Good times roll. I think they are spheres. A bubble of joy, rolling around. Joy rolling from your family to you. From you to your friends. Good times are on the move. Good times scatter fast, they are like marbles I guess. If you collect them up in your arms, squeeze them tight and try to hold on, the good times slip from your grasp and flee. They are fleeting.
I think problems are cubes. Cubes with sharp edges that give you paper cuts. Cubes with unbevelled corners waiting for shins to bash into them. Problems, like cubes, are more inclined to stay put. To stick around. Problems do not roll away. When you drop a problem it lands at your own feet. And if you do manage to move them, they don’t go far, just the distance of one square, the side of the cube. This could be why problems are so easy to shift onto other people. The problem still exists, it is simply now sitting in front of the person next to you. You did that to them so you feel guilty. A problem shared is not a problem halved. A problem shared is a burden doubled.
Instalment Forty Seven
The Anxiety of Choice
Leaving the house always became a big to do. Choice hated making decisions and she became tense and angry when pressed to do so. It was never as simple as doing just one thing. Leaving the house meant a cascade of selections: Clothes? Shoes? Hat? Purse or handbag? Walk, ride or drive? And where to go! Forget about food shopping, far too hard, she’d have to wait until she was almost fainting then head out in a mad dash. Run, grab, too starved to think. As a result most her meals consisted of half a barbeque chook and a Toblerone, an abject lesson as to why you should never shop hungry.
It was too much for Choice, crippling in fact, but so was staying home. She became convinced that there were only so many correct decisions that could be made in each life. What if she ran out? If she ran out she’d be making wrong decisions, wrong hat, wrong movie, wrong man. Life develops one decision at a time and Choice opted out, there were too many options, she decided, while flicking the light switch off and on, unsure if she needed to see what was in the room.
Leaving the house always became a big to do. Choice hated making decisions and she became tense and angry when pressed to do so. It was never as simple as doing just one thing. Leaving the house meant a cascade of selections: Clothes? Shoes? Hat? Purse or handbag? Walk, ride or drive? And where to go! Forget about food shopping, far too hard, she’d have to wait until she was almost fainting then head out in a mad dash. Run, grab, too starved to think. As a result most her meals consisted of half a barbeque chook and a Toblerone, an abject lesson as to why you should never shop hungry.
It was too much for Choice, crippling in fact, but so was staying home. She became convinced that there were only so many correct decisions that could be made in each life. What if she ran out? If she ran out she’d be making wrong decisions, wrong hat, wrong movie, wrong man. Life develops one decision at a time and Choice opted out, there were too many options, she decided, while flicking the light switch off and on, unsure if she needed to see what was in the room.
Instalment Forty Six
“Minimum chips? That’s no way to look at life, is your glass half empty man? Maximum chips for me! Always maximum.”
This is how Success talks. We were in Year 10 when he said that, at the chip shop with a girl I liked. He got the girl and I paid the maximum.
Nothing is small with Success, he lives grand sweeping proclamations. That’s how he got where he is today, or so he says.
“You live your dream or you sell it off piece by piece, day by day, shaving away until you barely remember it.”
His dream must have been to be rich I guess, while I’m selling mine off.
“If you don’t believe in yourself, who will? Who will? Back yourself, back yourself up to the wall and start swinging. That’s what I did.”
The thing with Success, he made it through a lot of luck, everyone like him got lucky at some stage but they damn well claim it was thanks to their own grit.
“Sure I was lucky, I saw that luck and grabbed it, made it my own and made it on my own, that’s what you need to do.”
Success, what a bastard!
This is how Success talks. We were in Year 10 when he said that, at the chip shop with a girl I liked. He got the girl and I paid the maximum.
Nothing is small with Success, he lives grand sweeping proclamations. That’s how he got where he is today, or so he says.
“You live your dream or you sell it off piece by piece, day by day, shaving away until you barely remember it.”
His dream must have been to be rich I guess, while I’m selling mine off.
“If you don’t believe in yourself, who will? Who will? Back yourself, back yourself up to the wall and start swinging. That’s what I did.”
The thing with Success, he made it through a lot of luck, everyone like him got lucky at some stage but they damn well claim it was thanks to their own grit.
“Sure I was lucky, I saw that luck and grabbed it, made it my own and made it on my own, that’s what you need to do.”
Success, what a bastard!
Instalment Forty Five
What’s that thing where you can only remember good things?
What?
You know that thing where you can only remember all the good stuff that has happened?
That’s not a thing.
Sure it is. Like that camp I on went on in Grade Six, we had a really great time, we got to ride horses and kayak and stuff.
It sounds like a good camp.
Yeah, but I am sure at the time I hated it but now I have no idea why and only seem to be able to remember the highlights.
So you’re saying you had a great time and it was a good camp.
Yes.
But you hated it.
Yes.
It’s not a thing.
Look, it’s like a relationship right! You go out with someone, good times bad times, sex, fights, sometimes lots of fights.
Right.
Then once you’re broken up, all you remember is the good times and the sex, not the fights or their family or the music they were into that you hated.
I guess.
Not only that, you then go out and do it again with someone else.
Without thought to all the pain you don’t remember!
Yes. What’s that called?
Being human.
What?
You know that thing where you can only remember all the good stuff that has happened?
That’s not a thing.
Sure it is. Like that camp I on went on in Grade Six, we had a really great time, we got to ride horses and kayak and stuff.
It sounds like a good camp.
Yeah, but I am sure at the time I hated it but now I have no idea why and only seem to be able to remember the highlights.
So you’re saying you had a great time and it was a good camp.
Yes.
But you hated it.
Yes.
It’s not a thing.
Look, it’s like a relationship right! You go out with someone, good times bad times, sex, fights, sometimes lots of fights.
Right.
Then once you’re broken up, all you remember is the good times and the sex, not the fights or their family or the music they were into that you hated.
I guess.
Not only that, you then go out and do it again with someone else.
Without thought to all the pain you don’t remember!
Yes. What’s that called?
Being human.
Instalment Forty Four
Black as Noir
Episode One - Lost for words
“My sister’s been missing a week,” he said, “You gotta find her.”
“Why me?”
“You’re first in the book.”
He’s right, ABCDetectives first cab off the rank when your fingers do the walking, cheesy name and all, but working the worst dive neighbourhood in a town that’s drowning I can’t afford to be subtle.
“I found a note, says she’s run off to find God in Alphabet City, only there aint no convents there, you gotta help me Mister.”
B.I.N.G.O. Sizing him up, he looks like my next rent check and bar tab in one, a days work that I can stretch halfway to next week.
“Fifty a day plus whateva cabbage it takes to get lips flapping.”
“My folks will wire the money once you find her.”
“I’ll need a picture and if she has one, a name.”
“Kit, well Kitty, Kitty Mortél.”
Funny, he didn’t sound French but still, his cash had the right accent.
Napping till dusk I headed to the one place in town where everyman knows he’ll find God when the lights go out, The Sisters of Easy Virtue, the drinks run dear but a girl’s affection will only cost you a couple of rounds.
Next week - A nun's litany
Episode One - Lost for words
“My sister’s been missing a week,” he said, “You gotta find her.”
“Why me?”
“You’re first in the book.”
He’s right, ABCDetectives first cab off the rank when your fingers do the walking, cheesy name and all, but working the worst dive neighbourhood in a town that’s drowning I can’t afford to be subtle.
“I found a note, says she’s run off to find God in Alphabet City, only there aint no convents there, you gotta help me Mister.”
B.I.N.G.O. Sizing him up, he looks like my next rent check and bar tab in one, a days work that I can stretch halfway to next week.
“Fifty a day plus whateva cabbage it takes to get lips flapping.”
“My folks will wire the money once you find her.”
“I’ll need a picture and if she has one, a name.”
“Kit, well Kitty, Kitty Mortél.”
Funny, he didn’t sound French but still, his cash had the right accent.
Napping till dusk I headed to the one place in town where everyman knows he’ll find God when the lights go out, The Sisters of Easy Virtue, the drinks run dear but a girl’s affection will only cost you a couple of rounds.
Next week - A nun's litany
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