First, an update: I looked at 2 units. One in Shenton Park which had a cockroach in it but was okay, although nobody I know lives in Shenton Park, and the other one just across from the Leopold Hotel in Bicton, which is pretty close to where everyone I know lives. I put down an ‘option fee’ on the Bicton one, which I think means they will take my money and make me fill out a big form, then give the flat to someone else. It needs a small fridge anyhow, and I don’t have one of those.

Last week: So I was standing on the corner when I saw KC walking by. She was the hotness from the conference but whenever I had talked to her only stupid stuff came out of my mouth. She said she was looking for somewhere to have tea. I said I was waiting for my lift. The correct answer in this case would have been “my lift is forty-five minutes late and I am also hungry, why don’t we have tea together?” but it wasn’t much of a loss not saying it, since God knows what I would have ended up saying at dinner.

Forty-five more minutes later my dad showed up. He had shaved his beard off for some reason and was looking a bit like Gollum in a beanie. I threw my pack into the back seat of his rustbucket Toyota minitruck (c1980) and climbed in the front. We took off for Ringwood East.

So the situation is, he and his wife are getting divorced. His wife is making nasty calls to his girlfriend and my younger brother is up on assault charges after kicking a transit guard in the nuts at Ringwood station. Swell times. The truck we are driving in hasn’t had a heater in it for at least ten years. I get to thinking that my dad is a pretty hard-done-by kinda guy.

We get back to his wife’s place and she lets him come in through the back door while she hides in the lounge room. I chat with my sisters and their boyfriends.

Then later on, when dad goes off to sleep in his campout in the shed, his soon-to-be ex-wife (his anti-fiancee?) aka my Evil Stepmother tells me she wants to ‘have a talk’. I… what’s the word? ‘Steel myself’? for the dreaded event.

These are her main points: a) she is sorry for behaving like a psychotic piece of work (as outlined earlier) b) she did that because he bought me a plane ticket from WA with her money and told her I bought it myself so she wouldn’t be mad (how cunty is that?) c) it isn’t him leaving her - she’s finally managed to make him leave (now that he’s found someone else to move in with) d) she’s wanted a divorce ever since he __________ (well, perhaps this is the limit of online diary discretion - suffice it to say I’m not going to forget those accusations EVER).

So fuck me, that was an interesting evening. My wicked stepmother, despite her massive mental issues, isn’t nearly as evil as I thought. I don’t know if I believe what she says about my dad, but it could be true. My little sister seems to believe it and she’s pretty smart.

The next morning she went with me on the train - she was going to her all-day yoga class and I was going to meet Ross at the Fed Square Book Fair.

My wrap-up is this: Maybe we’re not the kind of people we wanted to be. Maybe when it comes time for us to have children of our own, we won’t be the perfect parents we wish we could be. That’s the thing about ideals - you don’t necessarily achieve them. But at least we can do some good in trying. And yes we can do better than our parents. Sadly, it won’t be hard.