Ho Ho Hot Damn

Ah, the taste of freedom. Sweet, sweet freedom. It tastes like joy, bundled in cookie dough. I no longer have to wear a stripy, maroon tent and clumpy leather shoes with a hat that sticks out far enough to shade four people around me. I no longer have to do exams or past papers or homework or study in any kind of way. I have been rewarding myself with my bed, mostly, although it keeps being disturbed when my friends sneak through the back door of my house and nag me to go out with them. We usually end up roaming in a squad of borrowed (parental) cars from one house to another, and watching bad movies. The teenage life is a wild one.

Then there was schoolies. A blur - or more likely smudge - of alcohol, card games and both at the same time. There were also some cigars, loud music and bad cooking involved, and many many many many treks to the beach (UPHILL). I have returned sufficiently brown and never willing to live in filth again. Twelve teenagers in a house for eight leaves everything everywhere, and cooking in bulk (without an oven - it was broken) led to blackened pizza cooked on the BBQ, and plastic plates melting under hot pasta.

So now I wander about and around, usually with people (and their useful cars), and always rejoice when I return home to find that I have ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO DO, except maybe watch Entourage or put together a resume or something non-essential like that. I've been writing a bit, as you can see here, and recording a tid bit, as you can see here. And as Christmas is approaching, I can only sit back and enjoy not stressing about dysfunctional family meals or moulting trees or which colour socks to buy the bizarre aunt who keeps hinting she would prefer a young male escort underneath the tinselled tree. Really, as the resident Jew, I can say that I am not jealous, and the Santas in the malls, whose beards droop a bit and whose $40 on-sale running shoes peek out of their voluminous not-quite-red-enough fatsuits, scare me. A lot. Fake snow too.

Happy holidays, try not to get smothered by overpricing wrapping paper or have an aneurysm wishing that we could finally have a white christmas in our sub-tropical continent. We won't, but if you are nice enough to me, I will come to your house and gently drop white confetti on you while you try to build snowmen and frolic with shiny baubles hanging from your nipples.