42

Where I choose to stop telling it

And that’s where my story ends.

Or rather, where I choose to stop telling it. The budding film director in me is calling ‘cut’ right there.

What happens next with my life is anyone’s guess. But I’m hoping that Jeremy will be a big part of it. Courtney too. And yeah, maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if that arch-pest formerly known as The Pain was in the mix somewhere as well. You know, for Mum’s sake.

Not sure if I’ll have any new SPECIFIC AND REALISTIC GOALS for the year ahead, but I know one thing. If I do, I’m going to take a leaf out of Bert Duggan’s book and not make them all about me this time. I mean, when you think about it, old Macbeth was an ‘all about me’ kind of a guy and look how well that worked out for him. Head on a stick, anyone?

I’ve also decided to try to follow Sister Evangelista’s tapestry advice. You know, about taking a step back from the craziness of my life so I can see the big picture. As a matter of fact, I’ve been doing quite a lot of that already. Why else would I spend most of my holidays writing down all this embarrassing stuff about myself? And now that I’ve had a chance to read back over it, I think Sister was spot on about that ‘everything is connected’ idea too.

I mean, if I started yanking out the parts of Year Ten that I hated at the time (I’m looking at you now, Porno Pig Critic!), then some of the good bits (Hey there, Jeremy!) would also begin to unravel, wouldn’t they? Come to think of it, even the horror of being Vomit Girl at the Emergency Department that night turned out pretty well for Mum in the end. Not that I’m recommending it as a course of action at all.

Anyway, THIS (insert dramatic trumpet blast here) is my MAPLAD for the future.

Whenever the crazy tapestry of my life begins to look horrendously and monumentally ‘mucked-up and messy’ (which at some point I’m sure it will), I will be taking a couple of giant steps back and focusing on all the good bits that are woven in there as well.

All the small things.

Like hiding behind blankets with Mum watching scary movies together or feeling the love from a rattly, flat-faced daemon, or being on the receiving end of someone’s crooked smile.

And the big things.

Like that Saturday morning following my week of detentions when (with Jeremy’s expert help) we set up a Skype session on Evensong’s big television and the staff and residents clapped and cheered and Bert Duggan’s eyes overflowed with happy tears as all the beautiful children from the New Hope Orphanage in Cambodia appeared on the screen madly waving their handmade ‘We love Bert’ signs and dancing around in front of a massive, decorated banner that read ‘Thank You, Mr Duggan – Our Hero!’

And who knows? If I’m really lucky, I might even have another one of those special, rock-your-world-a-little, happy-ending kind of moments to focus on as well.

Like the night of the St Brenda’s Year Ten Graduation Dance when two silver spaceships piloted by the nicest and most glitteringly fabulous spacemen in the entire universe appeared like magic at my door. The night that secrets were shared and Bodene Price (OMG! IT’S BODENE PRICE!) met his match. The night that, despite some astronomical odds, we all somehow ended up together – The Pain, my mother, Sir Tiffy, Cyber Boy and me – joking and laughing as we barrelled down the road in a yellow bomb called Sunny Boy.

Yep, that night.

That special, rock-your-world-a-little, happy-ending kind of night, when Maggie Butt finally stopped worrying about The Pain.

And sang her heart out.

(Figuratively speaking, of course.)

~ end ~