Last night Daniel & I had dinner at mum�s place. Minutes before we were about to go home, a massive storm made its presence known with a lot of bright light and loud noises. The raindrops were huge and it was absolutely pouring, so there was a constant and loud clattering as millions of enormous raindrops pelted onto the roof and pergola. Me, I love rain at night. I love the sound of it and generally I have no concerns about driving in it, though there�s always the tiny fear that something is going to go terribly wrong and either I or another driver will be helpless with our useless brakes on a slippery, wet road.

But other than that, I really love driving through puddles.

Sometimes when I�m driving and I see a big truck hurtling in the opposite direction, I get this momentary glimpse of what it must be like to have a head-on collision with such a vehicle. We get lots of stories in the papers about families killed in terrible road accidents involving trucks, often in dangerous black spots on highways but sometimes at completely random places on normal roads. It�s an odd feeling, that tiny glimpse of what their last thoughts must be. I can almost hear the sound, feel that awful crunch. I don�t think my little hatchback would stand much of a chance against a freighter. I�d probably be killed instantly, or at the very least have my legs crushed horribly.

I don�t really know why I get those odd flashes. I guess it�s a bit like standing on top of a cliff and having a sudden impulse to throw yourself off it, not because you want to die, but because you want to fly.

A friend of mine in high school used to think the same way. I remember discussing it once. We�d get little random visions of ourselves doing stupid, impulsive things that would obviously be harmful, if not fatal. Of course we never did any of the things we envisaged; they were just silly things that happened in front of our eyes while we watched. I remember in science once, my friend said to me, �I just drank a whole beaker of hydrochloric acid.� I said, �me too.�

Of course that would have been a stupid thing to do, but it was a glass of clear liquid and I suppose there�s some sort of strange child-like curiosity that drives these self-destructive non-compulsions.

I�m not quite sure whether I need more excitement in my life, or whether I should learn to be more appreciative of what I have. I don�t want to simply exist; I want to live. Sadly I can�t really think of a less clich�d way of wording that. I�d hate to go through my entire life like a flat line on a heart monitor.

Oh God, that reminds me. I mentioned the young guy who died recently in a previous entry. Well, as it happens, my family was invited to the funeral, but nobody bothered to tell me. Even my dad, who hasn�t lived on that street for several years now, went to the funeral. Mum, my sister, my uncle and aunt who were friends with the guy�s parents (and who aren�t talking to my mum or to their parents � our family has something of a tragic history on mum�s side and now hardly anybody talks any more). People I used to know from primary school were there. My best friend from 15 years ago was there, and I haven�t seen him since we were nine years old. One person actually flew down from Queensland just to be there. And I didn�t even know about it.

I understand mum�s reasoning for thinking I wouldn�t want to go (I�m not going to go into details), but I can�t believe that she didn�t even tell me. I didn�t even get to choose whether I was there or not. How would you feel if you were deprived of a choice like that? And besides, what was she telling people when they invariably asked where I was? I don�t want to be spoken for, or to have people making up excuses for me. Especially ones that cannot possibly be true unless they happen to be �uh, actually, we didn�t tell her about this.� And I doubt that that�s what people were being told.

I�m guessing the line would have been something like: �oh, she said she wouldn�t feel comfortable being here, since she hasn�t had much to do with your son for so long��

I�m a bit lost for words. I hate the idea that people were being told that, when really I was not there because I simply wasn�t aware of it. I can�t understand people�s logic sometimes. Fine if mum thought I wouldn�t have gone, but she could have at least told me about the funeral. My whole family went except me. It�s really bothering me.

Anyway� on a brighter note, last night was pleasant in that there was no new form of grossness lurking in the toilet bowl, waiting for me.

This morning Daniel and I stayed in bed a little longer, because it was no nice and comfy to be snuggling under the blankets. We were all huddled up like penguins on an iceberg. We should probably go to bed earlier so that it is easier to leave the nice warm iceberg in the mornings.