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nostalgic wank

Thursday Aug 25, 2011

I don’t do nostalgia, since I figure it’s far too self-indulgent to do when you’re only 30.

But today I’m feeling nostalgic.

I’m pretty much right where I wanted to be, sure there’s a little more soul-less corporate whoredom than I thought, but generally I’m in a good place. Great friends, great family, good job, great apartment, great hair etc.

I was reading John’s site today. You probably know or share of my feelings towards poetry as a general rule, but John? Is so fucking talented and writes in a way that makes me feel things deep down in my cold heart.

Then I also discovered Stella’s new blog. Stella is pretty much the coolest girl you know but is warm and lovely and isn’t a complete bitch like cool girls normally are. Oh and she has the best eyebrows of anyone I’ve ever met.

These two kids are probably not aware that they represent a very awesome time in my life and I will always have ridiculously fond memories of them and then.

It was before Adam got boring, before I got boring, when I was living with Beth and her boyfriend in Annandale before her boyfriend turned into a massive hard-on. I was making out with SleepoverBoy, working in my first technical role, before I got glandular fever and I had a great year or so.

I drank a lot, I spent many nights at John’s terrace in Camperdown with his ratbag bunch of friends who were rioteously funny in the best and offensive way. The soundtrack then was Billy Joel (John was obsessed.) Whoever had money that week bought the beer, we went to the jazz/opera/whatever in the Domain festivals, I caught the nightbus home a few times dangerously drunk.

I went to a house party at John’s new place where there was Jagermeister punch that made me throw up black the next day. I wore an awesome black velvet blazer that I still wish I had. Stella was there and I walked into the living room at one point to her and Sabine singing to Love is a Battlefield that they’d forced a stranger to download and play. I think it was John’s birthday so he’d no doubt had absinthe (he’d only drink absinthe on his birthdays because he invariably ended up having a conversation with a wall at 5:00 a.m. so liked to meter it out responsibly) and I think, I think I met someone I went to school with. I woke up next to SleepoverBoy the next morning after apparently getting back together the previous night after too much of the punch. I demanded Stella drive me, and my friends home afterwards despite only meeting her that night.

Now Stella is living in Greece, John is a director and playwright living in London. And I missed catching up with John while he was over here recently directly a play and I feel like an arsehole and I work too hard now and I have a mortgage and my friends are having babies and now when we catch up for drinks they’re at each other’s tastefully beige decorated apartments and there’s good bottles of wine and gourmet sausages for the BBQ and no jagermeister punch or Canadian Club or Oporto’s runs and I got fat and old and boring.

Huh.

Well that was quite therapeutic.

I think maybe I just need to start drinking again.

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