Modern Living II

 

II  Yarndi

 

He called to ask, “You angry with me cuz?”

“Yes.”

His voice started to rise, “Why?”

“You called him a dog and a maggot. I was very clear – don’t fuck around.”

He tried to come at me with a reasonable tone, “But what’s that got to do with you?”

…

Months earlier we’d had a chance encounter after 20 years living on opposite sides of the country. When he asked me if I knew anyone, I was cautious. I’ve known him all his life, he has the health profile to be legit.

I explained, “kinda yeah, but you’re better off getting medical cannabis. Cheaper, consistent quality, home delivered. And you get a real neat card saying you’re a registered user.”

I let him know, while researching medical cannabis, I’d discovered 420 discussion sites and the diverse range of views, products, customers and dealers. Anyone reading the site for long enough could work out who was a street dealer. I may have been one of the very few who’d sidled upto a stranger on a 420 site purely because we shared an interest in metaphysics.

My cuz sought clarity on meta-what?

I made it easy for him, “Some blokes go to jail and sit in a room and paint tiny dots all day. Others go to the library and read books about philosophy, physics, astrophysics, cosmology, time…”

I know a yarndi plug is the most intense relationship some people will have their entire life. They are a business not a charity, yet they know everything about you: when you’re paid, exact weekly income, who you live with and when you are euphoric or miserable. They know when you sleep. They know exactly what you like and if you might ask for tic just before payday.

My cuz wanted that kind of relationship so he made the effort and put it together. I knew this when my metaphysical mate Messengered me to say hi and he’d met my cousin who’d been mouthy for no reason, but he’d let it slide.

I wasn’t going to let it slide. I pointed out the nature of the offence to my cousin, “if you had a woman who embarrassed you like this, you’d smash her teeth out”.

He responded, “Why are you letting him come between us?”

“He’s my friend.”

“I’m blood”, he screamed.

There it was. My friend was white.

My high wasn’t yarndi, it was the conversation that was rare and precious to me. I’d explained to my cousin, I got off endone, fentanyl and lyrica with meditation and natural remedies. I’d stayed off well and truly for years by protecting my peace.

…

In my experience, this testimony will make a certain kind of man wince:

When I was 16 I thought about lies and deceit, and the impact of the surge of adrenalin each time the body goes into fight or flight mode. Lying floods the body, rotting a person from the inside out. Being lied to can kill the listener, worst case scenario.

I didn’t lie for 12 years. It was noticeable. I was a bureaucrat; my colleagues asked me why for a long time.

I remember my first lie, after 12 years.

He said, “do you have any weed, babe?”

I said, “no”.

…

Yarndi smokers with gargantuan male appetites and entitlements like many men I have met along the way, visibly recoil that a woman would be so out of control. So my cousin manned up when he connected less my metaphysical muse think my wilfulness and naivety was a family trait and the menfolk were stupid as well. 

I was raised right by caring men and women. I do and say what I like, to maintain my peace. Omg fuck off cuz. And take your hand off your dick when you speak to me. Oh he hates my filthy mouth.

The one insult he cannot abide from a female is ‘get off my dick’. Not that I’d ever say that to him, he is family after all.