Situations

                 18 November 2009

Rain on the roof at the right time this morning,

all caught up on my jobs,

no reason to get up until the rain stopped.

Just one tiny job in my inbox when I do –

looks like it's gonna be a skint xmas.

              We Exotic Refugees

Refugees and migrants from all over the world

make life much more interesting and colourful

and – if they venture into food enterprises – flavourful

here in Hamilton.

It would be even better, for me at least,

to benefit as much as possible

from contact with their diverse cultural outlooks

if they’d venture out more from the safety

of the company of their own people

into situations in which I could meet and joke with them,

as I’ve been lucky to do with a few.

I know how they must feel, though,

about mixing with other people

who seem unsettling to them.

Shit, how I know how they must feel!

           Drawing A Distinction

When I’m composing and performing

these little observations, recollections,

musings, narratives, and rants

I’m completely without fear

of any audience, or of anything

in regard to trying to tell the truth.

At almost all other times, however,

I’m paralysed by constant terrors.

       Another Distinction

Solitude is when being all alone

seems to be the most preferable

of several attractive alternatives.

Loneliness is when being all alone

seems to be the least noxious

of several unattractive ones.

                    New Year’s Eve

My younger daughter was born on New Year’s Eve –

most considerate of her,

tax-wise,

there on Guam,

but it’s never been a celebratory time for me.

I’ve never been all that big on New Year’s Eve.

The last time I stayed up past midnight to welcome in a year,

drinking and carrying on and stuff,

was at the end of 1962 and the start of 1963.

The next year I was on an airplane

on the evening of December 31,

and by the following year

I was staying up drinking almost every evening anyhow,

and saw it as amateur night.

Then I got a dog whose birthday was December 30,

and for several years

entertained guests on the eve before new year’s.

Going to bed early on December 31

has become a point of honour for me.

It suits my critical viewpoint,

my social deficiencies,

and my misanthropic reclusiveness.

It’s a part of my identity,

something that my last wife

was incapable of understanding.

              My Status

My relationship status is divorced –

divorced from too many wives and lovers,

divorced from people in general,

divorced from family in any meaningful way,

divorced from nature,

divorced from life.

             I Do Have A Friend

I do have a friend –

a real friend,

more than just a pleasant acquaintance,

or a facebook cyber-friend

or somebody I get along with

the rare times we encounter each other –

I actually have one actual friend

who comes by about once every week or two

to visit for lunch and to show me her creations

and to see if I’m doing okay.

Sometimes when she doesn’t come by

she calls to check in with me –

or maybe it’s to see if I’m still alive.

My friend sometimes worries about me.

My friend confides in me and asks my advice.

My friend respects my integrity, my intellect,

and my specialist skills, and I respect hers.

My friend takes things of mine that need fixing,

and either she or her husband fixes them.

My friend hugs me when she’s excited,

or when I’ve helped her or her husband,

or when I just look as if I could use a hug.

My friend shares her triumphs and sorrows with me.

My friend listens to my weird-shit music without complaint.

My friend discusses complex ideas with me.

My friend expresses appreciation

when I help her with her English.

My friend knows when she’s upset me

and seems upset about it herself.

My friend seems to understand

and condone my unhappiness.

                            It Figures, Eh?

The only time for years that people just dropped in to visit me

was the only time that I requested that nobody do so.

                           The Last Job

Signing on in September 2005

as a contract editor with a Melbourne-based online editing agency

with the unfortunate name of WordsRU

almost literally saved my life.

I don’t know whether that was fortunate, unfortunate, or neither,

and I’m not going to explain it here.

For several years my work for WordsRU

provided me with a living,

mental stimulation,

a sense of accomplishment,

and a way to pass the time –

sometimes all too well.

I had to take a stress break in 2008 after a long stretch of working

eleven and twelve hour days seven days a week.

Then the bloke who owned WordsRU had a stroke,

his middle-aged son took over, and things started to go downhill.

The son’s management style, for example,

relied heavily on threats and bullshit,

and my talented chief editor consequently quit-got-fired.

Eventually he decided that we needed a new website,

and through arrogance and incompetence

he fucked it up,

and business nose-dived.

Fortunately, this happened just a couple of months

before I qualified for national super,

so I didn’t have to sell my house in order to survive.

I spent a year with plenty of time to compose verses,

then saw an ad for copywriters on facebook from a newish agency,

answered it, and signed on at the end of February 2012.

My last job for WordsRU was grossly undersold to an irritating client,

but I didn’t mind,

and shined on till I finished it,

and when I was done I felt a whole lot better

than I had for a long, long time.