BEEEEEEEP. Your nephew is ready.

August 10, 2008

Good news: I am excited about going overseas. For months people have been asking if I’m excited. “So, you’re going overseas. Are you excited?” At first the answer was no, and I didn’t know why. I guessed I was unable to see past First Page getting finished, or that because I don’t travel I don’t really know what I’m in for and I can’t excited about something I don’t understand, but there was always the sneaking suspicion that I was a soulless automaton incapable of intense emotionz. But now that all I have to think about is exchange, and I’m having to do stuff like pack up all my CDs and books and I have to pick a hostel in the city to stay in for one night when I get there, I’m getting excited about it. Having to do something like imagine whether I’d prefer to catch two trains or one bus into the city, and what the weather might be like at 4 in the afternoon, and what I might eat that night, makes it realer. So now I’m like hee hee, better get some American money. Then I’m like, holy crap, how do I do that? Then I figure it out. Then I’m like, holy crap, how much should I get? Then I’m like, few hundred bucks. I’m pretty green I suppose. This… topic… bores me.

On Sunday mornings my nephew Elliott, who has emotional problems, plays that Auskick thing meant to get kids and families interested in football. For months my family has been going on about how funny this is, and it is pretty funny. One kid just ran around a goal post a dozen times then fell over, for example. But whenever I see my nephews do things I can’t help imagining the tragedies their behaviour will get them into around their tweens and teens. For example, Elliott has this friend, who he was kind of affectionately bugging. Elliott, I guess, a bit like me, doesn’t communicate hugely well, so instead he throws a barrage of hugs and tackles at his friend, who has come to see Elliott coming and cringe, then yell for him to stop. I remember things like this happening to me, and the friend ditches you and you don’t understand why, and you start asking yourself WHYYY WHY AM I DOOMED? I’M NO GOOD, ALL I WANTED TO DO WAS JUMP ON MY FRIEND’S BACK BOOO. While I’m imagining this all the other parents and kids seem so normal, eight year olds laughing and talking about how they want their hair to be for a party this week, heightening the sense that me and my extended family are bound for the margins. Perhaps lots of kids do this. Perhaps I am simply reliving my poor primary school life through my nephews. This is probably the case, I never miss the opportunity to dystopianise their futures. Fuck man, I could never have kids. Sorry ladies.

I’m trying to write superhero poetry. Here’s one, TOTALLY FREESTYLE… actually no I chickened out of doing that, but here’s one I wrote yesterday:

I told you, Christine, the
beast came through the barricade fast
as lightning, splashing spit from
that mouth all over us. Johnny
reacted first, threw his body at
it to protect the team
ripped to shreds
Betty yelled and fired her
eye beams. It took
her next, by the back
of her head. I dropped a
safe on it from a very
great height, which caved
in its exoskeleton. Then
Billy burned it. That’s when
you showed up. I’m
so sorry, Christine.


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