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Introducing Angus Wallpaper of the Month!
Introducing Angus Wallpaper of the Month!
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Yes, I have been doing journal entries lately. I've just taken to writing them in a notebook in the mornings. I don't particularly know what this means.
You would think that after over 4 years of university I would have learnt about not doing assignments all night before the day they are due. In reality the main thing the last 4 years have taught me is how to do Assignments at the last minute well. I feel I may have overcompensated: It's 4am and I only have a conclusion and proof reading to go. I think I'll try to beat a Sudoku.
I know that my entrepreneurship and SME lectures have taught me that successful entrepreneurs are ones that take calculated risks, but this is probably missing the point.
This morning I dropped my bottle of cologne after my shower and it shattered all over the bathroom floor. I said 'Fuck' really loudly and from that point onwards I was over losing $100 worth of manfume. I may not have a nice whiff for the next few weeks, but today things have stunk as good as ever.
It was mostly dried sweat he woke up in. The joints had kept overnight. Beneath the knees; behind the neck; the groin - that was still damp, but only slightly. The sun had never risen. He fumbled beneath the pillows, diving for the phone that he slept with. It was definitely still early. He searched for reason briefly before being interrupted.
'Goodbye' the voice ironically introduced itself.
'Goodbye' he half responded, half echoed. It wasn't a long echo and he returned to sleep.
'Wake up' screamed the synths and hollow bass. For the second time in the morning he fumbled for the phone. He quietened it. There was light now: skidding through curves in the curtains and - based on the dryness – evaporating the sweat. There was still a knot in his stomach. Through the early morning fogginess he could still sense an untoward presence. There was an expectation of him as if something in the universe was awaiting his next move.
He grabbed the curtain that ran alongside his mattress with one hand and violently jerked it towards him. The sunshine piled up over his blankets. It was beautiful sunlight. But with the window open the sense of something less simple observing him grew stronger. Using his mind he willed himself vertical and away from the sheets. He shut the door and left the room with a glance behind him.
Water sprayed down, washing the last of the dried sweat away onto white tiles and preparing a body for a day of achievements. He left feeling strong and refreshed, walking through the kitchen past the pile of plates stacked by the sink and back to his quarters where the feeling of being watched returned.
He stopped and stared out the window, observing every detail. There was no eye contact but he could feel it staring back. Charged, he set about upturning every end of the room, discarding every loose and unwanted item. Blasting away the cobwebs and dust. Absorbing the energy created by order. He began to feel stronger. Inversely he felt the stare weaken as it paralleled the sun, which began to drift back downwards for the day.
He lay on the carpet - coiled and taut – strengthening himself for any upcoming battles. He'd already planned his outstanding debts and bills, paying them so that anyone who followed him wouldn't have to. The phone calls had all been made. His legacy had been prepared. The window refracted the twilight as he turned into his room with sore but prepared muscles and checked his progress against the always staring presence. It was the chaos that inspired all this organisation. He tensed in the doorway – sensing the power of the watching presence dissipate into the orange sky. Detecting weakness he ripped his shirt off his chest and threw it on the ground, screaming with power and rage, summing up the confrontation of the day.
Meekly the To Do List stared back, badly hacked at the stage, few appendages left. Only 'Write Journal Entry' was left dangling below the white board marker title 'TODAY' written at the top of the window. These final words were created as those final words were wiped away.
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If you met yourself from the future, what would you ask your future self?
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'You feelin' lucky?' I friendly drawled, watching the young, gangly looking fellow in a cream shirt haul his chair in next to me.
'Not yet' he replied, meekly.
I stroked the pile of chips in front of me as the dealer spread cards across the felt. I was chasing perfect pairs, hoping for something I could split. The stack of chips I had on the table was big but the collection by my hands was bigger. The newcomer placed a single chip down before the dealer's hand swept across the surface and bets were closed.
He sat on 18, I sat on 20. The dealer went bust. I beamed as I dragged another handful of chips into my arms. I witnessed a wry smile, shackled by shyness, next to me as his one chip became two.
The next rounds forged through and as I collected more chips and sipped on my third Piña Colada for the evening. He quickly lost his fifty and like a flicker he was gone again. As my cards turned out another blackjack I heard his parting comments to his comrade who had watched the whole attempt in silence.
'It had to happen; I knew I would have bad luck today.'
I didn't smirk, just looked at my steadily growing winnings. I knew you make your own luck.
Eventually you tire of taking casino's money and I walked down the well lit streets of the CBD to meet friends and beer for a celebratory happy hour at the Falcon Claw. It wasn't the ritziest of establishments but the beers are cheap. It's my belief that the secret to winning big is to always act like you don't. As I waited for a fresh pint to recover from its flowing head I watched the doors of the gaming room swing open saloon style as cream shirt and his mate strolled out. He had a smile on his face still, though it was one of humoured acceptance rather than victory.
'Hurry up and finish that drink' he told his friend. 'This place isn't lucky either.'
I smiled, half in knowing of the self-fulfilling prophecy that comes attached to a statement like that, and half because I'd just caught the eye of a shy looking blonde girl who'd been watching me from the corner. As the night air swept in behind me she quickly averted her gaze. Then, slowly... she looked back.
Jaunty rock spilled from the open first story windows and onto the sidewalk as we walked along the streets towards the next bar. Strolling with me was a girl with blue hair, which was a first for me but I was attempting all the charm I could given the alcohol diminished resources I had left. Post passing the entrance to the contemporary jazz place I was startled by heavy slaps and turned around to monitor a cream shirt leap out from the entryway and bobble off at pace into the dark. It was all over in a few seconds but it was the most committed I'd seen him do anything all night.
At this stage I was curious as to why I kept crossing paths with him. Back upstairs a girl stood watching a band, bewildered.
It wasn't long later when I could be found sat waiting in the taxi rank, waiting for a ride to...
'Cassandra...?' I estimated.
Her brown eyes turned and looked up at me as my words ended a brief silence. I had to thank my slightly soberer self of the past who had most likely chosen this brunette not just on the strength of her looks but also because her name sounded like 'casino' which was becoming an easy to remember theme. Unaware of my lucky guess she smiled at me as she snuck closer to my shoulder, her white skin hinting at the moonlight above in contrast to my dark shirt.
Behind my other shoulder the sprinter and his friend were racing again, this time down the stairs behind the taxi queue that led to the railway station. The last train of the night was about to leave and although the night was still young it was obvious he had decided to cut his losses with a cheap ticket home. Finally a Statesman taxi rolled up to the curb and I stroked my wallet through my pants as we loaded into the backseat. Casino lived far away from here but I wouldn't hide from an expense. Whatever it cost I could always come back tomorrow night and win it back, of that I knew. The secret to winning big is to always act like you will.
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I'd just create a 'DJ' subdomain for this website.
It would host this track.
And that's what ANZAC Day means to me. Not really, obviously.