Of course, I still see no reason why the stupidity/institution shouldn’t be afforded to gays, if they want to go down that path. There is no reason why they shouldn't.
I can't help but thinking that we can get the same legal rights without going down the marriage path, however.
We were woken at 7am by the drunks on the balcony of the terrace opposite drinking beer and singing kum bi fucking ah, or something. There was some drunk chick holding court, singing to her pissed disciples gathered around her on the balcony. She had long black hair, which she parted in the middle and she looked like she was wearing something tie-dyed.
I tutt tutted from behind the curtain many times, but they seemed to be set in, not a fucking care in the world. Come on people, it is Saturday morning, party if you want to, I did, but inside, off the street… out of ear shot.
We got up not long after.
A quiet Saturday, nothing to do for a change. A day to drift with my baby, make him coffee. I was restoring Mark’s old family photos, settled in I was, bulldog asleep next to me. I ate muesli, no peaches. Sam turned down. I would have got him banana. He had his iPad. An hour passed, maybe two. But, of course, Sam got to a point where he wanted food, hairs began to grow on the backs of his hands, his eyebrows joined up….
“I’m hungry.” Which means food, now!
Um? What? “You didn’t eat breakfast…”
“I’m hungry now!”
There’s that tone… do not pass go, we are now looking for food. And he calls me whiny pants?
“See you mate.” Means he is leaving to find food.
We ate at Grill’d. I forgot my glasses and I wanted to read the newspaper when I got there, it’s a Saturday morning tradition. So at Woollies in X Street, I suggested to Sam that we went back to the house to get them, but he was past hungry by then and having none of it. I said I’d run down to Smith Street and buy a new pair and Sam said, “Whatever.” He wasn’t going to wait.
We strolled back through Fitzroy in the sunshine, under the dappled light of the big plain trees. We strolled past the supermarket on the way, where Sam was determined to buy a new mop head.
Shrug? I don’t know?
You know, when they get an idea in their heads. There is no getting them off it. So our current mop head is a little discoloured, it is still perfectly usable, think of the planet, Sam. We don’t have to conform to the pine scent vision that is sold to us. I didn’t want him to, we didn’t need one, but Sam wouldn’t listen.
We’d been grating on each other all morning, there was a real edge to the humour we were giving each other.
I played funny buggers afterwards and hid the mop head in many places as we walked out – back on the register, on some chrome shelves in the walk way, back on another register as we walked past, into an empty trolley in the trolley section. I guess it was childish. Sam said,
“If you think you are being funny, well you are not, you are just being annoying me.”
I thought I was being hilarious, you know, in a mean, spiteful kind of way.
The boy so lacks a sense of humour sometimes – and he pinched me really hard, he’d had enough, and it really fucken hurt. (As girlie as that sounds) It pissed me off. I walk home along X Street in a huff, 10 paces in front, not looking around. (As ashamed as I am to have to admit that fact) Sad but true.
I took to my bed, Sam took to the couch downstairs and we both remained in our corners for the rest of the afternoon.
I started to clean out the laundry, I had to do something to snap out of it. Sam got off the couch and started to help me. We started talking monosyllabically. Then we were chatting and giving our ideas freely. We bagged up all the old towels and stuff and put them into black rubbish bags and took them to The Brotherhood on the way back from the dog park.
The washing dried on the clotheshorse outside in no time. All of this talk about having a clothes line, from Jill and Sam may have some merit.
We went to the dog park after 8pm. It was nice and dark and quiet. But the regulars gathered soon enough. N came walking up the street with his back pack of supplies that he always brings. And the lesbian’s son was there with the lesbian’s dog. It was suddenly a gathering.
She is not a lesbian at all, as it turns out, she has a husband and a son, but I just can’t get the image straight in my head – a red healer, always dressed in “work gear” or “Camouflage fatigues,” and build like a brick shit house and talks like a warfie. I’m sorry if I am having trouble adjusting the image in my head to the new information.
We dropped the old towels, old clothes, old shit really, off at the Abbotsford Brotherhood. There was a guy with many bags slung over his shoulder going through what had been left for charity. He was a scavenger picking the collection of goods clean. Isn’t that illegal? I’m sure it is? It was now too nice a night to be thinking about that? Life’s hard, good luck to him, I thought.
It has been hot all day, it was nice to come home in the cooling night air. A breeze whimpered in through the back doors.
No comments:
Post a Comment