BITE ME

FUNNY HUH HUH

Sure, we all like a laugh. YouTube is full of it. As is Social Media and even here, some works plainly make you giggle.

When it comes to laughing at yourself however... that's a whole other story.

Writers unfortunately (and I may quite justifiably be the only one in this category) live 'in their heads' more so than most people. We have this thing constantly fluttering in our brain-matter... maybe a memory, a previously (minutes ago) noted event, a snatch of conversation we overheard, a colour we've not seen before - or simply a word, fleeting in and out of our 'being in the moment'.

I have a lot of 'fluttering' going on. I'm here, I'm there, I'm ahead, and more-so these days, I'm 'behind'. This would be a perfectly acceptable and (in some instances by me) desirable environment. That's where 'pieces' are born and one gets to 'write', right?

It gets me into strife a lot though.

... We went on a winter holiday to Tasmania. I left my car at the 'long term car park' near the airport. Told the boys to remember where our car was, in this horizontal sea of thousand others. Both boys repeated the correct location. There were very clear and 'color coded' signs everywhere. I didn't write ours down. I did not apparently memorize it either.

Five days later, 10.00pm on a freezing night, (I know there were cameras - and I have searched YouTube for the video) we stood at the edge of this very vast sea... No color or sound of human speech serenaded our senses in the deserted darkness; no yellows and reds and blues and innumerable shades of shimmering silver and gold... No excited childrens' voices. We faced a silent black sea, lit up in a grid pattern of white light.

I looked at the boys. I got shoulder shrugs. Later, I got the "You're the adult here, and you got us into this mess" look. Much, much later, I heard those words: "Why can't you ever focus on anything?"

In-between, we began walking the long aisles, my hand outstretched, pushing the key button every few seconds, as we communally listened for the familiar 'here I am you buffoon' sound; lugging suitcases and backpacks, the wind so cold everything was weeping. Two teenage boys, you're gonna get snot - and novel ways of disposing it. I witnessed some incredible ones...

Two and a half hours of hell. All because I was thinking as I'd parked the car five days ago, of how much this sea of cars reminded me of- see what I mean? I was there, but also following up a 'flutter'.

Too many similar occasions to list. I will mention a couple, in the spirit of sharing and possibly having at least a single person identifying with this 'affliction'.

Marcus, when he was a toddler had two loves: Trains and elevators. I was probably the single biggest 'consumer' of Thomas the Tank Engine products. My bank statement constantly reminded me of this fact.

Elevators were something else. They weren't toys.

When he was two and a half, parents, sons and I took a family vacation up North. The Gold Coast is heaven on earth for young kids (kids of all ages really - noted by the number of parents 'protecting' their young ones by sharing the thick round tube being bounced around a giant waterslide... sporting gleeful grins - myself included).

We were staying on the 38th floor, opposite the ocean. Incredible views. Over the years, this place has become like a second home, we'd never now think of staying elsewhere. That first time though... Marcus jumped out of the stroller and raced ahead. He reached the elevator, pushed the up button - miraculously the doors slid open and he was in. He loved pushing buttons. There were forty two floors and myriad possible outcomes flashed before me, like a never-ending film-strip. Every scenario... not good.