Monthly Archives: September 2007
One of my snails keeps making a break from the fish tank. I find him each day in varying locations in the kitchen; floor, bench, sink. But mostly, he heads for the fruit bowl, where he probably imagines his round self cunningly camouflaged in the mound of apples and pears.
In the microcosm that is my fish tank, none of the other snails have made the vaguest attempt at escaping. And so I imagine this snail to be an eccentric, an oddball, a drop-out, who thumbs his pneumostome at tank-society, and heads whenever he can for somewhere he doesn’t have to conform.
Or maybe it’s something even more basic that drives him out out the tank.
“Snail, why do you leave the tank? You know it’s not safe out here, you might get hurt, remember what happened with the cat…”
“Dude, if you knew how oppressive it is in that tank, you’d totally understand. Those other guys, they bitch all day and all night, about you not creating a gender-balanced society, about the limited diet, about the lack of anything new. But do they do anything to change things? NO! Me, I’m doing something man. Besides, I can’t help it, it’s instinct dude, I mean, I’m no hermaphrodite you know.”
“…Shit, are you are telling me that there are no chick snails in the tank?”
“No. There are chicks, there’s Winona and Ruth, but dude, Winona and Ruth are in a same-sex relationship, not that you were to know that, I guess.”‘
“Fuck me!”
“Well, I would…”
“Eewww. Right, I guess a trip to the pet shop is in order, to pick-up some new chicky babes for the tank.”
“Can I come?”
“No, but you can think of me as your nayan.”
“Well, you didn’t choose too well last time, so you’ll pardon my scepticism regarding your ability in that area.”
“You wanty chicky babe?”
“Yes.”
“Well I’ll get her for you, as long as you promise not to leave the tank anymore.”
“Ohhhkaaaay. But what about some girls for Roger, Akemi, Deshi, Tupac and Malachi?”
“Of course…but wait, what about the other guys?”
“Marco and Nick? Oh you don’t need to worry about girls for those two, unless of course you find some girls called Amanda Love and Sofonda Cox,” winks the snail.
The breeze or attractions unknown kept the others at bay, and for two glorious minutes I was alone. For one minute and fifty five seconds, I stared at the empty seat across from me. It wasn’t the weathered, silvery grain of the timber seat that held my attention, it was its potential-laden emptiness. One hundred and fifteen seconds of sanguine anticipation, and five seconds to capture the memory of those moments in time where the possibilities were endless.
I took a call from the black-suited Spiderman at 3am last night. Using Ode to Joy he broke into my incredibly believable dream about the hot guy who lives next-door to my ex-husband,
“Curse you enhanced but mean Spiderman!”.
I found the phone in the cat’s basket under my bed, I suspect she and the black Spiderman have been talking without my knowledge. The electronic not-notes of Ode to Joy did not desist upon answering the phone, and Spiderman wanted to let me know that,
“The rules have changed!”
So, later today, when the little boy of the house asks where his Spidey phone is, I will be directing him to the garden next door. Sure, tossing the phone from the 4th floor into bushes may have been a slight overreaction, but no-one, not even a superhero, gets to interrupt a dream like that without paying.
A house is a home. A home is a house. Walls to shelter us. A known place; a permanent dwelling. A place to inhabit, to return to, to grow in.
But, it’s not like that for you, is it? Is it a stone around your neck, a symbolic step in the path to the grave; wife, kids, house, cat, dog…?
You stupid fucking gypsy, you Peter Pan man, it would have made all the difference.
Dramatis Personae
Lillipilli: Ex overachieving-super-fucking-organised professional, separated, mother of 2 pre-schoolers, stalked for the last 5 years by a constant feeling of being a non-contributing member of society, with on-off tendency to be a bit glum. Quiet, but exhibits an uncontrolled ability to shock whenever opens mouth in public.
Best-friend 1: Overachieving full-time academic, slightly out of touch with the real world (oh sorry, academic explained that bit), prone to panic attacks, mother of 1 pre-schooler, obsessed with inability to to conceive for the past few years, now pregnant and very ill. Outspoken, with a tendency to confound. Slightly jealous of best-friend 2.
Best-friend 2: Overachieving, super-fucking-organised professional, mother of two pre-schoolers, combating severe PND for the past three years (now kicking it’s arse). Outspoken, with an ability to tell it like it is but not offend anyone. Thinks best-friend 1 is curmudgeonly.
The scene
Life
