It’s another sunny morning and from where I sit I can hear birds happily tweet as if it is Spring. I’m wondering if I should go out for a spot of breakfast, cook my own, or just keep writing here. For the moment I’ll continue with the last.
It seems a pretty morning after a lovely winters day yesterday, but I’m feeling sour. You know that feeling when you know there’s more to life, when you know that excitement, fascination, stimulation is there, not far away, but, for now, too far away to reach? I feel restless and impatient. I feel like wrestling this thing to the ground if it could be wrestled, feel like just making it happen if I knew how, feel like acting, doing, making it so rather than bitterly twiddling my thumbs waiting for it to come of its own accord – if it does at all. I may be wrong, but a lot of it feels typically masculine, the frustration less about what for now I don’t have, and much more about the utter frustration of thwarted will, of wanting to act, now, but not knowing how. There is the sense also that some of it is out of my hands, but that is something I am reluctant to believe.
I soothe myself with the knowledge that I’ll get there somehow, some day. I have little doubt of that. I’ll keep pushing forward and it will come to be, as it has before. The nature of impatience though is that soon is never enough; I want it now.
The weather has played some small part in this. It’s been a cold and wet winter for the most part. Then the sun breaks out. The sky is blue. I put on a t-shirt with my jeans. I remember how pleasant it can be, and feel in the sparkly sunshine the expectation I had put aside. Suddenly there is an appetite. In the cold and wet it is easy to huddle inside looking to stay warm and dry; in the sunshine though one ventures out, in mind as much as body. Adventures come to mind, possibilities bubble to the surface. The sheer wonder of something simple as a pristine winters day, as squeaky clean as a new polished champagne flute, leads you to contemplate life and nature, the world and your chosen place in it. For fucks sake you think, look at this: I want more.
The good news perhaps is that soon enough the clouds will close, the rain will come, and the cold will keep me indoors. I suppose that’s good.
I’ve had Whiskey visiting and that’s only really accentuated this feeling. In Melbourne for a couple of days he stopped over Friday night. We got some take away food, had a few beers, a bottle of red, polished off a bottle of sticky. We watched the footy then a DVD; we talked. We talked till about 2am then hit the sack.
When I collected the newspaper from the driveway yesterday morning the sun was so bright I had to shade my eyes. Where has this come from? I wondered. We went to brunch in South Yarra, to Harvey‘s, where we met with friends of Whiskey. Had a lovely breakfast parked in front of a civilised open fire in elegant surroundings. Nearby an elegantly dessicated Latin looking guy in his forties entertained a tall, blonde, beautiful model in skinny jeans and a top that stopped above her belly button. A family at another table chatted quietly over smoked salmon while their kid quietly watched the Wiggles on the iPad set up on the table in front of him.
We went for a walk after down Toorak road for old times sake, had an unexpected beer and then set-off again. We ended up in Richmond where we sat outdoors at the Richmond Hill Larder with a glass of bubbles each, then a a macchiato with one of their cheesy toasties. We chatted about life, our plans, made passing comments on the passing crowd. In the trams that shuffled past in the heavy traffic footy supporters decked out in their colours could be seen standing. They passed in the street to in a steady stream heading towards the G, Melbourne supporters in their red and blue, the more raucous Tigers in their yellow and black. It reminded me of so much. Perfect footy weather I commented. I remembered many a day roaring in the confines of the MCG on a winter’s Saturday afternoon. Sitting there I felt content, at ease, as if this was a life, this unhurried, deeply observed way of being.
We parted and I felt a little lost. I couldn’t just go home could I? I did though, in the absence of anything more. It was an afternoon for calling up some intimate and getting cosily romantic sharing and feeling, telling stories and playfully flirting. It was a great afternoon for a long and satisfying pash. How long since I’ve done that? Too fucking long.
Now it’s today and yesterday is gone. Right now my life is constrained and I daily feel the bonds. That’s the other thing, and no denying it (though I do again and again). I’m sick of it and need to flex my muscles again, need to live that life and fuck convention. Humility is not for me, nor the safe option. Though I feel powerless maybe it’s in my mind as much as it is in fact. Dare to be different and damn the torpedoes.