Trying to eat Aidy’s beautiful pasta that he brought me at work last night (fuck yeah carbohydrates for breakfast) but I’m slightly under the influence, and my muscles refuse to move. My own fault, I suppose, for taking up the offer. It is a nice feeling, to think of stress in your head but to not experience it in your chest. Kind of like a bulletproof vest- you feel the blow, but not its full intensity, only what could have been. Could have been, but isn’t. I really should take this more often. It makes me feel ‘normal’. Oh well, off to work I go!

  

Saw Ruby Rose. Got drunk. Agreed to go for a walk and some ‘fresh air’ with some 25 year old hipster guy (see also: incredibly stupid drunk decisions which end in awkward discussions about sexuality and hands being taken OUT of pants). Talked to Josh for hours. Saw Sam, who rescued me from aforementioned hipster Englishman. Drank Jungle Juice from a bucket. Had our photo taken. Saw Lauren and Christina. Caught a taxi home with Josh. Threw up at home. Got picked up. Drunkenly rambled, drunkenly sexed. Drunkenly smoked. Drunkenly texted. Saw Tana. Said “Welcome to the club” which means congrats on having your heart broken by Amy. Saw Erin. Got lost in the bass. None of this is in order. My head is not in order. I have a migraine and some decisions to think over. The four in the rain are the real ones. Unconditional. I know that, now.

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Every now and then I take a deep breath and I think to myself, it’s okay, because you are only a skeleton, and you have a box that you inhabit with other skeletons who care about you (or whose craniums and aortas co-exist with yours in a way that projects some form of comfort), and you even get to drive a box with wheels alongside other skeletons, and you have a tiny baby rat skeleton in a box inside that box-you-inhabit, and your shelves are filled with ink on paper (see also: craniums and aortas which co-exist with yours in a way that projects some form of comfort) and this is it, this is how you are, this is the hair upon your head, your ‘capelli’ in the mother tongue of those you desire to walk amongst, the same meaning but a different way of moving your mandible, lips, teeth, those are your eyes, this is your soul, a safe blanket to return to when the night is dark and the air is thick. You are safe.

  

Drinking Amaretto in between reading ‘Women’ by Charles Bukowski and watching Archie the rat drink water from his little bottle. Oh, and my brother just asked me for an elastic band because he’s about to perform a home operation on his toe.

I’m going to see Ruby Rose with Josh tonight at the MBH, which should be good. Afterwards I’m going to see Nikki and watch a documentary, and then I’ll see Seany tomorrow, and then I’ll work, and then I’ll get in my car and drive to a house I’ve never visited before after work, and the next day I’ll work some more, and then see Ward, and then get on a plane and fly to the Gold Coast with Natalie, and that’s that. My vacations are always so perfectly timed.

  

I am very glad that I stayed at Ray’s house snuggled up to her last night, because everyone who was out was texting or calling me about some drama or another- finally, I have stayed out of trouble (sort of).

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Friend: But I thought she was str-
Me: Yeah, she is straight.
Friend: But you… and her…
Me: Yeah?
Friend: What the fuck?

  

Only Perth is clever enough to provide lightning timed perfectly with the Australia Day fireworks. I kept repeating that as we ran aimlessly: “Only Perth. Only fucking Perth.” I am happy to say that I got absolutely soaked in the torrential downpour with four of my best friends, pushing one in a trolley, running and rolling on the wet bitumen and through grassy alleyways in my rain-drenched shoes, from one heavy thud of a step to the next. Rain on my eyelashes, rain on my lips, her rain, his rain, their rain, our rain, wild and rampant- I think of the word ‘passion’- and yet the drops that fall resonate only within my soul; they exist in a soft and peaceful languor.