Too fucked to drink to drunk to fuck. Where does the time go?
So yesterday I went to see the family. I went to my Nan and Pop’s house before lunch and was amazed. I lived there up until I was six and its changed so much. But its so strange. Its all heavy curtains and weird little figurines and photos (including Emma and I’s Santa photo from last year displayed proudly in the loungroom) and books, so many books. I think I could spend a lot of time there, I know I’m always welcome, and it feels like a safe place to me. Some if my best memories were made in that house. When I was three or four Dad built us a cubby house at the back, complete with windows that opened and closed and a blackboard, he painted it green and we used it as a hideout, a classroom, a tea room, a house… We loved it. That house is where my parents got married and James Earnshaw convinced me it would be okay for me to climb the big tree in the front yard. I ripped my underskirt and you can see it in the photos. Aimee (my cousin) and I put on countless shows in the loungerooms both up and downstairs. We wrote and directed them all on our own, from dance routines, to plays, to fifteen minute songs about a bear with a balloon (yeah, my bad). That house was the setting for all our home movies and films. Our toaster mocumentry and our horror films. I learned how to ride a bike without training wheels on the driveway (a long winding number that ends in a very large hill) and spent days out the front on my Barbie skates. Aimee and I hosted weddings for our toys on the rocks in the front yard and begged my Dad to convert the shed into a stable so we could have a horse. So I got a bit sentimental yesterday, sitting at the bench where I enjoyed my first cup of tea, chatting away to my Nan. I sat in the sunroom, the place where I learned not to be scared of thunder, and smoked a cigarette with my Pop. I crowded around the dining table, looking out the huge window where James Earnshaw and I watched the bushfires burn the street right behind his and sang happy birthday to my Nanny. She’s 80 now but she assured us she still feels 35.
Here we go again. Take a deep breath, everything will work out exactly how its supposed to.
If I could tear you from the ceiling, And freeze us both in time, I’d find a brand new way of seeing, Your eyes forever glued to mine.
At some point I wont care anymore. Maybe then it wont hurt every single day.
For a lovely 3 bedroom house in St Peters, right near the station. Its bloody cheap rent with polished floorboards and air con. Its free standing with a massive kitchen and gas cooking. Contains shower, bath and seperate loo as well as a backyard. You’d be sharing with myself: the quiet workaholic with the excellent music collection and Jess: the intelligent workaholic with the excellent book collection. Obviously we’d like someone conciderate of privacy and relatively quiet during the week who enjoys a few drinks and such when required. Feel free to contact me (Erin) on 0401087705 if interested.