A Lazy Day

A lazy day at Bolago. Lovely. I love going to the country and doing nothing.

I like it the best when Mark and Luke do nothing too and we spend the day in front of the fire watching life style programs, smoking pot and making food.

That's the best lazy day there is. Doing nothing but resting, surrounded by beauty. 

Pink Bed

I call this one, Hop Right In The Water Is Fine

Grumpy Friday

Morning Miss.

Isn't it a lovely day?

I've got the heater and my beanie on, and I'm still cross about the footy.

I had a bad night's sleep from my coughing and snotting, and I'm pissed off that my "Can't you tell I AM looking after myself" speech seems to be ruined.

Big sigh.

I've also got Fred and Gina fluttering about, offering to find me a pharmacy open on Good Friday should I need it. I *do* actually need to get the whooping cough drugs, so I might send them out just so I can get some peace.

They've been up for five minutes, already I'm hating them and we've barely said a word.

I need something today, that will cheer me up.

Wand in hand, waving determinedly.  Give me something good today.

And what of you Miss?

xT

I had my own smoking circle of death and then I staggered off to bed. Woke up lying sideways in bed with an infomercial playing sideways, at some ungodly hour!

I’ve got the heating on, a jumper and still I’m shaking.

Do you think I’m smoking too much dope?

I’m on my third joint, now that I count.

And I’m out of milk! I’ll have to don my beanie and saunter to the shop. Jasus! Life’s a bitch.

christian

Yes I think you are smoking too much dope.

Why are you smoking too much dope?

xT

Dunno. Just am. But this “catnip herb” is the best I’ve tasted so far for a tobacco substitute. It’s way superior to anything else I’ve tried.

christian

Catnip or catnap?

Tom

SMS. 12.46. It’s freezing here. I just thought I’d share that with you – christian

SMS. 13.14. Oh goodie! I’ll be sure to start lamenting the warm sun immediately, c u Sunday little bitch. Fuck it must be cold if u feel it. Fuck fuck fuck! – Aby

Cold sores?

Maybe it's getting better?!

xT

SMS. 16.32. Are you in Bolago? – Tom

SMS. 16.35 On the way – christian 

Colours

Happy Easter

Miss.

How are you?

I'm feeling a little lack lustre, but will soldier on regardless.

I don't need to buy you a Witness ticket as it is 10 bucks on the door.

Cool huh 😀

Now I'm wondering if I should go again...

Tee hee

See you tonight Miss. i'll land there round 5ish.

xTom

I'm excellent – it's all a part of my new attitude. Everybody has to go through the grind of this horrible life, why oh why do I act like some princess?

So I'm great

10 bucks at the door? How could this be so? It seems remarkably good. You gotta luv that

christian

Mark and Luke, happy easter, C

Happy Easter Fletchyx

Leah

You too miss. not too much chocolate, now ya here.

Come down tonight and you and I will have midnight tea and hot-cross buns. Toast the year! You can go back tomorrow.

christian

Can’t do, have a dates with my husband and some lamb chops and my Restaurant Rules. Will be hot cross bunning this afternoon for arvo tea- yum xx Being very healthy and going to gym three days a week at the moment so my arse is not ginormous for the party

Have fun and speak soon to get the 21st Betty festival organised. xx

Leah

Healthy?... I've been spending my nights, for the last few weeks, really, really, really... well, you know how I spend it. Bad Christian!

Betty Festival? I thought that was April 30th.

christian

Hee Hee!!

Leah

All right all right I'll have another look (at Daniel McPherson) but young and blonde just doesn't do it for me.I prefer 50 and bald... don't ask me why????????

Rachel

The tea is on.

God I'm exhausted, lunch with Jude, and still D and the doctors to go.

My face has erupted too by the way.

I look like I've been burned with a soldering iron on my chin and my lip.

Tres attractive!

Tom

gorgeous... old puss face. tres attractive is putting a great spin on it. I'll bring you home a motor-bike helmet.

white with none...thanks

Christian

Tom is sooooooo vein too. Chuckle. I guess he has good reason to be, as the treatment he has has made him look very sick, at times. But, so far, he has got through with his good looks bouncing back. When he lived in Sydney for the years he had the first treatment for Leukaemia, he lived by the beach and spent his days tanning on the beach, swimming and going to the gym every day, so despite being very sick, he always seemed to look great.

Now in Melbourne, he is studying at uni and going to the gym and he still manages to look good, despite it all.

He seems to bounce back from those times when he is very sick. 

He is very conscious of the way he looks, cross about his gorgeous blond hair going brown after (is it 7?) years of chemo. He is now conscious of any blemish, anything that diminishes the way he looks, he takes very seriously.

I guess that is not so different to the rest of us, hey?

Lovely Wednesday Hip Hip Hoorah!

Yes well you're quite right, it's goo dof you to wait so long, yes yes, er, yes... it is my turn to write. Quite so. No, I wouldn't have it any otherway.

Woke up this morning. Alex dream. Very annoyed. Thinking about his cock and mother and everything.  Looking for him looking and being a fool. Och God, wake up earlier will you, just wake up, WAKE UP! and spare yourself (he's having a birthday at month's end and brain is nicely reminding me). So you see, not dead yet! Things still in working order. Nurse keep your manky finger off the off switch for a few more mornings yet (I'm watching, I know wat's what).

Still, what I wouldn't give for chocking on a wog anaconda let me tell you. I wannit wannit wanit!  I have holidays at the mo (yippee!!) so I suppose I could just go out and gettit (cheers in the background), but first today I have to: i. email Alex birthday greetings etc, ii. email slag Christian (slag is a German word meaning like a saint, even if a bit whiffy), iii. book ticket and pay for it, iv. check me violets out on the terrace, v. do fencing out in garden, vi. set up terrace for seedling punnets, vii. score green in evening but try not to think about it all day. How exciting!

So made coffee, opened up computer, ensconced self. Achhhh but it's one of THOSE days, and I can't get wog boy thoughts out of my head. Ohhh would that I could gagg and be thwumped by one (or two) every single night... Be huffed by one due to my cold Anglo ways, agonise how can I please him more with (practices animated movements with hands in mirror that appear fake), be manked but not displeased with his interesting spin on sexual loyalty in dark rooms and fisting places - ah but winning him and his sparky deep brown eyes, his locky sidies, his mega peasant's nose, his.... ahhh I call me a romantic and I know I'm sentimentalo but crikey – shouldn't I be in Macedonistan or something – bloody dreams! They are, dreamy.

Creamy.

Sigh and shifts gears (C'mon Beck!  Uphill).

We had guests last night. Manky Timo from South Germany and his (sorry but boring Dr boyfriend). Timo runs museums and has a thing about naughty old Poland gobbling up most of former East Germany (what, STILL?!?) and we had lots of chit chat and we didn't spit at one another this time (good good – see I'm learning) and actually the evening was moderately pleasant and we got to light the fire, but although Timo has one arm shorter than the other (and thus scores in the cuteness stakes as my best buddy Arek from the Sydney-Dubbo exchange in yr 10 (are you keeping up?) whom I used to visit as a country kid in da big city and he being a MIGRANT (New Australian) and a twin and from Poland ... er hang on.. ah yes, arm, arm... well he also had one arm shorter than the other so you see Timo really should have good cards in that department shouved up his... but no, nothing in that department and they left me somewhat cold.

Nevertheless. I felt like sleeping with Bern as the evening on the sofa upstairs had been so cuddly and that's where I woke up today with Bern wrappinig himslef around me. Good good. He did two extra good things yesty: 1. just let me get on with doing the washing up (which he never does) AFTER my lovely bath, which I had AFTER sleeping all day (but not getting stoned as I knew from that morning (are you keeping up Maude?  Giver her a shake, only language she understands... er, nurse!) from when Bern crawled into MY bed for a morning cuddle (is this nauseating?) that SOMEONE was coming over later that day for dinner, and also said something about washing up, but I was comatose because lovely me had been with lovely Klaus and Uta and had gotten ripped and funny THEN I road home THEN I did rude things very lethargically upstairs witha few of me Brazilian mates til past dawn (lovely lovely, had a nice snooze) and the perfect crime into me own bed for a daytime snooze – hi Bern) ... with no nonsense thank you very much – it got done pleasantly and we chitchatted throughout; 2. (lists today, have you noticed? Lists) said how about a trip to Pompei in Spring for a weekend (Naples – yes thank you very much NO QUESTION! said I); and 3. what about's we head off to Leipzig this weekend for a bit of nooky in the biggest sauna in Germany?  For the Altstadt and cultural enticements?  Bollocks. At least we're not talkin' in tongues. So that may be lovely me this weekend: spreadeagled and sprawled in Saxonia. I'll believe it when I see it (I'm supposed to be plowing with Stephan, of a quite different type – we're booked to hire a monster plough on Satdy – but to be plowed truly... achhh the mere thort makes me bleed (yes well, as I say I'm sentimental!).

Bethatasitmay,

Having to go to manky work – my my. Slave or what? But then, no! A trooper! She has the joint (points?) AND goes to the chopper (points!). AND gets through it. Still, hiding away in the shower thinking deperate strategies – I know! I won't answer the phone! woowoow, shower water cascading, pretty pretty – IS THAT THE PHONE?!? – we've all been there girlfriend.... It's a good one. But not answering the door is cutting into my own interests... what will happen at 4am when I get my orientation act finally together with brutal Luke in tow and lost Uta and can only remember X street thanks Mr Taxi Driver, Oh you ARE the taxi driver, and then I'm a-ringing and a ringin and NO-ONE ANWERS THE DOOR because they're TOO MUCH HAVING A GOOD TIME (that's a funny old Dubbo expression meaning they are choking on their own vomit blue-tongue extended, can't move, paralysed in front of Betty Buubuu documentaries, refuse to move because of Bulgarian necessities etc – broad Dubbo expression that)... well, we can't ALL climb up the ros ebramble and hibiscus nonsense just to get in, no can we?  What'll the taxi driver say... he could well be the one that got awayyyyy.

Notsowithstanding. My flat mate is a bit wierd. Granted she's saved us from finacial ruin with this crippling, crippling rent, granted she's from Nyew Zilund. She is big and has long black died hair with purple tips and is a cross-faith Christian (but doesn't go on about it). She has had count it ONE joint with me and has hungered for it on TWO OTHER occasions but other than that, stays only in her room, has phonecalls, reads? (possibly?) has light on, hires videos but goes nowhere all day and night – Berlin or Germany is being wasted on her. Is it that in her video business she has pushed one button too many and has had flagellated before her my entire video and DVD watching history beamed compellingly before her and thus that is why she enters no rooms, makes lots of noise and counts her blessings, nay, counts the very days (hours!) with which she is not further subjected to such gushing depravity (perversion! Pfaff! It's just a coupla good old gals getting it on with a coupla good old boys for a bit of wholesome wholemeal friction sore and flap ripping fun-grind that's all, a church youth club outing, so to speak – Orthodox and from the Balkans natch). Who can say...

So, after this is the big booking ticket(s). I am planning for arriving in Mulbun, after me Human Rights for Teachers course in Switzerland (if I get the scholarship I applied for, which I probably won't as the bureaucracy here is so slow and deadline was fisrt day back after the hols – which are also ALL NEXT WEEK I'll have you know) – on say the 11th July.  Then leave for Canberra (seeing two mates) some internal date that suits us, and heading for me brother’s farm near Albury say 28th July, then at me folks for 70th birthday nonesense til 6th, fly out of Sydney on say 8th arriving back on 10th or so. I will aim for that and cook up dates as the online process allows me to, erring on school time when I come back – so I had to book a few days into the new school year, well shoot me and call me a ning nang nelly, but here I am bright and cherpy for another school year (plus or minus some days), be thankful for that. Anyway, I had to book immediately and pay online, I missed me manky brother's wedding last year, the airlines made me do it. Backup – but I did this course in Switzerland IN THE HOLIDAYS in me OWN TIME and Australia is SOOO far away (tears). That oughtda do it. So ning nang THIS!

What else to report? I was witness to a lesbo wedding last Friday and the kids want to string me up as a crap teacher in year 10 (we all hate them, they give all of us teachers the shits). But the parents love me so hahaha. The lesabian antics wre rool quick: do you want to marry? Yes Do you know what it entails? Yes Are you sure this is the person you wish to marry (ie address, name)? Yes. Done, witnesses sign please. 15 minutes. Good old Napoleon!

Ohh I can't go on with this any longer. Things to do, manks to sort.

I leave you thinking happy it takes the edge off darl thoughts about marajuana, cause it's fun and the rules are we are all responsible for our own lives, lovely addictions and boyfriends included, don't think stuffy loser thoughts about the lives we live because that's not the spirit – keep the day job running, be bright and witty, we think nice thoughts for the deserving, keep an open mind, nurture and monitor our prejudices privately, be regularly kind, take action against negative things and call a spade a spade (even if we may spell it occasionally as spaid, as in I had the chooks spaid or is that spayed, last night) and we moan occasionally and are ignored by friends good naturedly. On second thort – ARE you seriously wailing about life? In which case I'm (out the door haha!) all ears and am willing to listen and bang your head, give advice. But I reckon you're just having a prosey moan and I like that. If you're worried about pot, well just let me know, but I think you have to (keep being) practical about it – hook line and sinker and lovely green. But of course you can stop, but do you want to? Is it all that bad? Your life seems pretty fine and pretty chosen to me.

And the lovely Manny is blobbing great manks of goof on your tummy at regular intervals so there's a thing. You know. He gets described twofold in your emails – someone lovely and someone lovely (read naughty) walking away, out the door, whoom. And it is not so – here he is again. Spoof spoof nurgh.

How is that Tomster?  What's she up to and what got broken?

I gotta do this booking business (sound like thoroughbred nonesense)...only 3 months to go!!!

I remain, yours and hugely endowed,

Josh Gale

 

Muscles

Talk About Thick Headed

My, my, my, she's a bit vague today.

christian

Fancy that Miss.

I'm seeing Msrimba this arvo, then heading straight to Peter Mac for a "second opinion"...

I thought I'd go to your place afterwards and spare myself the peak hour if that is cool with you :)

xT

That's cool with me.

Talk about thick-headed... that's me not you, you understand.

Goodness, I really have to stop and think before I do anything.

Mmmmm!

Mission accomplished! – I guess.

christian

Yes I know you are talking about you Miss.

I am not *that* thickheaded myself today.

Went to bed early last night even.

xT

Life’s going by so fast. Scampering by. Is life getting boring, or is it just me? Life begins at forty? Who is spreading that crock? The sadness of life has begun to seep in by then, friends have begun to die. All that work, all of those shared experiences, gone is someone who knew me for who I am and who I’ve been. A part of me is truly taken at the same time. Gone is the exuberance of life, all those wonders have been tasted and touched and experienced and I’ve got to realise that it’s all shit. Too jaded to think straight, quite possibly. But the world isn’t fair and it’s not run by nice people, let alone anyone with the good of human kind in mind. Generally, the human race isn’t a nice bunch of people.

I don’t want to repeat the last twenty years, but with less fun and less friends and less opportunities. It all actually seems down hill from here. No more chasing butterflies, no more rolling down a hill in the long grass, no more billycarts, no more being called a kid.

I miss it. I want to go back to when I was eighteen and just do it all again. At least all of that was real, as painful as it may have been. What’s a head…skim-milk version of what I did before? I wouldn’t even be surprised if colour lost its intensity, if words begun to seem hum-drum.

I don’t think I’m having fun!

I want to go back to 1982 and just stay at Swinburne and get it over and done.

I want to go back to 1986, just with more confidence. It took me a long time to find my feet, to get over the guilt of Leah. Robbie M and I could have been such good friends.

I want to go back to 86 when I was starting out in Fitzroy. I want to go back and have that life, make better decisions, take my career more seriously. I want to make better choices.

I’ve fucked up my life. Just scraping by. Mediocre job. Struggling really. Financially. Life’s a bit of a grind.

I know, there are thousands of people who would love to be me. But I should have been better. I should have been one of the elite, but I blew it. Now I feel fat and old and mediocre. It’s not what anyone else thinks, its how I feel inside.

I went to mum’s for dinner tonight, she said she couldn’t give me the thousand dollars this month. Fuck, I thought! She’s just paid her tax. I said, okay. She said that she would give it to me.

I should be earning two hundred thousand and be on easy street. I had it all and pissed it all away.

But the worst part is that I think I am just becoming numb inside.

I have to start practising my mantra again, I have a great life!

Tom said to me tonight that he couldn’t quite believe he was here again. He’d been to the Peter Mac for another opinion. I didn’t know what to say, it made me mute. I should have said, neither can, I can’t believe it either. And I can’t. He was supposed to be better.

Anything else is too awful.

I don’t want there to be a Christian that Tom doesn’t know. I don’t want to become someone else, without him. I want to become someone else, anyone else, with him around.

Life just couldn’t be that unfair? It just couldn’t!

It’s been unfair enough that I have had a sick Tom and not a well Tom up until this point. Come on! Pick on someone else for a while!

Seen it a bit but they need to lift their game...he's not that cute is he?? Or am I just getting old(er)?

Donuts were a lovely thought thanks. Just as well 1/2 a dozen didn’t appear cos I was just in the mood to eat them yesterday!!

Rachel

Perhaps, you are getting old, me luv. Have another look at him. He’s been universally admired.

christian

SMS. 18.17. Sorry no time 2 talk am in the middle me cooking a roast chook & lemon delicious xxxx snigger snigger – Rachel

SMS. 18.19. Who asked u to talk, anyway? – christian

SMS. 18.19. J – Rachel

SMS. 18.21. 2 joints and I’m off to my mum’s for dinner. Wish me luck – christian

SMS. 18.22. U r lucky those smoke & drive rules no longer apply! Have fun – Rachel

SMS. 18.24. Since when? – christian

SMS. 18.25. Ummmm I thought they had done away with them? Oh shit I don’t know – Rachel

SMS. 18.27. U stupid mole! – christian

SMS. 18.29. He, he, he! Why don’t u take yr mum some hash cookies? Just a thought… might get the conversation going – Rachel

SMS. 19.16. Or not going, which is more likely – christian

Tobacco Joints At Night And No Tobacco During The Day Is Just Stressing Me Out

SMS. 00.01. How long r u in Sydney? – Shel

SMS. 00.03. A few hours – christian

SMS. 00.04. Leah’s b’day weekend – how long? – Shel

SMS. 00.05. Long enough to kiss the bride – christian

SMS. 00.05. Only kiss? – Shel

SMS. 00.07. We can do anything you like! – christian

SMS. 00.07. Open to suggestions! – Shel

SMS. 00.10. Just open by now…@ forty – christian

SMS. 00.11. Life begins @ 40! – Shel

SMS. 00.13. Just good marketing – christian

SMS. 00.14. Great believer in marketing – Shel

I lay my head down and was out in seconds.

Imagine fucking Shelly.

Missy slept in my room for the first time. She likes company, like everyone else.

I got to work on time. Whew!

SMS. 9.15. I think I might spend the afternoon in the garden, why don't you pop over for a cup of tea – Rachel

SMS. 9.21. I'll bring chocolate donuts – christian

Miss!

How are you this fine if not brisk morning?

I hope you are clear headed and feeling positively chirpy.

I'm off for another chiro treatment for my neck – number four, this has cost me 200 bucks!

Anyhoo, I might come by tonight for my glasses...

xTom

I am fine, revoltingly alert and chirpy. My mind is letting me down. I want dark. I want black. I want grimaces all around. And if all of you could look just a little less god-damn happy, I'd feel much better.

christian

Well bully for you Miss.

Tom

I so lied to Tom. I felt angsty and bad tempered and fowl. I’ve got stop the joints in the evening.

Aby called, she’s fine. Worried about the bong, but. I sniggered. We had a giggle. She might be back next week. Maybe the weekend, she wasn’t sure.

I scampered up Bourke Street. I figured the exercise would do me good. Exorcise the tobacco demons, just a bit. I got sushi at the usual shop.

This joint smoking at night and no smoking during the day is stressing me out. I’m sure it’s not good for me. I’m on my second joint since I got home, I should try and stop at that. I readily acknowledge that I am smoking them for the nicotine. It leaves me in an angsty state at work, though.

Rachel

Have you been watching X Factor? Everyone who has watched it at my place, male or female, have wanted to fuck Daniel McPherson, the host. He’s pretty much the “IT” boy of the moment, I guess.

christian

Matt Damon was another one. I remember Milly and I watching him be interviewed and we both reacted the same way.

Um…er…adjust our clothes. Fan ourselves with our hands. Laugh. Yes, very nice. Smile!

Tom’s coming over, he left his glasses here last night.

SMS. 22.47. Ummmm still waiting 4 those donuts… do u  reckon they still sell them? Reconnaissance (sp?) trip needed!? – Rachel

SMS. 22.50. I reckon they’d still make them – christian

SMS. 22.50. One day when I have nothing 2 do but revisit the glorious past – Rachel

SMS. 22.56. Get a day off and we will go! We’ll park the car and go 4 a walk and marvel at what life used 2 be like with a 4 pawed Oscar L  – Rachel

SMS. 22.53. We should go, u taught me well – christian

Tom didn’t arrive before I went to bed. Oh you know, he gets way laid socialising, or more likely getting laid. It’s a long way home to his place after getting off… and you know us guys, we just want to sleep afterwards.

Abercrombie

I Woke Up Late

I woke up to some religious program at 4am. What truly bothered me was that I truly couldn’t remember going to bed to watch television. I actually couldn’t remember going to bed at all.

I woke up again at 8.55am, I hadn’t put the alarm on, so I called Beck to say I was going to be late. My head was spinning. Then I called back to say I might take the day as annual leave. I don’t really care either way, call me if that’s no good. Then I sat down on the floor and rested against the bedside table. I’m glad I had cleaned up the floor. Got my breath.

I’m just wasting the day, I so don’t want to go to work.

Now I’ve rolled a joint, so if Beck calls…shit, shit, she still could. 9am, she probably won’t be in yet herself. Cross your fingers…maybe I should wait a minute before I smoke the rest of it. I should get in the shower.

9.15 and I smoked the last of the joint. Here’s hoping. I know, if the phones rings I’ll do what I always do, not answer it.

Bad Christian.

Perhaps, I’ll type my 1997 journal; I do believe I’m up to August 1997. I’m just wasting my time, I know that. But I don’t want to go to work. No, I don’t. You can’t make me!

Beck made me go in. She called back to say we had a meeting at 10.30 and that I should come in.

Rats!

My head was spinning.

The joint. Oh, I haven’t got time to think about that now. It was the scraping of the ironing board and the coffee table, barely likely to show up on any test, my reality included. It was hardly anything, just a scraping. It was mostly tobacco.

Rats! Again!

I got to the meeting by 11am. Beck gave me sideways glances when I clicked my coffee-cup, twice. Espresso from the shop, sweetie. But it was happy families again by the time we hit our office. And then it was lunch.

Miss!

How are you this lovely fine day?

How as your weekend?

What did you do with it?

I spent the weekend laughing long and hard through many letters between Melbourne and Sydney.  My goodness, we were funny, Christian. What happened to us? Did we both stop living with such a comedic lens, or was it just me?

Anyhoo, I shall be gallivanting this afternoon as Ma and Pa have their Probus meeting here today.

I might even end up near Fitzroy, where I *may* need to partake of a nap if that is cool with you?

All just thoughts, nothing planned yet...

Anyway Miss, I hope you have a wonderful day.

xTom

My mum just said to me that I must go out, probably next weekend.

"It doesn't matter if you're tired for the next two days, it obviously does you a lot of good"

HAHAHAHAHAHA.

xTom

What on earth is she basing this on?

Christian

Oh the day?

I tried to stay home today, but Beck said I needed to come in. So, here I am.

How do I stop working? Well, just working here? I suppose I need to just quit, huh?

Christian

Basing it on that after I go out I am just so much chirpier.

I think she's trying to love me up!

I'm at your place.  Is Twif still staying?

xTom

That Gina's a trick.

I think you might be right with the "love-up"

Twif went home. I reckon I might have to put an emergency call into M Street!

Christian

Goodness she must have had a busy weekend with you, it must have been a whirl!

You're just not alright at the mo' are you?

*hug*

Tom

I think I'm all right at the moment....

sure, i don't want to work any more. And I want a new place to live where I can live on my own.

Sure I feel like I am just wasting my life. I just don't see the point to most of this. Why am I wasting my intellect and my time, by completing a menial little job that makes a bunch of other people rich, while destroying my soul by extracting small chunks every day.

Life's f*cked and then you die! And sure I hate my life, but who doesn't?

...but I think I'm all right.

She whirled with me last week and she'll whirl again with me this week... is that why I can't remember anything today?

The weekend was good... it's not often that I get to make Luke stagger.

Christian

mmmmm

Tom

enough to drive a man to drink i tells ya

Tom

Let pussy in.

Christian

How are your friend(s) going with the coffee-shop in Smith Street.

I could see myself doing that.

Christian

Can you find out if Twif can be met up with early tonight?

or at least,

is Guido back in Melbourne?

·               All you need to do is answer the question?

·               I don't really need you to do anything

Christian

Try some of the blackberry jam in the fridge... Mark, Luke and I picked the berries our very selves.

Christian

(Guido)

Are you back from swanning around? Is the kiosk open tonight? I sooooooooooooooooooo hope it is!

Christian

I worked back for ½ an hour, at the end, but decided after that that was all the blood they were getting. And Beck scampered out the door just as fast.

Guido called me, he was in business. He home delivered it, even. You gotta be happy with that. Don’t know what this dope binge is, but I’m going with it. D, Tom, Shane and I partook.

Everybody has gone now. Bad Christian, smashed on dope.

Oh, I just can’t become this person. This person ultimately is tragic. I can’t be this person. Back on the merry-go-around, which Christian do I want? I want the Christian who can work three days a week and write the rest. I want that Christian. Why oh why didn’t I pay closer attention at uni. If I had done something I loved, I may have really excelled at it and now, I could afford to do exactly that.

Once mum dies, I’m going to give that guy a go.

It’s so awful that this hinges on my mum dying.

I love my mum. I want her to live forever.

I wish my dad was still alive. I wish he could have given another nine years. He could have died when he was eighty. He could have died when I was fifty one.

You just have to understand that missing your parents for the rest of your life is just part of the deal. Hold your breath until you are blue in the face, stuff.

But I reckon I could have done with him around until I was fifty. I’d probably feel grown enough by then, to really stand on my own two feet. Nobody else loves you unconditionally.

But you know, mum doesn’t want to live any more, anyway. She doesn’t want to live without dad. Her life long mate. To death us do part. It’s ultimately sad in the end. Romantic, but very lonely for the remaining partner. But there she is, a product of her generation.

I watched X-factor with Tom and then he headed to the sauna.

SMS. 22.16. (Aby) What r u doing? I know I’ve had dope, I treated myself, yum, yum! But did I miss something? What day is it? Bong? – Christian

SMS. 23.03. Stop it! Put that Greek boy down! – Rachel

SMS. 23.05. Slurp! – Christian

I reckon we should stop the twif talk on work email. We should txt, or email me at home about it. I know I'm probably just being paranoid, but they do monitor my email at work. It wouldn't be that hard to work out. I know they probably wouldn't…but we don't have to either.

Christian

Fair enough

Tom

And Then There Was Monday

(Josh)

I woke up to some religious program at 4am. What truly bothered me was that I truly couldn’t remember going to bed to watch television. I actually couldn’t remember going to bed at all.

I woke up again at 8.55am, I hadn’t put the alarm on, Damn! So I called Beck to say I was going to be late. My head was spinning. Then I called back to say I might take the day as annual leave. I don’t really care either way, call me if that’s no good. Then I sat down on the floor and rested against the bedside table. I’m glad I had cleaned up the floor. Got my breath. Checked for dust.

I’m just wasting the day, I so don’t want to go to work.

Now I’ve rolled a joint, so if Beck calls…shit, shit, she still could, it’s only 9am – my head spins, the upstairs clock is fifteen minutes fast – she probably won’t be in yet herself. Cross your fingers…maybe I should wait a minute before I smoke the rest of it. I should get in the shower.

9.15 and I smoked the last of the joint. Here’s hoping. I know, if the phone rings I’ll do what I always do, not answer it.

Bad Christian.

Perhaps, I’ll type my journal; I do believe I’m home for the day. I’m just wasting my time, I know that. But I don’t want to go to work. No, I don’t. You can’t make me!

I smoked the rest of the joint.

She made me. She called back to say we had a meeting at 10.30 and that I should come in.

Rats!

My head was spinning.

Too fuckin cocky. Too fuckin whacked.

The joint. Oh, I haven’t got time to think about that now. It was the scraping off the ironing board and the coffee table, (pretty picture) barely likely to show up on any test, OF ANY KIND…um…er…my reality included. It was hardly anything, just a scraping. It was mostly tobacco.

Rats! Again!

Some hours later… yes, eight. I’d go with eight. Eight’s near enough. Twelve, thirteen. 11.30. 9am. 12 add 2 and a hlf…half.

Did you say joint?

I got to the meeting by 11am. Beck gave me sideways glances when I clicked my coffee-cup, twice. Espresso from the shop, sweetie. (no, I didn’t get you one) But it was happy families again by the time we hit our office. And then it was lunch.

I think I'm all right at the moment....

sure, i don't want to work any more. And I want a new place to live where I can live on my own.

Sure I feel like I am just wasting my life. I just don't see the point to most of this. Why am I wasting my intellect and my time, by completing a menial little job that makes a bunch of other people rich, while destroying my soul by extracting small chunks every day.

Life's f*cked and then you die! And sure I hate my life, but who doesn't?

...but I think I'm all right at the moment...

She whirled with me last week and she'll whirl again with me this week... is that why I can't remember anything today?

The weekend was good... it's not often that I get to make Luke stagger.

I emailed Shane… no, I wouldn’t have called the tone desperate, Monday afternoon. It was a treat. No, I don’t need it. It just mellows me like, man. Chill, will you.

Are you back from swanning around? Is the kiosk open tonight? I sooooooooooooooooooo hope it is!

Edgy, maybe. I rather prefer positive, opting for fortuitous outcomes.

I worked back for ½ an hour, at the end, but decided after that that was all the blood they were getting. And Beck scampered out the door just as fast.

Shane called me, he was in business. He home delivered it, even. You gotta be happy with that. Don’t know what this dope binge is all about, but I’m going with it. What else can you do? D, Tom, Shane and I partook. Just the sisters. Will probably be dry again…oh…giggle…probably…snigger… about the time you come, luv. You gotta hate that! But it’s all swings and round-a-bouts, doll. You just got to grab on at the good bit and hang on for as long as your frail human hands will allow you. Then ya flung off into the bushes and you’re smashed to pieces on the rose thorns. You just got to pray and hope that you are there for the good bits. Summer being what summer is. And winter being what winter is.

I say nothing more.

Everybody has gone now. Bad Christian, smashed on dope. Again. It’s becoming the story of your life missy, just quietly. No, I won’t tell anyone. No, there’s nobody here. Just you and me. No one can see in. No, they can’t.

Oh, I just can’t become this person. This person ultimately is tragic. I can’t be this person. Back on the merry-go-around, which Christian do I want?

And then I heard my cat crying at my feet. Bleat. Bleat!

She is warm and fluffy and purrs loudly.

Perhaps, I should give alcohol a go? What do you reckon?

Big smile.

Fiddly foe! I just got a new bag tonight. WHAT THE HELL DO I CARE!

I tried the licking our paws routine, at the mull bowl, together... nothing…niente…zip? But, of course, that was Red. Dear Red. Life is scampering by so fast I can hardly remember which cat I am licking my paw with at the mull bowl. Or not licking, which is actually the case now.

Grimace at Missy. She kicks at the carpet. Picks at lint.

Dear Red. Happy times.

The cat is grey and white. Her name is Missy. We updated? Do you remember any of this? I just wonder who I am talking to sometimes…er…um…

Are you keeping up?

Can you tell I’m still on my own? Makes me crazy introspective. And wicked with the muli! I tells ya! Smashed babe, smashed!

I just watched the cat-door creak backwards and forwards. Backwards and forwards. Backwards and forwards, tonight. You know when you come used to those melancholic sounds. It’s mesmerising. I was captivated for a…er…good hour, before I realised the cat had gone…off in a huff. Not enough attention.

I tell ya, I’d better skidadal off to bed. I have to get to work on time, tomorrow.

Nitie nite.

Stagger, stagger. Whoosh, weeeeeeee, the stairs turn. Of course, I knew they turned. I did! Did! Big exhale. I did you idiot!

Clunk goes the teli in my room. The picture lights up. I can feel the energy warm against my face, as my silhouette reclines up the wall.

The usual FBI warning. You know the drill.

Christian

Bardy-Doo!

Josh

17.03.05

You struck a deal with the devil and for a week he didn’t come to the table? Does he have a trident? Pointy? No, horns actually, does he...er…have them?

That sounds more like a tryst with a Christian than anything else. Sensory deprivation, that’s what it’s all about. Keeping calm, don’t feel and god will kiss your arse as you pass them pearly gates on your way out, Gidget. On a Dubbo highway. Its funny you should mention it, as Jude says he now buys dope from young Israeli boys, who are always carousing and wanting to impress their masculinity upon him, before any deal is done. He says it’s a long drawn out process…er…yawn. But the best grass.

Jewish boys. Middle Eastern men. Turkish boys.

Wog-boys busting out of their uniforms at the corner of Nicholson and Gertrude, I do believe. Their shirts undone three buttons, the strap of their bag dragging the material apart. Hairy-chested…

I’d drink Alex Dimitriades wog cum down my throat. Not a second thought. I can often be found late on a Wednesday watching Wild Side in bed. If you know what I mean…that Alex!

You can never know when the last fire is…um…er…I’ve always said that. Yes I have. Oh winter, we were talking about winter. (so it’s not the grey in his hair) Maybe, it is true, that I live in a part of the world where the weather is, shall we say, less predictable than most. But the last fire of the year, that there is a hard one to predict.

“Jees, y’d be goin’ Jean, to pick the last fire. Be a toughy!’

“Oo, yeah. Tough all right.”

I’m looking forward to you coming too! Me lovely. We’ll have slumber parties with jelly cakes and candles. (And wog-boys in boxer shorts so they are easy to handle) screaming at the first sun like a hyena, pilled to the eye-balls. First blood across the sky. Comatose on the couch. I can see it all. Reg keeps asking when you are coming. Months, months, I say. He’s not coming until the days get dark.

The buds on the trees all shooting into life, is as good an indication of last fire, as anything else.

Warm nights. Longer days. No rain. BBQ on the breeze. Tinnies at midnight.

20.03.05

The washing machine is warbling its sweet song, the house is lovely and quiet and I am stoned, stoned, stoned. Just me and my lovely mull. Just me and me lovely green. Just… that introduction propelled me to go and put some music on and pop the button on the kettle. So there you go, too much swooning. Oh, tea…hang on… talk amongst yourselves. The sound of footsteps walking away. The whistle on the kettle.  The clunk of the rolling machine. The kerthunk of the fridge door. Nearly done, you hear me call from a distance. Footsteps approaching. Lemon slice? Up close and loud. You jump back just a little with a small start.

Ah! It’s a lovely sunny day, now that I lift my head above the trenches and look out over the parapet. Well, look at that. Both eyes crack open. I went down to some street…gar, gar, gar, me head it is a spinnin’…and it was bright and there were people having a life. Walking about. Talking. Buying. Spending. Spend. Spend. Spend. But let’s not speak of such things. It scares me so.

I’ve had a shower and got dressed. There’s been too much lounging around in my underwear, squiffy-eyed, of late. Let me tell you! Or, in fact, let me not tell you. Sheepish look. Ah, look at that, the sky is blue. The birds are singing, everything is, indeed, green. And it’s a Sunday, I do believe. Jolly old, scrummy old Sunday. Not with quite the best jolly out-look as perhaps a Saturday, but laid back and gentle, permeated with a do-nothing kind of vibe, none the less. Oh! What does one do with a THC-soup brain skulduggery-been-up-to-no-good kind of weariness? Yes, quite agreeable. My tea tastes like walnuts? Curious? Put my feet up and don’t give a fuck kind of pompety-pooh kind of day. Yes, really. I do believe. Collapse in a harrumph in the middle of the lounge room.

I wish I really did have some god-damn lemon slice. Roar go my gastric juices at the thought.

So back in the saddle for good old Uli. And it’s a relief to know he’s got no nasty pumpin’ around in there, apart from the obvious discharge you can see, natch. But five years? Some people have shorter lives than that, for g*d’s sake!  But good on him for effort. Praise and reward. Praise and reward.

Did I tell you that I went blackberry picking with Mark and Luke last weekend. Yes, yes, rolling hills, thickets, bonnets, baskets, checked picnic rugs, yes all of that. Well, Mark dropped in last night to deliver the conserve made from those very blackberries.

I just went and got bread so I could finally enjoy the conserve in its rightful setting and not just as shameful spoonfuls from the jar. I had to buy white hi-fibre, I’m cross. And as the board was cooking, I wondered about plunging the knife into the bright red elements and being done with it. (But I always think that if I look into a toaster) But instead I remained glassy-eyed and jumped just a touch at the audible click when it was done. And here I am, with the sweet taste of blackberries on my tongue.

Joint? Did you say?

Oh yes, lovely old, scrummy old blackberries, quite superior to lemons, I would say. Would you agree? A, shall we say, lemon slice couldn’t raise a whisker to Wild Blackberry Conserve. (We’re looking at having blackberry vines imported) Ada will not be happy to hear.

Yes, so…ar… where were we?  Emeralds. Apparently, the world’s most precious stone. Who’d have thought? Mushrooms? Best sautéed with a little butter. Um? Er? Bandicoots? Run! Apple dumplings. What I would give for a good plate of apple dumplings. A place like that would be a land mark. National heritage list, or something. Easy boys on a Saturday night. Now that’s living. The sea lapping at your feet as the first warmth of day touches your face, Sunday morning. Blood stains down your shirt, which are not able to be explained. Bottle tops that aren’t twist-tops at all, you learn to your detriment, as the skin shreds away from your hand. The smell of puppies on the grass under the standard roses. Nothing actually mattered at that moment, the single pinnacle of stresslessness in your life and it happened when you were four on the front lawn back at home and you missed it. Life’s just like that.

The smell of damp dope in a warm room. Brut. The taste of cum on your tongue. The shattered wreckage of another marriage strewn at your feet.

Scampering home with Brazilian contraband, as the sun glints and sparkles in the dark window for the very first time. A cool breeze that tosses the curtains just so. Stonkered and beat, thinking you don’t have the energy to get up and pick the pieces of tissue off your hands, cock and mouth. Your feet are blissfully asleep.

I’ve pulled my dick so hard it’s sore. Just thought I’d share that with you.

Nothing left to do?

There’s a quiet hum, somewhere off in the distance like there’s people around, quite possibly at work, in a field some place, just over Gertrude Street, perhaps.

I made out with the Greek boy so passionately, he spoofed big white globs all over my stomach. Woo-hoo! He’s pretty when he does that.

I’m nearly out of dope, this is where my world comes crashing in on me. I’m really just smoking it for the nicotine, now, I readily agree. So about 10am Monday morning, things should be real ugly, let me tell you! Big sigh. A very gentle quake. Nothing, on the what’s it scale.

Tuesday I will be a monster, not nice to be near.

Big sigh. If only I could capture this moment and bottle it up and sip at it in the other moments. Guzzle, guzzle. No, it’s mine. It’s mine. Mine. Mine! Everybody would be after your happy moment. You have it bottled, word would get around. You not be able to sleep at night for the fires burning in the street and the drip, drip, drip of poison that accompanied them. Me. No, me. Give it to me. I’m desperate!

In a chanting circle around your house.

Ah, fond memories, as Reg would say.

Did I tell you I got a message from her a week ago, she’s now away a week longer than she anticipated, saying she was lying on a beach so she knew that I would understand that she wasn’t rushing home any time soon. (She’s soooo Sydney, on the quiet) So who knows what she is up to? Not complaining mind you. A little solitude is good for the soul. It makes me darker than normal, I love it. Visible shiver.

But I don’t have a beech or surf, or even wind in my hair, I’ve got a lazy old, piddly po, Sunday afternoon. With a joint. Did you say a joint? Yes, yes, let’s shall.

Just me and the cat keeping the home fires burning at this end. Great companions cats.

“Did you say something?”

“No.”

You know where you stand.

Perhaps I might have a snooze.

Thank god there are no chocolate biscuits in the house. Just the mention of them makes me crazy. Nayhh!!! I get goose-bumps.

Oh, you gotta laugh! He, he, he. Though. Tingle all the way down my curvaceous spine. Lick my paw.

Blackberries are, indeed, good this time of year.

Probably got something to do with the sun. Nah, it’s more likely to be a direct result of the international war on terror.

‘Corse…stupid me!

Doh!

Odyssey! There you go. I do believe that was the first time.

Thanks for joining me.

Big smile.

Yes, yes, I know. I can go now. Okay. Thanks.

I might have fish and chips for dinner. So much for my girlish figure.

If I could just actually move, now, we’d get on so much better. Nah. Zip. Zilch! Perhaps I’ll just sit here. Stare at the screen. I could just about reach the mouse. No, I think I could. Nudge it with my elbow. I’m a shut-in named Anne, here is my story. I’ve got a pencil in my mouth. No, it’s quite comfortable, thanks.

I do believe I had fish and chips for dinner last Sunday night.

Funny old world, now isn’t it?

And in the end, all any of us ever feels is disappointment, anyway.

My fish and chips are so hot, I can hardly hold them. The new title to my biography.

Sunday afternoon, you gotta love it!

Yes, I just popped out and got them. (So you know this ain’t going to end any time soon) Did you miss me?

You don’t get extras with fish and chips any more. You know, when you were young. Oh gosh, you might get an extra potato cake. Or if the fish was particularly small, you might get three. Well, you don’t get that now. That’s all I’m saying. No, that’s all. No, I wasn’t having a go at you. What attitude? I don’t have attitude. Hey mate, I think you need to chill just a little.

Nudge, nudge. Wink. Here. Puff on this. The green one. Take the green one!

Well, it’s gotta be a disappointment, ain’t it. You’re done. Over! It’s all behind you, the whole bloody lot. Nothing more. No. All you might get is a man running on the edges of a pad, flicked to make him move, as a wrap up before you finally slip away. Apparently. You gotta be disappointed with that? I knew I should have had the fish and not the chicken. Unless you’re Princess fucking Di or something, the life she led…but then I reckon you’d still be going to come up with a better emotion than she would have been feeling. If you know what I mean. Like afterwards. On that French road.

Oh, the dopes run out. Bugger!

The ashtray is on fire. Ah!

Christian