An Adventure Wrongly Considered

It's impolite to talk unless you have something to say. It is for this reason that the blog I sometimes keep has been a little thin on content lately but these are lean times for narrative in my life, dear friends. Mundane things that are available to you all are what has kept me from having a story worth telling in a while, things like work. You might object that I said things (plural) and listed only one thing (singular) and you would object from the entirely defensible position of correctness. There has been only one (single) thing lately that has been devouring the cheaply costumed charades I use to mask a life made up largely of boredom and small doings punctuated by interludes of digressions on the topic of leading a life of boredom and small doings, and that one (single) thing, if you have managed to keep a hold of the main thrust of this sentence, is my recently aquired new job.

It is to my free time as, for so many years Ross was to Rachael, incompatible. I wouldn't be telling half truths if I were to apply to your consciousness the abstract idea, made more cogent and interperable by the probability that you know me and have a mental mannequin in your head to place in the scene, that I worked something like 25 hours during the 48 of the weekend just gone. The smoking of your pipe is an action for you to undertake of your own volition but consider it primed and filled with ample material by yours truly.

Anyway that aside I haven't ceased to live completely. There are still stretches of time during which I am expected and even forced to parse the behaviours of people and places in the way that only I can, spherically opposed to the majority of my readership as I am here in Sydney. So here goes, an actual event, from this life that I'm now leading.

So I move into an apartment with a co-worker. And it's nice, it's a lovely place. It's own independant loveliness is thrown into sharp relief moreover by the filthiness and slum-ishness of places I'd looked at earlier. There was even a brief interlude, unreported here in the interest of preserving my own laziness, wherein I met with an estate agent looked at a place I thought was unfit for the quarantine of hibola positive monkeys, agreed to live there, gave him 300 bucks, returned to work triumphant at the procurement of digs, found out it was in the center of the police no-go area of Sydney, read an article on the net which was headlined "50 riot guards injured during incident" (which pertained to my new home) and recontacted the professional liar/scoundrel from whom I accepted the place to whimper "No, no, not me, I can't live THERE..."

But I, characteristically, digress. So this new place, wonderful. I'm out of hostels. I can now call myself a real person again. Or as much of a real person as the reader will grant me without smiling to themselves at the thought of me performing the day to day tasks of a legitimate person. So this particular evening, having been at a pub to watch a band, after a pretty long and beleaguring day, I realise that still in my bag are a couple of special brownies, a gift from the hyper-nice girlfriend of one of my new workmates. And there I am thinking, like King Lear, making plans in my head, unaware, that though I'm mostly a good and righteous person the universe wants to take me down a peg or two, and I decide on what I believe in good faith at the time, is the best course of action for my own self thenceforth. That action? Well here it is. I was about tired of the gig, I wanted to relax. I'll eat, I thought, one of these brownies right now.

I'll eat that sucker and then about ten minutes later I'll hop in a cab and head towards my new place of residence. By the time I get home, I reasoned, this item of psychotropic confectionary will have begun to exercise it's effects on my body and mind. That achieved I will retire to my new bedroom and listen to music, safe in this promised hazy bubble and awake refreshed and rebuilt, ready for another soul destroying day.

So brownie ingested I begin to say my goodbyes. I hail a cab with no trouble, though it took perhaps a little longer to be on the road than I had anticipated, all was still well with my agenda. And I arrive, in the agreeable suburb of Glebe, now beginning to feel, there's no other way to say it, good and stoned. I'm giggling to myself as I open the outside door to the apartment block. I had, that morning, when I got the keys cut, chosen, almost as a dare, a bright red heart shaped key ring. That was enough. And so I laughed my way up the stairs at this incongruous mechanism of key association. The brownie had begun to serve me just as I had hoped. And then it strikes.

I'm at the inner door, the final hurdle. Peace and sanctuary lay just beyond it's array of small glass panels. So near and yet so far. The key we had cut but that morning failed in it's most basic duty: the opening of the door. Panic. Cold streaks of panic. Where to go? What to do? Who to call? I didn't know anyone... Adam was in New Zealand, my sister had gone, her month long stint in Sydney ended merely days previous. Help, I needed help. Someone to talk to. Fuck, I'm pretty stoned now. Maybe it's me, maybe that's just what it is, I'm not trying it right. I was never good and opening locks that needed a little extra jimmying, that special knack. But there's no one around. And I don't know the place. I'll ring Chris. Pockets feel like they're filled with cotton wool. My phone feels like the buttons resitance is proved by little panels of cotton wool. The phone itself takes on the characteristics of cotton wool. This isn't like being really drunk. I can't brute force my way out. Slow determination is the key. But not too slow, or your'll forget what you were doi...

Wait why do I have my phone out? I should go inside. Shit! I can't get in. Oh yeah, I was ringing Chris. Ring ring. Chris, Hi man, listen ahh you wouldn't believe this but.. the key doesn't open the door. Yeah. I know. It is. You're where. Oh it's an hour west. No no, I'm fine. Really it's cool I'll ahh. Yeah. Listen I'll do that and I'll see you tomorrow. Hang on there's someone coming up the stairs, I'll ask them to.... Hi, listen, sorry I just moved in here, and I got keys cut today, but they don't work. I'm a little drunk though, could you help me out? Try them? Aww thanks mate. (Wow I can't believe I managed to sound that articulate... What the fuck did she put in these things. Ha ha, stupid keyring. Did I just get away with saying mate? - Shit he's having trouble too. What next? Your move brain...) Thanks mate, don't worry about it, I'll just go stay with a friend. Thanks again.

(That's twice now you've said mate. And you don't have any friends you can stay with) A cab, wave. Full, shit. That one has lights on. Walk down there. Damn it's going. Just wait here. What the hell was that? There's possums out here I betcha. Hiya can you ahh take me to the city? Thanks. (Jesus does he have to take the corners that fast, I'm going to be sick. Oh fuck, no not here. what would happen if I just heaved right here? Or into his lap, fuck I have nowhere to go to clean up, I'd never get a hotel. And he wouldn't let me out the cab. He'd probably hit me, and then I'd be stoned and badly beaten and covered in vomit standing at the reception desk of a hotel looking for a room for the night. Ha ha. Shit stop laughing, he's looking at you weird.) Yeah mate, right here is fine.

Sliding door, bright lights, reception. Get ready to talk, don't act stoned. (Note to self: in preparation for not acting stoned don't remind self to 'not act stoned.' As a simple instruction it has no intrinsic value, imparts no real advice, is likely, in fact, to only enhance contemplative state of mind and increase risk of appearing stoned.) Shit she's looking at you. Your turn.

Hi (she's got dreads, tell her the truth she'll get it. Wait is that discriminative? Shit, just say something.) listen I just moved into an apartment in Glebe, and these are my new keys. Here's the twist. They don't work, new housemate is hours out of town and I'm extremely stoned. Please tell me you have a room for the night? Oh ok, don't worry about it, sorry.

Four hostels and hotels later, still no room at the inn and the white hot panic turns black. homelessness for the night, lost unable to function, wrapped in a blanket of marijuana induced disregard for my own body. Back to port one. Hi, me again. Sorry to bother you is there anywhere else you can think of x, y, and z are all full. I'm totally fucked aren't I? Yeah thanks, the number of a few places would be great. Yeah, the Y, I stayed there before, yeah thank. Cotton phone again. Ring ring. Hi room? No, come on. It's 2am there has to be someone who hasn't arrived yet. Just gimmie that one, really there's a huge tip in it for you. Yeah, yeah, do that, book it for me online. I'll be there in ten minutes . Yeah it's 5432 4402 12 (you don't need the rest, do you, dear reader?) Thanks.

Out on the street again. I need to eat something or I'm going to collapse. 7eleven. Yes. Crisps, oh yeah I love those, and cookies. Fuck I can't even walk properly. That breeze is gorgeous. Okay where was I going?

A long walk later and I'm there. Hang on I spoke to a french guy on the phone. This dude isn't French... Sorry sir, no reservation for you. You sure it wasn't the other Y hotel?

Shit. Streets. Cab. Finally. Y. Redfern. Thanks. Door. Reception. You? yes you, oh thanks. Yeah, nightmare keys didn't work, taxis all night hotels full. Thanks. Room 85 oh god brilliant thank you. Oh I'm a web developer. Yeah, oh you do? Really, no I don't have a card (Why does he want a business card?? Why does he want to talk to me about work? I NEED TO GO TO BED!!!!!) Don't I look fucked up enough to be the sort of person this guy doesn't want to talk to?) 20 minutes later and the sweet embrace of hotel bed is bear hugging me and I never want to wake up...

Beep beep, phone alarm. House keeping. Check out time, oh God.... Can't think straight, where am I? Oh yeah. What the hell did she put in those brownies?


The unspeakable truth: I'm eating another right now :)