It is 2 AM on the 17th. The espresso and the two cans of Coke Zero I drank a few ago have made me tireless as I lay in my bed. I can hear whispers from Brian, or “Patches” as he refers to himself, and his girlfriend who I can tell by her accent is also Irish. Nigel, my other English roommate is snoring, but this is not the reason why I am awake. I am jittery from too much caffeine. Sometimes I make the worst decisions. Coca-cola has always been one of my anchors and two years ago I started drinking it in diet form because I figured that I way I MIGHT not get diabetes (idiot logic in its truest form). My mother has diabetes so this is one reason why I made the change, all though recent studies have shown that aspartame causes cancer. By 2:30 AM my mind is going crazy as I toss and turn angrily. Patches has fallen asleep and is now snoring louder than Nigel, who is still snoring loud enough. My room is now a warzone. Brian’s constant volume shifts emulate jet planes buzzing about, whilst Nigel’s are more of a sudden bomb blast dropping in the distance.
Suddenly, out of nowhere an atomic bomb is dropped, Hiroshima style…BOOOOOM! The door swings open and the silhouette of a drunken German emerges in the doorway. The planes land and the bombs stop exploding in the battleground. All of my other roommate Allen’s stuff is knocked onto the ground. Lucky for the German, Allen works at night and is not here to see the travesty taking place. This German is now talking on his phone loudly in a drunken slur of English crossed with his native tongue. Once the call ends after 10 of the longest minutes of my life, I can hear Patches and his girl whispering, “What the fuck is going?” As they peek out of his fort like bed. Noises of drinking bagged water (yes they serve bags of water in Australia) can be loudly heard and the light of a computer screens flashes across the walls of the room. Then, the worst part of the whole thing: the German starts to play Jungle music... the lowest of all forms of music in the hierarchy of music. The fast paced bass lines echo in the room from his headphones and I see his head nodding to the annoying cadence while he lip-syncs the lyrics.
I am enraged! Sure I hate Patches at this point for snoring and for kicking and for poking at me while I slept in his bed. But the loud opening of the door, the banter on the phone, the drinking out of the bag, the lights of the computer, phone and mp3 player, and now the fucking jungle music…it’s an assault on my senses at 3 AM. At this point I stand up, turn on the lights and after recently watching Die Hard With a Vengeance yell:
“Hey fuckhead… YEAH YOU… FUCKHEAD!!!. SHUT…THE…FUCK…UP!!!” No response. I am deeply bewildered by the lack of response, but soon realise the reason why he can’t hear me: in a drunken stupor this German retard, who apparently has no respect for anyone else in the world, has passed out with his headphones on at full volume. I decide actions must be taken immediately as any good soldier would do. I unplug his headphones from the jack, shut down his computer and almost whip it out to pee on him, but resolve not to as I he isn’t good enough for my golden shower as Germans enjoy that stuff. Instead I calmly turn out the light and leave the room, not before hearing applause from my other roommates.
I make my way to the television area on the rooftop of my building and the only person in there is Allen who has just got back from work. The only words that come out of my mouth are, “Whatever you do dude, don’t go back to our room for at least a couple of hours. He nods in agreement while grinning from ear to ear. He reads at the table while I flip through the infomercials, apparently the same as in Canada, and it quickly re occurs to me why I hate TV so much. I shut off the TV almost as rapidly as it was turned on and make my way back to room. I take a deep breath, open the door, get in my bed and there pondering deeply about the obscure nature of my existence in my bed until 10 AM.
“No more Caffeine”, I promise myself as I prepare my gear. Only on special occasions as a treat when I haven’t had it in a while. I put on my blue shirt with a bold 3D green NIKE logo printed on the front as well as my blue Fila shorts. I recall packing two other pairs of running shorts, but I guess I have either lost them or left them back in Toronto. I slip on my running shoes and exit the room: time for some exercise. There has never been a better time and the overcast weather makes a fine setting for my first run in Sydney. As well I can take out some of the anger I am feeling on my body which I have neglected the past few months. I have always been overweight and I really want to get fit for the first time in my life. Not to look good or impress people when I get home, but to get healthy and do it for ME.
The gray skies loom over me as I press play on my small black 4GB Coby mp3 player: Arcade Fire’s latest album, The Suburbs. I start to make my way Southbound towards a suburb called Waterloo. One of 3D’s friends told me before I came here that he is from there and it’s not really a suburb, just a Southern part of Sydney. The trees in this city are enormous and I they calm me down as I feel connected to nature again. I run up and down hills, through alleys and fields, and do some push ups, dips and chin ups in a children’s playground. Every step is monumental as I get emotional on this run and get lost, spiritually and direction wish, several times. It begins to rain slightly as I make my way up one of the biggest hills I have ever climbed in my entire life. Once at the top I pump my fist and am glad once again that I came to this city. Sure I am no sleep and have douchebag roommate who cause that, but all that falls to the wayside as I am once again in the scene. Like Sylvester Stallone in Rocky when he is running through the streets of Philadelphia, except my only coach is me telling myself to step the fuck up harder than I ever have before in my entire life to find my unlock my true potential. Instead of the Rocky theme, Reanimators only album Music to Slit Your Wrists By is playing in my headphones. The right earphone is blown, and has been for over a month, and doesn’t play as loud as the left one. About a block away from hostel I grab a bottle of water from a street barista. My run is over and I sit near him remarking how every passer-by knows his name and he knows theirs. He seems to get a lot of pleasure out of such a simple job and that a quality that I wish to develop in myself. The rain stops for a brief moment as I return to my hostel.
After a quick shower I go to the front desk in the lobby and ask the Irish girl who works there if I can switch rooms to another 8 person. She looks at the computer screen, then directly in my eyes and tells me, “NOOO!!!” in a very angry way, but that tells me that there is another room, a six person one as opposed to the 8 person I’m staying in, that is only 2 AUD a day more. Done, I book another week with the cute Irish girl. She is hot too, but I have seen her boyfriend who is a good looking tall American dude and my game SUCKS at this point so his looks counter any game at this point I could use. I go back to my room, which only Scottish Allen is in, and instantly fall asleep.
Headache as Patches enters the room louder than ever. The jetlag mixed with the terrible sleep and the barometric pressure is making my head pound. I am starving now after only eating Oatmeal this morning. I ask Patches if he had any Ibuprofen or Acetaminophen only to be ignored. His girlfriend must have overheard me calling him a boar when I angrily left the room earlier in the day. Oops, either way this will be my last night dealing with his stupidity. I don’t have the energy to cook and decide to treat myself to some food at Market City in the food court. The sky is still overcast and this feels like a dream sequence. I order some Indian food consisting of Chicken Tikka Masala, Butter Chicken and Vegetable Korma over Jasmine rice. The first bite is painful and for some reason I gag a little as I chew. My body aches for food and tough it out to get it in me. A Chinese family points and gawks at me as I eat the slowest I have ever eaten before. I end up only eating about 75% of everything on the plate and am forced to get a bottle of water, costing 2.50 AUD in the mall just to get the food down. I seriously hope that the German fuck-head, who I’ve nicknamed Hans Gruber a la John Mclean, has moved out. After dinner I make my way home and after writing this I will only last a few minutes before I go to sleep still feeling ill.
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