Out To Dinner

 This Nervous Thing… 

It is probably some need for approval by the great god Ra, or Ismail, or Beelzebub. Hands together, bow, Namaste. Ha ha, kill me now… I’ve got it all wrong and the lord in heaven is gazing down on me with contempt, marking off each transgression with a shot of adrenaline straight into my central nervous system... as he fingers the virgins in his knee. (That's what every other red blooded omnipotent all powerful dictator would be doing) 

Jill says I need to go on anti anxiety pills, she says they have done wonders for her. But, oh… I don’t know. She is on her own, she stress eats and she boredom buys. She doesn’t have much in her life other than food and online buying, other than the care of her 94 year old father. In the last few years her blood pressure has shot up sky high and she has developed type 2 diabetes, as well as obesity. I’m not sure I am the same. I think I am just… 

Apparently, Jill’s 94 year old father wants to die. Rachel said, “Just crush up all his pills and give them to him.” She shrugged. “Easy.” She turned to me. “Crush them all up. Give them to him. Nobody is going to do a postmortem at 94.”

We went to dinner in High Street Armadale with Jill and Rachel. 

Rachel wanted to go to Misty’s Diner, which served deep fried Japanese food, but Jill vetoed it because she wanted to eat something healthier than deep fried food.

"She was eating Hungry Jack's with me last week," I dobbed.

Jill, amazingly was first at the restaurant yes, early. There she was sitting at the circular table on her own as Sam and I scoured the names on the shops for Sushi Sozai. The restaurants in Armadale have very subtle signage, so subtle you can hardly make it out.

Rachel was last to arrive, but only by minutes. 

We ate sushi and sashimi. We ate Agedash tofu. Rachel ate steak but couldn't finish it, so we all helped her. They drank sake and I drank pear cider. We ate green tea ice cream and drank coffee. The deserts weren’t much, otherwise Jill would have ordered them all. I would have encouraged her.

Rachel had her wide-eyed, fixed happy face on when she updated us on her kids. The gorgeous Amy is being stalked by her ex boyfriend who quite possibly deranged. The beautiful Anton has bought himself a motorbike. He is too handsome to be marked coming off a motorbike. The lovely Freida has a bad knee and her youngest, Oliver, has continuing stomach problems. 

Our fat, mutual, pretentious queen friend of ours, David Monsoon, has been on sleeping tablets for 30 years, otherwise he can’t sleep. 

“Oh, he is on some many tablets for whatever,” Rachel said. “I am surprised he doesn’t rattle when he walks.” 

So many people I know have trouble sleeping. None of us had trouble sleeping. There seems to be more and more people who claim not to be able to sleep.

Jill is investigating buying bed-sits and renting them out. She said she is contemplating selling the mountain of shares she has. The two friends of Jill’s who were in dire financial trouble have gone with airb&b and are renting out the second bedroom in their south Melbourne flat and are doing okay. Apparently, the room is taken most nights. Jill made a point of telling us, me, as she suggested I do it with my house but I ignored her, much to her chagrin. She’s not a girl to be ignored.

Jill got a car park right across the road, which was usually the park that I scored. It was a cool night as we walked back to the car, waving good bye to Jill as she waddled to her car. High Street was practically deserted. Rachel was parked down the street a bit, just behind us.