Thursday, January 11, 2007

relation-ship sailing

Scrounging through small faded op-shops (thrift stores to the Northern hemisphere), torn between new terms and old terms, not belonging anywhere. I never did. Treasures and overpriced stains, all with stories, held up under the watchful eyes of old ladies. Waiting in the emergency room, while my ex ex boyfriend tried valiantly to be medicated. I'll be sick for a day, and give him my weekend take-outs. It's hard down here. Him, violently grumpy. I woke up in the quiet, last night, maybe the kitten with bulging eyes hopped across the bed. The light was still on, his sleeping face beside me, angry, even in repose. I reached for my book, an easy galloping novel, like a doorway to sunshine, passed on with a cleared throat at the airport gate. I was asleep in the way I've perfected, long hair now, it falls in front, covering my slack face, my neck bent over my lap, as if transfixed on one sentence in the newspaper. The big, wide lady, I'd noticed her before, no make-up, I'd thought she looked severe, was waving a brightly jacketed book in my face when I started awake, a wrinkled, twinkling smile, I changed my mind, liking her instantly. "I thought you might like it" she said, probably repeating herself. "It's okay, quite good actually, and I'm finished with it." She lumbered off. I whipped through the first few chapters, trying to catch her eye, to smile thank-you. It was surprisingly good. Funny. She wasn't used to eye contact apparantly, tucking herself away, like a kid used to being picked on. And then I forgot.
Awake with the silent house, I chomped on minties, a favourite nostalgic NZ sweet. I write sweet compromisingly, torn between lolly and candy. I really am homeless now. It could have been four years ago, in bed like that. Husband and wife-ish. Almost comforting. I could have this back, I thought. If I wanted it. That only made me sad, lonely for love. I want to want something again, anything. I buy things to fill up the hole. Shoes and bags. Pretty lingerie, beauty products. But all I want is drugs, and band-aids don't work on a hole that big.

5 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

come and meet me in australia!

Impractical yet charming at best.
That is me.

Love yourself and the rest will come, all in good time.

Lovely post.

9:50 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

you have a junkie exboyfriend there?
did you use with him before?
never a good mix tui, obviously not helping you, is he in the same place as you, come to visit or are you tripping around the country.
I've never been there, sounds nice though, poppies? what the hell do you do with those?

4:37 PM  
Blogger tui said...

Anonymous- yes, a junkie exboyfriend here. I was staunchly anti heroin, when with him for 3 or so years. He was my project. To save. It worked surprisingly well, until we broke up, and he went back to drugs.
I'm visiting him for a few days. He is one of my best friends still.
As for poppys, they are the plant opium and heroin come from. It is really quite a natural, beautiful drug, especially when home-made. Unfortunately dangerously lovely.

2:29 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

poppies, yes i know thats where heroin comes from.
how long you in that lovely place for?
Heading back nrth our way soon?

7:40 PM  
Blogger MuddyButtafly said...

Tui - Are you back in NZ - email me - Ana

5:22 AM  

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