Little Brother, our Father is dead to me so I have no problem posting this.

Friday, 18 February 1994

Dear S,

I just got your letter, thanks so much.  I really needed to hear from you,  I was beginning to feel like I was committing these letters to “The Void” (wanky as it sounds.)  The prospect of all my gibberish being published one day is a bit daunting, but I’d like to see them all together, it would be a bit like a diary.  I’ve kept about the last six or seven that I’ve written, mainly to avoid repetition, but it’s interesting to read over them and see what sort of mood I was in when I was writing them, kind of like a psychological snap-shot of myself.  Actually, thinking about it, maybe you’ll have to publish them after Dad kicks the bucket, I think I have been rather less than kind to him in these letters.  Does that make me two-faced?  I guess it does, that I’m prepared to write horrible things about him (he does deserve them), but not to say them to his face.  Two faced or chicken?  I think it’s probably that I hate to make a fuss about anything.  What is that?  Nature or Nurture?

That nutty militant lesbian got on our news as well.  What a fool!  I mean, if there was active discrimination against gay people in the play, well she might have a leg to stand on, but objecting simply because it promotes heterosexuality is nuts!  She seems like the type who wouldn’t be happy unless it was a play about a black, disabled, Jewish lesbian with a multiple personality disorder.  I can’t stand this tide of political correctness seeping into every facet of society.  Like how they want English plumbers to stop using plumbing terms like ball-cock and something else.  Are their minds so small and narrow that they have to read the same themes in everything?  It’s like Americans called Uranus (correctly pronounced “Yur/Anus”, emphasis on the “a”) as “Yurran/us” with the emphasis on the first syllable.  I mean, can’t they cope with anything even mildly titillating?  Can’t they see past immature school-yard toilet humour?  It really irks me. What are we going to pass on to the next generation?  A language totally devoid of any colour?  A sanitised, Americanised parody of the English language as it once was?  Fuck.

Went to my second forest rave last weekend, it was out near Shepparton.  This one wasn’t really as good at the last one, the last one was in a full-on rainforest, this one was more bush land, it just didn’t have the same atmosphere.  Great drugs though.  We ended up leaving about four in the morning and not sleeping, so we were a bit stuffed the next day.  Next time we’re going to get a whole bunch more people, because the people there were friendly, but they weren’t friendly, if you know what I mean.  They all had smiles on their faces but you couldn’t really start up a conversation with them.  Now that I think about it that is probably directly attributable to the copious amounts of drugs that they had all ingested.  If I’d popped as many trips as they had, I’d probably be smiling like a British MP in a Sex Shop as well.

Ok so now for the BIG NEWS.  I can’t believe I’ve got to paragraph four before blurting it out.   Mum bought a house in Flemington!  We went and looked at it last night, and it was in even better condition than the other one.  It’s been freshly painted so all the windows are stuck, but that’s not a problem.  I’m so excited, but filled with dread at the same time.  I’m excited at the prospect of shifting and making a new start, but dreading the split with Leah. I realise now that I had made my mind up some time ago, but being the wishy-washy individual that I am.  I had to set the wheels in motion to force myself into action.

For Mum it’s just an investment.  I’ll pay her a certain amount of interest on the value of the house per year as rent, and with what I can save each year, I can go overseas, or whatever.  It’s just good to know that I can afford the rent even if I’m living there by myself, and I can make changes if it’s OK with Mum.  I’m really looking forward to buying some furniture actually.  It’s good to know that I can put my roots down and stick around for a while so I’ve decided to more or less abandon my Flinders Island Hermit idea and go for the Urban Hermit school of thought.  I can live in this house of Mum’s by myself and only have contact with people through work.  That way I could make the most of urban resources, still retain my sanity through work and make the most of my spare time by not wasting it in fruitless conversations about nothing with my house-mates.  Maybe I could really have a proper go at writing.  Who knows?

The House-Mate Hassles are at me again.  Belinda came over last night while I was upstairs and left us a really rude note and now won’t pay us back the money she owes us, so I rang her Dad (which she really hates me doing because they get right on her back) and he’s coming over to the house tonight, so hopefully we’ll get our money from him.  Her room is just disgusting, there are burn marks on the walls and door, holes in the door and window frame, the blinds have been wrecked and it turns out Captain Dodgy shit and pissed on the carpet in her room!  Unbelievable!  I’ve been so angry, I hate it, I don’t want to be an angry person.  Angry people are always a drag to be around, ranting and raving and carrying on.  Brett has been telling me that I should be angry, that anger is assertiveness, but I’m not so sure.  One half of me says “to err is human”, the other half says “to forgive is bovine, REVENGE, REVENGE, REVENGE!!!!”  At the moment, I think REVENGE is winning, but it’s hard to exact a crushing and righteous retribution upon someone who has absolutely no possessions.   I mean, after four years of living out of home, the girl has NOTHING!  How can I destroy property that isn’t there?  I guess I’ll just have to reconcile myself to destroying her spirit and annihilating her self-pride utterly.  I can live with that.

Enough of that, I want to put the whole episode behind me after tonight.  The comparisons you drew between you and Fuck Face, Leah and I are pretty accurate.  I don’t know what to do because I don’t know if this is how all relationships are meant to be.  I should never have allowed myself to get in so deep when I was so young, I have nothing to compare it to, but I can’t use this as a basis for splitting up with Leah because it makes her sound like a back-up plan.  You’re dead on about the property split too.  I’ve felt the sting of being ripped off over this house-mate affair and I’m determined to never let it happen again, so that could get really ugly.  Thank the Gods I haven’t financed a Jet-Ski for her or anything!  How did that work out?  Did you pay for that for him in the end?  I hope not.  He deserves to be bald, bald with sweaty feet.

One thing though, I’m not totally sure what it means to “Put effort into a relationship.”  How do you do that?  What does it entail?  If you don’t like something, you don’t like it, do you have to trick yourself into liking things that you don’t?  I suppose the name of the game is sacrifice, hey?

Well, I’d better be off, busy, busy, busy.  Enjoy the Cleo.

Love J

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