It's Friday and I'm still recovering from the 60th. Pending. I manage an Eat My Shorts gig and Lis's party. I'm an island of sobriety in a sea of wasted people. My party ethic has morphed and been remoulded by responsibilities I've shouldered in the last few years... uni study and project managing a rebuild. Lis's 60th theme is 60's dress. Her wardrobe is a cornucopia of the decade. There's a fire, dj's, balcony bullshit and lashings of cheese. Highlight, a fire lit talk with an old acquaintance, reminiscing about millenial parties he organised at Castle Hill. He's just paid off debts from the 2000 party. What a legacy. 20 years of water under the bridge deleted in 20 minutes. Kaleidoscoped into infinity. We're looking back on our lives at 60. I hit the hay at 4:30.
A double-rainbow Sunday then I ad lib my way through the week. It's Easter, I only have to make it to Thursday. Unseasonably warm days and warmer than normal climate change ocean water see me through. Thanks universe.
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