12th May 2006

You created a fiction, had been creating a fiction all birthday-night, which tangled comfortably with the baggage you trundle around with you. But in my darkened bedroom I couldn't weigh this history. I stood apart from you watching while you cried "That isn't it", but I couldn't discern the lock and key you used to justify your feelings. It was all just madness to me. You begged me to join your tug o' war game of half-truth-tests, but been there done that baby. Not this time. I frown to write a remembrance of you leaving my house, trailing "Fuck you", "fuck you", "fuck you", down my stairs as I busily packed the dishwasher. And then you calling me from outside telling me you couldn't find a cab. "Ok". Did I care? "I'll come out and help you find one". "I'm doing this because I'm a gentleman", but one more cock-up and you can freeze. It wasn't even surprising to see you huddled in the corner. You were thoroughly alone and hurt, your back to me, testing, waiting for an embrace. You reminded me of our conversations about my childhood strictures. But it was you against the wall, and me walking past, and I hadn't grabbed the other end of your rope. I could see you still pulling fiercely and falling backwards with nothing to balance your swirl of child-woman confusion. So I walked towards Bourke St, "Let's get you a taxi", and you finally fell on your arse. Rope burns be damned as you screamed at me again. "Get me a fucking taxi". So sad to hear you scream and effuse your anger like it was my duty to take responsibility for your childishness. You so clearly showed your fiction intact. "Get me a fucking taxi or I'll call the fucking police". Finally a truth, a jagged contrast to your effete mask of operatic horderves and cocktails at “The Mint”. Did you expect me to do anything but turn around slowly and pass you by on my way back home? I don't play "Jump - how high?" woman. And again, it wasn't a triumph to hear you calling 5 minutes later. You still didn't understand a thing I said to you then. I will never talk to you again. That will justify your self-righteous anger. You will never talk to me again.