Bullets from Paradise - September

September 10
Call me a hopeless idiot but I still got you on my mind. I hope you really mean it when you say you want to see me again, because I’m not sure you really intend to choose Europe as your next holiday destination. My flat is staring to look gorgeous and people have started to drop in for improvised dinners, coffee and chats... it’s a space that’s easy and relaxed. From the thrift shop I have acquired some cheap antique furniture: a wardrobe with an oval mirror, a marble-top dresser which I put in the hallway, a single bed with and elaborate headboard that I’ll use as a divan. Work is work is work, it keeps me busy. My brother John, my mother and her new husband, were in Switzerland to celebrate my grandfather’s 90th birthday on August 13. After a holiday in Europe, they returned to OZ two weeks ago and now I’m feeling a bit blue. Please, keep writing.

September 12
Hi mister roller coaster, sounds like there isn't a dull moment in your life. Here all's well - getting ready to ditch TV for the High Fashion Industry. Time for some serious money and living in the fast lane, I reckon. As you can see, I like to please myself, just like you do. Already started to get organised: sent all my clothes to the dry-cleaners, booked a masseur and beautician to come to my house, made a list of week-end get-aways and overseas shopping destinations. Funny I should get involved in fashion, maybe this means something? Do you think I might come back to Melbourne to work in fashion? Could this be OUR connection?

Summer's coming to a close but we still have sunny clear days at 26 degrees, perfect for taking walks high up in the mountains. Went for a walk yesterday afternoon with a friend, checked out some breathtaking villas on the lakefront. I found a hotel hidden away along a narrow path through the woods, it has a terrace on stilts over the water. It was so romantic, it made me think of taking you to dinner there... at night. To get back to Lugano you have to order a taxi-boat.

Have you checked out the Web sites I sent you yet? Did you end up sending me the letter you promised me? Why did you call me stupid in a recent e-mail, when I asked you if you'd like me to come back to Australia at the end of the year? I don't get it. Do you want to see me or not?

September 13
Crazy Alexandre gave me a private presentation in his parents Oriental carpet shop. I picked two Kilims with stars and diamond designs, one is square and green, the other rectangular and red. Crazy Alexandre carried the Kilims all the way to my house on Sunday afternoon.

Sundays I wash my diamonds with toothpaste and a toothbrush. I’ve been performing this ritual ever since I signed the yellow Visa slip in the little family run antique jewellery shop in Collins Street, the one with the gothic windows, just a few steps up from the church on the corner.

The homeopath has given me drops to start crying again. I haven’t shed a tear since Comaboy left Bethesda rehab in Melbourne, fifteen months ago, to returned home to Zürich. Last Christmas I received a letter in which Comaboy announced that, in spite of my unconditional support during the months he was alone in hospital, he no longer wanted me in his life. After reading that letter, I crawled inside the art déco wardrobe in my bedroom in Armadale and stayed in there all afternoon. I was too shocked to cry. It was the greatest physical pain I have ever experienced, it knocked the wind right out of me, I felt so weak, as if all my internal organs had shattered. I curled up between my collection of 70s cocktail dresses, seeking the comfort of my chiffons and brocades, inhaling the scent of my clothes. I don’t know how Marcus found me. He had a sad look on his face and I was unable to speak, I just looked at him in a panic. He held my hand and took me in his arms, he began to vigorously rub my back with the palm of his hand. I think he was trying to rub out the numbness. He guided me to the kitchen and prepared a pot of tea, as the water boiled, he picked up the acoustic guitar and sat on the porch, strumming one of his songs. I never mourned the death of my faith in humanity, which had been ripped from me with that letter. Instead, I struggled against the bitterness that I felt flooding me. And that hurt, which sunk deep into my core and strangled my capacity for joy. I have since lost the ability to believe in happiness. The homeopath says that I have exposed myself to great risk. In saving that person’s life, I have made myself very vulnerable. Hence the rescue remedy: a blend of Rock water, Honeysuckle and Willow and Mustard. Because in order to be free of the pain, I have to let go, surrender to it.

I’ve been taking the remedy for several weeks but no tears have manifested so far, only a feeling of great fragility. I wrap myself in soft woollen clothing to pad my vulnerability. My sleeping patterns have changed. As soon as I get home from work I slip into my pyjamas and woollen socks and lie on the couch with a book. Maybe I’ll eat an apple for dinner or a mandarin. But I never can get to the end of the story, I started reading this book months ago but I fall asleep by the time I get to the bottom of the second page. I’m reading this novel one page a night.

I was strong once and people looked up to me. Now I am week and in shame. I am aware of my limitations, my imperfections and my fears. Someone’s opened the closet and all the skeletons have come out, they’re doing a tap dance in my honour.