Monday, March 30, 2015

I couldn't get back to sleep

I was up at 5am. I couldn't get back to sleep after having a dream, the only repetitive dream I have, about being behind at uni, being swamped by assignments and study. My failing dream, again, it shook me awake. I got up for a piss and then I just lay there. Santo rolled over and snored in my ear, grrrrrrr, snrrrrrr, grrrrrr. Funny, at the early end of the nights sleep, I drift off with him snoring in my ear, no problem. And usually I just drift off again after waking early, but sometimes I don't, like today.

Milo was pleased to see me, he dashed about, he was here, then there, then here again, like only a 7 month old kitten can. They are quite mad really. Delightfully mad. I haven't had a young cat for years.

It is still dark at 5am, and cold. I made coffee. What did people do at 5am when they couldn't sleep before computers were invented? I guess they read books, or did embroidery, or chopped the weeks stove wood. Funny, we think we are so clever and sophisticated now a days and yet we are eating ourselves to death, and poisoning our nest.

It is lovely and quiet at 5am, not much of the world is stirring yet.

I'd made two coffees before 6.30am. I've got a busy day coming up. I'm just mentioning that, as it, really, had nothing to do with the number of coffees I'd made. Easter this week, chocolate for everyone. I have to get everything finished for the end of month in two less days than normal. Two less days? It doesn't sound like much and it shouldn't be much, but that's how it is. Everybody is so time poor, a nonsensical construct that really means nothing at all, other than making ourselves sound more important than we really ought, than we are.

5am is lovely, really. I hear the first tram of the day slide along the silver tracks. Clunk, clunk. It won't be long before I hear the first bird call. Buddy lies against my right thigh, like a hot water bottle.

Sunday, March 29, 2015

Rupert and Paddington

I was a Paddington Bear boy as a kid. The first book I read was Charlotte's Web, the second book was Wind in the Willows and, I think, Paddington Bear would have come in after that, pretty much.

I had a wonderful aunt, Auntie Mae who read me Winnie the Pooh, but he was read to me, so he may have come in earlier before I read myself.

We watched the Paddington Bear movie last night. And while they didn't stick to the original story line exactly, it was, I guess what you'd call, they'd call, a reimagining. And I quite liked it. 

Admittedly, it has been more years than I'd care to mention since I read Paddington Bear last.

Not long after it started, I messaged Mark and told him that the Paddington Bear movie had a villain in it, namely Nicole Kidman, which I was sure wasn't the case with the books. I don't remember them being that kind of story.

Mark responded with, "I was always more of a Rupert Bear boy myself."

Rupert Bear? Who the hell is Rupert Bear? I'd never heard of him. Mark sent me some clip art of him, which I'd never seen before. He looks like a very gay little bear. (have you ever seen a gayer bear?) I reckon Rupert would have had a close mate like Big Ears.

Saturday, March 28, 2015

Preston Market where we shopped today. It was also where we ate yum cha for lunch, $70 worth, which was ridiculous. We do like to have a nice lunch though. So what we saved on the shopping, we spent on food. I'm thinking perhaps we should be hitting the pork rolls a little more in future. 

I love the hubbub of the market, the noise, the smell the push and the shove. It is a microcosm of the wider world really. There are all sorts of people getting along side by side just trying to feed themselves. It struck me as the federal government exploits our differences for their own political gain, we are all getting along just fine.

Santo generally gets in their and does the bidding, I tend to be the pack horse carrying the bags. I carry them back to the car with regular drop offs.

An older Greek lady was so pleased that we'd both discovered pears at 99c a kilo, kind of in the back stalls of the market, that she went and got us both plastic bags in which to load our booty, coming back with a huge smile and bags for each of us in her hand. (I've always had late middle-aged woman charm) That's how peace treaties are forged and harmony maintained.

I'm not offended

A girl at work, yesterday, was dishing it out to me, telling me to butt out and to shut the F up and to F off. Then she fake smiled and said, "Oh I hope you are not offended by anything I've said." Another fake smile. "People can find me to be very direct." Big eyes, crazy smile. (Because she is just outrageous)

"No, not at all," I said. "I don't mind, you wont offend me... as long as you can take it just as well as you can dish it out."

"Of course," she said. "Nothing offends me." Laugh. Big eyes. Quirky head wobble.

"So, why don't you get a fucking big black dog up you, quite frankly," I said. I smiled. "I can be pretty blunt myself." Big grin.

She didn't stuck into me after that, clearly she didn't want to play any longer.

People are hilarious.
You could eat a big breakfast out of the arse crack on this boy his buns were so round

Friday, March 27, 2015

The Germanwings Swiss Clinic

Some times I think about suicide. I don't contemplate it, don't get me wrong. But sometimes I think it is a nice, neat way to take control of you life and finish it at a time of your own deciding. It is kind of responsible, taking control of your own destiny.

The trouble is that there is no nice way to do it. All of the options are really terrible, which is good and a shame all at the same time, depending on your point of view.

I am pretty sure I wouldn't do it because I know my timing is always a bit off and I'd always be anticipating that tomorrow would be a great day. And it would be, as it always is. But, I am sure there are times in many people's lives when it would become a viable option, or at least, they would see it as such.

Of course, there is one good option and that is the Swiss clinic. What would you call it, the departure lounge, a motel set up for stepping off this planet in comfort. A little Enya. Now, if those who so wish could shuffle themselves off to the Swiss clinic for the green drink, I'm sure that would be a much more pleasant experience.

I guess crashing an aeroplane into a mountain would be fairly thrilling, especially with a bird's eye view, a front row seat, so to speak. The pilot could yodel all the way down, whooping and yahooing as the ground shot up towards him. So, I guess, one could say, he went straight to the "Swiss Clinic" so to speak. (Technically it was the French Alps, but you know what I mean) Not the conventional way, but the same outcome, so to speak. Apparently, it was 700 k's an hour right into the side of that mountain. I guess that will do it, hey?

Bugger everybody else, hey? Jesus! 150 people screaming as they realised what was about to happen to them. What would that sound like? It would kind of ruin the ambience of the final act, kind of hard to drown out with an Enya song. It would be kind of distracting to the thrilling ride down, I would have thought.

Oh, could you imagine what it would be like, to be a passenger?  No, well, I guess you couldn't, that is the horror of this story. Shake of the head. It is bad enough when something goes wrong, but to have nothing wrong with the plane, just the grey matter between one unfortunate individual's ears...

Thursday, March 26, 2015

Wednesday, March 25, 2015

I can see him melting Santo's heart before my very eyes

Did I mention that we have a new cat, Milo. He is a Russian Blue, but as we adopted him from the RSPCA I doubt he is a pure bred cat, but that is what he looks like. He is 7 months old and he's lovely. 

He is Santo's first cat, you know, Missy doesn't count. he didn't like that grumpy old bitch, as Santo says. Milo is changing Santo's ideas about cats. Before Santo always said he couldn't see the point of them, but as Milo cuddles up to Santo on the couch purring and rubbing his head against Santo, I can see him melting Santo's heart before my very eyes.

Tuesday, March 24, 2015

Lip bad, eye good.

My lip is still disgusting still, all the bacteria is still pushing up and bursting out, like lava from a volcano. I'm still slopping cream on it and swallowing pills. Santo's eyes are still focussing in on it and his face breaking into a smile as he says, with a cheeky grin, "That really is awful." It seems to be like a car accident to him, he can't look away.

Buddy has to give Santo kisses for me.

Buddy's eye is getting better. He's been back to the vet and been checked over. His antibiotics and ointment are still going for the rest of the week. His pupil is still dilated and his eye green, despite the dilating ointment having been finished. From some angles from out of the corner of my eye he still looks possessed. But he seems his normal happy self.