Sunday Stealing: The Second Time Around

I did these questions early on last weekend, then I find out later that Bev at Sunday Stealing changed them about and another set of questions we're loaded.

Anyway, I've done these questions for myself, but as I'm making another dig at my novel, I'm going to answer the questions as my protagonist, Arkie. Arkie and I have a bit in common, but it will be fun to see the differences in our answers.

Good writers should know their characters well.

So, here we go. I'll hand over to Arkie Reynolds, 55-year-old teacher who lives in Richmond, Victoria (like me - write what you know). You'll find out more here.

Here we go.

Reveal yourself in 24 easy steps

I am not:

Overly happy at the moment. There's too much to do in the next year and it is very overwhelming.

I hurt:

From the inside out. Existential crises will do this to you. I think what hurts me the most is that my friends don't understand the predicament in which I find myself.

I love:

Lazarus. Lazarus? Somebody I shouldn't love, but I do. Would I ever tell him? Of course not. That is against our rules. I also love my cat, Edgar and my Doc Marten boots. I used to love the old beetle I drove at university and going yabbying in the creek near home when I was a kid. Velvet Soap (Laundry soap for the non-Australians out there) is the best thing to catch yabbies (freshwater shrimp).

I hate:

That the government are forcing me to dismantle my life. It's crap. This is what has lead to my existential crisis.

I fear:

Having to rely on people. I'm far to independent, and I won't, I cannot ask people for help with this situation I'm in.

I hope:

For a change in government so that these draconian laws get changed that are having me leave the earth. Yes, I know, it's all a bit Soylent Green or The Island, but as the next election is not due until well after my ETD (Expected Termination Date) there is no point dwelling on it or being optimistic.

I regret:

Getting married. Damien was the worst decision of my life, even if I did learn a lot about survival and my own inner strength, given the opportunity, I would never have gone near the arsehole. I don't even hope he's happy.

I cry:

Long after the event. No matter what it is. Stoic is my middle name. (Actually, it's not, it's Ambrose, after St Ambrose, the patron saint of beekeepers. Catholic mother. )

I care:

That my cat is taken care of after I'm gone. I don't give a fig about anything else, as long as he ends up somewhere happy and loved when I'm not here, I'll be happy.

I always:

Go for a walk when I'm stressed. Currently it feels like I'm walking a marathon a day. Walking by water helps a lot. Thankfully the river is not too far away.

I long:

For a better sex life. The older you get, the longer it is between drinks. It sucks.

I listen:

To eighties punk and ska most of the time. There's nothing wrong with Madness, The Ramones, The Sex Pistols, Siouxie and the Banshees. The more badly employed drums and bass, the better the song.

I hide:

Myself, most of the time, from most people. It's been said I am very hard to get to know.

I write:

As little as I can. I hate writing school reports. Bane of my life.

I miss:

The feeling of freedom I had as a young child. I used to go out with the kids next door early in the morning and come back for dinner. I can't remember what we used to get up to, but it was fabulous. Kids today can't do that now.

I search:

For the reason this shocking government was put into power. 20 years of conservative rule has done nothing for the country. (This is in Arkie's world - thankfully, Australia had a change of government a few years ago - the alternative if frightening.)

I learn:

I want to learn, before I go, to do the following:

Sing
Make the most perfect Patatas Bravas (That sounds like me... Pandora)
To do butterfly stroke and not like I'm having an epileptic fit in the pool
Skate, in any form. I have no sense of balance and I'm afraid of hurting myself.

I feel:

Quite a bit hopeless most of the time. It's a new thing for me.

I know:

That what's happening to me is not right, yet I am powerless to stop it. It's bone-chillingly awful, but it's something I can't see a way out of.

I want:

I want to know what Laz really thinks about me. We don't talk on that level. We're kids of the seventies, teenagers of the eighties. Gen X. In other words, we're emotional cripples, or whatever the polite term is for it now.

I worry:

That by the end of this regime, anybody with a modicum of chutzpah, self-determination and a willingness to go against the grain will be dead. Say goodbye to all the writers, artists, creatives and grandmothers. It's like the opposite of America's draconian abortion laws. They don't give stuff how you come in, as long as you work your life away and leave when you're no longer of use.

I wish:

I wish I'd invested in Microsoft and Apple stock in the early eighties.

I have:

My wedding dress balled up at the back of the cupboard, some twenty-five years after the event. I don't know why I never got rid of it. It's followed me from share house to share house. Daft.

I give:

To animal charities, and animal charities only.

I wait:

For nothing. And if I queue, there can be no more than two in front of me. I don't queue for food and if you're more than ten minutes late, then stuff you. I won't text to find out where you are.

I need:

More of the following: