Back to the Grind

The city seems to filled with genetically gifted men, all around me. Would you call it the middle of summer? I guess, I would.

I went out for a boozy, couple of hours, lunch today, with the girls, but you know. The bottles of wine keep coming, it is that time of the year for it. And as what always happens, I got a head ache for the afternoon. Maybe, I just don't drink enough? Although, work is the last place I'd chose to be if I was smashed. No thanks. Maybe, I need to drink more water?

I head back up to my 40th floor office to see out the afternoon. I sit and stare out my picture windows looking over the bay. I, actually, love my office.

From my eerie in the sky. From my belfry on high. From my perch in the clouds. From my platform looking all around. Up high, looking down.

"You've got a good view," the plebs endlessly squawk, as they come to bother me. "I know you're busy, but... wow, the view from here is amazing."

I wanted to stick a sign to my door, but Rebecca wouldn't let me.

"Tsunami viewing platform... and yes, we have noticed the view."

I love how my huge, glass, sliding office door slides shut with a kind of cone of silence kind of closure, closing out the world.

Tom messages me with his plans in the afternoon. He’s making plans to get out of home again and get his own place.

Miss, that sounds like a plan. And Caulfield isn't so far, just the other side of the city, certainly much closer than your parent's house and the wasteland that surrounds it and its.

It’s his parent’ rental property that has just become unexpectedly free. He was looking in Abbotsford so he was close to all of us on the Northside.

"Abbotsford, blah, blah, blah – well the nits I like anyway." Nits? I couldn't work this one out? I can usually work out the meaning of most sentences, but not this?

It's been so lovely at work, this week. Well, lovely if one has to be there, natch. No people! No pesky phone calls all day. No cars on the road, no traffic congesting the streets. So fewer idiots.

(But, as I told you, hot boys, in shorts, sauntering along in the street.)

Everything in corporate world, unhurried and relaxed... except for one, there always has to be one, dropping stones into our calm pond. A NEW chick who didn't get paid, who has just been tormenting us all about it. Doesn’t seem to understand she needs to talk to HR. Profoundly stupid to antagonise senior staff members when they look into the problem and then graciously say no, with full explanation and reasons. (In the ONLY quiet week we get all year, what's more) And then to mix us all up and start sending emails to people she has just, moments before spoken to, unwittingly, asking it all again. (Not smart, she ain't going far, I can assure you) Giving herself away telling half truths, telling the actual person what he, or she, has just said... which, you guessed it, we knew that we didn't. Well, not quite as she put it. (Twisted completely in her favour, anything negative left out) Does she not get that we, actually, know what we are talking about... we are the people who make the decisions... unless she was foolhardy enough to give a partner a call at his house at Portsea. She was the type, every one of us could pick it. And now when we think of her, we will all naturally think trouble. It's not a smart way to ingratiate yourself. Silly girl.

The quiet day finally came to the end. These quiet days won’t last, they will end soon, must savour them while I can.

It’s that time of the year, the cafes are empty, the sun never, seems, to stop shining. Long shadows in the afternoon... cool breeze up Bourke Street.

I left work @ 17.06, everyone else had gone, except for Andrew T, as Stella, his wife, was picking him up. Swivel in his chair, smile, chatting. Flash his crotch @ me, like a scene out of Basic Instinct. Ah, the beautiful, Greek Andrew T. Casual clothes Friday. How he packs a pair of jeans. I couldn't help but look, oh, I know, what am I like? He's the only one whose hot arse Rebecca has commented on. I would have liked to be a fly on the bedroom wall when Stella got home recently from an extended trip to Iran, after being away for three months. They really are a beautiful couple, they would have gorgeous sex, they would have beautiful babies.

And then, of course, I am down, amongst it all. I had a joint in my pocket from this morning, I don’t know what possessed me, as I would never normally. Oh, I don’t know, call it the holiday season, call it what I asked Santa for, or would that be the New Year’s elves? Oh, I don’t know, but clearly, I was feeling reckless, New Year and all. I slipped up that [filthy] back laneway that I knew went nowhere and only seemed to be used for storing garbage bins, and nothing else, and lit that doobie up. I drew heavily on that spliff, wondering what my job prospects would be if I was caught doing this, exhaling the smoke up over my head as far as I could blow the stuff.

I scurried off to... to... goodness me, where was I going, huh? That joint is already kicking in something fierce.

I was thinking about Andrew T and Stella went I went to the porn shop on Russell Street, I couldn't help myself. "Yeah Andrew, fuck me," I could hear her soft voice. I didn't buy anything, just looked @ the pictures.

Whoosh!

I scuttled off home... maybe. I have no idea. Actually, I strolled home humming, "Soldier on with Codral, soldier on," with a huge smile. (Ed note – if you don’t know the television ad you won’t get it)

So, 2006 huh? Fuck me! The last six years, where did they go… Ground Hog anyone?

SMS. 17.27. Oh happy days! – Christian

SMS. 17.29. I am in Victor Harbour with my parents in a grotty hotel that hasn't been updated since the 60’s & quite possibly not cleaned since then either. So what the fuck is this oh happy days bullshit? – Rachel

SMS. 17.32. Victor Harbour? For goodness sake! – Christian

SMS. 17.34. Fuck off! I am stuck here for 3 days. Told Emily 2 fake being sick so we can go home. I am coming home 2 Melb next week – Rachel

SMS. 17.34. You could be doing my work bullshit. At least my day is over, he, he, he – Christian

SMS. 17.35. This is the kinda motel people go 2 commit suicide – Rachel

SMS. 17.36. Lovely! Have fun – Christian

SMS. 17.37. R u free 4 dinner next Thurs? – Rachel

SMS. 17.37. I could be? – Christian

SMS. 17.38. Good keep it free then. God knows I need something 2 look forward 2! – Rachel

SMS. 17.43. (Tom) The blokes in town this arvo… woof! – Christian

The house is full for dinner, Tim and his Friday nights. It's good though, don't get me wrong. And even a choice of menu. Goodness. Why can't I ever get that organised?

Get organised? Oh, I have to so get organised. Get things done, so many things. Wake up, straighten up, clean up, shape up, smarten up. Productivity up. Maybe that could be my New Years resolution. No point going for something too specific.

Wake up, straighten up, clean up, shape up, smarten up... in 2006!

Tim cooked for everyone. Curry or roast lamb. I've got roast lamb and I'm not hungry. I should have been, not sure why? Was it the booze from lunch and the pot from after work? I don’t know. 

Tim and Sarah and Lisa went and got a DVD. I chatted to Tom while they were at the shop.

Nicholas and Adam played play station in Tim and Nicholas’s room. 

Tim and Sarah came back with horror. I quietly gathered my stuff together and scuttled off to bed. In bed by 9pm.

SMS. 21.43. Thank God 4 alcohol – Rachel

SMS. 21.50. Thank the universe for dope – Christian

Manny called at 10pm horny and wanting sex. I couldn't, but almost, persuaded him to come over.

Mark called late to say he missed me.

I smoked a doobie in bed before I turned out the light.