Living with my mother.
It’s awkward slipping back in the natural role of son when cohabiting the family home.
My mother, like most mothers — she’s a lovely woman. She’s the type of person who displays on the living room mantle a picture of her two dogs in Santa’s lap around holiday time. The dogs look a little scared, and Santa has the typical intense and almost perverted stare that shopping mall Santa’s tend to have. Black sideburns are clearly visible beneath the fake white beard. It’s fucking awkward having a photo of this stranger holding my dogs staring at me as I sit here with a hangover worthy of an award; judging me for the social sins I committed the night before.
After my friend’s birthday soiree, I sit here with the feeling that I disgraced myself somehow last night, but I’m not exactly sure how. A dark guilt will hang around for the day, maybe longer. I drunk too much — this much is true. The psychic pain I’m now suffering was brought on by actions last night, the pain is not that bad though. I have comfort food and I have weed.
Weed from Shaun.
- The neighbors can see him walk with his head slightly down looking at but not registering the chalk stained pavement of this quintessential Sydney suburb’s back lane. He’d just picked up from Sean and he was hurrying home — but not walking too fast as to arouse suspicion. Sean was the unofficial neighborhood dealer, a status confirmed when it clicked at a barbecue that a guy who he’d been talking to got his weed from the same place. His mother also gets her weed from Sean. Usually he just smokes hers, but today he has his own.
- Awkward is so much more interesting than the robotic. But there’s good awkward and there’s bad awkward. The obligatory exchange of social pleasantries we offer up to each other in an office elevator, like a sign that says “Please accept these few words as a gift that I’m not a fucking rude cunt.” — the French have a word for this, “bonjour”. This is bad awkward. The good awkward can give birth to unexpected events and interactions. Like when there’s too long of a silence when you’re with a girl. Buying weed sits somewhere between these two points. Not unpleasant, just a bit of a chore.