I feel like an Airfix model that somebody started in 1972, forgot about, and rediscovered in the attic when they had to sell the house they’d inherited because they’d decided to downsize and move to Mudgee. All the parts are actually there in the box, including the little decals that go on the side of the plane – a Heinkel HE 111 H-20, aka a naughty Luftwaffe plane. But the discovery has brought upon the owner a fugue state, in which he just holds the box and stares at it and wonders why he never finished it then and now wonders if he’ll bother with it today and as his brain oscillates between these two barely quantum states the rest of the world passes away and he finally emerges to an empty world but in a surprise twist he’s finished the plane.
So there you are. A little update on my current philosophical state. I feel capable of being complete, I can see the finished product, but the probability wave that collapses to create a decision and make this happen is, possibly, a fiction.
Maybe it’s just all the glue-sniffing.
I’ve been tested twice and both times it was either a cold or hypochondria after the media coughed on me. Either way, good to have a result.
I’m currently still eating thanks to the government’s oh-you’re-an-actor-ha-that’s-funny-here-have-some-money subsistence scheme.
Rent is still being paid in Sydney but time is mainly being spent in Gosford at my mum’s so she can avoid the shops and the death. She has a granny flat so I have my own little haven up there. I’ve set up not one but three work benches and gathered all the tools from all the places and even bought a bandsaw and a vice and a Dremel rotary thing for fiddly stuff and so far I’ve made a lump of wood for a key-ring. It’s a shapely lump of wood and fun to hold. I’m thinking of varnishing it but silly to start something if I’m not going to finish it. See opening paragraph.
When The Non-Denominational Flu began, I was one-and-a-half weeks into a run of The Bridges of Madison County – The Fucking Musical. One of those words isn’t actually in the title but it helps to convey my confounderment at what is being hammered into a musical these days. When it first came across my desk, I honestly thought it was a gag. Like Schindler’s List – The Rollerblading Arena Spectacular. Although to be fair I would pop along to a matinee of that if it was raining.
The character in the musical that had been created by roughly bending a nice book over a composer’s anvil was next-door neighbour Charlie and he spoke in a monotone and roughly six times slower than all the other mid-westerners in the show but people seemed to like him. The benefit for me was that I could go from playing Solitaire on my phone to being on stage with nary a change in energy expenditure. Thinking about my lines burned more calories than actually doing them. Hey ho. I was really enjoying myself but then the government told everyone to stop playing and come inside for tea and panic.
Anyhoo, nice to not be on the news. How are you?
