DIY

Woke up did the usual routine and was restless as hell! Get to the city got the next Constatine trade paper back then made a bee line for Errol street and  thought I’d burst. Started plotting, read some comics and had a latte before work. At work while waiting for someone to agree to do a crappy survey tore out what I’d done and replotted till I was satisfied. Caught up on surveys so I wasn’t behind then arranged for drinks with a very cool lady for this Wednesday.

Dancing like a happy loon ensued and decided nah no drinks tonight, I was taken for mad.

At The Equinox

A new week and I feel full of possibilities. I dunno what it is but maybe its the prospect of doing a project I’ve long put off and also something else I plan on today or tomorrow.

They do that sometimes.

A film just punched me in the gut, but prehaps I needed to see it.

Suicidal Grand Mothers, Comics books, rollin, and chillin at the mother fucken SRC.

The days are tumultuous, feelin up and down, goin through some bad shit and also enjoying so much good shit. The last couple weeks are a mish mash of messed up crazy and through out all of it I’m good. Yup good as mother fucken gold.  No bitchy whinyness, very little (but never entirely absent) woe is me shit, no complaining, I love all my dawgs at work and feel the love back. I’ve finished some pieces finally! I’m constantly reading cool mind blowing shit all sweet sweet comic book nectar. Nothing touches the mediums imagination. I also might maybe very be kinda interested in someone who doesnt live a million miles away. Taken the Michness to the Camberwell fair tomorrow. There is probably more, but the gist of this drunken rant is that a year ago or maybe even less than that, the stuff goin doin with Nan would have broken me, but I’m livin large baby oh so very large.

When bad shit goes down go out and make you’re own awesome sauce.  Put that on a fucken t-shirt.

Whats missing.

Writing again.

Something struck at cord with me the only day, someone well respected and very damn good at what he does said someone who writes does it because they have to. I’ve been going fucking crazy not doing it, ideas are coming so are lines, but I’ve just not done it and its been maddening that I’ve tortured myself this long.

Only crazy days left
and I have deaf ears
that hear too much.

Mixed bags

Call me bad but I’ve stopped asking about Nan’s wellbeing. If she’s getting betterI’ll be told and vice versa. I find I have some things of my own to work through.

Ahh women, as much as I’m into a couple of them in good ol Melbourne and one may be interested back, I’ve still got those feelings for the girl up north. I feel it’s holding me back from going for it.

The City and I are back on good terms, there’s no hate. I often wish however the buildings I saw everyday were different.

Despite the work at work being crap, I have become very attached to the place. The people there make it bareable, but I hate not being able to just sit around and talk to them for hours on end.

Despite what I said about Nan above I’m still plagued by those 10 minutes and visions of her laying on the ground all fucked up.

Life has become a crazy mix of good and bad, which is no different I guess from any other time except they seem more intertwined than balanced.

Punishment from lost causes

I heard a noise for a period of time that might have been ten minutes before going inside to find Nan on the floor. I sit/lay/walk wondering if that ten minutes made a difference to anything at all and if I contributed to her fall from health. Then I realise she doesn’t care and that care is all I do anyway.

Another bottle of wine down, another smoke burned to the filter. Those ten minutes won’t leave me and I shake not from the cold. I have to force myself to move, to walk, to laugh and socialise, to do things I’d put off for so long just to lose focus.

Anger comes in spurts directed towards the one who feels she has more to gain in dying. Disregard towards the people who love her and helped her since her husbands passing. Anger comes from my body and its tired lungs, the ferocious hangover, the disrupted sleep patterns and dislocation in time. Anger comes from saving the life of one who doesn’t wish to be saved.

I did all I could and may have made the fracture worse helping lift you to bed. I did all I could and your organs shut down, your brain might be damaged or ahsamed and embarrassed or despairing you’re still here. You fight to join what you’ve lost, you said so.

It’s not painless.

Getting ready for bed I collected my dishes and went to take put them in the dishwasher and there she was, my Grandmother collapsed on the floor totally out of it. I rushed over to my parents woke them the hell up and Dad and I put our incoherent relative back to bed. She didn’t know where she was and her legs were slack. Dad called the Ambulance which came and took her away.

It was found out she’s stopped taking her medication and has been drinking liquids that aren’t good for a diabetic. It’s hard to wrap my brain around having a suicidal Grandmother and I’m still a bit shakey about finding her and realising she doesn’t want to be alive.

Curbs

A girl at work said I reminded her of Richard Lewis in Curb You Enthusiams which has prompted me to give the show a proper watch and yup she’s kinda right. Suit with chucks on. I’m looking forward to seeing him more in the show.

Another thing about Curb is its damn awkwardsness makes me cringe, I have to keep pausing it.