Rooftop stream-of-conciousness

Go somewhere, go up to the roof and write what you see – that usually works. Something always comes. So says Helen, and yes, it’s true, something usually does. Tim says try changing your method – handwrite, use an old typewriter, change the font (I mocked the last, apparently). Well, I listen to my friends, and here I am on the roof, handwriting.

I don’t like handwriting much, always [can’t read my own writing – how ironic] I find it frustratingly slow, but I’ll try.

The roof. When I first moved here six years ago I used to come up here every day. It was like my own private backyard – poorly maintained, astroturf ripped up, puddles and dead potplants. Nobody ever came up here, and I told myself I would not become complacent like everybody else. Because in spite of the puddles and dead potplants it’s a good place – fantastic view of this city I still love despite everything, and it was great in the way abandoned utilitarian human construction can be – the allure of the abandoned railway yard. I have good memories of up here – pingpong with Mel, two good new years’ eves, drinking red wine with Bree, and just showing it to people.

But of course I got complacent anyway, and stopped coming up here so often. And they renovated it like they renovate everything in this building, into a beige generic blandness. And for a while it was always crowded up here, but now it’s empty again. People grow accustomed to their surroundings, and I know some people who are always moving and running from that sense of inertia. I feel it too, but don’t need to run so far – rearranging my living room is enough to keep it at bay. Pulling against this also is my high-level nostalgia that makes me uncomfortable with endings and goodbyes.

But there are still great things about this roof. Here’s one: a cubbyhouse! Whose idea was this? There are no children in this building, never have been. Inner city apartment life is like that.

Inner city apartment life is strange. They are always trying to foster a sense of community here, the nongs who run this place. Six months or so ago they kept having these floor parties – by the lifts – with cute alliterative names like “floor frolics”. I adopt a Scroogian persona when it comes to all this. My neighbours are annoying and I know them entirely too well as it is – tempestuous relationship lady and used to be a holiday flat but I seperated from my wife man.

Here’s something else since I was up here last:



I actually know what this is about. Tempestuous relationship lady told me. This woman who lived on my floor, who was on the executive committee, died. She was on heavy duty allergy medications, drank too much red wine, fell asleep, choked on her own vomit. I didn’t know her other than by sight, suspect she found me as annoying as I found her – scroogian vs sociable personalities – still. She wasn’t much older than me.

A wind just came up. Kind of nice; it’s hot. What else to write about. Already I’ve scrawled eight pages on this tiny notebook with my 2B pencil (the bookseller’s choice). I’m still not sure what I’m doing with this blog, will make a decision on it by NYE. The thing is that the window of what I feel comfortable writing about on it gets smaller and smaller. I realized of the five most memorable things that have happened to me this year, only one was blogged. Despite this, I still somehow managed to give the impression I’m having a nervous breakdown with my last few entries. And everybody’s reaction to my Werribee DVD post was vaguely dissaproving, as if I’d publically soiled myself. Anyway I’ll make a decision soon, and if it goes that way I migh stay in on NYE and write a farewell post. What are people doing for NYE? I’m thinking of staying in this year. For a while I’ve had a superstition that a good NYE = a good year, but last NYE was really good, but this year has sucked. Not in a tragic fashion, but have I ever had a year where I’ve been so bored or accomplished so little? (Probably, but who remembers these things). You know what else? The best day I had this year was Jan 1. No kidding, it has been all been downhill from there. Depressing.

Well I wanted to take a photograph of the cubbyhouse for you, but there’s a happy couple rolling about over there, and if I go around with a digital camera they’ll think me a pervert. There’s a sort of arrogance about happy couples like that. I get it, but I find it a little annoying as well.

And the wind has kicked up, and my hand is tired. I suppose this experiment has worked. I just wanted to say, in case anybody was worried, that I’m OK. Not wildly happy, but at least I’m feeling things again. For me, that means I’m OK. It’s just how my mind works.

posted by Nicholas @ 5:21 PM