I've been outed!

Now when the alarm clock radio spits to life, the heaviness and dread aren't about another day of work. It's that waiting waiting waiting for the morning news. What are you going to tell me today? A bomb, a sniper, hostages in a Moscow theatre. Every morning it's something. You start to wish for cats stuck up trees, celebrity shenannigans. Do you know that feeling?

23 Random Things Thought at the Funeral of Malcolm James

1. Look at all these people, you popular boy.


2. I better start being nice. I want crowds, too.


3. Stop looking at the box.


4. But that box looks so small. He was taller than that!


5. We are crammed so tight into this pew. What if my skirt schloops off when I stand up to do the eulogy?


6. Why the bloody hell did I wear a skirt?


7. You gotta love a man who wrote love letters to his sweetheart on toilet paper, just for a laugh.


8. And a man who, when his daughter whined Stop poking fun at me!, wrote the word FUN on a piece of cardboard and jabbed her with it whenever she walked by. What? Am I poking fun at you again?


9. I don't recognise my voice. It's calm and clear and upbeat. It's over the PA and out in the street. I want to be on the radio.


10. They're listening to every word. We made them laugh and cry. Woohoo! I feel like Jimmy Swaggart!


11. Gonna have bawl tonight (Let's have a bawl).


12. Hurry up, Lady Minister. I am getting Pew Butt.


13. I wish they could raise the speed limit of funeral processions.


14. I wish they could lower the speed of the box into the ground.


15. You're really gone.


16. I love how when Rhi and I were kids and arguing, you would say in sage tones, As the dead sheep said to the crow, stop picking on me!


17. Little old ladies make the best cakes ever.


18. If one more person tells us we did a beautiful job of the eulogy, I will explode with pride and there will be little fluttery bits of pride all over sponge cakes and tomato sandwiches.


19. My underwire is attacking me.


20. Takeaway from Mee Sing at Lyneham Shops! Only that can comfort us tonight.


21. I know you're my third cousin or something, but is okay for me to quietly think you're rather hot?


22. One can never get enough hugs. I love everybody.


23. I just want there to be some sort of heaven. Full of scotch, Cadbury's chocolate and Benny Hill re-runs, all for you.

We've always maintained in this household that Dawson looks like ALF.

And tonight I finally figured out who Joey reminded me of. Those tiny teeth, that permacheese smile.

I am not doing that well. I keep writing horrible insane entries then deleting them. So here is something Amusing™. I saw a tiny puppy that looked like Harry outside All Bar Nun last week. I thought I'd had Harry's bits lopped off but perhaps he has a son? How many weird skinny dogs with spindly legs, cow spots and dalmation daubs can there be in this world? He even yapped in the same irritating fashion.

I have been acting like a deranged idiot for the past week. I don't feel like I have any control over anything I say or do, I am just floundering.

I've been writing a lot of shit. Yesterday I wrote this stupid entry and as soon as I posted I thought, this is too fucking morbid and I haven't written it very well. Someone left a comment to say it was a little weird, and what did I do? Delete the entry and send her an email getting all defensive and pathetic. I showed the entry to someone later and he pointed out that with the lack of context, it was really weird and unsettling and I should have expected people to react. So here is another sincere apology for jumping down your throat. I feel so embarrassed.

The child in me is just rampant at the moment. I want to curl up in a ball and have someone take care of me. I don't want to have to think about anything. I want someone to just be here and hold me continuously, from anywhere between 1 and 12 weeks, however long it takes for me to get my shit together.

I feel incredibly needy and I hate it. Every time someone leaves a comment or an email I feel so grateful and I cry (you people are wonderful). Monkey and Mattay and Rach brought flowers and Goodberry's Frozen Custard and as soon as I left I bawled coz they were so beautifully sweet and kind. Peita wrote me this email about losing her own grandma and she just said so well what it feels like that I went and cried in the loos at work.

The child has an ugly side that I feel horrible about. I was a little thundercloud last night, laying in bed thinking of friends that I haven't heard from and feeling all abandoned and pathetic. Where are you? Why haven't you said anything? Don't you care about me? Don't I mean anything to you? Is it because you know deep down I suck? Can't you see what a needy wimp I am right now?

Crikey. There's all this irrational rage sputtering inside me at the moment and I don't know what to do with it. I feel like I am being so selfish and pathetic. There are people around me that need me to be strong. My sister and I have to stand up there in front of a churchful of people on Tuesday. I would rather write 1000 stinky essays than one eulogy.

It's such a wake-up call. I've been cruising along for almost 25 years, thinking that The Grown Ups know what they're doing, they're the strong ones. Sure I have gotten older, but I somehow didn't notice the wrinkles and hardships collecting on their faces. But then they ask us to do the eulogy coz they're too wrecked from losing a son, a brother, a nephew, all in the space of two months.

Sometimes you need to set aside your own shit and be there for someone else. I want to do them proud, I want them to know I am there for them. I want to give a worthy tribute to my grandfather.

I didn't expect it to feel like this, I thought I would just be relieved and happy for my grandfather that he doesn't have to suffer anymore. What's with all this crap churning in my brain? Shouldn't I be more dignified about it like my mum and sister are? Why am I behaving like such a loon? I have no class, no dignity. My emotions are ping-ponging all over the shop.

I need to act like an adult to get through this funeral, so this here blog is where I am going to act pathetic and be a complete child and write a lot of inarticulate drivel. I feel like apologising for all the crap in my head. I don't feel like I am quite all there at the moment, so feel free to write and tell me to SHUT UP or otherwise you could come back in a little while and I will write some nice little polished entries with a beginning and an end and a tasty little punchline. Bear with me, and if you go, please come back later.

What happens when your mother is a drama queen AND a hardcore fan of vapid confections like 7th Heaven, Touched By An Angel and Oprah? She breaks sad news in a way that would make Michael Landon proud.

MOTHERSHIP:  Shauna! This is The Mother.
SHAUNA:  Hi.
M:  Poppy's left just left us.
S:  Ohh Mum.
M:  I'm at the hospital, sitting here at his bedside.
S:  Okay.
M:  Do you want to say something to him? He's right here.
S:  Umm... what?
M:  Hey, I will hold the phone out right now and you can talk to him.
S:  Mother, did you not just tell me he's no longer with us?
M:  Yes! But I am sure he can hear you!
S:  ...
M:  Speak up, girl. I can't hear you!
S:  Well neither can he!
M:  What? Say something!
S:  Christ! Okay... Helloooo?

Five minutes later

MOTHERSHIP:  Rhiannon! This is The Mother.
RHIANNON:  What's happening?
M:  It's not good.
R:  Yes?
M:  Poppy is... [dramatic pause, voice low and pious] ... resting with the angels now.
R:  I see. So are you okay? Is anyone there with you?
M:  No... [long pause] It's just you, me, and Poppy.

Woohoo! Is there anything the internet can't do? In just 60 seconds, my Ready-To-Go Eulogy For A Grandfather From A Young Grandchild™ will be emailled to me for the low cost of US $29.00!

Down by the casino today, I'm slipping tripping around in new shoes. I wanted to summer-proof my feet so I stupidly slathered them with moisturizer this morning. They're always playing some cheesy song over the PA to persuade gamblers to enter and leave their kids in the car. Today it's Dont Worry Be Happy, the background singers sound so mournful and I can't believe you're gone. I am blocking out the last time I saw you with your face all grey and twisted with pain, I am thinking of you sitting at the kitchen bench digging out stray bits of lunch with a toothpick, cracking jokes, smelling like the shearing shed, being the guy I idolised all my life. It's only been a few hours but I just want to tell you I miss you miss you miss you so much.

Sometime during a three hour nap this arvo, I was being held hostage in a 24-type situation. There were dozens of other hostages, all us of in high school uniforms.

We were being herded to a new location. From the corner of my eye, I saw that Nina chick destroying our previous prison. Literally. She was carrying it plank by plank, window by window, to this giant woodchipping machine. It spewed out the other end as sawdust.

NINA: No one will ever know we were here.

SHAUNY: [To my sister] See I told you she was the bad egg. It was so obvious.

We were shoved into a barn, just like on the stupid show. People were moaning and panicking but the calm ones among us were plotting escape. We all had cellphones and were furiously text-messaging ideas. We'd meet each others eyes across the crowded barn and nod gravely.

S: Stay calm everyone. I'm going to get us out of here. I just have to narrow my eyes and think like Kiefer Sutherland.

Next thing some big tough guys barged in and hauled me and three others out into the blinding sunlight. He made us kneel in the dust with our hands behind our heads.

S: Oh. This is where they are gonna shoot us but someone foils their plans just in time.

BIG TOUGH GUYS: Be quiet, the trained killer will be here shortly.

The trained killer turned out to be none other than George W. Bush. But in the dream he had been somehow morphed with Yosemite Sam. He was wearing a check shirt and extremely tight jeans, but had Yosemite's huge hat and pair of pistols. We talked briefly, then I woke up:

DUBYA: Ahhh'm gonna kill yew.

S: Yeah yeah, that's your answer to everything, isn't it?

D: HEY. Watch it. I have weapons.

S: So you keep saying.

D: Don't talk to me like that little lady. [Twirls pistols]

S: Oh you look so cool doing that. You should have your picture taken for your next campaign.

D: [Twirls again] I do look pretty cool, don't I.

S: Not really.

D: Shut up and say your prayers, varmint. No one's gonna save you. Not even Kiefer Sutherland.

I should keep you posted on the Stupid Things I've managed to do in my new job. There is quite a comprehensive list. Every time I have a new job there is always a phase where you do a lot of Stupid Things. It started at my first job at KFC where the boss asked me to scrub the floors and there I was on my hands and knees with this pissy little scrubbing brush that may as well have been a toothbrush, trying to blast away 27 levels of chicken grease. The boss stood over me and cackled for a full ten minutes before showing me where the big broom-like scrubbers were.

I was 15, so I can blame that on youth. But almost ten years later I am running out of excuses. Yesterday I had to print off 150 copies of a newsletter I'd made and I was rather smug about how sexy it looked. I didn't realise til the bloody thing had been distributed that I'd printed off my draft copy, the one where the contact details said Call Mr. Blah on 123 456 for further information.