Filter

This blog started off as neutral territory, a space where I could say everything and anything I wanted. Over the years it has gradually accumulated a small following of people many whom are real-life friends. Truth is lately I've been wanting to say a lot of things but because I know the readers I often excuse myself from touching on 'sensitive' issues. I feel I have let everybody down.

Have I not learned, growing up in pseudo-democracy, the pain of censorship?

I'm shuffling across my music selection which has remained static for 4 months. Music is a proxy for writers block? Every second sentence I write is censored. When have I ever been into Usher? Never. Pink Floyd now. I remember the last time I let Syd Barrett lose I was in the same head space.

I am ANGRY because I can't write this properly. I hate knowing that he will read this and then go, 'wait a minute, that's not accurate, take that back'.

But if I can't do it here then where else can I?

Love makes you do crazy things, insane things. Things in a million years you'd never see yourself do. But there you are doing them... can't help it.

Slack

In order to give myself a break I've decided that fatty foods, alcohol, unhealthy sleeping habits and poor nutrition must go. I've been cutting myself some slack just to cope but after a while you get addicted to those things. Note to self: content for counselling session on Wednesday!

Actually when I'm not busy sleeping I have heaps of spare time which I then waste in front of the telly in front of the lappy doing something crappy. Like Manhunting.

Daniel's away in Perth for the week so I have the whole house to myself. I'm torn; tonight its either I sleep on his bed so I can wallow in his scent, or I sleep in mine and wake up feeling lost, confused and in need of a big hug.

Come back soon? It seems strange now that you're gone.

The Horror

A whole, fucking $160.88 for a 3 course meal and some dumplings. The service was rubbish, the tea was diluted, the decor roadkill and the food was revoltingly salty. So why do people pay to eat there? Maybe they've never been overseas to see what real Asian food is like, because we Malaysians would NEVER pay for this shit.

We were informed that the san choi pau was for 4 people, but after ordering it we discovered it was actually $10.95 per serve. Problem was, this was still $2.75 more than the price in the menu but no, we didn't stand up and demand a refund. Why? Angmoh says we shouldn't. So that's like fucking off $40 for three tablespoons of rice on a leaf of lettuce.

Oh and $3 cups of tea. Each.

"Dear Herald Sun...", I see a juicy story in the making - "Chinese Restaurant Rip Off - How the Beijing Olympics got funded".

88th

Sometimes I wish ostriches would teach me the fine art of head-burial.

Daniel has decided I should go along to grandma's 88th to meet 'the rest of the family'. Very talkative and intuitive family. All of a sudden I was the ignoramus who stumbled over simple topics like politics, climate change, IP rights and botany - my own specialty.

The younger ones looked at me like I was onekind. Daniel only introduced me to a select few adults leaving the young ones presumably wondering how this Chinaboy fits into the grand scheme of things. I even considered the interesting dynamic: "technically-I'm-your-cousin-in-law"

Daniel's father took me to his shed and showed me his tools (a very gay sentence already!). A complete workshop; he makes wooden bowls and the house is cluttered with them. He quickly went into a rant about swamp paperbark; Melaleuca ericifolia - it takes 2 years of air drying with no guarantee of results. A mouldy half-finished bowl lay in the corner.

"Don't you have a kiln?" I heard myself say hastily, before realising what an ass I am.

~

Been recovering from a major sore throat. I don't usually get sick so it's unusual to spend on pharmaceuticals - especially OD'ing on Strepsils. I've lost all interest in men; the past 7 days has seen me turn down 5 gorgeous looking men of varying ages/built, all without reason. What's happening?

Shifty's ashes finally returned on the 8th (Monday) and it lives on the storage unit for now. I've made progress - I no longer bawl like I used to though I'm still haunted by flashbacks of Shifty in the cat box at Lort Smith. It seems I harp on mostly the bad things. I've been looking at his photos to fill the void and in the meantime Daniel helps by supplying hugs where Shifty left off. I still doubt the current dose will suffice.

Going to the shrink tomorrow to unload another round of crap. Do shrinks like being hugged?

Missing?

The house is quiet except for the blare of the TV; I feel something is missing.

Two empty bowls on the floor, an empty cat house in the corner, cold and unused. These things are ghostly and I'm starting to feel quite fragile... Hopefully next week his ashes will arrive back from the crematorium; it's the perfect excuse for a weekend in Wilson's Prom where we could could have sex on Mt Oberon scatter his ashes. But cats hate water, a friend pointed out. Daniel jokingly said there's no way he'd put the ashes over our doona (his favourite afternoon-nap surface).

I'm not taking this grieving process seriously. I'm joking about it then quickly changing the topic to distract myself, or finding other things to obsess about. In short I haven't identified my feelings - that's what the shrink is for. He (the shrink) seems content I can keep talking and doesn't bother interjecting me. How is that helpful? And that CCB charges for every session (damn the government doesn't pay for it). Suddenly I'm wondering why this healing process should fucking cost me more money after the vet bill fiasco; maybe the real lesson is learning how to not panic when I need to spend.