22

i am living with a 22 year old. and he is turning back my clock. i kid you not.

i arrived in sydney feeling kind of 35 and 22 now has me feeling 25 when the truth is i am somewhere in the middle.

so whats he doing? i dunno. its a pisces/libra thing. we talk and talk and talk and because 22 is ... 22 ... most of this conversing takes place in the Contemplation Of, during the Consummation Of and the through the Morning After The Night Of copious amounts of alcohol.

so i have become this walking wreck. if i drove, i wouldnt be fit to drive - at any time of the day - really its been happening over the last few weeks with things being amazingly hectic. very (very) much so at work and now, very much so out of work. normally on a school night baby gets out of the office around midnight and goes home too tired to raise her head let alone raise a bottle to it. but noooooooo. since october began, baby gets home and 22 is there. waiting. with beers. and funnies.

so baby drinks with 22 and makes funny with 22 for like ... hours ... and somehow grabs a couple of hours of sleep before beginning the whole day again.

and then of course there are the weekends ... one loooooong drink basically. ouch.

but baby knows the secret ... its called "drip-drinking" ... basically drinking without a break but slowly. none of this binge-drinking rubbish. its called Getting Sloshed Politely. you'd be surprised how effective this method is. although its not cheap. drinking more only enables one to drink ... even more than before.

ai yi yi yi yi

22 is leaving australia in a month or so and we are feeling an escalation in beerage and funny-making.

yikes. i cant remember a day in 2 weeks i havent drank and heavily. heavyweight baby has hit town.

i could tell you lots of things about 22 but - he's 22. so you can probably guess some of them. like the time i came home at midnight to find 22 and his right-hand-man snorting cayenne pepper and skulling vinegar ... just for funny. and then of course there are the litany of pretty-pretty 20year old girls that 22 used to bring home ... for another kind of funny. and then 22 making his first roast ever and roasting the chicken on handtowel paper instead of a metal tray (i kid you not). and then other things 22 year olds do like drink and ... drink ... and develop scurvy from never eating a green or a fresh thing ... you geddit.

yeah yeah. but when all is said and done. 22 is just fun. funny fun. 22 kind of fun.

so i am going to be sad when he goes. 22 thinks he is lucky to meet me but the truth is baby is glad - i dont mind entering this alchoholic-funny-making phase. and i have been giving it a pretty fair whack. and while its making me suffer and making me exhausted (and draws long looks from my beautiful secretary who has recently had to bring me nurofen and berrocca in the morning - sometimes together) - its been bloody fun.