Waxing Shit

My office has a desk, a computer and an empty bookshelf. It is similar to every office in the world - in that it is hated. This one, peculiarly, by me. I’d rather be outside. While we’re at it, I’d rather be drunk – splitting hairs, I guess. Still, it seems all the interesting things are going on outside.

When I left the house for work this morning there was a scrub fire burning in the bushland out the back of my house. I say ‘my’ house because John’s away in Darwin for the week. That’s a treat. Not that me and John don’t get along. Quite the opposite. We’re like any pair of people sharing a living space. He doesn’t like me hogging his TV but doesn’t say anything, and I don’t like him messing up my kitchen but I don’t clean up after him. I’d say we were the original odd couple, but we clearly aren’t. That title has long since been taken - by the Original Odd Couple.

As I watched how quickly the fire was spreading I began to think about how I like having a house to myself. I get to pee with the door open, sing loudly in the shower, and pee out the open shower door – singing loudly. My bathroom is a mess, though no fault of mine. The daddylonglegs rules Maningrida. A less offensive spider you’re unlikely to find, but they are the creators of cobwebs – I guess ‘daddylonglegswebs’ was just a little hard to get your tongue around, like an Albanian’s ankle.

There are cobwebs above me in the shower. I have to duck my head under some more to spit out my toothpaste in the sink. They’ve pretty much taken over the bathtub. And only yesterday I found out that what I’ve been using as a towel rack was not a towel rack. Seems a shame to bother them. I wonder where all the spiders would go if the house burnt down. That scrub fire did seem to be moving towards me pretty quickly.

And where are all the ants going as this fire sweeps the ground? There isn’t a square foot of land up here that doesn’t have an ant on it. I took a new roll of paper to wipe my ass the other day and by the time I folded – yes, the truth is out, I’m a folder – it had ants on it. I’m still not sure if they were in the toilet roll holder, or if I’m shitting ants. How am I to tell? I’m not a doctor.

On the subject of the toilet, let’s talk about the toilet. It’s probably actually maybe the hottest room in the house. It has no real ventilation. It’s like a fucking sauna in there. I can’t tell if I’m losing more weight pooing or perspiring. I’m thinking of putting out a new fitness book, it’s called “Shit Yourself Thin”.

And while we’re on about shit, let’s talk about that too. The thing about Maningrida and shit is that there isn’t any. Dogs, dogs everywhere but not a nugget to be seen. I guess it makes sense really – don’t eat, cant shit. That should go in my book too. I’m sensing a chapter coming on. The only thing I’ve seen take a shit in the community was a seven year old kid, who came out of the general store, turned the corner and popped a squat. I’ve heard the saying that babies are poop-factories, but this kid was perhaps our country’s greatest faecal resource. If only we can find a way to sell it to the Japanese.

Enough shit. There’s a fire heading for my house. What does one do in a situation like this? Well… what any Australian would do. Turn on the sprinkler and go to work. What were you going to suggest? Panic?