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A day long gone in September 06

February 20, 2017

They were two torn out pages with my hand writing on them. Had I torn them from a notebook years ago?  They were found amongst a box of old high school art folios and reports. The weird god stuff in my art folios made me cringe. That dumb and silly girl did not exist anymore. I threw everything including the school reports into recycling. I kept those two hand written filled pages. There was meant to be more. There was one very important thing that was missing from that box. Something I had wanted so that I could love and read and then choose to throw away myself. More on that in another post.

Here are those hand written pages. Oh.

 

 

For some reason, call it nervous energy, i wander around my new boyfriend’s place in Kensington. I do dishes and a load of laundry. Things you do when you are unemployed. Things you do when you are unemployed and still in shock that you have an acual boyfriend, and are uncertain how to proceed when at his place and all you have to do is simply wait for him to come home after work. That morning be fore he left for work at dawn, he had hugged me tight and said. ”Do you think you could stay over another night? One night of you is not really cutting it anymore.” My heart does a little squee. I nod and say, ‘OK.’

As I fold his t shirts and pair his socks I think about a day three years ago.

I was sitting on my friends front lawn in Ballarat. The sun was out but the air was crisp and cold. I was in the messy middle of my cid infatuation. My friend had come over to visit and found me in a tear filled heap on the floor listening to some whiny white boy band that tried to pass themselves of as punk.  ( Unwritten Law’s Seeing Red) My friend and her boyfriend had bundled me up from the floor and taken me to thier place for some tender loving care. It may have also been at the behest of my housemates. They may have grown bored of my morbid self indulgence.

Sitting in the winter sunshine I  watched my friend’s  adorable dog, a Jack Russel called Violet, run around the front yard gleefully sniffing out bugs and tiny creatures. My friend was trying to get me to call Sid and flat out ask him what the fuck he was playing at.

”You can use the phone in the kitchen. I will shut the door and give you privacy.” She suggested.

”Like it is that simple.” I said glumly. ”Hey Sid. Just calling to ask regarding those hand jobs I gave you. Do you love me or what?”  God, it hurt to love that idiot Sid. I did not need to call him. I had already convinced myself I knew the answer. He would laugh at my me and say that he would have  to be pretty desperate to fall in love with someone who was so rubbish at hand jobs.

It was here with my friend kindly giving me such love and patience as I wallowed in my angst and misery that this particular friend said something to me that it would take a very long time for me to believe.

‘This will have a happy ending no matter how it turns out.” I roll my eyes and grunt and then sniff. My friend continues.

‘If you and Sid sort everything out and end up together. That is happy. If Sid continues to act like an asshole of mammoth proportions you will move on and that is happy. You will eventually find someone who realizes and appreciates how weird and wonderful you are…and how great it is to kiss you.”

I say nothing and my friend’s boyfriend comes out to bring us cups of tea. Later that year my friend and that boy break up and she moves in with me and her best friend. They eventually decide to ask me to move out. It is not a surprise as I was being fazed out emotionally for months.

Now its three years later and I still have the first text Josh ever sent me four months ago.

5 june 06

Hey cutie. Just wanted you to know I had an awesome weekend and that last night was great. I should have birthdays more often. Text me if you got credit.

Even now thinking about that text makes my heart feel like it is being squeezed. he is not even pressuring me about the whole sex thing. Which is a relief.

Oh dear Ive gone and done it now. I have written his name down for the first time. I have been too scared to. What if writing it down shifted some fabric in the universe and unhinged something? Like a thread pulled once too many times resulting in the whole thing unravelling.  Its done now and there has been no shifting that I can observe with the naked eye. I will now allow myself to gush a little.

He is tall. 6ft2.

he has dark floppy hair that falls into his eyes and causes him to flick his head in way to get his hair out of his eyes.

He has the cutest New Zealand accent as he is from there.

He is interesting and darkly funny.

He loves to kiss me.

I guess that my ex friend was right.

It was only a few nights ago that he told me the whole story behind the death of his mother when he was 18 years old. He spoke in his soft deep voice and I pushed my face into his neck in an attempt comfort him. He wrapped his arms around me and held tight. I almost stopped breathing. She had been addicted to anti-depressants and pain killers.  He had come home late from a party with his then girlfriend: Angela. They had had drunken sex and fallen asleep. The next morning he was woken by a knock on his bedroom door. It was his Dad. ”I knew it. I knew it before my Dad even said anything.” My beloved boy murmured into my neck. ”Its the shittiest feeing, the feeling of loosing a parent.”

I hug him and think of his old girlfriend. I wonder what I would have done in that situation. What could you possibly do to lessen the impact of such news? Nothing.

The house is empty and we are on the living room couch. I kiss his cheek and he find my mouth with his. There is hunger there and we are hyper aware that we are alive. He gently pulls my t shirt up and over my head. He tosses it aside.

I smile to myself as I fold the last shirt. It is about 3 hours until he gets home. I cant wait.

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