Tonya Harding skates like a lumber jack with undies full of sand.

Tuesday, 1 March 1994

Dear S,

I know I wrote only yesterday, but I need a holiday from work and I just can’t seem to wrap my head around the tasks at hand, so I thought I’d just start another one.  Actually, I’ve got the pre-dentist jitters and I want to take my mind off it.

I’m booked in tonight at 6.30, so I’ll be staying over at Mum’s tonight.  It’s anaesthetic (needle) time this time as well, last time they just filled a broken root-canal, so I didn’t need an anaesthetic (needle), but this time they’re doing two fillings, so I’ll need an anaesthetic (needle) but I really don’t want an anaesthetic (needle) but there’s nothing I can do to avoid having this anaesthetic (needle) so I’ll just try to keep my mind off this anaesthetic (needle).  I’M GOING TO DIE, I’M SURE OF IT.  I can’t understand why my teeth are so bad, I have almost completely given up sugar, the only sugar I have is two measly lumps in my coffee.  Why me?  Obviously I was an Osmond in a previous life and to balance out for my prior abundance of toothy TV grin-ability, I am being punished with molars that have about as much strength as the Federal Liberal Party leadership.  Still I guess I shouldn’t complain, look at your average English Soap Stars teeth.  Why is it the English have such rotten chompers?  Have you seen the Queen Mother’s Pearly Whites?  They look more like Earl Greys.  I think she must sneak a cigar in with the G&T’s she has intravenously pumped in, what else could explain such a happy looking royal?

Tell me,  were you subjected to the media bombardment over there about this tedious Tonya “Crusher” Harding and Nancy “Butter Wouldn’t Melt in my Knickers” Kerrigan affair like we have?  FUCK!  I am so sick of hearing about Tonya the Working Class girl versus Nancy the Upper Class Princess.  I will admit it was a bit juicy, but enough is enough.  Did you notice how the more media attention Tonya got, the more blusher she wore?  I guess in the end it all comes down to who wins, and Butter Knickers took home the bacon, and might I say, I’m not surprised.  I don’t know if you saw Tonya Harding skate, but she looked like a lumberjack with her undies full of sand.

2 Feb 1994

Well, it’s about 8.30am, I’m in early because I stayed over at Mums last night and since I don’t know the train time-table, I thought I’d be better off coming in an hour early than an hour late.  Surprisingly self-disciplined for moi, no?  The dentist turned out to be not so bad after all, it really is a hell of a  lot better than it used to be, the worst part was holding my mouth open for so long.  From now on I’m definitely going on a more regular basis.

Indecision.  I’m racked with it.  Does it bother you the way it does me?  Indecision is my bedfellow, my shadow.  It sleeps beside me, dogs my every footstep.  Actually, that’s not strictly true, I make decisions, but am constantly over-turning them, changing my mind before I have confirmed in an outward sense the transitory conviction which is inevitably reversed, changed or abandoned.  I cannot decide whether or not to take Leah with me when I move.  I know that taking her with me would be easier in some senses (e.g. I would not have to face the confrontation), but I mainly reach this conclusion after spending time with her.  After we’ve been apart for a few days, I always think I should break it off when the lease runs out.  Does that make me cold?, basing my decision on the timing of the termination of a relationship on outside factors?  At this moment, (having not seen Leah for two days , three nights) I want to leave, but at the most suitable time, the time that’s going to put me out the least.  I guess it does.  I wonder where I get that from?  And if I keep this coldness to myself, and not allow the person most directly affected (Leah) to become aware of it (which she would take as a reflection on herself, she takes all my negative action towards her as a reflection on her, that she must be unworthy if I can bear to treat her like that), then to her, I’m actually not cold at all (in this respect).  To simplify the matter, is it nobler to hide one’s faults when they are going to have an adverse effect on those around one, or is it nobler to be honest no matter the emotional cost?  There’s a Buddhist saying, “If you are too clever, you miss the point.”  I think I’m probably overthinking the whole thing.  Instead of constantly mulling it over, I should do something.  But then the self-doubt kicks in, the fear of regret, of doing entirely the wrong thing for lack of forethought and insight which would have been gained with great mediation at the matter at hand.  Another chapter in the constant search for that elusive middle ground.  I’m sorry for lumping you with all this, it must get a bit tiresome, letter after letter, but I guess it’s me just thinking in print.  It helps me organise my thoughts and lets you in on what’s going on in my life.  I miss you heaps Sis.

I’ll write again soon (don’t you know it!),

Love,

J

Sketch by J drawn at the bottom of his letter.