when i...

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  • catefrancescatefrances Posts: 28,991
    edited June 7
    she remembers her sister saying "you have to tell men what you want them to do. she thought well maybe shes right, afterall her sister has been married for  over 30 years. hmm clearly this has been her issue...maybe if she were stronger...  shes always allowed men to come to their own conclusions, to decide for themselves. surely they know what they want... if they dont theyd tell you, or at least let you know  somehow, right?  but what if they dont? what if  they dont know? what if they DO know but  for whatever reason arent capable? what if YOURE not capable of telling them what to do and assume thell do the right thing? thank you spike lee.  what if youre so fucking delusional that you expect men to come into a relationship as equals?  for them to respect you as you respect them?  is that the mistake shes been making? who the fuck knows cause surely she doesnt. with hindsight she can see shes never known. 
    Post edited by catefrances on
    hear my name
    take a good look
    this could be the day
    hold my hand
    lie beside me
    i just need to say
  • catefrancescatefrances Posts: 28,991
    edited June 24

    I read somewhere that sex is the dull heartbeat of country towns. I grew up in a country town on the other side of the mountains and i think thats true. A town my uncle went to war from but never returned to. His name permanently etched in the decaying stone of a cenotaph. My brother also left from this town to go to war; but his war was more personal and so far he hasn’t returned. The family hopes he will one day, I hope he doesn’t. I haven’t. well that’s not entirely true. I come back every now and again to lick my wounds but I always leave at the first opportunity. Stealing in and out like a thief in the night. My mother thinks im ashamed of where I grew up, that I was a country bumpkin. That’s not true.. at least I don’t think it is. Ive never not told people exactly where im from. Ive no reason to be ashamed of that mountain town where in winter a pall of smoke from thousands of coal and wood fueled fireplaces collects within what seems like touching distance from the ground, choking everything til spring comes.

    That’s how the town survived, coal mining. Coal mining and grazing. It was the last big town you met before dropping down onto the western plains. Travelers driving through on their way to someplace else, stopped to refuel or grab a bite to eat. It was so frigid in winter we often slept communally. In summer the threat of bushfires was omnipresent and the crack of fire consuming the tall gums fascinated me.

    Growing up my brothers, sisters and I ran far afield like all the other kids in town. Wed get ‘lost’ in the bush but always find our way home just as the sun dipped below the ridge. That was our unofficial curfew… and we knew it. Like clockwork mum would have dinner on the table and 45 minutes later our father would walk through the door, shuck his boots in the laundry, drop his dirty work clothes in the washer, wrap himself in the robe that always hung behind the door. He’d kiss mum’s cheek, pat her on the bum and then disappear down the hall. Minutes later we’d hear his voice rise above the rush of water as he washed the days grime from his body. He’d reappear just as we were rinsing off our plates. Mum would place his dinner in front of him, he’d always thank her and she’d always smile. My eldest brother Tom would fetch a beer out of the fridge and popping the top place it on the table like some sort of ritual offering to the man who kept us fed and clothed and somewhat on the road to redemption, though mum had more of an influence on us about that that the old man did. But she’d always defer to him, as head of the household.

    My father was an affable man, quick with encouragement and a hug, yet equally as quick to dish out any discipline when any of us got out of line. Much to mums credit and fortunately for us, she didn’t always avail him of out exploit. Even when he found out some of the larger transgressions from his mates down the pub, mention it briefly, the offender would apologise and thatd be the end of it. It was only when he caught us in the act that we’d have to watch out.... 


    Post edited by catefrances on
    hear my name
    take a good look
    this could be the day
    hold my hand
    lie beside me
    i just need to say
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