Entries from November 2004 ↓

Well the weather’s been plenty hot lately, so I’ve been doing my best snowman impression. I do love the nice sunny days, but humidity and overbearing heat drive me mad, I’d rather be freezing. I guess you can put my sentiments down to two major factors at the moment, one is sitting at traffic lights dressed in thick leather being fed exhaust fumes while sitting on top of an eighty thousand watt heater, the other being running around acting under lights with makeup on in more layers of clothes than I care to think about. The hiding under curtains and lifting people around also makes the play a pretty good exercise routine, and I’m generally sweating like a dog by the end of every performance, though I’ve only dripped on another cast member once so far. But aside from the sauna treatment it’s been going very well. The audiences are digging it, crowds are turning up and most of all, it’s good fun. The time commitment has been pretty rough though, due to performances and rehearsals in the past few weeks I’ve missed Rockit, two 21st’s, a handful of other parties, an overnight bike run down south, and The Tea Party is playing in Perth on our closing night. But you can’t have it all, or so I’m told.

Physio is still coming along, although a lot slower than it did at first. It’s reached a bit of a wall, two of my finger joints are pretty much as good as they’re going to get in the short term, but of more concern, the rotation of my wrist doesn’t want to come around any more. At the minute I can can turn my palm up to the sky roughly 45 degrees, but no further, and it’s been like this for several weeks. So the physio’s have me back wearing the medievil torture devices and trying to force it that way a lot in the hope that it’ll give it a bit of a push. They say that after three weeks, if it doesn’t improve then it’s probably as far as it’s going to go. So at least in two weeks time I’ll know. The only things it’s currently preventing me from doing is holding things with a flat palm, and playing guitar, which I must say would suck if I had to give it up because my wrist doesn’t bend anymore. So here’s hoping.

Life’s been pretty hectic lately, which is always kinda fun. I much prefer it to sitting around all the time thinking hat I’m not doing anything. Well, everywhere but work anyhow, work is still too easy. I got bored at work the other day and wrote a haiku that pretty much sums up my employment…

Hello Minesweeper
Whittle away work hours
So I may go home

Subtle, don’t you think?

I’ve pretty much slung myself gung-ho into applying for tafe and uni courses for next year. I’m not quite sure whether it’s a good idea yet (which is something you consider when spending a couple of hundred bucks on application fees), or whether they’ll want me, but I figure it’s a better idea to apply and not want it than to not apply, then find out it’s what I really needed.

Speaking of things that are keeping me busy, for those of you who are down with the thespian wagon, the play that Glen, Stuart and myself are in starts this coming Thursday. Somehow the flyers got printed up without “Starring GOD of stage and screen - DWIGHT!” on them, but I’m a forgiving guy.

Details…

I make no guarantees that it doesn’t suck, but there are at least several bits with reasonable volumes of hilarity involved.

I also went to the Telstra Rally Super Special Stage tonight, in the Ford corporate box no less… mmm… free drinks, food, cake… it was good fun, not to mention the amusement when in the Group N races, an Evo 8 got beaten by a Volkswagen Golf… not once, but twice.

I’ll be giggling all weekend.

Yet again I find myself with the same feeling, but somehow this time things have progressed much further than they regularly do before I realise the true nature of the situation. It happens so often. Sometimes it could almost make me disheartened, but I choose not to let it.

How many places do I have to go before I can find somewhere that makes me feel at home? Constantly I find myself in places, at times, with company where I blink twice and realise that this is not where I belong. I couldn’t tell you what it is that marks that line, or how I can tell the difference. On some occasions it is more pronounced, to the point of the bleedingly obvious, on others, more subtle.

While it would be more direct to discover things about oneself that give you a sense of who you are, I muse that similarly, one can find themselves by discovering what it is that they are not.

I don’t think I’d have made it this far if I couldn’t laugh it off and let it go.

What’s one more?

She lies beside me there, afterwards, in the darkness. Her skin much cooler than mine as I slowly glide my fingertips over the arm she lays across my chest. I touch my hand to the back of her neck and softly stroke her hair. She gently purrs there as she smiles. A cheshire cat. I think of nothing. I smile, indulge my senses. My breaths are long and low now, as I try to divide the serenity and weariness, but the calm takes me over as a breath of air cools the sweat that glazes over my skin. My eyelids fall slowly and open half again, my hand shifting like a wisp over her skin. Her sigh echoes through our bodies like a tremor as she turns. “You would make such a partner”, she whispers. I half unrest, and puzzle what this makes me now.

I’ve really got to work on this overdoing the weekend thing I’ve got happening.

So Friday after work I stop at home briefly to pack some things (and clean the kitchen for good measure) before hooning down to Bunbury to visit my folks (and Gifford) and to see their new house now that they’ve moved in, and damn, that place is schmick. It’s huge, it’s shiny, the view is awesome… it really whoops the llama’s ass. Through some deranged turn of events, I ended up getting out of bed earlier on Saturday morning than I had on any other day of the week. It must be said that I am not much of a 5am person, but there’s only so much time I get to spend with my Dad, so we went out to meet another mate of his and played 18 holes of golf. Colin (the other fella we went out with) isn’t as good as my old man (but he’s a good sport about it), which made it easier on the holes where I ended up doing more groundskeeping in the rough than hitting the ball. On the upside, almost every shot I made out of the sandtraps was a pearler, the downside being that I was in there almost every hole. But seeing as how I hadn’t played in months and my grip still isn’t what it used to be, I went alright. It’s not like golf’s about scoring anyhow.

After some shopping, we spent the rest of the day hanging around the house and setting up a waterfall-rock-gardeny thing my Mum had (which turned out pretty cool), before I went to town to see the Denzel-ified remake of The Manchurian Candidate with Steve, Mother dearest and a friend of hers. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t really that great either. Meh out of 10.

After Church and lunch the next day, I headed back to Perth to hit rehearsals (which it just wasn’t my day for) before going home in enough time to gather some supplies before heading to Kingsley for a Birthday/Halloween party. The party went alright, though for a while there I was standing around like the whole thing was some joke I just wasn’t getting, but after a while I started yapping to a few people I knew, humourous dialogue ensued, you know the drill. It wound up pretty early though, around eleven, mostly due to the softness inherent in some folks and some excuse or other involving “work in the morning”. So the conscious remainder of us conspired to transfer venues for additional tomfoolery (and Starburst jellybeans).

As luck would have it, I resumed consciousness the next day after roughly ninety minutes sleep, in the house of some couple in Wanneroo. After my logic circuits warmed up, and realising that for all logistical purposes, I may as well have been in Geraldton, the bike was warmed up and I headed to my traditional place of shelter in order to invoke the wrath of the hygiene gods.

A shirt and tie later, I arrived to work in a state that could sketchily be described as “thoroughly wrecked”. However I was in good company, as my workmate on the Helpdesk not only arrived almost an hour after I did (when he ought to have been there an hour an a half before myself) but also particularly unkempt and with the devil’s own hangover. So even looking like the walking dead, I was the golden boy by comparison.

It’d be so much easier to cut down if I didn’t enjoy it so much.

As a result, in the tradition of Casual Friday, we’ve been considering adding prefixes to other weekdays in order to boost staff morale and encourage a greater feeling of community within the department. So far we have settled on Surly Monday (after stiff competition from Hangover Monday), and it’s looking like Sobriety Tuesday is almost decided on, which leaves us with a currently lacklustre Wednesday and Thursday. All suggestions appreciated.

This week will be another exciting instalment in life, as our house is host to a game of Musical Roommates. Departing: One 21 year old male student, tall, comes with own TV, answers to most any name you wish to call him. Incoming: One 21 year old full-time employed zoology graduate, female, blonde, brings the table itself to the table, along with matching chairs.

In other news, Happy Birthday to Steve, and to you miserable horses, damn you and your lousy midget jockeys to HELL for these Melbourne Cup shenanigans that caused the closure for today of the Garratt Road bridge, making my trip to work involve a detour that took me pretty much all the way to the freaking airport.