Gabo schmabbo. A memory now it seems years ago but I know it was just less than a year ago. Waiting lying prone in the killing sun in my car on Annerley Rd outside the Mater. S & I taking turns to drag ourselves across the road to the public phone to try J to see if he's turned his phone on. He's in a hotel we're across the road from. We're sick, he's stoned and asleep. Nothing underlines the business better than this - sick junkie outside the stoned dealers hold, knowing where the dope is but being constrained by whatever to not be able to score. The eternal wait, my whole life compressed into the extreme reality of that sickness waiting. No other time is real, all other time is diluted and smudged by gabo. So now all I have left is the bad, the pain.
O joy. I sound like a sixteen year old goth girl sitting in her room surrounded by candles and Marilyn M posters. Now there's something to aspire to.