I have a didgeridoo. I got it in public school have haven’t been without it since. I would occasionally bring it to school. I brought it with me when I went to university and naturally it came with me to Toronto. Unfortunately when I moved downtown it somehow got lost. Maybe it went with my Ex’s things when we moved out, maybe it unknowingly was sent back with my parents and a few things I no longer wanted. It was a mystery. A mystery I contemplated endlessly in great sadness.
Until last night.
I was looking for Jeremy’s ipod in the clothes pile in my room. I went deeper than I had in months. I moved aside some empty cardboard boxes that have been sitting there since I unpacked and – gasp – I saw it. Nestled against the wall, lengthwise on the floor. My baby. My didgeridoo.
I was so excited. I shrieked with joy and pulled him out of the mire, knocking over a few things in the process. Jeremy thought I was having a seizure. It took me a few minutes to play it properly but I got that drone down. My lips must’ve tightened up without regular use. Of the didgeridoo, preverts. Jeremy still can’t do it but he’s not giving up. He ran out of the shower to try it, reasoning that the steam loosened his lips. We’ve decided the neighbours will all hate us but don’t care. They play jungle music at like 8am on Sundays.
Anyhoo some of you may have picked up on the fact that my didgeridoo was missing for nearly 2 years and it turns out it was on my floor. I looked for it on many an occasion but no luck. THAT is how messy my apartment is. When I first found it and showed it to Jeremy he said ‘it was on the floor this whole time?’ ‘Yep.' 'You know what this means.’ (Clara’s quizzical face) ‘It’s time to clean the apartment’.
I agree. Jeremy can get started and I’ll keep his spirits up with moving didge music. It’s really quite soulful.
Ah I missed you so.
Did you miss me?
I like to think so.