The Vented Spleen

One of my all-time favourite TV characters is Hank Moody, the writer from Californication. Hank says, "Being a writer is like having homework for the rest of your life." This my friends, is an unfortunate truth.

Today, my homework is almost day late. My dog didn't eat it. I don't even have a dog. My excuse is simple; I have a wedding in less than three weeks and I had to construct a polystyrene model of my seating chart.

In this unique approach, the model is constructed using the back of a child-sized, thermoplastic mobile phone courtesy of your local JB Hi-Fi store. Cue one black texta, a fiancé with the artistic capacity to juxtapose an A4 table plan onto a larger canvas, and 87 toothpicks with guests names sticky taped around them. I am now the proud owner of something that looks like a strategy plan for the 2010 AFL grand final.

Before you ask, it is a completely normal part of the wedding planning process to model your guests as toothpicks. More broadly, the wedding is also an excellent excuse for procrastinating other things and putting the rest of your life, "on hold". But, at a minimum, the blog must go on.

The thing is, I refuse to bore you or be repetitious. I was jotting in my journal yesterday, the launching place of most pieces, and while the content was pleasing, your shiny little heads kept popping into my mind, telling me it just wouldn't do.

Being conscious of my audience is a professional hazard. This awareness is not an act of deliberation, it is purely instinctual. The "known" audience, however, is a much more frightening phenomenon.

Australian author, Tim Winton believes that writing is a process of venting the spleen. While cathartic, it can also be excruciating. It has been a tumultuous fortnight and everything gleaned from my spleen seemed either too provocative or was tied by puppet strings to one of my previous topics.

I do my best to avoid the soap box here, although it often finds me as I pour my thoughts on to the page. It bursts from the ground like a jack-in-the-box and I have to force myself to step over it, tempting as it is. Unsolicited ramblings are one thing, unwarranted ramblings are another.

In a quest for inspiration, I serve only to intimidate myself with other people's highly developed, visually pleasing and amusing blogs.

I read about a writer who believes it should take no more than an hour to write a blog post. This was a startling and disturbing revelation to me, who spends anywhere from three to seven hours crafting my post until it no longer nips my fingers as they leave the keyboard. To this writer, the blog was a simply another tool in the toolshed. A no holds barred device for unzipping the soul.

From herein, I pledge to worry more about what I want to write and less about what you want to read. After all, my "homework" is not really work at all. There is a very fine line between the editor and the edited.

I want to be neither.

Veils off

Alright people, it's really late.
Not the blog, that's due today.
The time.
It's one am.

I'm still up and wired, and it's not because I like to stay up late. It's because I told you I would write a blog every fortnight, and so that's what I will do. It's a small matter of integrity, of credibility. I promised and I'm committed. At least, I'm about to be, in more ways than one.

In exactly four weeks and four days I will be walking down the aisle to meet my chosen life partner at the metaphorical bridge to our future. The fact that there is not actually an 'aisle' where the ceremony is being held is really not the point. The point is, it's a profound life moment. Whether it's a turning point or just a point in time, depends on who you talk to. Where will this metaphorical bridge lead us, once we cross over to the other side?

Truthfully, I doubt it will be anywhere that different than where we were already headed; before the aisle, the dress and the cake. I say this not to be cynical, but because I see my impending nuptials as a simple extension of the relationship we have, as it currently exists. Before saying "I do", I still would have. So, why 'take the plunge' at all? Well, why did the chicken cross the road? To get to the other side, of course. We all know that.

The chicken sets a fine example. You don't find out what's across the road unless you pop over and see for yourself. The chicken too, was quaking and clucking, praying it wouldn't get hit by a car and that there wouldn't be a Red Rooster on the corner. It held out hope that once across the road, it would find a nice hen house and finally lay that golden egg.

I don't expect my relationship or my life to magically transform after marriage. Perhaps to solidify. Sort of like baking a nice cake. When all of the ingredients are combined, they taste good enough to lick the spoon. But baked, the flavour is somehow more rounded, the texture is more...something.

Relationships change because people change. We evolve. Maybe for some, it's getting married that causes change. For some people, it's time. Circumstance. Other people. Careers and miscalculations. Anything can happen. People come and they go. They make new choices and they take opportunities. Sometimes they walk away. The triumph is inherent in the risk. All you need to know is what your gut tells you. Then, trust it.

You won't see me hiding behind a veil on my wedding day. I have nothing to hide and any fear I have of the future has nothing to do with who waits for me at the altar. If anything, by acknowledging my partner and celebrating our relationship, I expect to strike a sense of balance, to feel more grounded than before. What is across that bridge will no longer seem important. There is someone to push me forward and to pull me back. I am more equipped to cross it.

If you can find a person to stand still with, for however many moments, I highly recommend it.

Gavin.

We have never met you.
But we know you by heart.
You are our son.

At first,
You took us by surprise.
You were shock
And delight.

We each had a path,
Ahead of us.
Plans and ideas
That you redirected.

We reconvened.
We gathered all that we had.
All that we knew.
Combined and intertwined it.

We looked forward to you.
Our home we built,
Around you.
We longed for you to come.

Now we stand, entangled.
Making choices for your life
That are Impossible
To choose.

Torn apart, yet
Forged together.
We want
Only the best for you.

We wait for you now.
Although you will not come.
You are part of our family.

You are our son.

For Ryan & Stacy.