Feeling: EXPLANATORY & STOCHASTIC 

  

Feeling: EXPLANATORY & STOCHASTIC 

First off: how sensational is the b’day pres I sussed for Henio this year?

See, Henio is incredibly hard to purchase a pressie for. Jim Beam is always a success, as is a pair of thorlo socks for cycling, but I get bored of getting him the same thing (though he doesn’t – loves his Jimmy’s and blue and white trotter embosomers). Plus the brothers M & J  go along the same lines, so I try to sway away from the old bourbs and feet friends. 

This year I started researching (one of my favourite favourite favourite things ever to do is buy people presents, and I always start a fair while before their birthday to ensure plentiful time to find the perfect gift) and came across an ad for plate painting. Such a pastime was greatly favoured by myself as a young bairn (my 11th birthday party even saw me take a group of gal pals to design and devise their own dinnerware) and I decided I would rustle up one for Hendrik’s 59th (blessed genes right? The lean machine looks a decade younger than his true age). 

I even went back to the studio in Auckland where aforementioned party took place. A bread and butter plate was the of choice of crockery to create; every evening without fail, Henio sits down with the boys (schnauzer ones, not the human brothers) and the three chomp back a few Superwine bikkies. Father is always on at me to use a plate whenever I indulge in a morsel, yet he does not so I felt it was also a subtle message to not be such a crumb-leaving hypocrite. 

I can’t believe I managed to keep my mouth shut about his impending pressie, but shut I kept it (aside from a fair few alludications and “I just sorted your bday present!” “Your present just arrived!” “I can’t wait to present you with your pres!”) until Friday the 13th; his actual celebration of birth was on the Sunday, but I was feeling a bit sorry for myself that evening (in a fluster about whether to take the Contiki job or not) (I did, just a last momentary falter and bout of self doubt, the usual) so decided presenting Henio with his plate would cheer me up. 

Now, dear Henio isn’t one to show a lot of open emotion but I could tell he was pretty chuffed. 

And every night since, the Superwines have been plated. 

  

Secondly: working for the old brother M.

Last Thursday night the older bro hustled me a txt: “What are you doing tomorrow?”

Well my planned day had actually been dashed. I had been meant to be joining the brother James on a jaunt to Tauranga to get the next portion of his sleeve inked in, but the artist had cancelled and rebooked for the following Friday.  I decided I’d just go to my lakefront office and jam down some more chapters for the book, but having already far surpassed my word count target for the week it was not a necessity. “Why?” I replied (always suspicious of his intents and purposes; couldn’t say “no plans”in case he was to ask me something I needed to excuse myself from). 

“I need a boat groomer for the day,” he responded. “You in?”

See, old Mikey has recently started a really good job. Always one to be pretty partial to the old water-skiing sport (it’s his absolute passion), he has been working selling boats and ski gear the past wee while. When the Nautique company was overtaken by a new dude, Michael stepped up into the role of sales and services manager. He got a rad new car, sick new business cards and a whole heavy load of responsibility. 

I was quite tickled he actually asked me (though I found out later it was one of his very last resorts). “I’ve never ever primped and preened a boat before,” I admitted. “Just what does it entail, do you seriously think I can do it and how much are you going to pay me?” 

After some bantering back and forth (“I’m worth more than that”) we agreed I should start at 8.30am the next morning. “Active wear is perfect,” he assured me. Score! 

Do you know how satisfactory it is to manhandle off grease with a significant squirt of Jiff? To lather off stains with a wad of water-soaked cloths and cleaning concoctions? To wax hulls and towers so they gleam and glitter? Unbelievably therapeutic. Eight hours whizzed by.

Michael came to inspect my work and gave a complacent nod. “Knew you’d nail it,” he said. “You’re such a perfectionist.”

I left high on the compliment (and fumes from multiple waxes, polishes and stain removers) contemplating whether or not to add “boat groomer” to my list of capabilities on the old CV. 

Righto. Thirdly; the book. 
I’ve had a few people messaging me with queries as to what I’m writing and what this book is all about, so I feel I should share a little update.

So. It’s all about Ed. Memories I have of when he first took grip, as he developed, and interwoven with me now as I start willingly getting a bit of treatment. 

It’s going super well. I had set a target of 2000 words a day, and when I’ve been on a roll I’ve been smashing out 4000 at times. It’s confronting, enlightening and at times pretty heartbreaking writing it, but I’ve never been more into or engrossed in something my entire life (aside from the 12 times I’ve read Harry Potter of course). 

When people ask what I am doing now and I respond with “writing a book”, it’s pretty par for the course that they exclaim, “Oooo! What about?”

Now, depending who it is I answer in one of two ways. The whole truth, stating, “Eating disorders” with defiance, or the partial truth; “It’s a continuation of my blog.” 
See, although I am incrementally becoming more open, a large part of me is still a bit ashamed of old entrenched Ed. Plus, I don’t like putting people in an awkward situation if I don’t really know them and they are unsure how to respond. 

As I’m writing I do so rather detached, approaching it as though I’m telling of a fictional character. It enables far more raw material and honesty, and often when I’ve had a reread I’ve just been like, “Holy fuck.” It makes me so sad to see how sick my mind is. 

But I love it. Writing is my meditation. It’s the only time I truly  and utterly lose myself and qualm any worrisome woes, and the joy that I experience on thinking of the perfect word or fitting phrase is indescribable. I’m so insanely lucky to have been blessed with this opportunity to do what I love day in and out. 

Halfway through that spiel I was bestowed a wee stash of codene (the old head’s not too happy) and I can feel myself going rather doo dally. Of to sleep for me I think! (Or to seek out my bearded bed handler mate from yesterday; have thought of some glorious beard braiding ideas that would look swell in his copper coils).
An added extra: I just love this photo, it brings me such ebullience. Zoom up on my face; like, am I all good? 
  


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