I’m a fancy adult with a set of fancy kitchen knives, so I used the old op shop kitchen knife to hack at the dandelions in the front yard. Just sitting cross legged stabbing the edible weeds. Connected multitudinous extension cords at the bulbs and powered up the whipper snipper. Felt so strong, so butch, doing the whole front lawn with my little power tool.

Dancing in the Dark is my go-to karaoke song. Looking across the lounge room at friends swaying in physicality I almost fell into a void of disbelief. It was so fun it was worth the parking ticket I got the next morning. Rolling on the social, I met with Rory at Figtree and we once again talked about his illustrious career as a high school punk- playing the Espy when he was too young to get past security in a normal setting.

Marnie came over for a shower.

I got a very intense love feeling for Bec became convinced that I would amateurly sword fight for her if it were ever necessary.

I read How to Write and Autobiographical Novel by Alexander Chee and thought about the difference between healing and forgetting, between wounds and parasites.

And down at the local park (again) I sat on the park bench and I looked at the Goose Security™ and wondered whether I would one day become that guarded.

Somehow this Deaf egg ended up in a full-time job taking phone calls to coordinate geriatric home care. When I was ready for the world to become slower someone cranked up the merry-go round. Too busy to go home to the farm. Inconclusive tests and waiting lines at the GP.

Bec and I had Friendmas. We went to her family home on the Eastern Freeway blasting the Celine Dion. A family which felt so big and nuclear. I took the Director’s Chair, filmed the kids unwrapping Frozen inspired merch and the men swapping Santa hats. Full bellies and Bec and I piled back into the car with our gluten free upside-down apricot cake and went to see a mate and then to the Park Prison Hotel to wave to friends locked up hardly visible beyond the tint in the window.

It’s not a Christmas without a little family drama. Over the border on the coast of South Australia, Mum sent a message at 10:30am detailing some kind of predicament with an ambulance and a newborn. Little family faces on the phone. Dulcie and I called later in the afternoon; she was trying to help her boyfriend break into his home because no one could find the flowerpot key. She decided spontaneously it was time for a bush wee, tossed the phone 2 metres into the grass and went to business. I had a nice view of a gum tree.

Usually I have four housemates, but they all went to Blairgowrie while I remained at home and fed the three cats and worked the grind. I made the most of being home alone for the first time since lockdown in March and I played my heinous beginner violin and took my hearing aids to let the devil guide me into an accidental, new tonal system.

On New Years Eve I used the lunch break at work to sign a new job contract. In tradition, I had dinner with Melf, Alex and Bec. In the evening Bec and I walked the CBD to Park Prison to wave and give phone calls and play pop music over the phone and paint banners and then we departed eventually to go home and get Bec’s post humanist diabetes machinery.

New Years Day. Bec and I painted happy birthday signs for our friends in the Park Prison. We ducked off to the coast quickly. We ended up at Mentone Dog Beach. Flat and full of trash, luxury by the drains. I met a dog Frankie who was a poodle cross border collie. He was running amok, snooping out snacks at every towel & tote pile. He ended up deciding the sand snail egg sacs were the best available food source and scooped one into his mouth- running across the sand nibbling slowly while three men from his beach going party started chasing him and yelling and he had to eat slower in the sprint and he was across the sand and the mud and the tide and then they scooped him up like the saucy romantic lift in Dirty Dancing and one man yelled google dog eating jellyfish and then they tried to eject the rest out of his mouth.

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