All the lonely people

I’m in the middle of the first draft of my story. It’s a great idea I had at the time, to use my play for a short story idea. This way I get all the feedback I can about it, turn it first into a short story and then adapt it into a drama production. Easier said than done.

It took two nights to decide where to start after many false beginnings. I decided to appeal to the lowest common denominator: sex. It works well, though. Here is a sample, meant to draw you in:

We all think we know how to receive love. We don’t.

Sandra had known love before. She had lost it. Now, as Filip stroked her thighs, she thought she had found it again. Her legs spread wide, her back arched, Sandra pushed her crotch towards Filip’s face. He kept up a steady stream of verbiage. “You’re my soul mate”, he murmured at her vagina. “You’re perfect. In every way. You’re everything I’ve ever looked for.”

I’m still not sure how much sex to put in. I’ve got around 400 to 500 words of it at the moment. I have to cut it down to 200, with characterisation and a scene setting in there. Argh!

The process of writing is an arduous one. First you vomit onto the page. Then you clean up the vomit. Then you find the nuggets of gold. Then you polish them. Then you melt them. It’s a never ending thing, until you end up with a beautiful jewel.

Hopefully, these chunks you’ve just read will help create something of value.

Shh! This is top secret. Today I went on an undercover mission.

A tasty mission. Our spymaster was the famous John Birmingham. He’s sworn us to secrecy until Thursday.

All I can say now is, there can be too many donuts.

This will be on of those rare times when all I say is: I found a story for a script. I’m probably writing it in collaboration with Dave. It’s fun, it’s exciting and easier to write than my play.

The fantaboulous Dave Mathews just spent a week in South East Queensland. No, I don’t mean the band. Everyone thinks I mean the band. Even on his way here, in Singapore, Dave was upgraded at the Pan Pacific to a presidential suite, on the strength of the Dave Matthews band’s fame. Note the differences. Dave has one “t” in his last name. Not 2. He stresses that every time someone asks him to spell his name. They never get it right.

Anyhow, Dave and I worked in London, about 9 years ago. Seems like a lifetime now. He also dated my sis. So, after finding both of us on Facebook, he decided to come and visit Australia. The plan was to spend a week here in SEQ with me and a week in Melbourne with my sister.

It was eventful to say the least. We started off having steak at the Brekky Creek Hotel. Then we walked around the Valley and Newfarm, taking the entire bike path around to the Riverside Building in the city. We then, headed off the next day to Tin Can Bay.

Here are a few pics:

Missed the Dawn Service. Again. I’ve managed to miss it for the last, uh, 19 years now. *Grins*

I don’t mean to be disrespectful to the ANZACS but the truth is nobody cares or mourns for others who have fallen in battle. The French Legionaires in Algeria, for example. Or the scores of 12 year old children soldiers in Africa, Latin America and Asia. We honour soldiers who followed orders and fell in defence of their country, to protect it. We don’t remember the children who fall in defence of their families. The forcibly drafted. Those taken from the bosom of their families because there are no grown men left.

The only reason we honour them here in Australia, is because they were Australians and New Zealanders who fell in previous battles. Battles not of their choosing. They didn’t fight for a principle. They fought because their country told them to. We honour them because they gave their lives in wars they knew little about, thinking it was for the good of their country.

But how different is that to the soldiers on the other side? Let’s not demonise Iraqi, Afghani, or Palestinian soldiers. They too, are following orders. They too, think they are right. They too, believe they are defending their people. They too, think it is for the good of their country.

So, today, the day given to commemorate Aussie and Kiwi soldiers fallen in battle, we should also remember the opponents they fell to. Let us not forget that war is a 2 way street. Let us not forget that those soldiers had wives, children, lovers and parents. Let us not forget that they are people too. Let us not forget that in many ways we are more similar than we think.

Before we dip our toes into the murky waters of remembrance, let’s look at the here and now. Count our blessings as it were.

The first blessing is Paul, my twin. Paul and I are 13 years apart, yet if we talk to each other it’s like we’re talking to ourselves, except that we answer. If that sounds confusing, then try to imagine what it is like to live just a few years behind a parallel life with parallel conclusions and parallel lessons with another person who just happens to be much older than you. Then try to imagine having two different mothers who also happen to be so much like each other that it is scary.

I asked Paul to come and visit me this weekend because I needed a safe harbour. An inconditionally safe harbour that required no passports, no bill of lading, no nothing. Just him being a good solid loyal friend. It was amazing. Although I’m now exhausted from having driven him down to Coolangatta airport, and driven back to my parents place, and missed the exit to their place, and ended up at Upper Mt Gravatt instead of Calamvale [short distance of 10 km], I am still stoked.

Spending time with Paul was like having someone completely supportive and understanding of who I am around me for 38 hours. I recharged my batteries and recovered my confidence in myself.

He did as well and he came to realise how alike we truly are, when we didn’t even need to consult each other over food or even the type of honey we like. It was truly uncanny.

We tried to explain this to other people but only managed to mistify them. Sadly, being emotional twins is not a concept your average Jane is familiar with.

So to sum it all up, I have one safe harbour I can count on.

The other safe harbour is in Sydney and I cannot wait to see her, when she comes to visit. Without her, I would never have understood what was going on with M.

Enough ramblings. I must to bed.

Easter is meant to be a time of reflection. A time to spend with your family. A time to remember…

Funnily enough, it didn’t work out that way. It all started on Friday, going for brunch with M, on his second last day in Brisbane. Everything was hunky dory, until we got to the late evening. Then for some reason, everything he said, I took the wrong way. Everything. Which got up his nose. With good reason, too, but you just do not expect life to be like that. We talked through my misinterpretation of his comments, within a short enough period after they came out to make sense of them.

Then on Saturday, we went to the markets, where B1 misinterpreted everything D said, to the point where he found D obnoxious and rude. Totally bizarre. I put it down to a different sense of humour. But things didn’t stop there. M didn’t realize he’d run out of time. He thought his flight left at 6 pm for Tassie. Oh no. It arrived in Tassie at 6:30 PM. Very different. Just as we were preparing to go buy him a Provence guidebook, he checks his itinerary. We got to the airport just in time to make check in, thanks to A, who drove like the wind. We were all in total disbelief that M could even think the plane would leave at 6 based on his itinerary, but hey… no plan survives contact with the field of battle.

Saturday night I couldn’t even keep my eyes open through a party.

Sunday I was till exhausted from the last few weeks or little sleep and long days at work. So a long and protracted brekkie with Alex suddenly ended up including B1. Our conversation continued way past into the evening, which I had not planned either. I had been hoping to do everything I did today, on Sunday. But no plan survives contact… you know the drill.

Then I went for dinner with R who convenient forgot I don’t eat lamb. She made tagine. Lamb tagine. I was very surprised to say the least and gave her a hard time about it. It’s not like we haven’t been through my hatred of lamb before.

It was a defining moment for me. The next defining moment came when she wouldn’t let me take my own French-Spanish dictionary home with me. Coz she’s “using it”.

The next came when she forced us all to go to the RE when I had said categorically that I was NOT stepping into that den of iniquity and bad taste.

Although tiny little things, they revealed to me part of the greater picture: R will only do what she wants to do when she wants to do it.

I’ve been accused of saying what I want when I want. However, sometimes I do censor myself. Nevertheless, I have learnt the lesson about the wheel of samsara: what goes around comes around. So I don’t lie to my friends when I’m interested in the same person as them. I don’t hide the fact that I’m dating that person and I don’t pretend that I’m going to the toilet when I’m trying to snog that person round the corner fo the pub where the other friend who’s interested in that person is. Which is what R did.

Kinda bizarre really.

Kinda symmetrical too.

So, now, I am considering the friendship, it’s meaning to R and her ability to see beyond her own selfish wants. I already knew she wasn’t prepared to listen to something she wasn’t interested in. But this took selfishness to a new level.

So, today, I spent time with the parents instead, and then I went home and set up the office.

I also paid for drunk texting last night. Dearly. So dearly I won’t even explain what happened. Not going there. At all. So talk to the hand. In fact, talk to the thumb, as the Thais do.

Coz I

am

not

going

there.

My blondest ever friend came to see me today, Scott. He’s so blond, he’s predictable. The funny thing is, his partner still gets upset by his impunctuality.

We were meant to meet up around 6:30 – 7 pm, but I knew that wasn’t going to happen. So I took home my latest toy *cough*, I mean my new work laptop, a MacBook Pro with a 2 Ghz dual processor and 2 Gb of Ram. Guess where I’m gonna be editing my doco? But I digress.

At around 5:50 I get a phone call from Scott saying he’s coming at 8 instead, he has to drop by the Hyperdome and get something for his mum. Fair enough, I reckon, the man’s in Brisbane only one week every two years. So, I’ll open up my evening for him. Probably a good idea anyway, coz I’ve been having really late nights and really early starts all week.

The funny thing is, I know he’s not gonna be here before 8:30. So I play with the new Mac, I ring my mum and faster than I can say “Johnnie Rabbit” it’s 8:40. I call Scott, knowing he has to be lost.

Lo and behold, he is lost. Wandering up and down my street, whispering my name, unable to see any street numbers. I walk out onto the road, waving my hands in the air, wearing my jammies. A sight for sore eyes.

Scott sees me and comes over laughing, predictably happy too. Then he looks at the block of flats and goes “I’m sure I’ve been here before”. We walk up the driveway, he sees the carport and emphasises it again “I’m sure I’ve been here before. Wasn’t this the place with the Quebecois?”

I stand rooted to the spot, laughing. He can’t remember streets. He gets lost on a one way street. He can’t remember places. He can’t remember events. But boys? Mind like a steel trap when it comes to hot boys.

*sigh* The beauty of being blond….

Welcome J Space visitors! Welcome Vulkans! Ladies, gentlemen and small furry creatures from Alpha Centauri, welcome to All The Lonely People.

People is meant to include small furry creatures from Alpha Centauri and hyperintelligent pandimensional beings from other galaxies as well. There is no discrimination here.

Over the next few days you will see old posts from JSpace appear here, so if you missed that all important one about the blind solicitor who’s a track champion with a world record, you can get that one from here.

Now that truth is the only defence to defamation according to uniform defamation laws across Australia, I can finally tell it all. It will change your perception of the deaf and the blind.

Having grown up with a mother who is physically deaf but is fully functional and hyper intelligent, I can tell you, they’re not missing out on much. As for the blind, well our blind solicitor is a form of evidence himself. But I digress and I do believe I might be giving away the plot. I need to keep you on tenderhooks.

So, without further ado, life begins anew for my posts, consolidated and improved thanks to one fantastic man.

Gotta love it.