I am documenting my story for (primarily) my own benefit, and it thrills me that i have arrived at a state of sufficient self-insight and light-hearted irony that i can say this, about myself, after my attempt to go trucking in the Riverland:
Now i’m aware that what happened in Berri was as much a consequence of [their] xenophobia and pride as it was a consequence of my being a drug-addicted vagrant university dropout with few skills other than substantive manuscript editing, philosophical enquiry and heartfelt conversation.
Would you read more of something like this? If i was to, say, actually commit to writing a memoir even though i have only ever been, temporarily, an E-grade celebrity. It would be a memoir with the (also primary) intention of helping others by sharing what i feel have been valuable insights gained on my journey through self-exploration and whatnot.
Day Three of my Adventures in Sobriety series,
in which i first begin to rediscover the similarities between adventure and life.
So it’s Day Three and i have a wicked headache. I’m sucking a coffee at Macca’s and hoping it’s caffeine withdrawal. The internet here is working at a pace that painfully represents the mush of machinations i might otherwise call my mind. A cold sore has cropped up, and i’m treating it with the wonderous Roseneath Organics Cold Sore Salve, which is mostly bees wax and coconut oil. (Catherine put me on to this article about coconut oil, which concludes “coconut is not a superfood, but it’s not a syphilitic cock either”—the title of the article, ‘Is Coconut Oil Just For Rubbing On Your Titties Or Is It Truly A Superfood?’ Gold.) Continue reading →