The Adventures of the Overprotected

I got the day off from work today because it’s Anzac day and HMs are not working as well. Since I got here, I don’t remember a day when we are all at home together because someone is usually at work. HM3 is in the kitchen cooking us a meal and I’m half expecting to be poisoned. No matter. I got another bottle of bourbon and more tobacco.

Today was incredibly peaceful. Got up at 2 in the afternoon because HM3 and I stayed up until super late last night. We met at home and polished off what ever that was left of the bourbon, smoking cigarettes and talking about everything and anything that is forgettable but fun. He brought a bottle of red wine back so after the bourbon was finished, we went to the muddy soccer field, drank wine, smoked cigarettes, looked at the stars and talked more. My ass got so wet and cold from sitting on the field but I can’t remember having a nicer time than I did last night. We drank loads and I cannot remember the ride home. HM3 hasn’t told me if I made an ass of myself last night so I probably didn’t. The drama-mama in me did not emerge. Very strange.

Muthu (Mahendran, Kotte, PK … whatever) rang at 7.30 am this morning (WTF!). I did pick up the call but it got cut off when I did. Usually I’d ring back but I probably just got to bed then (like I said, I don’t remember what time we got back) and was still dead tired. I sent him a text just now and apparently he couldn’t sleep so he decided to ring me. I think he misses me. No, actually I’m sure of it. Muthu, if you are reading this, I miss you a shit load too. HM2, HM3 and I went out to the basketball field. I decided to go because it’s almost been 2 weeks since I’ve been here and I’ve probably read a grand total of 20 pages in my book. I managed at least ten pages in the basketball court. We went to the soccer field. I was happy to see swings there and I think I probably read about 15 pages whilst swinging. Swinging and reading is always the best fun but it got a bit too dark and we decided to fuck off back. Oh, we did go to the supermarket today and I got the wine and the flowers (and more bourbon). Yellow and purple is a pretty sweet combo.

Interviewer rang me earlier. He heard that I wasn’t feeling very well last night from one of the girls at the restaurant. He wanted to know how I was feeling and if I was going in to work tomorrow. See, this is what I don’t get. If your boss calls you on your day off, it is usually because he wants you to go into work and there’s some stupid emergency. But I forget that this is not KL and Interview is not an LD. This is nice. I think I will quite enjoy working for him.

Like I said in my post yesterday, I haven’t been inspired to write for the past couple of days. Maybe nothing super interesting has been happening. The people that I meet in the restaurant do not amuse me. Although the chefs are super cool. Everytime I stuff up an order, they let me know and tell me it’s okay and that they’ll take care of me. Some regulars at the restaurant say the same thing. I do feel blessed and I am grateful because things could have turned out much, much worse.

Last night when we were talking, I told HM3 the real reason why I am here in NZ. He didn’t seem to shocked and I put it down to two reasons: One, he has absolutely no idea what I was talking about because I could have been slurring after one too many bourbons and he was too polite to tell me that I was uncomprehensible; or Two, I inspire so much confidence that my project doesn’t seem beyond me. So reason One is probably correct. He has absolutely no idea what I was talking about.

 Dinner is over and we have had a few drinks.  Today is ANZAC day and THEY are commerating the people that have died in the war. It’s bullshit. Many years ago, I had the most brilliant literature teacher in school. Ironically he was from NZ. Nigel Mitchell. I will never forget him. He taught me the most wonderful poem that I would ever read in my life. Dulce et decorum est.

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks, 
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge, 
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs 
And towards our distant rest began to trudge. 
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots 
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind; 
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots 
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! –  An ecstasy of fumbling, 
Fitting the clumsy helmets^\just in time; 
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling, 
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime . . . 
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light, 
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning. 
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight, 
He plunges at me, guttering, choking and drowing.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace 
Behind the wagon that we flung him in, 
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face, 
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin; 
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood 
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs, 
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, 
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory, 
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est 
Pro patria mori.

I feel completely alone. Trying to get Bean on MSN but he’s not there. I miss Bean because Bean understands what I am trying to say. And Bean and I always share the same opinions. I miss that. The constructive arguments and conversations that we had over too much wine. Red after White after Red after White. l hope it will not be too long before we can have those conversations again.

I love you, Bean.