Monday, November 13, 2006

Back home again

Well I’ve been back for a week now. Three weeks away, which at times seemed like an eternity. Now it feels like I was never gone. How do time and mind conspire to play such tricks?

Finn started cricket the other day. Milo “Have a Go”. I had to lie about his age because you have to be 5 years old to start and he’s a couple of months off that. He loved it. And he was easily strong and coordinated enough, both physically and socially to take it on. I feel a sense of success as a father of an Aussie boy. He loves cricket and footy. What more can you ask for. And he loves me, which is no minor matter either. He’s going to be a light in many people’s lives as the years unfold. Such a generous little soul, with a sense of playfulness and mischief that hopefully I can’t subdue him of, no matter how hard I try. Such a strong defiant streak. Very strong willed. Today he was sentenced to a night of no TV after Tori cracked it at him this morning for not doing what he was told. Again. He howled and screamed his lungs out when he was evicted from the lounge while Jazzy got to watch the favorite show. I listened to him with a mixture of parental satisfaction that maybe he’d learn his lesson and be more obedient in future (unlikely), personal annoyance at his tantruming (I suppose you’ve got to have a go – it might work, but fuck he’s loud), and sorrow that instead of having a nice happy night with my boy he was off somewhere else being sad. Not that I was much use tonight anyway. Tired after the weekend and a day of work, I just flaked out in front of the TV. Jazzy came and lay down with me for a while, but that was mostly incidental to my mood. I have to admit that I was a bit preoccupied by the thought that some of the nits from her hair would manage to go for the excursion across the pillow and on to my head. Having survived the toxic shampoo, they would have to be the heartiest or luckiest of the species. I’m sure that my hair must look like a great place for a picnic if you’re a louse. You could lay your eggs there and be pretty guaranteed that nobody else would stumble across them.

I’ve moved into my new office now and have an employee. It’s good to leave the house to go to work again. It had all become a bit too claustrophobic for me working from home. I think I might be able to get some balance back into my life now. Friday I decided not to go into the office and just leave Ik to work on his own. What a great feeling. Reminiscent of those uni days where I’d wake up, dreading the day ahead of going to some boring lectures after a long haul on public transport, and the feeling bordering on euphoria as the decision was made to just roll over and go back to sleep instead. Just blowing the day out to choose leisure over what I was “supposed” to do. I loved the aspect of tertiary study that you didn’t have to turn up if you didn’t want to. Friday was the first day in a long time where I felt that feeling again. Mind you it was after having a conference call at 8am until around 10am. But that “ fuck it, I’m not going in today” feeling was blissful. Just going back to bed. In the old days, after making the decision to stay home, I usually felt a lot more awake and alive, and it was time to get up to try and find somebody to go and have bongs with. Disappointingly, my life has moved on from there now in both enjoyment levels from cannabis and responsibilities.

I wonder what damage I‘ve done to my brain with cannabis. And which parts of my brain have been opened up permanently in a positive way thanks to its powers. Impossible to know really. There’s a new campaign on the tele about the evils of the dreaded marijuana. It’s so difficult to quantify whether some permanent brain damage is actually a fair trade off if with it comes an extra sense of self awareness and a different way of looking at the world. And a whole lot of laughter and fun and shared new experiences. I loved it. The ritual of making a mix and packing the bong. Waiting for it to come around the circle to me and hoping for maximum effect with the glowing cone all being sucked down in one hit. And being so stoned that another one seemed too far to go, only to hear Mr. Big saying “just a small one. You can pack it yourself.” The discovery of bucket bongs was another level altogether. An even better ritual requiring precise technique followed by an unparalleled headrush. Learning to roll joints at the educational hands of Brian and Morrie. And the laughter. So much laughter. Mave turning into Patrick at Cotham Road. Games of zoom and cardinal puff. Listening to Lou Reed with Dave in full infectious mode. Late night raves at the goat with Morrie. The cask game at Cardigan Street. Skipping lectures with Bruce and going to the music room to listen to Monty Python or Chech and Chong. Rolling around a room with Bobby. In the car before lectures at Swinburne with Mark. Nights of mega and a crazy chinese restaurant night, thanks to Sport. “Thankyou gargoyle”. Joints on the St.Kilda foreshore before seeing the Church at the Venue. And parties. So many great parties. And gigs. Everywhere music. The psychedelic party when Mum and Dad were away. Kent Street tripping. Ian’s house in Brunswick Street. Argyle Street. Barak Street. Cardigan Street. Smiling Infants at Grosvenor where it always seemed to be a party. Except for the casualties who lived there. I could at least go home.

So how will it be then when Jazzy and Finn have their first drug interactions. Because it’s as inevitable as the sun coming up that they will. “Just say no” doesn’t seem like the way forward really. A bit hypocritical. “Don’t have as much fun as I had when I was growing up because you need to take life much more seriously than I have”. I do wonder about my ailing memory. It’s definitely not as good as it used to be. But Mum hasn’t done any recreational drugs so what’s her excuse? I do have emotional mood swings. But don’t most people? Some people shouldn’t smoke and it often takes them a while to work that out. Who can tell really what effect it has long term? There is undoubtedly the danger side. Which is a part of what adds mystique and makes for a slightly satisfied feeling of doing something outside of the rules. But it also leaves dead bodies in its wake. Mark. Bobby. Jay. Theron. Heroin deaths all. The hard edge of drug usage. I don’t know. I had the sense not to go too far, and a bit of luck also I guess. I suppose I just hope that Jazzy and Finn have the sense and strength of character to not get dragged down by the negative aspects of drug usage and culture, and that if they choose to dabble, that basically they get it together. And have enlightening experiences that add to their lives rather than detract. And that they make great friends that all survive the experience. And become exposed to music that they may otherwise have never really heard. And meet interesting people in smoky ultraviolet lit rooms at 4am that provide an extra sense of knowledge of how the world works. And laugh their arses off. Coz it’s only life after all.

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