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Bedazzled - My hour for tea is half-past five, and my buttered toast waits for nobody.
hellblazer06
hellblazer06
Bedazzled
I wonder what the last three months would have been like, had I not been made to stay back late at work, again, like Cinderella, for a deadline that never happened (to add insult to injury).

Less obsessive, certainly, but it’s been fun, kind of, and I do now have that photo of Karl I can use to frighten the horses (and children and other animals, large and small, and probably anyone of a nervous disposition…)



It wasn’t something I’d planned. I was chugging away, reading my John Le Carre, watching cool classic 60s films, all for UNCLE fics that spooled out in my head but never committed to paper. To be honest, I was loving the books more, I came to adore George Smiley and pals, and the films, oh, give me that mid-twentieth century aesthetic.

So it wasn’t really something I’d planned at all, and I didn’t think I’d be that upset (it wasn’t the first time I’d missed out on things for work). But I was. Then I decided to go see the film anyway, and work, ahem, sabotaged me, three times (one more night and a weekend). Seriously Kirk-blocked.

Okay, so now I was upset. I think it was the grief, too, over Anton’s sudden and awful death that twisted the knife deeper than it ever should have gone. It hurt. And I was unwell, so unwell I tore my retina being unwell.

So, exhausted, grieving, unable to have my own life, I got up at 2am on a Sunday, for crazy work deadlines again, in deepest darkest middle of winter, and worked until midday. Then, instead of going to see the film, I had to take myself to the hospital to get my eye checked. That took eight hours.

By the time I managed to get home I was beyond tired, scared, hurt, upset, woozy from quality hospital meds and my eyes blown so wide open that everything was starbursts. The first JJ Abrams film was on telly and so, you know, I thought something was better than nothing.

Ok, so I was high, exhausted and everything was lights and I’m watching Mr Lens Flare and then this golden boy, this sun king, Apollo himself, walks on screen, and dazzled doesn’t even begin to describe it. It was… glorious.


Simple Minds - Glittering Prize

I’ll never experience anything like it ever again. I know I was off my nut, delirious, but man, it was fun. It moved me, as they used to say.

So now I’m a goner, trawling through his back catalogue, searching for that elusive hit. I know it’s stupid, but what else am I’m gonna do with my waste of a life, and it took my mind off the very real possibility I’m going blind (not to mention other RL merde).

Which is why I was playing ‘if it’s the last thing I see’, and, for a whole month, the universe decided to play along: Foxtel was screening wall to wall filmography, the JB bargain bin overfloweth and every second billboard and bus stop at the posh end of town was graced by his cheesy mug. It was like being in the Matrix, in really was. It was fun.

And besides, the filmography wasn’t that bad. Okay, there were a couple of films that I’d fork my own eyes over if I had to watch again (but my eyes are already forked), but the kid does good work, every time. And he’s funny, and I saw him drop references to Vermeer and Hopper in the same sentence. And he seems to have a thing for that mid-twentieth century aesthetic I still can’t leave alone. So I'm smitten, a bit, just a bit.

But I know I’m being annoying. Macbeth, the house possum who usually sleeps mere millimetres of asbestos away from where I sleep (as in ‘sleep no more, Macbeth doth murder sleep’) screams and stomps to the other side of the house now if I play a YouTube clip. Sorry, possum (this is what happens when you raise your possums to be serious anglophiles).

And yet, I don’t want to stop, just to please others. I’m having fun. I’m waking up at 2am in the morning (that might be Macbeth coming back after a night on the tiles, but still) with the story going so fast I can’t get it down. Housework is neglected while I spend hours just trying to capture some of it before it vanishes. It’s like I’ve been waiting since I was a kid to write this, and now I can’t stop.

Well, the writing part yes because I still do 18 hour days at work, so no writing, but they have yet to find a way to stop it playing out in my head.

It’s a pity, because it could be some of my best. It’s like I’ve been teaching myself how to do this, since forever, reading books, going to every Shakespeare play I could my whole like, just so I could drop a line here of there. Stupid, I know, but, I think that’s exactly what I’ve done, in a round about way.

This is my last time, let me have fun. (More to the point, let me have some of my freakin’ TIL so I can fill up another notebook of silliness). No one will ever see it, but I just want to get it out of my head. It’s been in there too long.

So yeah, they should have let me go that day, three months ago. None of this would have happened. No films, no cons, no meeting old friends, no ferries at sunset, no finishing off something I tried to write when I was seven. Yeah, you damn well should have let me go.


The Dandy Warhols - You Were The Last High

Meanwhile, the bus stop is infested with redback spiders again. These are the little bastards that'll drop you dead if you don't get immediate medical attention (and used to drop you dead when I was growing up). But last time when I rang the council, all I got was 'yes, my three-yeard-old niece is also scared of spiders'. Bitch. Well, let the spiders swarm then, see if I care (well, I care a bit, I don't like hanging around deadly spiders, no matter how small and pretty they are).

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