This week is the first time I've posted on my writing blog ahead of my cartoon blog. Only because I haven't got a damn cartoon ready!
Memoir - Week 2
This night, though, I was not actively spotting. Rather than
chatting with Harry and enjoying myself, my mood had somewhat a morose hue to
it. I couldn’t weight down rising thoughts that my life in the Bush Capital was
turning stale. Plus, I was seeing the same old people and I was standing in the
same old pub and it was the same old end of the week night. Same-shit stuff. My
life explained almost in a mathematical equation, conveying all the
predictability and dullness that math is renowned for and feared.
Julian had always feared
predictability and a kind of dullness in his life. He feared being left out and
in an empty room with only a keyhole to look through – a single eye with which
to observe others interacting and enjoying life.
He remembered thinking as a young boy
how the late afternoon calls of Australian birdlife in the garden signified the
end of the day – particularly the wistful voicing of the spotted turtle doves.
Had he spent enough time outside playing with friends, and making the most of a
sunny day? Too late – the birds had sung their song and the keyhole was coming
into focus. Another day had become irretrievable, lost with the ominous clouds
in his mind he was yet to fathom.
Still, he took solace that the birds’
regular calling also heralded chance anew in the fresh day to come. Just one
more day – he would think – and the sun would rise never again to set.
All of a sudden an interruption snapped my contemplative
mood. Two girls – one blonde the other a brunette – had walked in through the
front door and were making their way up towards the bar area in slow motion,
where Harry and I were staked out on the fly paper floor. Hello, hello!
Predictability and dullness might become casualties to the night after all.
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