ever since i was a little kid growing up on the beaches north of Sydney i knew - "this fucking sucks balls" the beaches were awesome but the people in the suburbs around them were nasty. nasty and ugly. with the help of a good friend Tara i mustered up the balls to move to Sydney. it felt like home. loud ,noisy, filthy cities where people would not hesitate to scratch out your eyes just to get ahead of you in a cue is what feels like home to me. a place where people never sleep, unless they have to... or like Sydney they cant because they've done so much meth
though i've always wanted to, i never thought i could live in the country. quiet, slow, dead by dusk, nothing to do but drink, country. in The Yarra Valley, they don't believe it's the country. they think they're part of Melbourne. i'd point to the tiny tiny shadow of buildings on the horizon 50kms away. "that's Melbourne. this might not be the country, but this is the sticks!"
the house was filthy.
"our house," Dj would smile, "it's our home,"
"um... yep."
Gran was a hoarder. Dj's sister had cleaned most of the filth before we got there. i hate to think what that would have been like. i imagined her wrapped in biohazard gear, peeling stiff kittens of the floor, their guts half decomposed into the carpet. i'd support us for a while as Dj got his old job back and i'd clean up the house so we'd have a place to live that wasn't stale with death and littered with rat poison. each room took a whole day to detoxify
the strangest things i found was:
30kgs of sugar. spread amongst 15 different open bags and containers
20 cans of baked beans
14 thermoses
all spread out, but these 3 items found in every room of the house (yes, bags of sugar in the bathroom and laundry)
as well as tons of expired Duramide and a Demis Roussouss diet book from the 70s
the days were out in the sun. planning where 'our' herb garden would be, where 'our' deck would be built "and this is what i want to turn into the grow house ...our growhouse!"
the evenings spent down at the pub slowly meeting the locals. most of them were dickheads you'd expect. his closer friends were overjoyed to have him back in town, and almost all of them took me aside to say 'it's great to see Dj happy again." it's something i never understood. i had only ever seen him happy
the nights in bed. Buddy sleeping in his bed in our room. the second the light went off, buddy would jump up and, knwoing i was the soft dad, would curl up asleep on my side. wedged between Dj and the dog.
it was damn near perfect
though i've always wanted to, i never thought i could live in the country. quiet, slow, dead by dusk, nothing to do but drink, country. in The Yarra Valley, they don't believe it's the country. they think they're part of Melbourne. i'd point to the tiny tiny shadow of buildings on the horizon 50kms away. "that's Melbourne. this might not be the country, but this is the sticks!"
the house was filthy.
"our house," Dj would smile, "it's our home,"
"um... yep."
Gran was a hoarder. Dj's sister had cleaned most of the filth before we got there. i hate to think what that would have been like. i imagined her wrapped in biohazard gear, peeling stiff kittens of the floor, their guts half decomposed into the carpet. i'd support us for a while as Dj got his old job back and i'd clean up the house so we'd have a place to live that wasn't stale with death and littered with rat poison. each room took a whole day to detoxify
the strangest things i found was:
30kgs of sugar. spread amongst 15 different open bags and containers
20 cans of baked beans
14 thermoses
all spread out, but these 3 items found in every room of the house (yes, bags of sugar in the bathroom and laundry)
as well as tons of expired Duramide and a Demis Roussouss diet book from the 70s
the days were out in the sun. planning where 'our' herb garden would be, where 'our' deck would be built "and this is what i want to turn into the grow house ...our growhouse!"
the evenings spent down at the pub slowly meeting the locals. most of them were dickheads you'd expect. his closer friends were overjoyed to have him back in town, and almost all of them took me aside to say 'it's great to see Dj happy again." it's something i never understood. i had only ever seen him happy
the nights in bed. Buddy sleeping in his bed in our room. the second the light went off, buddy would jump up and, knwoing i was the soft dad, would curl up asleep on my side. wedged between Dj and the dog.
it was damn near perfect
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