Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, but it’s such a release!

Friday, 11 March 1994

Dear S,

Well, your little brother has taken another baby step towards the mantle of adulthood.  This very morn I got my Learners Permit to drive.  It was bloody easy.  Leah timed me, a total of eight minutes.  I think it was because there’s so much information in the booklet, that I thought the test would have to be at least a little more challenging.  After I finished I looked up and everyone else was still hard at it, and I thought I must have forgotten to do something so I re-checked, handed it in and got 100%.

This happy result however, was unfortunately not reflected in my eye test.  Apparently I have only 12/20 vision.  I could barely read the third line from the bottom, everyone else could though (I smashed my glasses a few days ago).  So the lady went off to check if I could still be given my Learner’s, and then another woman sat in her place and just processed my form without checking, so I got away with it.  I won’t be doing any serious driving until I’ve got another pair of glasses, but I’m relieved I don’t have to go to the hassle of going down to Vic Roads again.  They’re so slack, all they do is walk from one desk to another carrying a single piece of paper to make themselves look busy.

I hope you’re not planning on doing any flying in the near future after yesterday’s little IRA mortar attack on Heathrow.  Do they ever catch an actual member of the IRA, or do they just frame any nearby Irishman? (“In the Name of the Father” has just been released here.)  Do you ever think about it, the bombs and all that?, especially if you’re working in London. I do, I remember your close call.   The leader of Sinn Fein was over here not long ago doing the chat shows etcetera.  How is it that he hasn’t been killed yet?  And I saw on the news too that the House of Horrors in Gloucester continues to bear its grisly fruit too.  How did Fred and his lovely wife Rosemary get away with that for so long?  All those disappearances so long ago, even his own child, and they’ve only now thought to check it out?  I don’t really know the full story, though I’m sure the inevitable mini-series dramatisation will fill me in on every account. (Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit, but it’s such a release!)  You do have some juicy news over there in the UK, all we get are childish politicians calling each other names and condescending political commentators saying how disgraceful it all is.  Oh yeah, and some contrite little finishing piece which inevitably seems to be about ducks.

15 Mar 1994

I just spoke to Mum and on the phone and she told me about Paris – sounds lovely and quite romantic for your first wedding anniversary.  Mum also said you saw Princess Di, Wills and Harry at the Louvre, well, I say!  I hope you had a good time, it must have been really nice, you know “Paris in Spring-time”, Doris Day movies and everything.  I’ve always said you can’t beat Doris Day for pure cinematic raunch.

I haven’t done the dirty deed yet, if you were wondering.  We’ve just had the Labour Day long weekend, and Leah was so damn nice all weekend that it was simply impossible, so this Thursday I’m going to tell her as soon as she walks in the door, that should be easier.  I hope.

Since I made up my mind to leave, all the time I spend with Leah seems permeated with a black, doomy irony.  She seems so happy sometimes, and I know that in the back of my head lurks this great disaster, and it taints every moment we spend together.  It makes me aware of how disaster dogs our every step, hovering around us while we stroll along whistling in blissful ignorance.  I guess that’s the way it has to be, to retain your sanity.  It’s odd, the games we play with ourselves, don’t you think?  I guess it’s about control.  Can I control my emotions through conscious manipulation to suit my practical needs?  And if this is so, then why bother with complication of the emotional side, why not let it slip?  I suppose I have been struggling with this notion of being calculating and cold for a while now, and I’m in about seven different minds on the matter.  One says that I should be honest with my emotions and follow them with honour (for want of a better word).  The other says that emotions are too unreliable to enshrine as a path to follow.  Emotions are, it would seem, by nature fluid things, too vulnerable to change.  Do I follow my heart or my mind?  Personally, I think I have a better mind than heart (if one can compare the two), but people seem to have an aversion to others who are perceived as being “heartless”.  I don’t intend to be cruel or unfeeling, just to let my mind rule my heart.  This is one of (if not the main) reasons that I want to leave Leah, to work through these sorts of questions in solitude.  I guess I want to define who I am, and how I am to live the remainder of my life.

Well, that was a bit heavy wasn’t it? Enjoy your Cleo magazine S.

Love J

PS 1994 Mar 11

S Passport - First Wedding Anniversary in Paris
S Passport – First Wedding Anniversary in Paris


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