Chapter 8 - Melbourne Day 54: Sunny day

I sat on the tram, and had an idea for something. I had my notebook, my moleskin, with me on that sunny day on the tram. I cannot remember – the idea that is- if it was story, an addition to a story, a character note, an idea for a compilation or an addition to a previously commenced compilation. I do not remember if it was a note about a spontaneous idea I had, or something interesting I had observed, a tid-bit about a thing the night before, or a reminder note. A shopping list, a movies-to-see list. Was it something I read, something that made me especially sad, or made me chuckle out loud? A lyric in a song, a cool sound in the back of the percussion solo, a song I had never heard before on my Ipod.

So, I had my moleskin and I wrote something in it, and then placed it on the seat next to me. I do not like catching the tram to work, especially on sunny days, because I could be riding to work: getting fresh air, a tan, oogling girls. In a tram - especially the new ones that lurch and creech so horribly - I have to try and stop myself from throwing up. I can read, but not for long anymore. I cannot look out the windows of the new ones due to the excessive advertising covering the windows. I usually read a little, and then listen to some music, and let my mind wander.

But I read for long enough that day, because when I jumped out of the tram, I did not take my moleskin with me. Of course I did not notice right away. Of course it took me hours to notice. Of course I did not panic. I did the smart thing and went online and wrote to the Tram People (capitalised because they are special) and asked them to return it please. They gave me the number to the lost and found section of the Tram People's head quarters.

I rang the number, I rang the number. Nobody ever answered, not even an answering machine. I lost my moleskin, again. The second time in two years. In fact, the second one in two years. I hate losing my moleskin.

I was incredibly frustrated by the tram people's inability to answer their damn phone and send me back my moleskin.

Who knows what magic I had written in there that day? Or previous days? Hateful rants, funny diatribes, sorrow filled perorates about the day, my job, the weather or girls. Things I wanted to do, places to go. Old souvenirs that came floating back from the past. Pieces of uncomfortable incidents. Sources of pride. Someone's phone number.

So many little things, little things I do not remember. Who knows what truths and lies were scribbled down in blue and black ink in my moleskin? Who knows what magic I had written in there that day?

Chapter 7 – I am really pissed off at the moment, but will probably regret it later

'Not everything is black and white Rudy.'

'It doesn't have to be any colour at all John, it just needs to be.'


'Man, it was just easier at the time to say that Rudy.'

'And now Mary, is it easy now? Is this less "easier" or more "easier"?'


'The fact is, I don't know what I wanted at the time, which is why I said it that way.'

'Did you lie to me on purpose? Or did you really not know what you wanted?'

'Dang Rudy, you are so damn demanding. Sometimes that isn't fun...'

'I don't care it its fun...'

'Let me finish. You are so demanding, and that can get tiresome. I can't and won't tell you everything, all the time.'

'I'm not asking for everything, all of the time. It has happened so many times to me, I get told convenient truths or lies (if I could be so bold) so then I have to be there for someone or lend them my support.'

'Jesus Rudy, you act so goddamn righteous. As if you don’t lie or manipulate.'


So, the truth is something that means very little to some people, and a great deal to others. For little Rudy, much like my dear friend Sebastien, the truth is pretty important. I would rather know, then live in lies. Ignorance is bliss, true. But once I get to know something, then I need to always know it.

This is how lil' Rudy works. Sometimes it can be bad for me, very bad. Not because the truth hurts, or because the truth is wonderful, but rather the affects of non truths. Lies, I hate them. This includes kidding yourself (dear friend Sebastien is big on this one unfortunately), dis-respecting yourself, and trying to fucking fool me.

I fucking hate being fooled. I hate being leaned on and then learning that what I knew ain't shit. The truth is elsewhere, somewhere more convenient for the person, far more convenient than here and now.

Chapter 6 - You cannot find peace by avoiding life

‘What does it that matter? How does “didn’t you see it coming” make me feel better? And sure, they may be happier together, she with him, but frankly Sophie, how the fuck dos that make me feel better?’

I was pretty aggressive, I know. Her comment was meant to make me feel better…well, you get it.

‘Sorry Rudy, but in the end, that is the truth ‘cos… .’

Sophie gave me a look of understanding and “you’ll get over it”. We were sitting on her couch, in her newly furnished apartment. Just recently moved my Sophie was, I and was doing the best I could to ruffle her feathers. Splaying the magazines, putting out coasters I wasn’t going to use!

I am a fucking bad-ass.

‘I know it is, but like I said, why do I care about that shit? I don’t wish happiness on them. Now, you remember Claire? Now, I want her to be happy, I really do…’

‘..true, but Claire was fantastic. She was wonderful and just fantastic. Josie, well, I don’t even know what you saw in her to be honest.’

I shrugged. I drove home later on and had dinner with my mums. She was making exceptionally wonderful dinners of late.

‘With you not here, I never eat like this, too much cooking and effort. But now my boy is home.’ Mums smiled and squeezed by cheek. Don’t think she was always so lovely-dubby and we disagreed on many things - I don’t think anybody has quite the same opinion on things than your own mum.

I also quit my job not long after I moved back home. The monotonous monotony of that place was not helping me at all. I know am being dramatic and maybe over the top, but I didn’t feel like doing much really.

So back home, an rather indolent attitude and very little do, I spent a few weeks lazing about in my pyjamas, watching movies and the footy. There was one film in particular that really stirred something I had not felt in years, passion for art. It was called Mutual Appreciation, a low budget, black and white film about relationships and the such. It was fantastic, a little too long and a little too much talking, but it reminded me of my late teens and early adult hood, when I was so enthralled with film and literature and drama, when I went to the theatre and read anything and everything. Sure, I was a little bit of a wanker, but I was so young and hopeful then, so optimistic.

But it wasn’t like I was defeated, not at all. I guess I had to get a job, I had to pay bills and buy a car and clothes and shoes and shoes (I like shoes). I also like spending money, and you gots to have it to spend it, don’t ya? You are not defeated because you have to start working. This is just reality, we need to get serious don’t we?

****

Looking for work was easier than I had hoped, and it wasn’t long before I started in a little café, making coffee for people who had little to no appreciation of it. I missed living in town, but this was a good way to spend a few months I guess. A vacation at home.

****

I have been thinking about travelling again, Rudy has. Maybe South America? Aaah, the romance. Right now, there is nothing for me here. I find that a slow sadness has crept into me. The move home typified how I felt and my inability to deal with my problems, but this small darkness is blurring me. Occasionally at work I get caught just staring blankly over the coffee machine, looking at nothing at all. Some of the guys there think I’m just a quite, thoughtful type, but one of them said I looked like a sad clown the other day

I’m not feeling thoughtful at the moment.