I Think I May Have Made A Terrible Mistake


I think I may have made a terrible mistake.

It was last Saturday at a baby's Christening of a very cashed-up Producer friend of mine. Beautiful country idyll, string quartet, everything white and pure with lotsa free drinks and food and that baby of hers didn't even cry during the actual exorcism - oh I mean Christening. It had everything and more - a Man who asked me to dance, slightly handsome but dashing with Rolex, designer shirt and shoes and an aftershave with an astonishing scent of money.

As we danced he whispered he'd never met a 'creative type' before but understood we are more fun than the 'corporate herd' or so he was told. I played to my strengths, a few choice moments of bohemian behaviour i.e. a hilarious impersonation of my friend giving birth with complications on the trestle table. I also name-dropped a few people I had been in the same foyer as. He was bewitched.

He told me how boring the big end of town was, the more money people have the less interesting they seem to become, he didn't want to be that person. "I'd hate to see you become that person." I said in a soberish voice looking deeply into his eyes willing my pupils to dilate. He said he couldn't stand his life, always on the move, Hong Kong, Paris, NYC he longed to have a 'rock' in his life. Like lightning I could be that 'rock' with the large studio loft the Company rents for him in NYC in the same town house that Katie Holmes lives in. I could teach him how to behave wildly, throw off that corporate straightjacket. And best of all his corporate banking colleagues would snap up my Art, stage my plays...I would be on my way to HUGE things - BROADWAY! MOMA! THE MET! I would trend on Twitter for something inappropriate! It was that special day every little girl dreams of and that's when I wedded MY THIRD HUSBAND last Saturday arvo in the Marry-Without-Delay wedding/funeral celebrant's kitchen.

You must understand dear Reader in order to take the reins of my creatively truant destiny I had to rise above any less than selfish motivations. But oh the sex! The sex! Sadly was nothing to write home about - which was a shame because my mother loved those letters (yes I stole that one).

That's when everything hit rock bottom. You know where this is going. I don't need to tell you but I will because I feel so sick and dirty and used. HE thought I was rich! No one in the Arts is rich except for Mrs Harry Potter and the guy with the dead animals. Everyone knows that except MY THIRD HUSBAND. And now he is walking around my bedsit in his only pair of undies eating my Coco Pops and yes he's confessed he's a compulsive liar who loves to confess to see the wave of pain across the face of those he's sucked the hope out of - in my case a life of artistic freedom. So I yelled 'I don't love you anymore!!' He burped in a singsong way 'You meant nothing to me, ever.'

I was so prepared to degrade myself by being his designer brand hand-bag to IMPORTANT CHARITY events that would enable me to further my career if he was the MAN who, who, who I thought he was.

I have just returned home from my job stacking shelves at Coles. He's gone. He's gone for good. I know this because there is a six pack of Heinz baked beans missing.

Now I must take a moment to segue, close your eyes, cast out the last few paragraphs of dire disappointment. Open them now. The true marriage of minds I'm engaged with this week is with 7-ON Playwrights. We have been together eight years (the average length a marriage lasts) and we are going strong. The 7's are heading to the Hothouse Theatre Company for their "Month in the Country" Residency. It's very much an honour to have some time and space to work on "Platonic" - our multi-facetted play about friendship in all its weird, mysterious and soulful wonder.

I did not expect this blog to end up so thematically entwined because here's an image of a new artwork called "Unbridled". It's part of a series in progress and to see the rest just go back to the index of this site, click on the ART icon and scroll down to The Shirts Off Our Backsand you'll see where my mind's eye is roaming...

Unbridled by Catherine Zimdahl.JPG