Daily Log

The first of Marcus' suggestions was to find some way to let go. In an active attempt at this idea, I went to the Ekka; a yearly ten day fair that brings the country to the city. My parents made this magic for us as children. Sugar, rides, animals, cowboys, wood-cutters, crowds and fireworks. Part of the work was obviously done for them, but the thought counts. We would save money for months to buy our show bags and souvenirs. 

One ill fated day I was even allowed to try a mini-motorbike. The poor attendant. His hay-bales and years of experience had nothing on my heavy thumb and determined grip. I smashed apart the makeshift rink, and chased the man through half of Sideshow alley. My family of course were rolling around on the ground laughing while their three-year-old traumatised defenceless carnival workers. I screamed the whole time but would not let go for the life in me. I cannot remember how the ordeal ended. I know I am here typing a log; I know nothing of the attendant. 

Hijinks aside, the Ekka is still magical to me. I went with a famileind of near thirty years. I regressed. Goats chased me in petting arenas. Babies stared at me on the train. I bothered shop attendants about the dairy content of a dagwood dog… There was none.  Hallelujah. 

We left feeling like well wrung clothes. The day was everything it was cracked up to be. But, sadly, gave me nothing to help with my mind. I did not really believe one day of fun could help me find my marbles again. It at least made me relax and use my energy on something other than work.

The whole thing again brought my sister to my attention. For the briefest second in my memory, as I sat on the mini-bike, I saw my father hold her back. As I was first hearing how to depress the accelerator and squeeze the brake, I vividly remember mum stepping up and taking her other shoulder. They stood there like a portrait. Two flanking and one in the middle showing a hand on each shoulder.

I am sure she would not lie to me if I asked her something outright. Seeming insane with what I ask does not bother me either. But I don't know what to ask: 'are you protecting me from something?'; 'is there some conspiracy around me that I don't know?' ; 'who are you really? who am i?'. None of that makes any sense. She is my sister, I know she has always been militant with my safety. 

I tried to watch the kids are alright to take my mind off things. Sixty minutes in, the theme seemed to be that gays are dysfunctional and capable of adultery too. I switched it off. As a child of a broken home, I will agree that we will be alright. But it doesn't mean adultery and boredom need to be pushed onto an audience as art. As the child of parental disarray, I still see it all as pathetic. Too many people think they deserve to have too much. Never the thought that they may need to constantly work at something to be worthy of air. Maybe it is just boomers. I hope it is just a passing generational thing. 

I need to talk to my sister. I think I know what she is going to say.