry, I will go and check for myself.”

I wonder if I am going to go back to sleep.

I also had my failing at uni dream. It must be the only recurring dream that I have. It is always the same, I am going to a class most of which I have missed up until that point in the year.

I know I am not going to fall back to sleep, I can feel it. I pull out my laptop. I think about coffee.

What am I going to do with my life? I thought. I’m in a fool’s paradise, as they say. Sure, I have enough money to pay for the mortgage for the next year, but that is if nothing else crops up? If no other unexpected expenses come my way. You know, like $2000 for my tooth, suddenly. It would only take a couple of things like that and I’d be screwed. No, really. There is no extra money now, there is no mum to bail me out, there is no dad to ask, there is nothing like that now.

So, do I get a job?

Do I rent out the other rooms in the house?

Do I really want to live with other people? Do you really want to work?

Oh, what to do?

Why can’t I come to a decision? Why am I continually asking these questions, with no semblance of an answer?

Life is hard? (He says nervously thinking about the people dying from dehydration in Africa, or the Japanese who had their lives washed away)

So I start writing an email to Janelle at (insert name of old recruitment agency/employer), but I saved it in “drafts” instead of sending it, first thing, as I ate my breakfast.

I open up Seek and find two jobs that I could apply for. But, do I want to, am I just worrying about going back to work? I’m feeling sick at the thought, feeling like I could never do it, deciding that I wasn't ready, I headed outside. Stupid, I know. I don't know if I am just being self indulgent, or if I have post sacking stress syndrome. Is there such a thing?

I go out in the back yard and clean. Of course, I am looking for a distraction from going back to work, as it is bugging me.

I decided to water my pot plants, enjoy the fresh air, being out in the daylight enjoying the garden. Simple pleasures.

When I was done, I looked up at my car and thought, I really must polish that. I ran my hand across the roof, and think I should just do it then, instead of just thinking about it. I look at my hand, thinly covered in dirt. It needed to be washed first. Oh well, that’s that. What? So, wash it. So, I washed my car. When that was done, I look at the polish I had and it was Kitten Cut No 2, which was for poor or severely weathered paintwork, which I decided my wasn’t. It still had a shine to it, I could see that as the sun reflected in the white paintwork.

I need Kitten Cut No 1.

Oh, really?

So, shrug, I had a nice clean car.

Fuck me!

It was a nice idea.

Then there was the matter of the hibiscus bush, cut out of the front yard last week, lying on the ground next to my car. I guess, I have to cut it up? Oh, it’s going to be a big job? Oh, I can’t do it. Just start by cutting up one branch at a time and see how you go. In fact, get your secateurs and start chopping up the thinner branches, I tell myself. Just start, don’t think about the finish.

I cut it all up, done before I know it. Then I cut up the remaining plant cuttings, the old lilac tree, the rose, which had been lying on the ground for months, many months now. Once I have removed the top layer of debris, the composting layers are then exposed; leaves and small branches, which are now turning into soil, they have laid on top of the paving for so long. I swept the layers of dirt from the bitumen, the years of sedimentary layers, and the specially laid brown concrete paving is exposed for the first time in, oh I don’t know how many years?

Luke arrived with Aby and Lilly. Luke doesn’t hang around, he heads straight back home.

Rob arrives in the very next minute and he and Aby go shopping. Rob still looks mighty handsome. He fills out those jeans so well. And he is such a nice guy.

I was desperately trying to finish the cleaning up operation, you know, clear the other car park so it could be used. Who has an off-street parking car space in the inner suburbs, which is only used to house plant cuttings?

I could probably even rent it out.

I didn’t get the job finished. But, I was fucked by the time I had finished.

I spoke to Sam and he said that he was going to cook fried rice for lunch tomorrow, did I want some.

He sometimes takes food in for lunch and we go and sit by the Yarra and eat it. “Sure,” I said.

He talked about coming over. I said something about a two year old being very noisy and he agreed that maybe he should give me some bonding time with Aby.

“Sure,” I said.

Aby had eaten with Rob. She was suffering from sciatica and asked if I had any painkillers. I had strong painkillers from my toothache, prescription painkillers, no less. She was pleased to get them and then headed to her room.

I ate soup for dinner, during which I called Sam on video telephone call. I told him I was on my own and that he should have come over.

He said never mind and asked what time I’d be over for lunch?

“Come over to your place for lunch?”

“Yep, it will be easier to cook at my place than your place anyway, that way I have more ingredients.”

“You are going to be home tomorrow?”

“What? Oh, I don’t believe you? Really? You are so vague?”

“What?”

“Tomorrow is Cup Day.”

Oh, I thought. Everything just fell into place, like dominoes falling, the lunch, coming over after work, all of it. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“Why do I have to tell you it is Cup Day?”

“You must know by now, every day is the same to me.”

Which it is. Cup Day. Show Day. Who cares!

Damn! I think. He already thinks I’m vague.

“Oh please, you are kidding aren’t you?”

Aby came down and filled her fuzzy red fur covered hot water bottle and went to bed some where before 10pm.

I went to bed somewhere after 10pm. It’s a bit early, I guess? Why not, I thought? I love my bed. I don’t have to stay up until 3am just because I can.

Shane was at night school.

Relaxing

I can feel it coming in the air tonight

Day in the Country

 Sam and I went for walks in the forest, around the lake, across the long sweeping lawn clearing to the creek. It was a lovely day, even if the weather wasn’t perfect, it was in its less than perfect way. Cool and damp can be as perfect as sparkling and sunny.

We smoked pot and watched teev. The weather was wintery.

Lilly had the run of the house, as children seem to have now. She’s only two but boy is she loud. Why is that? The whole house has to change it’s behaviour to accommodate children? Why is that the case now a days?

Of course, it meant we couldn’t smoke pot inside, which, of course, meant we didn’t get to smoke much pot at all. Which is the real point here, of course, I like to smoke pot at Bolago, not really I do. Bugger the children, I couldn’t help but think. Bugger the children running the world!

Other than that, it was a lovely, relaxed day.

The only thing we really had to do was take Sam to say good-bye to Brian’s parents, Sam's ex boyfriend who he still lives with. Yes, he wanted to say good bye to the ex-parents inlaws. How much do you think they know? Not that I’m making any claims, my family still thinks Mark is my boyfriend.

We were supposed to be driving Aby and Lilly home with us. They were to stay until Wednesday, when they’d return to Bolago for the last couple of days of their trip.

Brian’s parents had been in Melbourne for 3 weeks, but were going home tonight, who Sam, as yet, had not seen once.

“What time did you say their flight left?” I asked as the clock struck 7pm.

“Midnight.”

“Won’t they have to be at the airport 3 hours before that?”

“I guess.”

“And it will take us an hour to get home, even if we left right now.”

“Oh,” said Sam. “We have to leave, don’t we.”

“That we do, pumpkin.”

Aby was in the shower with Lilly, so she said it was okay, she’d come down with Luke tomorrow.

I dropped Sam off at his place to say good-bye to the relatives.

I smoked cigarettes with Shane. Bad Christian.

I sat up watching TV until late.

The Urge for Death Had Now Passed

I woke up and the pain was gone. Lovely, lovely, lovely. I was ready to do myself in yesterday, but the urge for death had now passed.

We went to Bolago. We ate Japanese in Carlton, on the way.

The sun was shining, it was a lovely day for a drive to the country.

Besides, I was going to see Aby for the first time in a number of years and I was going to see her daughter for the first time. Aby is down from Sydney for a week, or so.

Poor Me

 I’ve now had a progressively worse and worse toothache for going on twelve hours. I’ve been to the dentist and I’ve got new antibiotics. I’m now just waiting for them to kick in, which in all likelihood the effect of which I may not feel until tomorrow. I can’t take any more painkillers for a while, they don’t seem to be doing anything anyway.

I’ve had two nurofin plus at 9.30am. I took the antibiotic – to be completely correct it was penicillin – at 10.30 with breakfast in Big Mouth. I took three aspirin at elevenish and I took two panedine forte just after 12pm when I got home. 

It is now 13.20 and the pain has subsided to a bearable throb.

I’m now not prepared to put up with this pain for much longer, so if the antibiotics don’t start kicking in pretty damn soon, I’ll be fronting up to the dentist early next week and saying, “Just take it out, I can’t do this any longer.” Front tooth or not, it will have to go.

I don’t know how people with terminal illnesses do it? If there was no relief in sight for what I’m feeling now, I’d be saying, Doc, switch me off.

The pain probably wouldn’t now be so bad, if only I’d gone down yesterday afternoon and got the tablets. Stupid me.

It’s windy and the wind chimes are ringing a treat… I’m having an out of body experience, which involves me lumbering out there like a gorilla and ripping them down as if I am a man possessed and throwing them into next week.

Sam arrives after work to pat me for my pain and to look after me. 

Actually, he says that I never listen and that I should have had the tooth ripped out weeks ago when I first saw the dentist and that I only have myself to blame.

"I don't want to hear any future complaints about sore teeth."

"Isn't that your job as boyfriend?"

He just looks at me the way he does.

New Glass, Just Like That, Finally. Not So Hard

I was coming back from the shops and when I got to my gate I saw Preston Glazier and Reglasser. Really, I thought. Just what I need. Right at my door too. I wonder if he’ll be back soon? At which point, I large cracked pane of glass comes towards the truck with a man attached.

“Are you interested in a small job?” I ask. “My kitchen cupboard doors need new glass in them.

“Youa show moi.”

The glass man came into the kitchen with his tape measure.

“I can’t match this a glass,” he said. “But, I have a something with a smaller stipple?”

No sample, I guess? “Sure,” I said. “Sounds fine.”

So if they come back with blue bottle glass I only have myself to blame.

“The glue was nevera any gooda. Cheap,” he said. He held his hands in the air to make a point.

He gave me a price and showed me how to unscrew the cupboard doors

“You a putta ‘em in moi truck and I go finish the job I am doing, which I did.

He came in later and gave me his card. He said something about when he’d have them ready, but I couldn’t understand his thick, I think, Greek accent.

“I see you… couple a...” He points. “Johnston Street.”

“Okay,” I said. What does Johnston Street have to do with it?

“Okay.”

And away sailed my cupboard doors to be re-glazed, finally. The first one was broken by my boy friend Lauri slamming it in anger, over ten years ago and the rest have progressively dropped out since then. As I watched them go, I thought, I never gave him my number.

 

Tom's Mum Died

Tom's mum died, almost four years to the day that Tom died. Tom would be very sad, he loved his mum, of course. She was a great woman, such a character.

Tom's dad, Fred, didn't say what was wrong with her, just that she'd had a bad diagnosis and was not going to pursue treatment for whatever it was that was ailing her.

But, it has made me feel sad about Tom, teary even. I had the coolest, smartest, funniest, cheekiest, most wonderful best friend a boy could here have and he has now been dead for four years. He just slipped away after a ten year battle with leukaemia. Four years, fuck me.

But how Fred's life has changed, poor man. He's lost his wonderful son and his beloved wife in a matter of four years.

Just as the tears were welling in my eyes... the phone rang and it was my other best friend saying that he had thought about it and that he was now suing me for damaged kidneys from my clearly reckless driving back from the country on Sunday. He thought 75K should cover it.

And he made me laugh.

Ah friends... the meaning of life. I don't know why people ponder that question so much.

Then I thought, what reckless driving?

Scratching in the Roof

Sitting on the back veranda drinking my coffee, I am listening to the rat/possum scratching around in my roof. Clearly, those damn rat baits didn't work. What if it is a possum? It is very active in the day light hours for a possum, I think.

Missy rubs around my legs. I look up to the veranda roof, from where the noise is coming from and then I look back at her. She half closes her eyes, then she has an itch on her back she needs to scratch.

"Do you think, maybe, you could get up there and sniff around?"

She closes her eyes completely at the suggestion.

Back to Earth

I listened to Sam’s front door close as he left the house, right away followed by Shane starting to stir, as he got up to face the day. It’s like a chain reaction, as I will start to seriously think about getting out of bed when I hear the front door close as Shane leaves. It is just after 8am, which means Shane has about an hour till he leaves the house. Often, he leaves by 9am, normally always by 9.30am, at the latest, which is my rising and attempting to shine time.

I was thinking about the dope cookies I had to eat as soon as I got up.

This morning, after a weekend of late nights and drug taking, I fall back to sleep again and wake again sometime after 11am.

I come down stairs to Missy meowing constantly. She has taken up a commanding vantage point in the kitchen and she is not going to let up until she has been fed. She is obviously genuinely hungry, a fact confirmed by one of the last things I did Friday afternoon before I headed to the country was shaking her food box in my explanation of her feeding regime only to discover the said cat box had barely enough in it to feed her for Friday night, I wasn’t returning until Sunday night.

“Have I nice weekend,” I said without any kind of guilt pang, or any such thing.”

I looked at the fridge, I looked at the coffee pot, I looked at Missy. “Okay, okay, I’ll go get my shoes and my wallet.”

It was raining, so I grabbed an umbrella and left the house.

Pain.

OH. First, I needed to take a dump, though.

“Meow, meow.”

“Shoes, keys, wallet… oo, ah.”

“Meow, meow.”

“Oh cat!”

“Meow, meow.”

Hold my stuff, wobble my legs in relief. Eye-ball Missy.

“Meow, meow.”

“Oh shut up!” Put my stuff down, head to the toilet. 

I think I’d been holding on over the weekend.

This all might sound like a fairly uncomplicated operation, now doesn’t it. But, when you have just woken up, essentially, ha no coffee and are a little hung over from the weekend you have just had, it seems like quite an ordeal.

Not long after, I had my stuff in my hand and my umbrella raised above my head and I was out in the fresh day, rain gently falling down and a cool breeze to blow all of my stale day out of my hair.

Oo, pain. Really. I should have gone again. I find that sometimes happens, if you’ve been sitting around, spaced out on, well in my case. Trips, magic mushrooms and enough pot to put a football team to sleep, not really sticking to, shall we say, routines.

I decided to get Missy a chicken wing to eat. In fact, I’d get her two. If she is genuinely hungry, she won’t be fussy about the change of menu, she will just tuck in.

I decided to get a new packet of toilet paper, just so my hypocrite gene doesn’t kick in. If I am thinking that it is me who buys all of these products consistently, simply stopping buying them is not the answer. Then I am not putting in my fair share.

It was $14.49. The machine played up. I wanted to put in the cents, but go so into the coins I had in my wallet, I overshot and put in too many. Then I tried to put in more to make up everything over $10, but then my last $2 wouldn’t work, it kept falling through and it wouldn’t reject either.

“Bugger.”

Oh, pain. Gurgle.

I push my finger repeating on the reject coins button.

Oh, pain in my stomach. Gurgle.

I try the $2 again. Slip, drop.

Pain, pain, pain.

“Bugger, bugger, bugger.”

The laconic shop assistant comes over.

Gurgle. Gurgle.

“I’ll try another $2 coin.”

Pain pain pain. What?

It seemed to take her ages to walk around to the other cash register and back.

It fell through.

“I’ll try a $1 coin.” 

Hurry.

It didn't work.

Gurgle. Gurgle.

“I’ll try a 50c coin.”

Ouch, ouch, ouch. You have got to be kidding me.

None of them worked.

I’m in pain lady and I have to walk all the way home.

“I’ll try a note.” Ahhhhhhhhhh!

Oh, what do I do, sit down on the scanner and cross my legs.

The $5 note slipped in and for the first time there was a sound from the machine as it finally whirled back into life again.

Finally!

The walk home was fraught with anxiety

The Aftermath

We all sat around smoking pot from an early hour. Read, I was the one to roll breakfast joint. After which, I some how ended up pot monitor and I continued to roll joints for the rest of the day, up to and past point where I was incomprehensibly stoned.

The husband asked me in the kitchen what the trouble had been at 4am and I had to answer that I didn’t know. I’m sure he thought I was blowing him off, but I still didn’t know what had happened. Suddenly, there were people having words and just as suddenly it seemed to be over, but I still hadn’t got the drift of what the problem was.

It was a beautiful day and we sat around in the sun and chatted and ate all of the left over food.

Sam and I went for a bit of a walk, but there wasn’t much more energy than that expelled.

Chatty woman and her handsome husband left some time in the early afternoon. Most of the other’s had left by then too, so we were free to talk about what the trouble had been.

“So, what happened last night?” asked Mark.

“I don’t know, I missed it,” said Luke.

“Apparently, Chatty Woman was saying how she thought her middle child was gay and that the older one and the younger one were normal,” said A, one of my friends. “The problem was that she said “normal” once too often and the crowd turned on her.”

“Who did she think she was talking to,” said one person.

“Could she not gage the crowd better than that,” said another.

“What did she expect,” said someone else.

“The problem was,” continued A, “that she was really trying to be hip and an understanding parent, it was just that her night of incessant talking and her terminology got her into trouble. She really meant well.”

Oh well, there you go, I thought. I wished I’d known that a few hours earlier when the husband was questioning me in the kitchen.

It was a lovely afternoon, the day was gorgeous.

Sam, Anthony and I left sometime around 7pm.

I had secreted away a couple of dope cookies for Monday. Halfway home I said to Sam, “Luke had so much pot, I could have taken a few buds for the next couple of days and he wouldn’t have notice.”

He looked at me as thought I was being completely naughty and answered with his customary. “No.”

We had soup for dinner and then headed to bed.

 

The Party

It’s the final party at Bolago before they hand over to the new owners and head up north. It's the end of an era. Everybody is there. All the old gang, some I haven't seen for years. It was great to see them all. Luke has bought a huge amount of pot for the occasion and essentially I roll joints until I am so stoned I remain incommunicado for most of the night. It is one of the reasons why I have given up pot, of course. It doesn’t make me funny and amusing any more, it just makes me go off into my own little world.

Mark said to me on a couple of occasions, “You look sad.”

“No, I’m just too stoned.”

I should have been feeling sad. I will feel sad when it actually happen. Perry said to me during the night, "It suddenly dawned on me, I don't have any where to go in the country any longer."

We ate and chatted all afternoon and then we danced all night.

Luke cooked amazing food. I didn’t stop eating all day. Sam told me I had to stop eating several times.

Matt, our DJ buddy plays the best music. His thing is disco and he can play the most amazing tracks, not just the usual commercial songs.

And a good time was had by all.

We had trips, magic mushrooms, dope cookies and pot. I’ve never had magic mushrooms before and I’m not really sure that I felt their effect.

Shane didn’t make an appearance, too much study to do, so he said. And Sebastian didn’t come either, he was coming up with Shane in a camper van of all things. A Winnebago, of all things. But, we kind of didn’t think they would, after their bad behaviour at mine and Anthony’s birthday party a month ago. I think they are still upset about being told off by a few people. Drug behaviour, those effected do always think they are being fabulous and amusing and not boring and upsetting to people. It is one of the world’s truths.

Oh yes, chatty woman. We’ve got to that age now where those of us who are going to have kids have had them. So, present at all our parties now is normally a gaggle of young children. And in the strange world of parenting, people become friends because their children are friends. So, present at the party was a couple who were there because their child is friends with my step-grandson. The problem was that the wife of the couple talked incessantly. Worse still, she was a drinker, so her conversation got more and more effected by alcohol, which seemed to have a direct effect on her talking. So she talked and talked and talked, getting more and more and more talkative but less capable as the night wore on. I was forever looking up to have her talking at me with some more of her infernal rubbish. The woman just never stopped. The fact that she was a bit of a bogun didn’t help, the fact that she thought her six year old was gay seemed to be her true connecting characteristic to all of us. And didn’t she go on and on and on. I personally didn’t tune into her in the end, but apparently others did.

I entertained myself by chatting to her hot husband, who seemed really nice. But, he got too stoned and headed to bed, not all that long after midnight. Then she was just this strange woman who kept adding her bit to whatever conversation she butted in on.

Some where late in the night, suddenly there were words being had. The lesbians present had taken serious offence at something chatty woman had said and were suggesting she went to bed. Sally went to wake her husband to come and take her away. The well sedated crowd kind of rumbled to attention at that point and they all seemed to agree that it wasn’t worth all the trouble of waking the husband.

Luke arrived back from bed, just as it happened, to roll more joints and he was caught up in the tail end of the trouble, looking oblivious to what was going on around him.

Sally asked if it was her, the husband arrived, bleary-eyed, it was all a bit tense there for a minute, he went back to bed, but chatty woman didn’t follow, even with most of the crowd seemingly against her, even with him suggesting that she did. Sally, who took up the fight and woke the husband, then decided that maybe she was over-tiered and took herself off to bed.

Chatty woman didn’t though, she stayed around, persisted with her inane conversation.

It was all over kind of by then and we all drifted off to sleep some time later, as it was then nearing 5am, by this stage.

House Maintenance and Then Off To The Country

Rachel messages me early to say she might drop in at 1pm to give me Leah’s birthday present. That’s good, as I’ve been shitty with Leah too and I think I had better collect her birthday present sooner than later, as I should show at least a little interest.

I’m feeling toey about my future. What am I going to do? It is weighing more heavily on my now, now that I realise how much time I have had off and how I have wasted it and how I am going to have to go back to work. Ah! I so don’t want to. But, I don’t want to waste my life away either.

Oh what to do?

However, I get lost in the newspaper reading and somehow I get onto the new book, published some time ago, from my favourite writer, Sam Shepard. I decide that I could simply walk into town to my favourite bookshop, The Paperback, to see if they have got it.

My conscience is needling me some where in the back of my mind that my current trouble with Shane is actually all stuff that is going on with me. Clearly, something isn't right in what I am doing? It is not a good feeling. My passive aggressive streak is playing up big time and I have to some how reign it in, or it won’t end well. The common denominator here is me, lets face it. I think I did the same to David in the months preceding his moving out. They are not doing what I want and I respond in a passive aggressive way, rather than saying how I feel straight out.

Bad me. The things you are yet to learn, hey?

I think a nice walk will do me good. It’s warm but a bit drizzly, I kind of like it as I walk to the city. They have the book, good old Paperback. I buy DBC Pierre’s new book, Death in Wonderland too and immediately feel guilty about all the other books I have bought this year, which I haven’t read.

I come home and effortlessly read for the rest of the afternoon, before I get restless and want to achieve something. 

I look at all the stuff I bought from Bunnings and decide it is now time to act, I have delayed quite long enough. I chop out the hibiscus tree that is threatening to push over the fence. I have finished chopping, it is amazing what a difference a sharp pruning saw makes. I’m sipping on my tea thinking good thoughts about myself, when I see a huge smear of blood on the white cup. I have lacerated the end of my thumb. Bugger. It is cut four times all close to each other and it hurts for days, because any type of use just opens the wounds up again, even though they are small.

Sam arrives at 5.30, Anthony arrives at 6.30 and we get in the car and head to the country for the weekend.

The Calder Highway gets progressively more and more fogged out, until just a few kilometres before Bolago we can barely see a metre in front of the car. It’s a good thing I have driven that road many times, as at any moment I still know exactly where we are.

Working and Being Bothered Yet Again

I was thinking today would be the day to write fiction. No Shane home recovering from whatever drug he did on the weekend and no Sam sick.

First up I was out of coffee, so I headed to the supermarket.

I read 9msn and then about Doc B’s pictorial history of the AIDS epidemic and all the famous people who had died of AIDS, from Ricky Wilson the guitarist from the B52s to the barmaid from Gunsmoke Amanda Blake. I read about the gay kid who got bullied into committing suicide in the states recently, Jamey Rodemeyer and actor Zachary Quinto coming out as gay because of the effect it had on him.

I listened to Chopin’s piano concertos on YouTube.

I decide I need to do something, I can’t just sit around on my arse thinking everything will be alright. I cleaned up the top room. I threw out all of David’s stuff. The next door neighbours up the lane yet again left their bins out, yet again. And I had rubbish. What is a boy to do? So, I filled them with David’s crap. Pay it forward, I thought.

I cleaned up the garden. Weeded, swept, tried to make it look tidy, like Mark so effortlessly seems to be able to do.

I put all the rest of the rubbish in the car ready for a midnight dump at The Brotherhood.

I chatted to Sam, during the day, as I do. We chat all day by various means of communication; phone, email, instant messaging, Facebook.

I sat back and drank tea, at the end of my physical work for the day.

I can’t wait to tell Shane that the top room is going to be Mark and Luke’s after Aby has used it. It will freak him out. I know I’m a bitch, I guess, you should too. But, Shane has no qualms/inkling thought beyond himself when he denigrates Mark and Luke. What does he really think I’m going to think when he does that? Is it stupidity or myopathy?

It is probably a sign that we shouldn’t be living together any longer.

I thought I should try to be nice when he got home, you know, be newsy, tell him what is going on in the world, so I told him about Doc B dying.

“Oh really, he wasn’t that old. How did he die?”

“An AIDS related illness.”

“What? People don’t die of that any more.”

“Oh, I think they do.”

“I’ve been reading Doc B’s writing, he said that the second generation antivirals haven’t lived up to expectations and he was pessimistic about a cure.

“Oh, I don’t think anybody is talking about a cure,” said Shane. “It’s funny, maybe ignorance increases your chances of survival?”

He went to lie down, after that. “I’m tired, I need to lie down, before I work out what I’m doing with the rest of the day.” And I felt that maybe I’d been a little insensitive. Maybe that was a little harsh, considering Shane’s HIV status.

Sure, I could go to Bunnings tomorrow, but I might as well go tonight, when I’d only be lounging in front of the TV, then maybe I’d have a clear go at doing something tomorrow. Maybe?

So, I went to Bunnings in Coburg and bought a whole lot of things that I needed; weed poison, creeper poison, hoses, pruning saws, silicon for the leaking windows. I dropped into see Sam, but he hadn’t had dinner yet and his house mate was busy behind the cooker preparing it, so I didn’t stay long. Kiss kiss, bye bye.

I’m going to fix all the things that need to be done. I’m going to replace the cord in the blinds in the spare room, how hard can it be? I’m going to finally silicone up the leaking roof. And I’m going to poison the bloody creeper that is continually growing over from next door. I’ve told my neighbour that she needs to get rid of it twice, both times she has ignored me. So, now I’m going to fix it. I’m going to poison the blood oxalis. I’m thinking I’m going to replace the broken tiles in the kitchen as well. How hard can that be?

I dropped off the rubbish at The Brotherhood on the way home. There was another woman there, who’d pulled up in a VW Transporter, at the same time as me, who carried armfuls of stuff from her car to the dumping spot, just as I did.

“It’s good to get rid of your junk, isn’t it,” she said.

When I got home, Shane was still in his room. The house was quiet. One lamp light was on in the lounge. I made myself tea and it was 8.30 and The Slap was about to start. It was lovely, having the house to myself. I lay on the couch in the minimal lamp light and enjoyed the show.

Halfway through I heard Shane’s footsteps on the stairs and then he was in the kitchen with some guy named Scott, or Tony, or whoever. A desperate attempt at a boyfriend, no doubt. He’ll settle for anyone, I think. Is this the guy from the weekend? His substitute for loneliness. Is this the dinner date from last night? Then they sat on the other couch and started to chit chat.

Really? I thought. Go to your room if you want to talk. But, lets’ face it, Shane has never been that self aware.

Then they started asking questions. To fill in the gaps from the beginning which they missed.

“Who is it about this week?” asks Shane.

“Um, Harry.” Don’t start with the questions, please.

“Who it that?”

“Harry’s girlfriend.” I’m trying to listen to this.

“But he has a wife.”

“Yes, he has a wife.” Will this ever stop?

“So, that’s not her?”

“No.” I wanted to scream it. I’m sorry if you missed the first half.

“What’s his wife’s name.”

“Oh… um… I can’t remember.” Do you ever think about anybody else!

“It’s Aisha, isn’t it?” chimes in Scott/Tony/Whoever.”

“No, Aisha is Hector’s wife.” OMG!

“Hector is the one who slapped the kid?”

“No, that is Harry.”

“Hector is Harry’s cousin.”

SHUT UP! SHUT UP! You fuckers! Stop talking. Go away. And yes, Doc B died of AIDS!

Finally, the questions stopped. I stopped answering.

“So how did you get to be in it?” asks Scott.

That is the self focussed factor here. He’s not watching the show for the entertainment value, he is watching it because it is all about him, because he happened to be in it for a microsecond one episode. As an extra, blink and you missed it.

Oh! Sheesh!

Job Interview

Sam is keen on giving wet willies. I shouldn’t complain, as it was me who taught them to him. Right now, last count, he is winning. There are a few wet fingers that he is owed.

I’m up early getting the boxes from the spare bedroom storeroom and throwing them into my rubbish bin and the neighbours bins all up and down the street. It is amazing what you can throw away when you utilise all of the half-filled bins of the environmentally aware yuppies up and down the street.

It’s this week and Aby arrives and there is still stuff of Shane’s up in that room. I don't know when, when I rented a room to Shane, I agreed to him using the spare room to store his crap.

Sam stayed home, two sickies in a row unheard of, as he has a job interview today, 3pm. So it is another day of distractions where I don’t have to give the future any thought. In other words, an excuse not to write. I can piss around without regret. Do you realise that I suffer so on the other days?

We got up and had muesli, much to Sam’s continuing amazement, and coffee.
“How can you not be sick of that by now?” He raises his hands in the air. “It is quite beyond me, really.”

Sam tries on suits of mine. They are double breasted and bordering on old fashioned, but they look okay on him. (My single breasted suits are too big)
We head over to his house to get shirts and shoes. He gets his three-buttoned jacket, which he teams with my black pants and he looks gorgeous in them, of course. I could be a little biased, naturally.

Rachel has a new kitten, and I want to go and see it, but Sam says we don’t have time. “I have a job interview, hello.”
We head back to my place. It is hot. It is suddenly summer, you can feel it, you can taste it in the air.
Sam goes for a his interview. And my cute, sexy smart boyfriend gets the job.

Shane says he is out for dinner and disappears not long after he got home. I’m glad as well as feeling a tinge of guilt, about feeling such thoughts.

Sam and I headed out into the garden to deposit the rat-baits on the roof. Then I got into chopping down the creeper, away from the box gutters. Sam stood out in the lane and picked up all the bits I dropped over the edge. He was a good little worker to have helping me.
He reminded me that he helped me last year, when I questioned him about knowing what to do.
Oh yes, you have been around for a while, I guess. Ha ha, he he.

Sam and I eat soup for dinner, our chicken and my vegetable, from a number of weeks ago, mixed. Sam doesn’t seem to think that soup can last much more than a month in the freezer. I guess, I don’t know really, but I’m sure it can last longer than that.
We got to bed and watch Mad Max until Sam declares it to be “absolute rubbish” and he turns it around to Graham Norton. I didn’t bother telling him that I’d already seen it, I was just happy that it was a program he was happy about.

Everybody is Sick, Some More So

I was up at 9am. I waited until I heard Shane close the front door and I got up. The last meaningful indication before everything goes quiet and I'm on my own to sleep until whenever.

He crunches his car into reverse, and then drives away.

It was sunny, with a beautiful blue sky today. I had made coffee set up my laptop on the coffee table and had slid the stewed apple and pear combination on to my muesli. There was the taste of summer in the air, the morning sparkled bright and alluring straight up.

My sister called and said she would be in the city to give me my mum’s new chequebook. I did kind of feel she could have dropped by on her way and simply put it in the letter box if she didn’t want to stop, but no. I had to go to her, apparently. I guess people think those who aren’t working have all the time in the world.

Now I have to leave the comfort of my warm lounge room. Bugger!

I checked the letterbox and there was a card from my American doctor friends saying that Doc B. had died suddenly last month. Poor B. I didn’t know he’d really been sick and I felt guilty for no having kept in such close contact. All that medical knowledge and it couldn’t save him.

The phone rang and it was Sam, sounding sick, saying he was sick and did I want to look after him for the day. He must have really been sick if he felt he had to leave work. 

Quick thinking. “Hey, where are you?”

“Walking up William Street.”

“Could you walk up to Bourke Street and pick up something from my sister on the corner?”

“I am really sick, you know.”

I felt a moment’s hesitation, thinking I was being far too cheeky for my own good. “You practically only have to walk an extra block.”

“Really? Are you serious?”

And with a little more too’ing and fro’ing and a couple of phone calls, he agreed.

And I had a sick boyfriend, who arrived not long after. He stated vomiting not long after he arrived... at which point, I kind of felt bad for making him do my lazy arse chores.

I put him to bed and headed to the supermarket to buy the ingredients for chicken soup. Grandma’s old fashioned whole carcass chicken soup. Who is it, the Jewish mamas who make the life restoring whole carcass chicken soup? Is that who? Well, that’s who I had in mind as I headed down the street.

The breeze rolled over me, the rays massaged my skin and made me feel alive.

I had crossed over two of the streets and had crossed my road and was walking passed the yoga centre when a man came the other way holding a bottle of wine in a brown paper bag. His face was flushed red and his skin seemed to be slicked with sweat.

“It is soooo fucken hot, ay? Unbelievable!” He rolled his eyes. “Too hot! Too much!” He staggered a bit and his face was flushed red. I wanted to get out my phone and check the time.

“Yes, it is warm.”

“So.” Swoon. “Fucken.” Swoon. “Hot.” He looked dazed, or is that crazed. He tried to grab hold of the tree branch to stabilise himself, but the branch was way above both of us. He stumbled, but managed to grab the nearby fence to steady himself.

“Oh yes, have another drink, buddy.”

“Ohhh,” sounded his voice somewhere behind me.

I thanked the universe quietly that my drug of choice was never alcohol. Poor bastard, I thought, without looking around.

I put the chicken in a large pot and covered it with water. I chopped up the carrots, the celery and the potatoes. Sam gets up and insists on adding tomato to the soup, he is determined. “Add some acid.”

It cooks for 2 hours. Lovely. It fills the house with a lovely, freshly cooked, aroma. That in itself should be enough to make the sick feel well again.

The magical soup is a bit lacking, when we taste it, so we head to the supermarket to get more vegetables, and we buy a bread stick and really fake chocolate cakes and bags of jubes.

We make garlic bread… we are going to be happy, fat boyfriends.

We cut up the vegetables and add them to the soup. Sam adds more tomato.

I realise we forgot the plastic containers to freeze the soup in, so we head back to the supermarket for the 3rd time. Still, it is a lovely day, quite light and new, with the freshness of the summer sun to walk in.

We eat soup for dinner too.

 

Too Much Time On My Hands, Really, For My Own Good

I woke up with the idea of writing tHE tOWER, my story on corporate life. It's a decision, something to write to, at the very least. I felt like I had the inspiration, I felt I had the will, I felt like I had the energy. I came down at 9am and set up my lap-top. Ready to go.

Now is my opportunity, I have just realised. Now is my time to write something, the perfect time. God knows I have had four months off already and if I had spent the time actually writing rather than telling myself I can’t do it, or I’m no good, or I’m just not going to get it done, or any number of things that I have told myself over the last four months, I could have banged out a draft of a novel, or a good portion of it, by now. (Maybe not a literary novel, but who cares about that. Commercial is where the money is anyway baby) I have, I have had, the perfect time to do such things and I have pissed it away yet again.

Or, do I simply conclude that I can’t do it and go and get a job?
Which is it to be? Make a decision?
Get on with it, give it a go? Give it up, give up on the idea?

Then Shane came down and said he was staying home. Oh bugger! NOOOOOO! Go to work, don’t stay here and bother me. This is my time. No, no no!
“I’m not well,” he said.
No well my arse, I thought.
He called his PA and told her he’d been sick all weekend. “Couldn’t sleep, haven’t been well all weekend.”
He headed back to bed. I wrote sitting at the coffee table for a while trying not to let the disturbance disturb me. Sometime around midday, I decided that I was going to head to my room so I didn’t have to talk to Shane if he got up ad came back downstairs and decided to yabber on.

Then he spent the rest of the afternoon arranging and rearranging god knows fucking what in his room. Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang all afternoon. I couldn’t understand what the hell he was doing? Even if I cleaned my room from top to bottom (I know people will be laughing now, Sam's mouth has dropped open) I couldn’t have made that noise for that extended length of time. He kept it up for hours and I was silently screaming to myself. What are you doing?

Of course, it was so bad and so disturbing that I fell asleep for hours in the middle of it. Ha, ha.

I managed to avoid him for pretty much the rest of the day, which just suited me fine. Oh, I don't know why. It is all me, of course. Just my naturally hermity traits.

I hear the sad clomp of trade’s feet on the stairs late in the evening. Still going, I think? Still trying to find someone to keep you warm? Still trying to find love?

Eating on a Sunday

We walked to Victoria Street and ate Thai food. There were a couple of kids at the next table watching Dora on an Apple Touch, it was making a lot of noise. I wanted to leave, but Sam didn’t see it that way. He thought I was being difficult, he didn’t see it my way at all.

“Stop being hard to get along with.” Grimace. “What do you want to order?”

What do I want to order?

Bleep, bleep! Blurt, blurt! Barp, barp! Wha, wha! Boop, boop! Zeep, zeep! Rar, rar! Wha, wha! Barp, barp! Blurt, blurt!

I look up at Sam who is reading the menu intently.

“No, I really don’t want to have to sit here and listen to that.”

He stops reading the menu and tunes into the brats behind him.

Bleep, bleep! Blurt, blurt! Barp, barp! Wha, wha! Boop, boop! Zeep, zeep! Rar, rar! Wha, wha! Barp, barp! Blurt, blurt!

“Can’t you just ignore it?”

“Um… no, I can’t.”

“Just read the menu.”

“No, I really don’t want to listen to that throughout my meal.”

“What do you want to do then?”

“Leave. Go somewhere else.”

“What? Now?” Roll of the eyes. Exasperated look.

“Yes.”

He looks around. He sees a table vacant right at the back of the restaurant. Begrudgingly, he gets up and heads to the back of the shop without looking back at me. I get up and follow him. 

He sits down. I sit down.

“How is this?”

It’s a bit dark, truthfully. “It was much nicer in the window.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “No noise, though.”

“It’s okay, sure.”

He thought I was being difficult. “How many cafes/restaurants are there in Victoria Street?”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m just saying we could easily have gone to another eating establishment. One without children playing noisy games.”

Walking around instead of driving is nice, it makes the whole inner suburbs experience so much nicer. The thing is, that our days are so taken up with eating, that by the time we walk back from one meal, it is almost time to start thinking about the next one.

We hang at home for the time in between. It’s good.

We went for a walk to the supermarket to get food for dinner. We had everything for risotto except for the chicken and mushrooms. I saw Brussels sprouts in the fruit and veg section and wondered about Brussels sprout and beacon risotto. Sam turned up his nose, but I’m sure it would be a goer.

I was stirring it on the stove when Shane came down from his room.

“It smells like a Sam. It smells like a Sam,” he said. He came and stood right next to me. “It smells like a Sam.” Shane looked at me, he looked at me stirring the pot.

Too stupid, I thought. Not only am I cooking it, but why would it necessarily be a Sam? 

“Yum,” said Shane and he left the kitchen.

I looked at Sam. “Why would it have to be a Sam?” He smiled and shrugged.

I don’t know why, but he is just pissing me off, lately.

What am I going to do with my life is never far from my thoughts, continually bubbling away in the cauldron of stress that I am keeping a lid on.

What did Steve Jobs say, do what you love.

What did Aby say recently, don’t settle for pointless another finance and figures job.

Exercise and Food

Of course, straight people support gay marriage, marriage is normal to them. We as gay people are being sucked into the beige vortex of marriage that is not normal to us, and nobody seems to notice.

This was going to be the next part of my discussion on why I don’t think gay marriage is all it is meant to be, but you know, I was only trying to tell people how I felt, it was never my intention to change anyone else’s ideas. But, people get so caught up in trying to convince the other of their position that such arguments always seem to end in bad feelings. So, I decided not to engage any further. I’d stated my position that was all I was trying t do, so I argued no further.

I open and close Facebook as Sam gets busy in the kitchen. I settle on ninemsn instead. Naturally, the news stream of choice.

Sam makes egg toasted sandwiches for breakfast, anything to avoid muesli. Hey. “This will be lovely,” he says. “And I don’t want to eat your morning chaff yet again.”

"Rude."

I make coffee though. The most important, non-negotiable part of brekky, after all.

We go bike riding. Out bike tyres are practically flat, showing how long it is since we went riding. Shame, shame, shame. Mine aren’t so bad, but Sam’s are surprisingly flat.

It’s nice to be out whizzing along with the fresh air in my face with my handsome boyfriend once again.

We headed to the city to QV. Sam is in the mood to spend the afternoon traipsing around the shops. Me, not so much. But it is a rainy Saturday afternoon and I can’t think of a better idea.

We went to the Asian grocer in Russell Street and bought ingredients for Sam to cook noodles. Yum, yum. I don’t know what number of hours in the cycle we are on before it gets back to food, but it isn’t that many.

Shane had been clearly doing crystal, he didn’t come down for dinner. While Sam and I were watching TV, I’m sure I heard the front door opening and closing with his trade.

Late, Shane said he was heading out to have dinner with Patrick and Harry. It seemed like no time at all that he was back again.

Even later, I think I heard the front door open and close with more trade for Shane.

It’s kind of sad really, that continual and fruitless hunt for love. The It Gets Better message could be appropriate here, I think as my eyes are closing on me and my bed feels like the most comfortable thing in the whole wide world. Just relax and it will happen, I think.

David didn't want to go up the bridge

I should have known something was wrong, you know, astrologically, spiritually, reflexologcally when David said he didn't want to go up the bridge with me, when I called him up the other day.

No darling!! Just jump on your own... Dead dust glug glug...

First time refusal. He's always been up for it, wanted it, begged me for it, wanted to suicide together.

I can't jump on my own, you have to come with me.

Not today, hun.

I've always been willing... world, smorld. What have I got to do? Get a job?

All This Time On My Hands

All this time on my hands and I still haven't started to teach myself photoshop. Bloody hell.

My Poor Sore Tooth

I went to the dentist and I'm going to lose my front tooth... apparently. A paling in the very front of the picket fence, removed. That is the prognosis. Sad face. And once the tooth is gone, even sadder. Maybe, although I don't want to think about it, worst case scenario, the infection may not go and the tooth ache may not subside. The tooth, it sure has had the death veil lowered over it, so it would seem.

I should call David - who is now in Bali after his European slut-fest - and bath in his the power of positive thinking and word him up for a positive affirmation.

Now, apparently, I just have to decide if I want to pay two thousand or five thousand dollars for a replacement.

Fuck it! Fucking dentists! Why isn't dental covered by Medicare. Of course, I guess what I have to do isn't exactly your standard dental procedure, now is it.

Actually, I shouldn't crap on dentists, it's my own stupid fault for smoking for all those years. How many years? I hang my head in shame, stupid, stupid me.

I've Got Tooth Ache

I've got tooth ache and when I called Sam for sympathy, you know as you do, I mean what else is a boyfriend for, he told me he had a rat, which had been eating his noodles in his kitchen, which he was completely obsessed with, read completely freaked out by and I got no sympathy for the pain I was in.

Poor me.

I went to the chemist, during the day, to buy Savacol, the only mouthwash with an active ingredient, according to my dentist and doctor, that does any good. But they had changed the packaging and of course I couldn’t remember what the active ingredient was, so I lined up to see the pharmacist to ask. Just as I got to the counter, the pharmacist called up a patient to give that patient her filled. The chick whose scripts it was said something about being allergic to the pills the pharmacist was giving her. No, she couldn’t remember the name of the medications she was actually allergic to, but they came in big bubble packs like the ones the pharmacist was giving to her.

Now firstly, if you were allergic to some medications wouldn’t you tell the pharmacist straight up before the pharmacist filled the scripts and secondly, if you were allergic to some medications wouldn’t you remember their names? Well, wouldn’t you?

Idiot, I thought. Stop wasting all of our time, you self focussed moron and get out of my way so I can ask the pharmacist my question.

“Okay,” said the pharmacist. “I’ll prepare some new medications for you.”

At this point the pinch faced shop assistant asked me if there was anything she could help me with.

I explained to her what my doctor and dentist had said about Savacol pointing out to her that the packaging had been changed, asking her if she could confirm that the active ingredient was still the same.

“They all have an active ingredient, it depends what you want it for?”

Want it for? I thought. To turn my tongue green and to give me 10k in the bank. What do you think I want it for? “Antiseptic.”

“Well, they all have antiseptic qualities.”

Now they all have the same qualities. Clearly, another idiot, who doesn’t have a clue. Get out of my way. “Thank you,” I said and I walked away. I’ll work it out myself.

I bought the Savacol and left the shop and hoped for the best.

Such delicate colour. Gorgeous.

The Early Morning

Ah, the smell of the new day, still dewy behind the ears, as the "slow, just beginning" gradually lifts, like a shimmery haze rising, you can almost see it go, if you stand and look long enough. Fresh bread, just cooked; clean air, not yet traffic congested; hard, mentally, big city sweat rising up on the back of everyone’s hopes and desirers.

I’ve smelt it in cities around the world, Venice, San Francisco, Hanoi, lovely mornings; the rush headlong into the day, the anticipation of discovery, the savour of taste bud delight to come. I smelt it in Smith Street this morning, as I headed to the supermarket for milk; that big city urban pheromone, coming out to greet me, wrapping around me, sliding into my nasal cavities, up my spine, C4, C3, C2, laying itself out for me to slide into the day. 

Naked is God! ... er, Good!

My next door neighbour, a few removed, up the lane and around the corner, who I don't know, threw out all of these photographic negatives and, I snatched them up. How did I know? Well, they have this really annoying habit of putting their rubbish bins in front of my house and I went out to put some more rubbish out and I opened the lid to their rubbish bin, thinking it was mine and there they were.

Or was I putting rubbish in their bin? Oh, I forget, but it doesn't matter.

Right in the middle of my negative/slides scanning, who'd have thought. As David always says, these things happen for a reason, not actually a belief I subscribe to, unless, of course, it suits me. Well, I am only human, after all.

I love playing with photos. You never know what I might do with them? Pay them back for rubbish bin dramas? Maybe. Sly smile.

I wonder how free I am to use these photos? I mean, it's not like I'm breaching any copyright, or anything? Is there? I wonder? I don't really care, either, of course. Rules, rules and more fucking rules. I guess the lawyers would say, intellectual property... blah blah blah blah, blah.

I would say to the lawyers, They threw them out! Finders keepers. And then I'd stick my thumbs in my ears, twist my hands around and say, Nyer, nyer, nyer, nyer, nyer.

I'm not going to do anything terrible with them, after all. There are no naked ones.

Gasp! Nudity! Ah! Don't let the children see. Cover their eyes. He has naked photos. OMG! Nudity scandal! Nudity scandal!

No, I said there were no naked ones... mores the pity. There are a couple of cute boys in them, whose todgers I'd like to see.

Contemplation

The lovely Sebastian

Monday Monday

What a lovely day, what glorious weather for us little Melbournites. Lovely! I should get my bike out and ride my fat arse around the Yarra for an hour. I should. I know I should.

I have new photos to scan, though. I went up to Bolago and went through their photos. They weren't the photos I was looking for, but they are good none the less. He he.

I don't know where the missing photos are? It's a mystery. I still reckon I leant them to someone who wanted to do a collage, or a significant birthday album for someone. Moral of the story, don't be so nice to people.

Ha, ha.