When I was about seven or eight, my family were traveling from somewhere to somewhere else, and we stopped for dinner in Taihape. I think it was probably a diner-type place, I don’t remember exactly. What does stand out in my mind though is that with our meal we were brought a stack of white buttered bread, which confused the hell out of me. As a grown-up now, I’ve since found out that quite a few New Zealanders have this with every dinner (thanks for the education, flatmates!) but we never ever did. As it was so foreign to us, we speculated that the same bread was placed on the table for every customer, and we thought about taking a bite out of every piece of bread so it couldn’t be reused, and then someone, perhaps Karen suggested that we take off the top slice, cut out the insides of all of the rest of the stack, and then put the top slice back on top, for the next unlucky customer.
Do you see where we’re going with this? That’s right. That theoretical hollow stack is my new metaphor for me. The top slice is on, so you can’t necessarily see the hollowness inside, but it’s drying out and turning up at the corners, and probably attracting flies. If we wanted to go with another metaphor, or story, if my life right now was a Michael Gondry film, it’d open with a tiny tiny little girl spooning a lifesize cat, in a lifesize bed, who tries to tunnel her way out of an ocean of duvets and pillows, and then finds she can’t step out of bed because of the height off the floor that she’s at. And then it’d flip somehow and you’d realise that was just her perspective, and she’s actually a big big girl in a normal bed with a normal cat, and all the barriers are in her head. And it’d go on to show the farrow dug between bed and the couch, and at some stage you’d see her head light up at night and render sleep impossibe because of all the random stupid shit that goes on and on and on.
And then we come out of the Michael Gondry movie to where I failed to go and pay for the tickets to Samoa Karen and I wanted, and where I failed to go to my daddy’s birthday brunch yesterday morning, and where I failed to go to work today, and where I fail to return emails, and where I fail to make an appointment to go see my counsellor because I don’t want to show her what a fucking failure I am, and where despite all the stuff going on in my head I’m pretty sure that if I pull up the duvet over my head it’ll all go away and I won’t have to deal with anything. But that probably won’t happen. I’m praying for my period. Perhaps that’ll make it better. Or maybe the sun’ll come up tomorrow. Bet your bottom dollar.
EDIT: Now that Amy’s been and gone for PPP doings, I can happily announce our Three Month Anniversary Party – if you’re girlie, you must come along! Here are all the details.