Llew actually made it home in time for us to EAT TOGETHER last night – talk about exciting! Admittedly it was 9 o’clock by the time we got dinner, but better late than not at all. It was certainly preferable to my many recent ‘solo dining’ experiences, which are wearing a trifle thin even though I’m currently staring down the barrel at another one (grinds teeth). Anyway, over dinner I was talking to Llew about my response mechanisms around the hateful agency news, and it made me think about how I manage my demons in general. I was telling him I’d really felt like getting good and drunk, as I’ve already told all of you, but that I opted for a nice, mind-clearing run instead.
“Imagine every piece of bad writing news is like a crash site,” I said. “And my different impulses are like a bunch of tow trucks arriving at the scene, different outfits all competing for the business.”
All these tow trucks, they’re clambering over each other to get to the scene first – Get drunk! No, stay sober! Are you kidding, get wasted and then SMOKE! Smoking’s a filthy habit, don’t listen to him! No, go ahead, have a drink, you deserve it! Don’t encourage her, you lowlife; drinking alone is pathetic. Smoke! Drink! Smoke! Drink! Shut up, shut up, forget about them, go for a run! Quick, quick, go now – start running, I’ll stall ’em!
All these competing voices, angels and demons, and I guess over time I’ve trained myself to give the job to the most professional seeming crew. They have a clean white uniform, they’re always on time, they get the job done, and there’s no mess to clean up afterwards. I try to hush the other voices, and focus on the ones who make the most sense. Because getting drunk won’t change anything, it won’t make me feel better, write better, handle rejection better, or enjoy being alone better. Actually, all those things are liable to be worse after a bottle of wine. So I just try to tune into the CB frequency of the other guys. The good guys. They may not be sexy, but at least they’re sane.
Anyway, the other thing I wanted to bring to your attention is that my friend and old office mate from PhD days has entered the world of political satire, and I tell you what, he has found his true calling. Tim (Roberts, you heard it here first) writes these ‘scenes’ featuring various prominent Australian politicians, and they’re so hilarious I read three in a row last week on his blog and was begging for more. I feel like I was living a past life the last time I read Aussie pol sat this good. And it gets better: I was thinking this before realising that New Matilda has formally opened Tim’s rant can, and is now providing a weekly online venue for him to vent. There’ll be a new piece each Friday. Thank you, New Matilda. What can I tell you? He is a scream. Fame and fortune shall be his, mark my words. WARNING: if you don’t know anything about Australian politics or our politicians, you will find the content, um, bewildering at best. Otherwise, prepare to laugh out loud. Really hard.
Oh joy, there’s another one. Timothy Roberts, you are a funny, funny bastard.