A Balcony Seat In The Heat

I was awake at 9am. Bright and sunny and already feeling like we have progressed further into the morning than we actually had. You know when the atmosphere is solid and bright and not brittle and translucent with energy.

I was awake. I rolled over on my bed and luxuriated in the thought that I could stay there forever… if only it were true. I took quite a few minutes feeling what my sheets felt like against my body.

I was up at 9.30, when I heard Shane close the front door.

09.51. Time to check out what Guido is doing? What time is good for you?

Computer on. Lap-top. Facebook. Is this my life, now?

Mark called and told me that he cried missing me.

I cried the other night, feeling the distance. So far…

He was off to build stairs to the river.

I made a few comments on Facebook, where normally I don’t so much.

Did you photographer another cat? That cat isn't snarling and spitting venom.

D has a poisonous cat. And I have cat charm.

A friend getting legless on champagne at her kids Xmas party.

And a friend who made it to bed with her dignity in tact… the way she said it, it sounded like this wasn’t the usual case.

Guido was available at 12.30pm, which is the time I had organised to have lunch with Sam. So I moved Sam to 12.00pm and Guido to 2’ish. If Sam sees this, he will have a lot to say. Remember, I did tell him the last bag was going to be the last bag. And it still will be, just this bag. He doesn’t know that I have finished the last bag, so I am keeping very quiet about it. I did think of splitting the new bag into two bags and hiding half, but that did amount to telling a lie. So, I’m just going to keep my mouth shut. Wish me luck. He will be cross.

He will be cross because he will find out, he is clever, you know.

Suddenly, it is 11.32am and I have to shower and get dressed.

We ate Malaysian in the old Bourke Street Cinema arcade. I didn’t like it much. Actually, not at all.

I didn’t pay on the tram coming home. I only bought a short fare on the way in because I was running late, fully intending to walk home. So, I would have bought the right ticket, if I had been fully up to date with what my movements were going to be. If I’d known I was going to catch the tram in and out, I would have purchased the correct ticket. So, I practically did. My heart was in it.

I got to Guido’s at 13.30pm.

It was 32 today, too hot, I started complaining about the heat, first for the summer. What is the date?

I don't know... you go out to lunch. It takes you all morning to get ready and get there. And by the time you have coffee and go for a short walk and then get yourself home and have a cup of tea, and a sit down, it is three o'clock in the afternoon and the day is over.

I wrote dirty stories in the afternoon.

I start a children’s book, There once was a boy named D who has a horrible cat. I need an illustrator. I think about drawing the illustrations myself.

Sam is going to his work Xmas party, oh the joy, lucky him, the things you do to brown nose at work, and he wont be here until late.

Shane comes home, just as I’m heading back to my room to write my journal. I had just been down to check the box gutter, as it looks like it is going to rain. I kept walking to my room after saying hello.

I just returned to what I was doing, but somehow I felt guilty about exiting the lounge just when Shane walked in. It somehow felt rude.

I pick up my stuff and head back downstairs to be sociable.

When I come back down, a short time later, he is nowhere to be seen. I bring a joint down. I decide to head out to water the garden, rather than smoke it inside. 

It has been hot today, but a cool change is trying to fight its way though. It is nice sitting in the lounge room with the windows open, as there is a nice cool breeze coming in from outside.

I love that kind of evening.

I suspect Shane has gone out, so I make Rapid Loss meal replacement shake for dinner. Almost immediately, afterwards, I feel hungry. My head spins. I eat oranges.

I text Sam to see how his night is going.

The Big Bang Theory is on. Sheldon Cooper makes my list for my favourite television characters; Monty Burns, Karen Walker, Sheldon Cooper.

Shane comes down eventually. 

“Did you get any cigarettes, dohl?”

“Oh um…” thinking about my pot upstairs.

“Or did you smoke them?”

“Are…”

“It’s okay, I don’t need a cigarette.”

Oh, I think.

Shane starts to walk out of the kitchen, with a glass of water, dressed in his undies. “Where’s Sam?”

“He’s at his Xmas party.”

Lascivious tone. “So, he could be messy.”

“I don’t think so, I don’t think he’ll stay long.”

“I guess he doesn’t know them that well.”

He headed off with his water clutched closely to his mouth.

He didn’t discuss work or food. I sensed a change in behaviour.

And he’s gone.

He’s done meth, I think.

He stays in his room for the rest of the night.

I decide to watch Mission Impossible, as I won’t be that interested and I can write my journals at the same time.

Tom Cruise is not my favourite actor. He cashed in on his good looks, and good on him. Lucky him. Big time movie star.

Emilio Estevez still looks good, though.

Shane stays in his room.

I’m watching TV while typing. My computer tells me it is time to plug back into the power, but my cord is upstairs. I want to go and smoke pot surreptitiously anyway, so just before 10pm, I decide to head to my room.

I take my computer to my balcony, which, once again, is the nicest room in the house, now that summer is here. The cool night breeze and the airy position is much nicer than the hot house.

I wait for Sam to arrive.

We lay on my bed for a while. Then people arrive and we come downstairs to find D on the couch. Anthony calls, just as I arrive in the kitchen. As I chat to Anthony, I watch D turn green and then silver, I swear. Anthony and I laugh.

Shane and D and David, who arrives a short time later, are heading out to a bar.

D had a joint with Shane, before we come down stairs, the first joint for ages, so D claims, and he gets the dreaded spins and can’t speak at all. Shane gets him a towel soaked in cold water and D sits for at least half an hour unable to communicate.

Shane takes photos of him for face book… as you do.

Shane and David head out. D goes home, the colour was starting to return to his face.

Sam and I head to bed. He asks to see my pot bag, unexpectedly. Remember, I’ve bought a bag I haven’t admitted to. So, I show him the new bag and he doesn’t seem to twig.

I Pissed Around And Did Nothing All Day

I was up at 7.30am, offering to make coffee for Sam, he accepted the coffee but turned down the muesli. He’s so rude about my muesli. “How can you eat that chaff day in and day out?”

I cleaned the dishes from last night, as he showers, there was a pile to fight through to find the sink and everything was covered in green slime. Did you use every pan in the place, Sebastian?

I gaze down at the broken dinner plate in the recycled bin... I wonder about it being in the recycle bin.

I wave Sam good bye at the door. I hang over the front gate and wave until he disappears around the corner at the end of the street… blowing kisses.

I took my coffee and went back to bed until Shane went to work. Of course, as I do. A quick look at the day and then scamper back to somewhere where it is dark and quiet.

I got up to play with photos on my PC for a short time, I told myself. The thing I most like doing, is the biggest waste of time. 

I was out of pot by midday. It was to be my last bag, this was it, no more. I promised Sam. Not that he required a promise, but I certainly can’t get into the habit of smoking pot here at home, otherwise, let’s face it, I’ll never work again.

I text Guido at 12.53pm. He wasn’t going to be around until tomorrow. Bugger! Or I could drive all the way out to his place. Bugger! I didn’t go to his place, but I should have.

The phone rang all morning. It was one of those days.

The twilight home manager called to say she had lost the cheque and could I cancel it and write her another one.

I wondered how you stop a cheque. I mean, can you do it by phone?

I spoke to my sister Gill about an investment property we are putting up for auction on Saturday. My mother has a couple of investment properties, she had become very passive with her investments over the years, age caught up with her, we have decided to be more aggressive. She owns the worst house in one of the very best streets in Melbourne, but due to the poor nature of the house, it returns a relatively modest income. It's a great old house, it has effectively been in our family for years. It was my dad's next renovation project when he died ten years ago. If we sell it, though, because the land value is so high, we can buy a modern unit, or units, which will bring in more than twice the income... and there may be just a little left over for me and my brother, who could both do with a little money about now. 

Truthfully, in the long term it is probably the worst thing for me, I should get off my fat arse and either write a novel, or get a job. I should be doing one of those things, nothing else, there are no other options. I've just had seven months off and I have pissed it all away, I could have... If I got money now... oh, what the fuck! Just worry about today and tomorrow, as a wise friend told me recently. Just worry about today and tomorrow, that is all you can do... that's all there is.

The real estate agent is now saying a price well below the price we have based everything on. Fuck him, we both said. We have no need to sell it.

I wondered if I should have asked Gill how to stop a cheque… after I had hung up. Raised eye brows.

The twilight home manager called back to say she had found the cheque.

“No… no, I haven’t cancelled it yet.”

Anthony called. He is having trouble with his emails. "I can't work out this retched thing!"

Well, if you put a little more water with it, my dear.

Mark said he cried at the thought of everything he has left behind. He thought about returning to Bolago, just absentmindedly, and it all hit him.

Shane bought home fish and chips.

I’d smoked cigarettes all afternoon. It was a perfect, sunny day, it was sparkling out in the back yard, in the dappled light from the big gum tree, when I went out there.

What a glorious, sunny day. We are having the loveliest weather.

I essentially did nothing all day. Ah, the life of the unemployed.

The day sparkled, a cool breeze blew. I got out in the garden and swept a bit and got my Vitamin D requirements.

Shane came home with fish and chips.

I’m still pissing around on my PC, when I hear Shane fumbling about in the pot shoebox. “Have you got cigarettes?” he asks.

I head straight out to the lounge, collecting my dinner on the way. Shane mulls up enough for three joints. I decide to stay for all of them and not return to my computer. The TV is on, easy. Shallow? No!

After Shane rolls the last joint, at 10.30pm, he heads to bed. I only had to put in two hours to get three joints, or part thereof, that’s not such a bad deal.

Bad Christian!

I head to my computer after Shane goes to bed.

I went to sleep at 3am.

Pissing around. Pissing around.

It Is One Thing To Break Your Arm Once, But Twice, Because You Were Drunk Again?

"What? What? Really? NO!"

I was smoking on my balcony from an early hour. Lovely. I mean it was light, I wasn't up before the dawn, or anything, sneaking them in. The sun was hot, even at 7am. Bright. New. I felt like a toasted muffin sitting up there. I could feel the rays of the new sun hot on the skin on my face

It’s a beautiful, sunny, crisp day. Perfect. It sparkled. Coffee as I gazed out the back at the light, lifted me to greet it all.

Anthony called, his daily call, saying he’d sent me an email, had I read it? Of course, he was having trouble with his computer and didn’t know if he'd sent it, or not. I pretty much got simultaneously with the phone call.

“So, what’s up?”

“Read the email."

The printing on the email seemed small and the words many.

"You tell me."

"Oh, okay. You can't read the email?"

"No."

"Well..."

"What? What? Really? NO!"

Subject: Er

Well after taking out the bins i tripped again, this time more serously, i could not get up and a kind neighbour helped me stand. I was concussed and seriously injured, i have seriously broken my left collar bone this time and broken 3 ribs, i must have lain on the concrete for 20 mins. After attempting to ignore it i woke Aileen up and said i am in big trouble She called 000 as i had blood running down my face, and was sure of other damage. I was rushed to the hospital ER and admitted immediately. The first x-ray showed a major break in my collar bone, then i was placed in short stay and fitted with a neck brace for a ct scan after 2 hours all was fine, then a rib x-ray. I had to have pure morphine for that one and it still hurt. Back to my bed in short term stay. Yes i was given Morphine, it was hell. THe next day i had to stay overnight on lots of meds. 

I woke up this morning with screams from hell its self, i had not really slept, i heard that a derenged senior citizen had eaten the hand off an old woman. It is all confirmed by the 50 people arriving, including the Victoria Police.  I will never forget it, my roomwas next to the sun room where it all happened! Ted Balliue say no harm is being done, but seeing there was no bed for me, i was sent home, with a case of MOrphine, which i am taking with a drop of wine. My lounge room is now full of nubile young boys, from the Black forest in Bavaria, all stark naked, and if Aileen was not sitting here i would do something about it. Thanks to the LIbs in Victoria.

Pissed again! I couldn’t believe it. You can’t be serious?

“So, what do I do now?” asked Anthony. “How do I get my simple groceries and pay my bills?”

“I don’t know.” And I didn’t know. Fuck me! Two busted arms? Even if the first broken collar bone should be healed now.

“It’s probably best that I don’t think about it today.”

“Yes.” That was the best I could do. Yes. Two broken collarbones, be one of them just about healed. It was beyond my expertise.

“I wash the morphine down with wine and all the pain goes away.”

"What's with the boys in Lederhausen in your room?"

"I think the morphine is making me hallucinate."

I stopped myself saying, well, you’ll have to get a carer and you’ll have to get them to do everything for you. Anthony has worked in that profession himself, he should know about the help that is available to him.

I was lost in the day, it was slipping by just fine. I was so in a not-to-be-disturbed mood. Sam asked if he was coming over. “Is David still coming over to watch Project Runway?

“I don’t know,” I told him.

I vaguely remembered something about it, last week, David spoke about it. I hadn’t heard anything since. I was secretly hoping that nobody remembered, as I was happy with my stoner existence, in the quiet. Pathetic, I know. It was just nice to just laze and not think of anything.

I don’t feel like doing anything, to tell you the truth. I text Sam.

I see.

Eventually, Shane called to say that David was coming over for Project Runway and that Sebastian and Nick, were coming too and that Sebastian is cooking. Was Sam coming over for Project Runway? 

Sebastian cooked Pesto Pasta twirls and made a salad.

At one stage there was a loud crash in the kitchen, during the cooking process. Shane get’s up to investigate.

“What happened, dohl?”

“Oh, I just smashed that chipped dinner plate of yours that I have always hated.”

“Oh?”

Whatever. Good for you. Really, Sebastian. Is that even normal behaviour?

When Sam arrived, he said that I didn’t want to see him. I guess, he was right in some sense. But, it’s not like I’d ever say that I didn’t want to see him. I just didn’t want to see anybody.

I was happy smoking pot entertaining myself, that’s what I was saying. It’s true.

He gave me a look.

Mark called and said he’d half “carched” (high pressure water hose) the house and it looked lovely. Of course you have, action man, with a whole new project in front of him.

Maybe, I need a new project in my life. I laugh, which turns into a cough. (one of those meet-a-healthy-version-of-yourself came on the TV as I wrote that)

 

Number Two on the sides, short on the top

Vhata you like?

Number Two on the sides, short on the top, thanks Luigi. How's Domenic?

He's a good son.

Oh yes, I know, he is. Say hello to him for me. Tell him I want to see him again.

Okay

Gotta Do Something

Midday. I decide I can go and have a haircut, that much I could do today. No, really, I could. Which means one would have to have a shower… one would. Check. Shower. Check. Clean teeth. Check. Out the door. Check. There are something’s you just have to leave the house for… funnily enough, having said that, haircuts isn’t one of them, but I will proceed…

As I close the front door and reach for the mail, I remember that mum’s twilight home rent is overdue, I told my sister that I’d pay it Sunday night. Not that that is here nor there, the point is it is Tuesday and it still isn’t paid.

Clunk.

I can do it tomorrow. What will they do, kick her out?

She will call.

I hate that. She’s had to call once, I don’t want to be known as the “family” who doesn’t pay on time.

I can do it tonight. I take a step away from the front door.

But, I really want it to get there tomorrow.

I have to do it now, be realistic. I step back to the front door.

You will forget it you don’t do it now.

How long can it take?

My new resolution, nothing takes long once you make a start. Do you like that? Really?

Where is my key?

I take back the dvds, I am shattered to see one of them is for two days and not a week. I sooooooooooo hate video shop fines, I pride myself on it. Even I have control issues about the pathetically small number things that I can, actually, control. The world momentarily shudders to a halt.

Post a letter, return the dvds, get your haircut.

Post a letter, return the dvds, get your haircut.

Post a letter, return the dvds, get your haircut.

Post a letter, return the dvds, get your haircut.

Post a letter, return the dvds, get your haircut.

Post a letter, return the dvds, get your haircut.

Post a letter, return the dvds, get your haircut.

The sun is hot, as I step out into it.

Gosh I’m hungry. I buy two bananas on the way, from the Lebanese grocer, I hope the hot son is on today. If I was a chick in my fifties, I’d do the father. He’s nice, always smiles and says hello.

Clunk go the dvds in to the bottom of the shoot. I resisted checking they weren’t empty cases for the second time, just before I let go.

I’ve finished both bananas by the time I get to the hair guy. I’m hoping for no banana residue on my hands, as I will have to sit for the entire haircut before I could wash it off my hands. I hope that doesn’t sound too OCD, and banana residue isn’t so unpleasant, except for the gritty texture it leaves on your fingers.

I look like I’m 100 years old in the hairdresser’s mirror. My beady, half closed, bleary, red eyes stared back dumbly at me. No expression.

When did I get that line?

The new hairdresser guy asked if I’d been there before, or was it the first time, despite him cutting my hair the last time.

“No… you,” I feel like I am pointing like Edina from Ab Fab.

He’s fat. His stomach apron would hang down over his penis. Nothing five hundred sit-ups a day wouldn’t fix and possibly some minor surgery. He’s cute, otherwise.

As I stared and gazed and he stared and gazed, I started filming us in my head. An avant-garde, minimalist, 70’s Australian art house movie. Gritty, grainy. Concrete floors. Concrete footpaths. Haircut sign. No expression on either of our faces. Shot from odd angles.

On the way back, I was so scheming for two Michelle’s chocolate éclairs. You know, when you scheme with yourself, when you know you are doing the wrong thing? I was even willing to compromise with Sunny’s muffins, but they didn’t have any when I went in. So, it was back to the éclairs. Sheets of starchy fat, swags of dairy fat, sheets of chocolate, they are huge. Big and chocolaty. You have to take them home, they are just too piggy to gormandise in the street.

“So, which part of diet then do you understand?” I said to myself, as I trudged along Smith Street; grocer; juice shop, Xmas decorations on the footpath. Bright sunlight. “How do you want to feel when you catch sight of yourself in yet another shop window?

So, I went home for a Rapid Loss meal replacement shake… and a brownie, of course.

Just Look At That, That Is Perfection Right There

It is a Crisp, Shiny Day

6.45am I am awake. It is a bright, sunshiny, get things done kind of day. Warm. Crisp. Fresh. The sunshine is bright on my balcony door windows, my cracked open eye spies over the top of the doona.

I roll over and am looking at the mull bowl on the floor next to my bed and not the bedside clock. I have lost my orientation to the room, 20 degrees. On one level, I hate that, but on some other level, it is exciting, thrilling, that realignment.

Still, now I'm here. The universe is telling me, it couldn't be much clearer than that. Hands in the air.

I’d smoke a joint and cum by the time Shane got in the shower to go to work at, by my bedside clock, 9.09. Well, I just roll over and stare at the ceiling. What else is a boy to do when he is bored?

It is hot sitting on the balcony in blinding, what I would call “holiday light,” you know that sunshine, when you go to the tropics, on that very first morning. It is like that out there now. It is.

I listen to the punters walking to working, smoking a spliff. There is a gentle breeze.

At 9.25 Shane leaves the house.

At 9.26, I decide to go fetch some muesli. Make coffee. Oh yes, coffee. I’m like a puppy wagging its tail when it first sees you, at the thought of my first coffee.

I start writing on the kitchen bench, as the coffee pot hisses.

It is a crisp, shiny day. Sun light fills the garden.

What A Lovely Old Holden Wagon Parked Up A Side Street

I Had a Piss and Turned Everything Off

8am

What a lovely, sunny day, I think, as I sit on my balcony and drink my coffee and watch all the people heading to work. Ah, the sunshine!

The sun is so bright I can hardly see the screen of my lap-top, so much for writing in the fresh air. But the breeze is lovely and fresh and cool and fragrant.

8.30am

I am smoking a joint, hidden away up here on my balcony out of sight. It gives me a perverse pleasure to think that the punters heading to the salt mines may give a faint hint of it and wonder if they imagined it, or wondered where it came from? Wondered if they were working too hard and imagining things?

Shane is in the bathroom at 9.15, gasping for air and splashing water, sounding like he is trying to revive himself, talking to himself the whole time. I'm sure that is new.

Despite my desires for the opposite, I have done a couple of j's by this stage. I always think a good hit is advisable first up, life isn't for pussies, after all.

9.30am.

I make more coffee and eat bananas for breakfast. Aren’t we all pleased that bananas are back in the realms of the affordable. Bananas, we have missed you. Welcome back!

I give one of the gay movies, 200American, another go, as I head back to bed, eating more bananas, suddenly feeling relaxed. Busy day. Isn't this how half the women spent their days in the 50's and 60's in middle America? I think I approve, even if no good can come of it.

10.24am.

I am contemplating another joint, you know me. Intermission. Time to brew more coffee. Sam would be chastising me for my blatant piggery.

I think of Luke and how cool a pot smoker he is. He has a morning choof, a lunchtime choof and an afternoon choof. I wish I had as much class as that.

I drink my second pot of coffee.

Oh, what's that? A... a what... looking for a job? You ask? I laugh at you. I don’t want to talk about it. Maybe, if I just ignore it, it will go away.

You know, several of my friends have said something about me retiring, just lately, like they mean it.

I wrote dirty stories all afternoon. The movie was still rubbish. I'm not getting anything finished yet. I don't know why, I've been writing.

I replaced dinner with a Rapid Loss Meal Replacement Shakes.

Oh yes, I'm doing Rapid Loss shakes, for all those lunches and dinners where I'm only buying take away anyway, it can't be bad. If I am moving less, and I am, I should, consume less, pure logic.

I went to bed early, Shane came home late. I didn’t see him, only for a cameo at the fridge, brownie, brownie, brownie, when I sneaked down, trying to be as quiet as a mouse. Go unnoticed, even.

I passed out some time after 9pm, naturally. In bed. Warm. Snuggled up in my doona, soothing television on my big screen teli, my laptop on my lap writing, tea... heating me up more.

I woke at 3am, tilted sideways, the tap top tilted sideways in the opposite direction, with a very chatty infomercial talking at me.

"Kill me now."

I had a piss and turned everything off.

I Still Don’t Know How A Big Top Daddy Can Have A Small Penis?

 Sam wakes me and asks, “What time is your sister Gill coming?”

“10.30am.”

“It is now 10.30am.”

“Oh shit!”

I sit up and know what puppies feel like in the first few days of their lives. I open my mouth wide, as though, that is, somehow going to help.

I’m out of bed in seconds and heading to the door. Shane tells me, from the other side, that Gill is already here, just as I reach for the handle.

“Tell her I will be five minutes.”

I’m out of the shower in two minutes, dried in three, dressed in four, on the stairs in five minutes. and Gill and I are walking out the door a minute later.

Gill and I have lunch with mum. She takes her walker this time, after essentially, running out of energy for the return walk home the last time we took her out for lunch. We, practically, had to carrying her the last few metres.

She doesn't finish a complete sentence over lunch.

I’m home by 1pm. You've got to love these beautiful summer days.

Sam went to Victoria Street for food. He's keen on his food, is my boy. He always wants to know the plan for the next meal. Menus are never far from his consciousness.

The doorbells sounds. I think it is strange as Sam took my second set of keys. I have a big set, a second set with an M, which looks like a W if held upside down, key ring, and a singular front door key, my smallest set. He said he took the W keys, why would he be ringing the doorbell? 

I finish what I am doing and head to the door, to see a Leather Top Shane meeting trade. “Come up to my room,” he says.

I don’t know how a big top daddy can have a small penis? It's a contradiction in terms. 

You can tie them up. You can discipline them. You can even smack ‘em around, if that’s what they want, but eventually they are going to want to be 'stuck good and proper' to finish them off, and a micro-worm is just not going to cut it, I think. 

Oh yeah, the thing I am probably accused of most often is, Christian you are just too honest. Blunt. Whichever?

The whole thing is baffling. 

Sam, and I, buy roast chicken, from the supermarket, and ingredients for salad. Sam reminds me about all the raw mushroom salads I made him when we first met, with a shiver. I think he is exaggerating. He thinks it is insane to have raw mushrooms in salads, or anything for that matter.

"But, they aren't cooked." Quizzical look.

We talk about making a banana cake... but who has over ripe bananas, none are sitting in the bowl for that long, we are too pleased to see them.

We make gooey, thick, chewy brownies, instead. Double choc, extra thick. It has to be rich and chocolaty, if it is a brownie, otherwise it is a chocolate muffin, or slice.

Shane appears several times in various manifestations of a leather outfit and rolls joints. He gives us pot, which I am only too happy to receive. I don't tell him I already have pot.

“Trade is having trouble getting off my bed.” He wants us to ask.

“Too out of it?” Really, this tired old cliche.

“No, tied up.”

“Oh?” Really.

“Oh.” Out of it look.

Sam reminds me how long ago Shane bought his bag of pot… as some kind of learning curve for the possibilities of the longevity of the bag, instead of being the pig that I am.

Shane comes and watches TV late and rolls more joints and tells us he is trashed. Sam, later, notes how intuitive, I am.

“That was a return visit,” says Shane, “so there’s one of my trade I haven’t scared away.”

I immediately think about the small penis again.

We watch TV, there is nothing on. Apparently, we have another gay movie to watch, Make the Yuletide Gay – who chose these movies? – so we watch that. 

Sam continues to tell me off for the frequency of my joint rolling.

“You do as you are told with every one of my other instructions, just not this one,” says Sam after I roll the latest of an endless stream of joints.

He’s right of course. I wish I could be more like Luke who smokes a joint every four hours during the day. I wish I could be that person.

We go to bed at 11pm.

The Gorgeous Red Brick Warehouse Architecture Of Collingwood

We Fell Asleep To The Gentle Sunrays Shining Through The Window

Up early. 8am.
We go to the body corporate meeting, at 9.30am. The real estate agent running the show asks me what unit.
“One.”
“Oh.” He points to Sam. “You together?”
What, should we have bought our pugs? “Yes.”
It is held in the common driveways of the units. It is about the beautification of the garden, and, I think, Sam’s objection to the large tree being removed from the front of his place. A few weeks ago we came home to find several large trees had been removed from the garden completely. Sam saw the tree cutter when he returned a few days later and asked him not to cut down the tree in front of his place.
Hence, the emergency, on site gathering.
One chick had a half finished qualification in trees and wanted to remove everything, according to her particular likes and dislikes and start again. Another chick, whose mother once kept the garden immaculately, way back fucking when, just kept saying, “I just want it to look beautiful again, I just want it to look beautiful,” without any suggestions, or a clue, clearly, as to how that may be achieved.

We watched movies and turned into techno boys with our laptops and ipads in use at the same time.
At some stage I worried that I was too boring, as Sam and I were cuddled up on the couch together.
We fell asleep to the gentle sunrays shining through the window. Shane woke us something about wanting a cigarette. Suddenly. “Christian, Christian, Christian?” (Like Sheldon Cooper) Woke me up? From a dead sleep? Even that is a little too self focused for Shane, I thought.
“No I don’t have any.” I did, but they were upstairs and clearly not handy. Otherwise, I would have had to get up and get them.
“See, meth,” I said to Sam.

We talked about going for a long walk. We talked about our expanding waistlines and the need to exercise. We headed to the supermarket, instead, and bought spinach, which we were going to wilt into the pasta sauce to revitalise it.
Not another joint, protests Sam several times through the night.
We head to bed to watch one of the two gay movies we had hired. We start with 200American, and then swap to, Eastside Story, until we decide they are both crap. Cheap. Low productions standards.

Apparently, I fell asleep in it. Sam is a nazi if that happens. I wake to “Switch it off!” The pillows being rearranged into sleeping position, the doona aligned, the remote snatched away and “boof” the room turns to darkness.
“Hah. What? Oh.”

Roast Chicken

It is a beautiful sunny Friday day. My first day back in Melbourne, when Melbourne is my only choice. My first day without Mark and Luke in my life. Twenty two years and fourteen years respectively. I’m not going to have them around?

I text Luke, of course, Mark’s mobile is inoperable, to see where they are and to see that they are all right.

Mark calls at midday, they are between Dubbo and Tamworth. Mark tells me how beautiful the countryside is.

He says that Sam and I should drive up there, and see the beautiful countryside. I remember that stretch from Tamworth to Dubbo as being especially beautiful.

Mark even looked up at the pub balcony in Coolah and thought of me. A few miles out, I drowned my car in a flooded stream, two years ago. And that balcony was where I spend two glorious days reading my book waiting for my car to be fixed. The sun shine was so warm and inviting, the peace, the solitude, by the second day I decided that I just didn’t want to leave.

I should have got a job at the bar there and given the country life a whirl. If only it were that easy? It is, of course, it is that easy on paper, but then life gets in the way.

I was touched that Mark remembered.

I write on my computer all day. Stuff. Journal. Dirty stories. I still haven’t got back to my romance novel. I should. Jill would market it, after all. All I seem to be doing is missing opportunities.

I feel mean about telling Sam that I would meet him at his place tomorrow morning for the body corporate meeting at his place, rather than him coming over tonight and us both going together in the morning.

I just want to give myself time to feel sad. Just a moment on my own, to feel what I am feeling. To feel something? But, the truth is that the world is very small now and nothing seems very far away, so it is hard to feel a huge loss. I can skype them now.

I buy dope from Guido in Victoria Street. He’s nearby again, good and bad.

Last bag, I tell myself.

Well, the last pot I bought was the 1st June, if you don’t count last weeks, so that has to count for something very major. Mark and Luke are now gone and they are my major pot influences. Shane doesn’t have pot now a days, even if he too has had it for the last few weeks. He bought a bag two weeks ago, which still seems to be going. I smoke pot when I go to Bolago. If I don’t go to Bolago, I don’t smoke pot.

I feel sad that Mark and Luke have gone too, so getting stoned in the face of your two best friends leaving you, possibly, for good, feels nice. 

It’s true.

I play with my potted plants in the sun. It’s a lovely day.

Sam arrives at 6pm. I’m pleased to see him. I’m glad he came over. I am equally as glad that I haven’t been masturbating to porn and have a greasy dick to go with my otherwise unwashed appearance.

We sweep the back yard together. It is back to looking like a dumping ground for assorted neighbourhood debris, since the week I have been gone. 

It really doesn’t take that long, I tell myself. 

Every day, I tell Mark. 

What is wrong with that?” he says.

He is right. It all starts with one sweep of the broom, I tell myself. I’ve become quite backyard proud since I have been off work.

Shane’s behaviour seems different almost as soon as he gets home and I say to Sam, Shane is doing meth.

I suggest roast chicken for dinner on the way to the supermarket. Not one of Sam’s favourites.

“Really?”

Truthfully, I’m too stoned to think of anything else and I could, quite easily, just repeat it dumbly, if encouraged.

Sam and I make up a pasta sauce, chorizo sausage, eggplant, olives, capsicum, tomatoes, something else, I forget.

We hired dvds. Transformers and The Hangover 2. Both are just so so. Transformers is almost unintelligible. The Hangover’s structure doesn’t work the second time. 

Sam tells me off for my pot smoking.

I have the epiphany that Sam shouldn’t be smoking as much as me, as I have been unwittingly doing. He should enjoy that first stage of pot smoking where just a little does a lot and not spoil it for him by shoving it down his gob as often as I shove it down my gob.

After that, I only hand him the joint once and I smoke the rest. It’s not exactly back to the consumption of a beginner, but at least it is something. Besides, his hand keeps reaching for it, if I deny him altogether.

 

Begonia Is An Old Favourite

Succulents Are A New Favourite

All Over Now

I woke up at 9am. Mark was outside finishing the packing. Luke got up not much later.

Stu, the new owner, arrived at 9.30, as scheduled, in his 200K convertible.

We learned that Kristy, the wife, loves drugs any kind of drugs, she is an enthusiast, so as soon as this baby is out of her, the drugs will start again. Oh yes, she has just discovered she is pregnant. Some people are blessed.

LouLou arrived not long after that, Mark and Luke’s right hand woman.

Stu seemed to stay forever, but in all reality, it was probably two hours.

We finished packing by 1pm.

We all stood around, looking.

The cars were packed, time to go. We had one last cup of tea, smoked a couple of joints and then it was time.

LouLou cried as she hugged Luke. Mark and I cried as we hugged each other. Then I was hugging Luke, trying not to cry as I said I was going to miss him.

Mark washed the car windscreens.

Luke put his sunglasses on as he stepped outside.

We all hugged again. They got in their cars. Luke said he was going touring with Gerry. When were both bamboozled and asked who Gerry was, Luke said Gerry Geranium. He closed the car door.

OMG!

Mark drove off saying, “Off to a new life,” with tear filled eyes.

Luke smiled through the car window and then he was gone too.

Next stop Marshall. For good. Not coming back. Their cars were sure packed up like the Beverley Hillbillies.

LouLou and I were left standing there. LouLou asked me out for lunch and I should have gone – is that breaking my new rule, don’t say no to things? – but truthfully, I was exhausted, we were all exhausted. I worried about Mark and Luke being not too exhausted to drive.

Mark and Luke changed Leah’s life.

LouLou asked me if I wanted a cup of tea before I left, but I was spent, done, I just needed to get home.

I drove up the driveway and stopped at the gate. I smoked a joint and took some photos. I turned onto the Road and headed towards Woodend, sometime after 2pm.

Iota’s song, “Come back for me” played on the cd player.

I looked in the rear vision mirror to see purple eyelids and pools of water. I was hungry and Luke had given me a bag of food and in it were Blueberries. So then when I looked in the rear vision mirror, a bit later, I had purple eyelids and a purple mouth.

It suddenly, for the first time, felt real.

I changed cd’s and Randy Crawford started singing, Everything must change.

I just downloaded the last photos I took at Bolago today, there were 111 of them.

So, how do I feel now? On my own.

The Removalists Have Left by 10.00 With The First Truckload

The removalists come at 7am. All the way from Mullum. I didn’t hear them drive, not a peep and the barn is right by my bedroom. Funny, hey, but then sleep is my best skill

I’m awake at 9am. I hear voices now. “No, no, no,” or something. “No no no.” For some reason I think it is Jimmy, but it isn’t. I think it is the truck backing as close to the barn as it can.

I wander bleary-eyed out into the kitchen. Mark tells me to go and take a look at the gorgeous removalist, Chucky. I get a photo. Oh, I guess, he’s cute, in a straight boy, AFL player, rugged surfie kind of way.

I smoke two joints before I head off to my room to get ready, but I do my journals instead.

The removalists have left by 10.00 with the first truckload. The rest is going to be picked up on Monday. Half of the barn has been emptied. They have some deal that Mark and Luke’s stuff will be picked up as a return trip deal to Mullum.

It is only now hours until they move, not days, not weeks. It's all happening. What seemed liked months off, is now right upon us, here, now. This is it. They are going.

Mark and I go out and collect firewood in the forest, to leave the new owners supplied. I mustn’t be such a nice person, as I think it is insanity, it is the 01st day of summer, tomorrow.

Mark and Luke are leaving Bolago on the first day of summer. It just makes me feel sad.

Mark asks me to sweep out the shipping containers. He really does need therapy for the destruction (mother) Margaret Waterdale had on his logic concerning cleaning. 

My voice breaks into incredulousness, “WHAaa…t?” but I pull myself up fast. “Okay, sure.” Be a good sport, do what is asked. But shipping containers that are open to the elements in such terrain. Really? Swept out? Please?

Mark’s eyes search my face for any sign of mutiny.

“No problem.” Smile. “Happy to.”

It all has to look the part. The presentation has to be just so. I know. Damn you Margaret!

Mark wants it to look perfect, he wants his dream to be polished and to be its very best self.

I have tea breaks. Many. I work by the cup of tea every half hour rule.

I rearranged the barn with Luke and clean the fridges. Mark took photos for the manual he is creating for Stu, and he disappears for quite some time in the afternoon.

I have pot breaks. That’s the marijuana kind and not a set of jars, you understand.

Mark is finishing the packing of the trailer to be towed behind the Range Rover.

Never give lunch duty to the person who doesn’t eat. (Anorexic) Leah kept saying she was going to make lunch, but her anal cleaning drives kept proving to be too strong, so Luke stepped in. Thankfully. Just before the boy’s got angry. Read, I got cross.

The phone and internet were cut off in the afternoon, as Mark and Luke delayed their departure for one day. The telecommunication termination should have been tomorrow, if they had left on time, of course. Yesterday.

I took photos around 7pm, as the light fades.

The house got packed up and the barn got packed up and then there seemed to be an end to the list of thinks that had to get done.

LouLou heads to her place to sleep. She leaves us a bud of pot, to make up for our dwindling supply.

Mark and I move the ten or fifteen, huge sheets of Masonite, late, it is dark. Apparently, they are heading north too. We are just about around to the front of the barn, from the shipping container behind, when the wiring on the trailer breaks and the trailer tips over backwards sending the ten sheets of wood crashing to the ground and my foot. Fortunately, they fanned out as they hit the ground and most of their weight was taken by the ground, only half of the later sheets landing on my foot. It was close, I was lucky.

Luke got Chinese and we watched TV.

Mark is in pain, his back is over worked. He goes to bed early.

The, actual, last night seemed some what anti climatic, everyone was too exhausted. We stared at the TV screen blankly, stuffed.

Mark comes back out and wants medical marijuana for pain, but we have run out of papers. 

I offer to go. Luke asks me if I am really keen. I say I’d go to help someone’s pain. He laughs cynically. I call him a bitch. We laugh.

Am I that transparent?

Mark says he is going back to bed not to worry.

Luke says not much later, “Yeah, go on, then we could have joints for tomorrow too.” 

“Be careful,” he says, as I go, which I think is sweet. It’s raining, you are stone…

The road is long and the weather has turned to “not so nice.” I imagine every set of lights that comes into view behind me is the police, because I am paranoid. Woodend is deserted, the servo the only bright light in town.

Mark is out on the couch when I get back.

I check my messages from home.

Anthony left this message on the X Street phone.

I’m tired, tired, tired. Very tired and emotional… get back to me when you feel like it.

I presume that means he is pissed.

David left a message too.

Putriffariffacation. Muffin. Muffin. Hello! Hello! Hello!

Eternally positive…

… except for the 28th day of his cycle when he crashes and burns in a depressive state.

Getting Towards the End

Mark and Luke were up early.

I drank coffee and smoked two joints with LouLou before I did anything. It was after 10am.

I took more photos.

We empty the cottage of all its furniture. LouLou comes to help and cleans the cottage to within an inch of its life, I’m not sure why? Then Mark told me later that the new couple’s fourteen year old daughter is going to use it.

I went and bought hamburgers. Our diet deteriorates in exact proportion to the time Mark and Luke have left.

LouLou stays, she is great with the marijuana supply.

LouLou had a very small portion of food, which I noticed she hardly ate any of.

Mark and Luke sleep in the house from today, as their bed from the cottage has been packed.

I clean up around the back of the vegi garden. And take photos. I like raking, it is gentle and smooth and I am my own boss. It also some how makes it all feel as though it is all normal.

We clean out the shipping container. Stoves. Furniture. Tables.

I make toasted sandwiches.

Rob, from Luke’s restaurant, comes to visit, to say goodbye and look sad. He tells Luke he doesn’t know what he is going to do without him.

We are getting towards the end. I spent the afternoon moving furniture from outside the cottage to the barn.  

I collect the remaining four speakers from the cottage. They are too heavy and break the weld on the trailer, which attaches the tipping tray to the frame. The original clasp had broken some time previously and now the repair weld to the broken clasp had broken. Mark has to wire it back together.

I’m stopping for tea and marijuana breaks every two hours, I would hesitate a guess.

We ate chicken dinners that Luke got and sat up and watched teli, exhausted.

LouLou brings her mull bowl out and says help yourself, which, of course, I do. Luke too. The two pot heads to the end.

 

This Is It

I'm in the country, this is the very last weekend. Mark and Luke go to Byron to live. This is it, the removalist trucks come on Wednesday. My two best friends. I was there when we bought Bolago. It's twenty years later, where did the time go?

That's it. Done. Shit! Nothing lasts forever, I know that. But?

Over. Wow.

Sad Face. It's a huge part of my life. What am I going to do now on the weekends? No, seriously, I'm going to feel claustrophobic stuck in the inner burbs.

I only have Melbourne now. No more country residence. Will I get bored with that? Will I feel confined? In these years of global warming, do I want to live cramped by the cities heat? Trampled by the ever increasing tourists who are settling in Fitzroy. Being trampled? Sweating in heated boxes. No matter how hot the day, it always cools down in the country.

One stop out of Melbourne, with land of it's own, just enough to obscure any neighbours. I always thought a dirt road sounded romantic. Some where with a deck and huge windows to let in swathes of light. Huge panes of glass behind which to eat your breakfast in the sparkling morning. With views, long sweeping views.

You And Your Bliss Fuck Off

Whores with pears and pairs of whores. It is an interesting word puzzle. It gives a completely different meaning depending on the positioning of the word pear.

Everyone got too and pitched in. Sam and I used the tractor with Sam loving it and becoming quite proficient. But, ride-on mowers are fun, lots of fun, let's face it. I sometimes wonder if it is a precursor to electric cars. It just glides along, pushing over the top of everything, easy. 

It was a lovely sunny day, warm and bright. The eucalypt bush dappled the ground with beauty. The air was cool and fresh.

In the afternoon, I sensed some drama when coming upon Christine in front of the barn, curled fists and leading with her chin, she was practically hyperventilating, hissying and sissing, as I rode passed on the ride-on. I kept riding. She and Mark seemed to be having words outside the barn. All I could think of was the story Mark told about how difficult and demanding Chris was when she went and stayed at Marshall with Debbie.

We had dinner and sat around in the lounge. We always have a fire, pretty much, no matter the weather. It is always are cosy in the evening.

Christine came up to help. She seemed to want to take up her issues with Mark about the time she and Debbie came up to help him in Marshall.

Mark was telling the story about Debbie and Sunny-Brook, visiting, laughing about it, and it didn’t go down so well with Christine.

Take your bliss and fuck off… was what Mark wanted to say to Debbie, when he had asked Sunny-Brook to stop dancing in the open plan lounge up at the Marshall house early in the mornings. Mark and Luke's bedroom is a mezzanine, underneath which Sunny-Brook   practiced her dancing on the wooden floors… early, because is young. 

"Can you stop stomping around, Sunny-Brook," asked, commanded Mark.

Debbie butted in. "Oh Mark, leave her alone she is in her bliss."

Well she can take her bliss and fuck off. Mark thought.

We all laughed.

Christine got quite upset, listening to Mark, some may say, belittling his cousin Debbie. I thought, nyer. Mark defended himself, of course. Then suddenly there was yelling. Christine seemed keen to tell Mark off, no matter what he had to say. She just kept on going, seemingly needing to get it all out and get to the end, resolution, or whatever.

“Listening to you now, I’m horrified. It’s disrespectful.”

And there we have that “respect” word being bandied about again. It is spoken of as though there is some minimum requirement deserved to everyone without any sort of requirement to earn it, like it was once understood.

The rest of us kind of tuned out and continued in our own conversation, leaving Mark on his own. It was his own sister, he was in no danger. He's a big boy.

Quietly, I think Debbie is a bludger. Inexplicably, I think she may have the same opinion about me.

Sam's photo 01

Anthony

My best mate Anthony has come back into my life, after a nine year estrangement. He was one of my best friends, me, Tom and Anthony. Of course, there are other's who are important, as well. I say the three, as the three of us got on so well. We were all very different, except we always "got" each other. they were the two people to who I could tell anything and they would just get it. We were on the same wave length, we were all very smart and most importantly, we had the same sense of humour.

Of course, Mark is the other person, but Mark has lived in the country for many years and has been, slightly, separated in that sense.
Tom, Anthony and I were the city guys.
Luke's in there too, but he came later.

Anthony has been through hell in the nine years apart and he has not come back unscathed. Gone is the handsome, blond shaggy-haired man who told me life was too painful and that he couldn't see me any more, the last time I saw him. Returned is a bloated, over weight man, who some how still resembles my friend.

He now lives on sickness benefits.

He calls me once a day, if not more on some days. He usually has something funny to say. A comment on life, usually wrapped up in a complaint... with a laugh.

"Still, we could be living next to Fukushima."
"Or thirsty in the Sudan."
"I read about a woman who had her face ripped off by an angry monkey."
"Bloody hell.."
He laughed. "Like they had to state the monkey was angry."
"I wonder what she did to make him do that?"
"Oh, she was probably just being human. That would be enough for me, some days, I'm telling you."

He's definitely more audible in the mornings.
It was hysterical one day. I'd been out for the entire day and night and when I got home there were three messages.
"Hello it's Anthony here."
"Hello... it's... Anthony... here."
"Ullo... it's, um... Antny... ere."
Oh, I couldn't help but laugh.

Some days it's...
"Oh I've had a bugger of a day, but soon it will be better."
"Putting your feet up, are you?"
"No. Well." Laugh. "Yes. But I've also poured myself a wine. And with that and the valium, things should be improving in roughly fifteen minutes, or so." Laugh.

He has a lap-top which he has no end of problems with. Maybe, less problems in the morning than in the evening, trouble is one generally uses such things more often in the evenings.

His sister gave him a digital camera that never seems to work. "Bloody things. It just won't connect to my lap-top in any way. I'm going to have to get Sam over to help me."

He cooks every night, what sound like, scrumptious, delicious meals. He confided in me that driving to the shops in the afternoon is problematic.

"Oh yes, last time the neighbours were mighty cross. when I left tyre tracks across their front law." Laugh. "I don't know why."
So he has to be organised, you see. There are things to be done, which needy to get done and then we can rest... medicate.

I like his calls. He tells me his news, I tell him my news, we both laugh, we both hang up. It's nice. It is when phone calls are tolerable, manageable, dare I say enjoyable. Succinct, to the point and everybody leaves smiling.

I Dreamt About My Old Boss Again

I dreamt about my old boss again.

I was heading home with David K, don’t ask me why, I haven't worked with him for years, but, he was a part of that first team when I first worked at the black law firm, which included Bitch Face, Anorexic Belinda.

David and I walked around to the tram stop, after work, which was a big building where the Trams drove right up to the front, like a bus station. It was a deco building, complete with the punters dressed in trench coats and hats. There was a sea of faceless trench coats and hats, like a stylised Brack painting. Out the front of the building was a big waiting area; concrete, sharp lines. A square, if you like.

Everyone stood in rows waiting for the tram to arrive.

Anorexic Belinda was already standing there. I walked up and stood next to her, inadvertently. When I noticed her, I didn’t say anything, but I wanted to. I was itching to, you might sat. (not unlike the remaining cells of flesh must itch under her loose skin) I couldn’t help giving her the evil eye. I could feel my breathing turn confrontational, deeper and deeper, inside me. I could hear my breathing in my ears, like a heart beat.

She looked around. “Oh you are beautiful, Christian,” said Belinda. Sarcastically, of course, in that off-hand, holier than thou tone that she uses.
I couldn’t hold back. “Get fucked Belinda, why don’t you go and get fucked.”
“Oh here we go,” said Belinda. She stepped back, retreating. Her eyes loose in the eye sockets in her head, her teeth now far too big for her jaws, the skin stretched tightly across her now protruding cheek bones.

She went to stand at the back of the waiting area. I looked back at her.

“You’re not beautiful.” Hatred was on my tongue. "You are ugly, but how you look on the outside is the least of your problems."
"How dare you speak to me like that," she said. "Who do you think you are."
"You are a horror story, look at you," I said. "Mrs Bates."

Her face creased into pain and she began to cry. I didn’t expect that but made me feel good. Yes it did. It made me feel good. It was a win in a long line of losses with her.

David came back from somewhere and I told him what had happened. Then he seemed to disappear. Of course, he has been a long standing friendship with Belinda.

The waiting area filled up with people until it was packed, as the tram was coming down the narrow alleyway, which came to the front of the waiting area. The trouble was I didn’t know what tram to catch, David hadn’t told me. I asked the crowd, who seemed much bigger and taller than me, all of a sudden, with mouths that were lugubrious, big, gasping at the air to suck in life's oxygen.

Several people seemed to know David, all of them identified themselves as accountants and a discussion ensured as to which tram I should catch. They talked about the roads in the western suburbs, one disagreeing with the other, and another agreeing with the first guy.

"You must catch..."

"No, you must catch..."

I'm Careering From One Distraction to Another, Like a Drunk

I was coming home from the country to stop pissing around and start to look for a job, seriously. Come on, stop pissing around, get your act together, get on with it. In the zone and what have you. Stiff upper lip, every poor sod has to work... before they head off into the nursing home where they fight, finally, having everything done for them.

I've done nothing for the last two days but stress. Big time. You know that blinding stress that just takes your perception away and makes your view of the world go funny, spotty, unreal. I mean, it's still more kin to a huge harumph than anything coming close to neurological failure, don't get me wrong. Preoccupied, can't think of anything else, rather than mental disease.

You know, when you can't hook onto a real plan and you just career from one distraction to another, like a nutter or a drunk. Where none of the options quite measure up to... well, to bliss, lets face it.

Careering from nothing to nothing?

The only thing that brings me back to the present, out of the problem, is hunger. Ha, ha. Always sex and food, hey? Oh woe is me, woe is me, woe is me, WOE IS ME, life is ending as I know it... gosh, I aren't half hungry.

My cat has been sitting next to me licking my arm as if she is worried about me. Of course, she is still a cat and therefore it is more likely, than is isn't, that her actions are about her. We know that, it is why we love them and hate them. She probably only wants food. Maybe, I taste nice.

Friskies Senior.

I'm worried about me. I've should/rationally/logically get a job, before I "have to" get a job, if you know what I mean, and I just can find the inspiration to pick up the phone and call. I've got contacts, people to call, leads on jobs, so it shouldn't even be that hard. You'd think that would be enough of an inspiration? I've just got to turn up in a suit and say something intelligent.

No, apparently not.

No, it is not inspiration. I just can't face the prospect of going back to work and I have become my favourite waste of time... all the time berating myself because of it.

It's tattslotto, or nothing. Then I could sit around and do nothing for the rest of my life, angst free.

Bloody hell, how did I get myself into this position? I've tasted freedom, had it in my grasp, enjoyed it's taste and scent. it felt good on me, but, oh, I did nothing and now it is being snatched away from me.

Bugger!

And then, as has happened before, bang, it will all be done and I'll have a job and the world will seem stress free again.

It's funny how inaction gets inaction and while you are in it, it seems never ending.

I need not to care so much. A wise friend of mine said lately, there is only today and tomorrow, that's all there is.

Maybe, I just need some Vegemite toast,  some food, sustenance, mangia, memories of childhood, the equivalent of a mother's touch. I don't think I will pour the glass of milk, though.

Ha ha, woe is me, I make myself laugh. I am such a lazy bastard. 

Carlo Likes To Smoke The Peace Pipe As Often, And With As Many people, As He can. Everyone Likes Carlo