Digit with a mission

So here I am back in Christchurch, happy to get back to work and struggle on with Lilith, wishing I could be racing onwards with Vanguard Coven (now part of the Rhesus A series…), hoping to get some muscle work at the store, get fitter, and yep, you guessed it, I come down with the mighty flu’.

Not only that, which has put a real dent in my mental stability and self determination, but along comes the need for flipping surgery on my toe. It’s a toe that’s done everything to get at me over the years: anything to bring me down. Crushed by a boat; almost cut off by a misplaced shovel; devastated by a fungal infection; toe nail removal; fracture and re-fracture caused by fall in wet weather (I. Was. Not. Drunk!) and an earthquake (yep boss, it happens to me too you know); and now the god-damn need to have the toe nail partially but permanantly removed due to a whopper of an ingrown nail. The doctors says he’s gonna photograph it – I’ll have to see if he’ll give me the pic.

Adelaide was nice. Just to see and be around my mom was great, even if seeing her is a bit of a downer. You know, she’s not the active funny mother of my childhood and seeing her aged is just not right. Painful. Even with that, yeah I am glad I have seen her. Now, about going there full time sort of, like living in Adelaide, that would be nice. We worry about rows… okay we have had a few, but really, we’ve probably burned all those out. What the heck else is there for mom and son to argue about? All the major issues of parental responsibility, youthful exuberance and the whole A to Z of unspoken childhood questions seem to have been covered. Maybe a bit like Nick Hornby’s Rob Fleming, I have evolved from a sort of scared animal incapable of accepting responsibility into an adult at-least semi capable of dealing – still twisted by the fears and questions that never really get answered, just explained away, like mediocre excuses designed as mere antidotes to the imponderable facts of life.

Like getting old. Like realizing that wealth does not necessarily mean money. That some shit that totally messed me up as a child does not have a reason for happening. Maybe like the Sonic Death Monkeys I’ll surrender to the timeless quality of my mom – that she’s just there and as much as I turn my back on her it does not change a freakin’ thing. Like Elvis. Like The Beatles, Madonna, Tina Turner. Like that big toe.

A little about a few of the productive things I have been attempting. Have prepared a storyline for a possible screenplay to be written in partnership with someone I know localy, about a boy and a statue. He wants a statue of himself. Everyone hates him though, so that’ll be a problem. More work on Lilith. Jeez, even that reminds me of getting eaten alive in 40 degree C heat and being too afraid to sit on the patio for the rest of my trip, lest another dozen huge bite marks appear. Read some good books: Ashes (8/10), Hunger Games trilogy (10/10), Bloodlines (8/10), High Fidelity (10/10), The Night Stalker (7/10) and currently, Claimed by Shadow (4.5/10).

So, it’s been nice chatting, or rather having me rant in a cloggy monologue left directionless by both emotional loss – the loss of my childish emotions, which may have been taken over by, maybe more mature, mom-friendly, mom-understanding emotions – and by poor health. Yeah, like I’m too poorly to write – which now I think about it is probably pretty right on. My flu-ish descent into an abyss of self realization may be no more than delusion, afterall.

With all that’s happened, and continues to happen, I’m beginning to think, maybe I have become a better person capable of being responsible. If that’s what I have been hither-to missing… it’s like the roses have just flowered and I can smell them. I’m still on a different planet, but hey, I can smell them.


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