Fuck, I love sinking back wines till 5AM on my own, smoking myself into a throaty wheeze and climbing into bed at dawn, in total love with the world. At least I must, that’s what I’ve been doing every night.
I should be starting work on Monday. Had my medical yesterday.
Drug/Alcohol test – perfect.
Lungs – perfect.
Eyesight – perfect.
Hearing – not so perfect. I was ten decibels under on one level, in my right ear, but I’ve put it down to the many gigs and festivals I’ve been to. Or the time my ex boyfriend found me asleep on the dance floor at the Rolling Rock in Noosa, with my head against the speaker.
So yes, medical was fine until Doc asked me to lie down on the bed so he could feel my spleen etc. Vile.
Doc: And I have to actually feel your stomach so I’ll just have to pull up your dress … (goes to do so)
Me: NOO! Oh, sorry, I mean … Um, I have … um … a big HOLE in my knickers! I have holy knickers (start giggle-snorting, vainly clutching dress over groin )
Doc: (Splendid attempt at remaining professional but awkwardly laughing) Oh, ha! Sorry. Um …
Me: S’alright I’ll just pull me top down.
OK so I haven’t been my own best drinking partner every night. Every other night maybe, however Saturday was quite the adventure. Went fundraising for SAFE – Saving Animals From Euthanasia. Aunty is a dedicated volunteer and employed me as a fellow SAFE Fairy to go on a charity pub crawl around all of the three bars in Karratha selling SAFE stubbie holders and collecting gold coin donations. This is what I had to wear:
HOWEVER, we did make over a thousand dollars and strange new friends along the way. One young fellow named Garth thought he could pat Aunty Fairy’s head as if she were an abandoned dog from SAFE. Another friendly punter most earnestly proposed Fairy Prostitution with him as the Fairy Pimp, guaranteeing us plenty of funds for the poor little puppies and kittys and only half an hours work. Top fella.
We hitched a Fairy lift with a local journo after she asked for a photo; she assured us we will be in the Pilbara Echo this week. On the way back to the Tambray, we jumped in the back of a Commodore with some local Indigenous blokes – one of them didn’t speak at all and the other one wouldn’t stop but he had his eyes closed the entire time. Very kind of them to chauffeur anyhow.
After we had done as much fundraising as we could, we had a few bevs. Well, we had been drinking throughout but by this time we could rest our wings, have a chat, have a dance and talk to the 750 million men that were there. Then there was an after-party. Then there was the date on Sunday with the extremely tall, large Albanian I met at the after-party. Then there was a ride home on a sparkly silver scooter. Then there’s been the writing.
I’ve been writing. A lot. My new in-progress novella is titled: ‘So wise so young, they say do never live long’ (Shakespeare quote from Richard III). Here is a tiny excerpt –
My strike song? Fuck off. It isn’t just about Amos or Mina or my mother for that fact. Something has jolted, moved, tectonically shifted in the meaty plains of my skull. I’m sick of being smiles and loud laughter. I’m tired of Amos or David or Greg pumping my cunt, bellies out, shoulders back whilst I finger flick my clit trying to time my orgasm with theirs. I need a reprieve, a white flag.
I’ve finished Margaret Atwood’s The Year of the Flood. Wondrous speculative fiction. Read it and follow Margaret on Twitter – @Margaret Atwood
Out at 1980’s throwback pub ‘The Mermaid’ on Friday night with my new mate Hayley and her crowd. Or maybe I’ll go to Albania.
Oh and if you’ve never gotten pissed on your own and watched Fantasia, it is my utmost recommendation. You can watch it on YouTube for free!
The centaurs get me going every time. http://youtu.be/XChxLGnIwCU