Monday, 27 May 1996 8:30am
Busy, busy weekend. Friday night I got really sloshed (first time in ages) and went to a farewell thing for some guy I’ve never met (Charlie was his name, thin was his hair). As I left he looked blearily up at me from a bar stool and slurred ‘Ya know, yuur tha most fucked guy in the hed oiv eva met’. I tipped my head back so I could look down my nose at him and said ‘I choose to take that as a compliment. Coming from you, as it does.’I don’t think he got my drift really, ‘coz I got out of there without being bashed. Twat. I was only there because Paige asked me to come along. And she didn’t like him much anyway. They were an older crowd, sitting outside, the guys all standing up nursing their beers as the women passed a joint around. I declined their offer of the roach. You can get Hepatitis like that you know – I think. Weed is everywhere these days Sis. I was walking down the Yarra River last weekend after my shopping spree, and I walked past two separate couples blowing their joints on the banks. No-one cares anymore. A hint of legalization wafting over the political stage and everyone’s waving spliffs around like footy scarves. I don’t really care. I guess I’d rather run into stoners than drunks on the banks of the Yarra.
Saturday night I went to a dinner party in Brunswick. It was a friend of Lisa’s, Rachel’s party. It was OK. I get along really well with one of her housemates, Oliver. I didn’t get away until 4:30am. Sunday as a result was spent lounging, washing and reading. I finished “Possessing the Secret of Joy”. Geez it was good, I really, really liked it. Buy it if you see it. It’s not often a book can make you gasp aloud (not from gory re-enactments, but from the effrontery of it all). Readable too.
Tuesday, 28 May 1996 8:40am
Brrrr. One of them mornings when you don’t want to get out of bed for fear of breaking the frost that’s formed on the carpet overnight. So damn cold.
Thinking about that dinner party on Saturday night, the Dinner Party Discussions – Sexism, Art, Drug Experiences (yawn) and the Legalization Debate. It’s a cliche, but I enjoyed it anyway. It’s funny though, I think I treat my opinions differently to the other people there. It’s like, they have an opinion on something, and that’s it, they’ve got to stick by it, come hell or high water. Me, I like to change my opinions daily. This could mean that I’m simply contrary, but I refuse to believe I’m that uncomplicated, so I tell myself that opinions are better discussed than owned. What do you think? Maybe it’s because I steadfastly refuse to take anything too seriously that I can’t stick to any one view point for very long. Maybe it’s because I just don’t give a shit. Maybe I’m just indecisive. Maybe I lack the strength of character (what is that exactly?) to ‘stick to my guns’. Maybe it’s because I can see the positive points of each side of every argument. Maybe it’s just not worth bothering about.
Wednesday, 29 May 1996 8:40am
Supposed to be seeing a film tonight, but I’m feeling thin-skinned, irritable. Only just came over me, I was fine until just now. Evil vibes.
Kept reading the “Tin Drum”. Read this one scene where some creepy Finnish fisherman hauls in this horse’s head on some Polish pier and belts a squirming river of eels out of it. Very graphic. I can still see that horse’s head, mane and all. The scene was all underlined, with little scribblings in the margins. This poor book, kidnapped, graffitied… Sometimes a mistreated book annoys me, and then sometimes I think, what the hell. Once a book’s been read, what more use is it?
Dad came over on Saturday to drop off some wood. We sat in the kitchen, him drinking tea (eewwgh), me drinking coffee. He’s going away with Uncle Beluga Big-Bum somewhere. They’re camping and ‘pulling a fish outta the river’. He always says that like I’ll be interested. Anyway, he took my TV away for me. He ‘knows someone and can get it fixed cheap-like. I’m not sure if I really want it fixed anymore, Sis. There’s no middle ground with TV, either you give it your soul entire or you shun it completely. Well, that’s how it is for me anyway. I just don’t have the discipline to turn off when there’s nothing on.
Got another work party to go to on Saturday. It’s an newish girl, Laura. Neat invitation, an Absolutely Fabulous collage. It’s in Elwood, and will probably be filled with loads of media types. Laura works part-time on the ABC news. One of the newsreaders is going to be there too. I might try my chances with her, it could be my entree into the jet-set. I could wangle some phony executive producer job and drive ’round real fast in one of them station wagons with a station logo on the side. I could specialize in beat-ups. What I mean by that is, I pay some thug to bash someone on the street, and we capture it on film – instant scoop! I was made for broadcast journalism.
Nah. I’m really a low-plane drifter, Sis. I drift about the lower planes of consciousness, hamstrung as I am by Motivational Deficit Disorder. MDD. It’s only recently been discovered as a casual link between hipsters like myself and chronic under-achieving. It was formerly known as laziness, but I prefer its new moniker MDD.