I Bet You’re Wondering How Everything Fits Together, Like, I Bet You Think About That A Lot

by Oliver Mol

Chapter 1

A lot of things are confusing me right now. I can’t seem to write a story. Or I can’t seem to figure out what I want to write. Like, I start a story then get bored and put the story down. It’s maybe 2am. I’m hungry. Recently my friend told me I was looking too skinny. She saw me and said, “You’re looking too skinny.” I think she’s probably right. It’s not that I don’t eat “healthy” it’s just that I don’t eat enough. I need to get another job. I want to buy a Kindle and an e-cig and more food. I just posted to twitter: “no ones gonna see this. But don’t forget to enjoy what u are doing. I think that’s the big 1.” I’m eating my housemate’s vegemite toast with tomato and kale. I think I’m gonna stop writing short stories for a while but I’m also probably lying.


Chapter 2

I’ve been on this rad new diet where I acknowledge how I feel. It’s fucking wild.

In 2014 I watched a grown-ass man in Sapporo at midnight eat 2 kilos of chicken while contemplating getting a hooker “…because my friend got one and he said it was, umm, really good but like that was my friend and I don’t know if I want one, umm, I sort of just want to be held, maybe, I don’t know, this chicken is good, umm, maybe, umm, I’ll never be this happy again, haha, mmm, my mum died 2 weeks ago, yeah, I don’t know, I feel okay, is that weird?”

I want to make a T-shirt that says, “Men: if you feel like crying just do it. It’s okay. Crying is healthy, probably more than carrots.”

Film me giving them away for free on George Street while nobody takes them and I’ll show you what a real reality TV show looks like.


Chapter 3

Don’t even dare me to make my next book one giant hug scene between two people with dialogue and flashback sequences so the hugging time limits can believably last for ~250 pages because I’ll do that, just watch me.


Chapter 4

Life hack: If you go home with a person and they say they are too tired or drunk or generally not into it say, “Don’t even worry about it, it’s all good!” and smile and make tea.


Chapter 5

Recently I’ve been ending lots of conversationswith, “Well, things are good until they’re not” before nodding and making intermittent eye contact.

I’m at this Priceline pharmacy on Oxford Street. There’s hectic dubstep playing inside the pharmacy. An old lady in front of me couldn’t read the price of her shampoo because she forgot her glasses. She kept saying, “I forgot my glasses”. Then she couldn’t hear the cashier telling her the price because the dubstep was too loud. Eventually she told the cashier she didn’t care.

She made a noise like, “Fohhhh” and made a non-caring hand swipe motion while giving the cashier a fifty.

I want to have lots of $$$ so I can throw it at my problems.

I feel like $$$ is good for throwing at things until you run out of things to throw it at and then you throw it at yourself.

When I was younger and visiting my grandpa in this nursing home before his death this 97 year old lady called me over to her bed. She took my hand in her shaking hands and called me Thomas and told me to be a, “very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very very good boy.”

She asked how Francis was and if he was taking care of the chickens.

I didn’t know who Francis was but I told her he was well and that the chickens were fine. Then we sat for a while and she said, “I’m looking forward to getting off this ship.” She said, “I’m not very comfortable on this ship. The waves keep splashing me at night. I wake up soaked every morning.”

Then we smiled at each other for a while. A long smile. Still holding hands. And when I tried to let go she gripped my hand tighter and held me there. We smiled at each other like two people not understanding something, but then figuring it out. And we kept smiling because I knew then that bad things happen and I looked around and saw that they happened all the time.


Chapter 5.5 (the colab chapter)

This little girl just bounced her bouncy ball right into my cup of water and we both started laughing hilariously.

Hahahaha. Classic life metaphor masking as water spilling from something.


Chapter 6

Life hack: Give good head.

Hack Oliver: Buy me a short black and I’ll show you how a real man has a panic attack.

I want to put my bare ass on the cover of my book because not only will it make good promo but it speaks honestly about who I am.


Chapter 7

I’m glad I’m not going to university soon. If I was going to university soon I probably wouldn’t go. Trigger Warning: Tony Abbott is a very intelligent man just look at all his degrees and things.


Chapter 8

Someone told me once that milk binds with the antioxidants in tea to render them useless.

I’m not saying that everything is like that but some things are like that.

It’s dark out.

In this park I just tweeted, “cumming to Google’s american auto-tune voice was one of the most spiritual experiences of my life and I’m not afraid to talk about it.”

Sometimes I do things for no reason other than I think they are funny and I’m beginning to realise what a privilege that is.

Now I’m at home.

I’m lying on my bed.

This lady next door is screaming at her husband, “How irrelevant is that? No one gives a shit if your parents were hoarders. The Weetbix is two years old and it’s time to bloody go.”

Sometimes I feel like the apocalypse is coming.

Sometimes I feel like the apocalypse is coming.

Sometimes I feel like the apocalypse is coming.

Or that maybe it’s already here.

And apocalypse raves sound fun but only if you can afford to party in Sydney.

And it’s pretty cool that life is sort of like a “choose your own adventure game” where depending on your gender and/or skin colour and/or sexuality and/or other identifiers you pretty much get one choice and it’s: lose.

It just turned 1AM.

My window is open and I’m reading and talking to friends online.

Last night four junkies screamed for two hours on the street outside my house because they couldn’t decide if something was fucked or not.

They kept screaming, “It’s fucked,” then, “It’s not fucked” then, “It’s fucking fucked, mate” then, “Well you tell me?” and then it was hard to hear because of all the police sirens.

I think it’s more acceptable for men to be emotional compared to our parent’s generation but then again I could be totally wrong.

And I’ve been thinking about it for a while and what I want to say is this: I’m just a sort of emo kid who lives in a bubble with other sort of emo kids who also live in bubbles and I’m fairly aware that my Facebook feed doesn’t represent “modern day” Australia but maybe that’s okay because “modern day” Australia sort of terrifies me and I don’t think I’m alone in that.

I’m staring at my laptop typing, “Goodbye” to my friends online.

And this song is finishing but I’m enjoying it so I might listen to it again.

And something I think about a lot is being next to someone with our hands touching.

Like not fully touching but then fully touching.

And with my face next to their face sort of breathing together and then kissing.

Hugging together.

Because it’s winter.

Because I feel like everyone’s trying to cope and it seems easier to do that together.

To do things together and to not be alone.