Art Intimidating Life: The Ruins of my Mental Empire - Part Thirty-four

the dust and syrup were still clinging to my mind and sleep, but somehow i knew Elle had already gotten up to get ready for work - movement and professional-shoe footsteps on the floorboards up and down the hall - i'd worked out it was saturday morning, so i snug deeper to rest until i felt right

i was asleep when she came in saying "i need your help" - in asking what was wrong Elle told me a possum had committed suicide behind her car - "just roll over it, i'll clean it up later" i said as i snug down again - she painted a picture that portrayed the possum carcus directly behind the back wheel of her car, and if she was to roll over it, the effort to clean it up would be monumental, not to mention traumatising.

it felt good to get my limbs going again as i put on some tracksuit pants and stumbled down the hallway to take a look at the problem - the morning air was cold on my skinny bare hairless chest, and the sight of the lifeless possum, lying on it's side with a small splurt of blood coming from it's open mouth woke me up pretty quickly.Elle had the shovel ready and handed it to me as i stepped out the front door - "what do we do with it?" i asked, liking the idea of finding a spot to bury it, and liking the idea of digging a grave - i don't know why but we had the sad idea to put it in the rubbish bin - Elle had drapped a large plastic bag over the opening of the bin, so all i had to do was hoist the possum up with the shovel and tip it in - i regret not digging a grave

so i started trying to slip the shovel under the body - prodding and shifting and trying to find some leverige - it was at this point one of our neighbours stepped outside to pick up the newspaper or some shit, and so he was gifted with the sight of me working this possum carcass with a shovel wearing nothing but a pair of tracksuit pants at eight on a perfect saturday afternoon - seeing me shirtless wasn't something he hadn't involuntarily seen before, but digging at a dead possum was something new, and different.

i couldn't get it - the jelly-like layer of fat that possums - apparently - have under their thick fur made it difficult to get the shovel underneath - not to mention the instinctive hee-bee-jee-bees that comes along when dealing with a dead body of any kind. we were both cringing at each attempt i made, but the poor thing was just nudged and prodded like a sleeping father on christmas morning

team work deals with the dead quite efficiently - Elle picked up another shovel and together we were able to move it onto the shovel i was holding - kind of like eating peas, or spaghetti - as quick as possible i dumped the body into the plastic bag that then fell into the rubbish bin - lid slammed shut, and it was time for Elle to head off to work.

by the time our neighbour had returned holding a newspaper (or some shit) i was spending some time cleaning up the blood off the two shovels - good morning.

that day i walked down to the local bakery to buy some lunch. i packed my stuff and went to the football with my friend and brother. later that night i went to another friends place to drink some beers and play poker. all this time i was haunted by the dead possum that lay lifeless, in a plastic bag in my bin, never to be seen again. rubbish night was two nights away, and it's presence didn't really leave me - every time i walked past the bin, i knew that there was lifeless body two nights away from entering the void - in an effect to prolong it's existance, i imagined what would happen to it as the rubbish-collection truck took it away - but i couldn't let myself think too far down that path

after telling the story, my brother suggested that i should've just kicked it away. kicked it aside and moved on with my day. go bombers.