Author: laranettle

Connection

Just before Christmas, we took Inigo to carols at Pearl Beach. Just a small community event, run as a fundraiser for the local playgroup and the rural fire service.

We plonked down our blanket, opened up our (Lebanese) pizza boxes, and watched the show. Just before it started, some people put a blanket down beside us, and I was immediately distracted. It looked like my old friend John had married and had kids. But I hadn’t seen John in the better part of 20 years….

John had been a really good friend. One of my favorite people ever. A friend that had helped me to define who I was. What I thought was important. How awesome Pink Floyd was. That kind of friend. And 20 years is a long time. And recently, Ive been through some serious shit. And its really hard to initiate that conversation.

But John was a really good friend, so I stood up on my wobbly legs, and had the conversation, and met his kids, and his lovely wife. And we agreed to catch up soon. Soon took a while, but we did it today.

John and I worked out that we lost touch with each other some time around the early 1990s, maybe 1992 or 93. Around that time, I loaned him two of my favorite books, with an admonition that he MUST return them.

Today, almost 20 years later, he gave me my books back.

P.S. For those that needed to know, the books were Neuromancer and Mona Lisa Overdrive by William Gibson. Despite wanting everyone to think that I am an intelligent and literate bibliophile, I was WAY into Cyberpunk back then. Hmm… I still am. In another weird co-incidence, the book I am reading now is “Snowcrash” by Neal Stephenson, which many would say is the inheritor of the king of the genre. A lot has happened since Neuromancer was published, and many would say it is quite visionary. I wonder if the same will be said of Snowcrash in years to come.

Bloody hell!

Dad just rang. Some assholes broke into mum and dad’s house last night and stole some Christmas presents from under the tree, and the keys to both their cars.

The Subaru was left in a nearby side street with one wheel missing, and the Mazda 121 was driven through a peterol station to fill up, then driven out without paying.

Then the fuckers set fire to it. RIP Edmund.

The shrink

I saw the counsellor from Sids & Kids yesterday. Apparently, an important part of this whole “grief” thing, is actually crying. Who’d a thunk it.

I’ve been working hard at keeping it all together, and worrying more about how other people feel (and protecting them from the horror of my grief), so the tears get quashed, I put on a brave face, and get on with life.

So, my new years resolution (which I don’t believe in, and I am nonetheless doing, and doing early this year), is to fall apart a little bit. If I feel sad, I will cry, and I will try not to worry about protecting other people (except Inigo of course). I spent years training myself not to cry, to protect myself from bullies, so allowing myself to cry is a steep learning curve.

We’re going up to Pearl Beach after Christmas until after New Years, and I am going to take that time for me, for healing, and for saying “get stuffed” to feelings of obligation and concern for others.

If you’re a friend, please don’t ask me how I am. The answer will be “shithouse”. If you’re not a friend, I will lie, and tell you that I am looking forward to Christmas, that I had a good day, that things are fine, that I am getting “better”. But what is “better”? A slight improvement? Or is it just a word to make you feel better about my disaster of a life?

If I don’t know you, if you ask me how many children I have, I’ll say, “one, he’s three”. But if you’re a friend, or if I want to be real with you, I’ll say, “Three, but only one living. I lost twin babies this year”. It’s horrible saying it out loud, but it’s even worse denying their existence.