An old acquaintance recently told me some brutal truths that I just can’t seem to shake off. At the time it hurt like crazy hearing what she had to say, to the point where it was like the insides of my stomach were being chainsaw massacred and all I could think about was having a cigarette, despite having given up for good years ago.

It’s been ( Read more... )

I close the door behind me, relieved to have the three pieces of paper finally in hand: discharge summary, medical certificate, prescription. I resist the urge to pull down the Oakleys on my head to block out the room’s fluorescent white. Its ability to separate my fringe away from my eyes, acting as makeshift headband, strengthens my resolve ( Read more... )

Pro Hart: The Tribute = $39.95
2 Damien Rice CDs = $19.99
The Cure's new album "4:13 Dream" = $19.95
Kandinsky: The Journey to Abstraction = $32.95

The look on mum's face when she finds out I'm spending manically again = Priceless

Appointment with p-doc on Wednesday went splendidly. For $280 per hour initial consultation, I should better well hope so. Thankfully, Medicare gives back $204.40. Subsequent visits are $150 ($104.55 refundable). Being crazy simply ain't cheap, is it? Needless to say, I milked every cent of it ( Read more... )

Visit to narky nephrologist yesterday was altogether unremarkable. For one thing I am no longer "fat boy" but "bad boy" for failing to see him in twelve months. Gee, I wonder why? But rest assured his testicles were out of harm's way, or rather, my right foot's due to his 'improved' opinion of me ( Read more... )

Mother is sitting next to me listening to Taylor Dayne bellow out "someday you will find me again, it won't be long". I signal left to turn into Copperfield Drive, a familiar routine this last three weeks, en route to the hospital to visit father. It's his fourth stint in ten months and second in as many ( Read more... )

I place the white 'music maker' marked R in my right ear and the corresponding L in my left to drown out the fat man's inane talk. I can still hear him. He talks of a fruitless search for some exotic soundtrack at Sanity. Why didn't I sit somewhere else? I shake the silver Nano that's in my hand. The 'shuffle' lands on Craig David's Fill Me InA ( Read more... )

He carries his helmet like it's a briefcase, light enough to be carried comfortably but holding enough material inside to put some strain on his right arm. I'm in front. He follows. The automatic sliding door gives me a glimpse of his reflection for a moment. Until it's cruelly snatched away.

I slot Michael Cunningham's The Hours through the ( Read more... )

Hold on a minute, isn't that Kelly Slater? Yeah it is. I gotta have a look. His head's shaved completely these days. "Kelly Slater is to surfing what Tiger is to golf and Lance is to cycling." Well duh? I coulda told ya that ( Read more... )

I spot him a mile away. Standing there in a blue Bonds wifebeater with white and lime green floral boardies, looking like he should be at the beach instead of the mall. I hear the girl behind the counter ask him, "Cheque or Savings?", as I give him the obligatory up-and-down while pretending to look for The New Scientist or The Economist"Cheque", ( Read more... )