No Time To Say

Too much happened too quickly, and the articles withered on the vine. Here are the husks:

  • The roof of an abandoned mental hospital at midnight. Barbed-wire fences and fleeing down the fire escape when the shadows moved at us. Playing pool at two in the morning.

  • On stage at the Crazy Horse, the other punters even more startled than me at the sudden change in the show. Bite marks.

  • Full sun in the back seat of a convertible, vines on both sides, cabernet inside us and gravel underneath us (due to navigational difficulties). Every one of the passengers injured, but only one showing it.

  • Tim Minchin, Saline Solution, and a walk in the Garden. The disaster that was Hitlerhoff. Feeling never quite at home in the Fringe, without an artist pass.

  • Back in the ute, looking into the gearbox through a torn cover as I haul bricks to the site in 4WD-lowrange.

  • Checking every jewellery store in the city and Marion. The complete financial insanity of the entire exercise.

  • Half the things that caused us massive stress turning out to be total non-issues. Never knowing which half.

  • We booked the bar, but the bar bitch bailed. The Metropolitain staffed by children.

  • The pyrophone juggernaut, and having to walk down the beach and back for the final explosion.

  • Unexpected strengths and unexpected weaknesses. Do-it-yourself weddings as the ultimate team-building exercise.

  • Spending half a day looking at suits. Borrowing one instead.

  • Overwhelmed before and after the ceremony, trying so hard to talk to everyone that I talked really to no one. Greeting and letting go at the same time; some people I won't see again.

  • Being moved by things that have always been felt but never said.

  • Backyard cricket in the park at Mt Lofty; when your network is a web rather than a star, everything works.

  • Working to teary collapse the day before the wedding, then doing it again two days afterwards. Seeing others take heavier loads with fewer complaints, even if I didn't really know them.

  • Travelling back in time fourteen years to find that nothing, nothing has changed. Even the things that I wanted to change.

  • Feeling helpless, then completely relaxed as my phone and my authority were removed from me. Receiving a text message telling me to close my zip. Nobody really knowing how to arrange my handkerchief.

  • Speaking two short sentences at the end of the aisle without even blinking and finding out that I've been wrong from the start: this does change everything.

  • Two off-the-cuff speeches and three scripted ones. Powerful delivery by gifted speakers.

  • Being warmly welcomed into the club by some exceedingly long-standing members, and realising that I can do this because I've been shown how.

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