Wednesday, November 30, 2011

The removalists have left by 10.00 with the first truckload

The removalists come at 7am. All the way from Mullum. I didn’t hear them drive, not a peep and the barn is right by my bedroom. Funny, hey, but then sleep is my best skill
I’m awake at 9am. I hear voices now. “No, no, no,” or something. “No no no.” For some reason I think it is Jimmy, but it isn’t. I think it is the truck backing as close to the barn as it can.
I wander bleary-eyed out into the kitchen. Mark tells me to go and take a look at the gorgeous removalist, Chucky. I get a photo. Oh, I guess, he’s cute, in a straight boy, AFL player, rugged surfie kind of way.
I smoke two joints before I head off to my room to get ready, but I do my journals instead.
The removalists have left by 10.00 with the first truckload. The rest is going to be picked up on Monday. Half of the barn has been emptied. They have some deal that Mark and Luke’s stuff will be picked up as a return trip deal to Mullum.
It is only now hours until they move, not days, not weeks. It's all happening. What seemed liked months off, is now right upon us, here, now. This is it. They are going.
Mark and I go out and collect firewood in the forest, to leave the new owners supplied. I mustn’t be such a nice person, as I think it is insanity, it is the 01st day of summer, tomorrow.
Mark and Luke are leaving Bolago on the first day of summer. It just makes me feel sad.
Mark asks me to sweep out the shipping containers. He really does need therapy for the destruction (mother) Margaret Waterdale had on his logic concerning cleaning.
My voice breaks into incredulousness, “WHAaa…t?” but I pull myself up fast. “Okay, sure.” Be a good sport, do what is asked. But shipping containers that are open to the elements in such terrain. Really? Swept out? Please?
Mark’s eyes search my face for any sign of mutiny.
“No problem.” Smile. “Happy to.”
It all has to look the part. The presentation has to be just so. I know. Damn you Margaret!
Mark wants it to look perfect, he wants his dream to be polished and to be its very best self.
I have tea breaks. Many. I work by the cup of tea every half hour rule.
I rearranged the barn with Luke and clean the fridges. Mark took photos for the manual he is creating for Stu, and he disappears for quite some time in the afternoon.
I have pot breaks. That’s the marijuana kind and not a set of jars, you understand.
Mark is finishing the packing of the trailer to be towed behind the Range Rover.

Never give lunch duty to the person who doesn’t eat. (Anorexic) Leah kept saying she was going to make lunch, but her anal cleaning drives kept proving to be too strong, so Luke stepped in. Thankfully. Just before the boy’s got angry. Read, I got cross.

The phone and internet were cut off in the afternoon, as Mark and Luke delayed their departure for one day. The telecommunication termination should have been tomorrow, if they had left on time, of course. Yesterday.

I took photos around 7pm, as the light fades.
The house got packed up and the barn got packed up and then there seemed to be an end to the list of thinks that had to get done.
Leah heads to her place to sleep. She leaves us a bud of pot, to make up for our dwindling supply.
Mark and I move the ten or fifteen, huge sheets of Masonite, late, it is dark. Apparently, they are heading north too. We are just about around to the front of the barn, from the shipping container behind, when the wiring on the trailer breaks and the trailer tips over backwards sending the ten sheets of wood crashing to the ground and my foot. Fortunately, they fanned out as they hit the ground and most of their weight was taken by the ground, only half of the later sheets landing on my foot. It was close, I was lucky.
Luke got Chinese and we watched TV.
Mark is in pain, his back is over worked. He goes to bed early.
The, actual, last night seemed some what anti climatic, everyone was too exhausted. We stared at the TV screen blankly, stuffed.
Mark comes back out and wants medical marijuana for pain, but we have run out of papers.
I offer to go. Luke asks me if I am really keen. I say I’d go to help someone’s pain. He laughs cynically. I call him a bitch. We laugh.
Am I that transparent?
Mark says he is going back to bed not to worry.
Luke says not much later, “Yeah, go on, then we could have joints for tomorrow too.”
“Be careful,” he says, as I go, which I think is sweet. It’s raining, you are stone…
The road is long and the weather has turned to “not so nice.” I imagine every set of lights that comes into view behind me is the police, because I am paranoid. Woodend is deserted, the servo the only bright light in town.
Mark is out on the couch when I get back.

I check my messages from home.
Anthony left this message on the X Street phone.
I’m tired, tired, tired. Very tired and emotional… get back to me when you feel like it.
I presume that means he is pissed.

David left a message too.
Putriffariffacation. Muffin. Muffin. Hello! Hello! Hello!
Eternally positive…
… except for the 28th day of his cycle when he crashes and burns in a depressive state.

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Getting towards the end

Mark and Luke were up early.
I drank coffee and smoked two joints with Leah before I did anything. It was after 10am.
I took more photos.
We empty the cottage of all its furniture. Leah comes to help and cleans the cottage to within an inch of its life, I’m not sure why? Then Mark told me later that the new couple’s fourteen year old daughter is going to use it.
I went and bought hamburgers. Our diet deteriorates in exact proportion to the time Mark and Luke have left.
Leah stays, she is great with the marijuana supply.
Leah had a very small portion of food, which I noticed she hardly ate any of.
Mark and Luke sleep in the house from today, as their bed from the cottage has been packed.

I clean up around the back of the vegi garden. And take photos. I like raking, it is gentle and smooth and I am my own boss. It also some how makes it all feel as though it is all normal.
We clean out the shipping container. Stoves. Furniture. Tables.
I make toasted sandwiches.
Rob, from Luke’s restaurant, comes to visit, to say goodbye and look sad. He tells Luke he doesn’t know what he is going to do without him.
We are getting towards the end. I spent the afternoon moving furniture from outside the cottage to the barn.  
I collect the remaining four speakers from the cottage. They are too heavy and break the weld on the trailer, which attaches the tipping tray to the frame. The original clasp had broken some time previously and now the repair weld to the broken clasp had broken. Mark has to wire it back together.
I’m stopping for tea and marijuana breaks every two hours, I would hesitate a guess.

We ate chicken dinners that Luke got and sat up and watched teli, exhausted.
Leah brings her mull bowl out and says help yourself, which, of course, I do. Luke too. The two pot heads to the end.

Sunday, November 27, 2011

This is it

I'm in the country, this is the very last weekend. Mark and Luke go to Byron to live. This is it, the removalist trucks come on Wednesday. My two best friends. I was there when we bought Bolago. It's twenty years later, where did the time go?

That's it. Done. Shit! Nothing lasts forever, I know that. But?

Over. Wow.

Sad Face. It's a huge part of my life. What am I going to do now on the weekends? No, seriously, I'm going to feel claustrophobic stuck in the inner burbs.

I only have Melbourne now. No more country residence. Will I get bored with that? Will I feel confined? In these years of global warming, do I want to live cramped by the cities heat? Trampled by the ever increasing tourists who are settling in Fitzroy. Being trampled? Sweating in heated boxes. No matter how hot the day, it always cools down in the country.

One stop out of Melbourne, with land of it's own, just enough to obscure any neighbours. I always thought a dirt road sounded romantic. Some where with a deck and huge windows to let in swathes of light. Huge panes of glass behind which to eat your breakfast in the sparkling morning. With views, long sweeping views.

Saturday, November 26, 2011

You and your bliss fuck off

Whores with pears and pairs of whores. It is an interesting word puzzle. It gives a completely different meaning depending on the positioning of the word pear.

Everyone got too and pitched in. Santo and I used the tractor with Santo loving it and becoming quite proficient. But, rideon mowers are fun, lots of fun, let's face it. I sometimes wonder if it is a precursor to electric cars. It just glides along, pushing over the top of everything, easy. 

It was a lovely sunny day, warm and bright. The eucalypt bush dappled the ground with beauty. The air was cool and fresh.

In the afternoon, I sensed some drama when coming upon Christine in front of the barn, curled fists and leading with her chin, she was practically hyperventilating, hissying and sissing, as I rode passed on the rideon. I kept riding. She and Mark seemed to be having words outside the barn. All I could think of was the story Mark told about how difficult and demanding Chris was when she went and stayed at Marshall with Debbie.

We had dinner and sat around in the lounge. We always have a fire, pretty much, no matter the weather. It is always are cosy in the evening.

Christine came up to help. She seemed to want to take up her issues with Mark about the time she and Debbie came up to help him in Marshall.
Mark was telling the story about Debbie and Sunny-Brook, visiting, laughing about it, and it didn’t go down so well with Christine.
Take your bliss and fuck off… was what Mark wanted to say to Debbie, when he had asked Sunny-Brook to stop dancing in the open plan lounge up at the Marshall house early in the mornings. Mark and Luke's bedroom is a mezzanine, underneath which Sunny-Brook   practiced her dancing on the wooden floors… early, because is young. 
"Can you stop stomping around, Sunny-Brook," asked, commanded Mark.
Debbie butted in. "Oh Mark, leave her alone she is in her bliss."
Well she can take her bliss and fuck off. Mark thought.

We all laughed.

Christine got quite upset, listening to Mark, some may say, belittling his cousin Debbie. I thought, nyer. Mark defended himself, of course. Then suddenly there was yelling. Christine seemed keen to tell Mark off, no matter what he had to say. She just kept on going, seemingly needing to get it all out and get to the end, resolution, or whatever.
“Listening to you now, I’m horrified. It’s disrespectful.”
And there we have that “respect” word being bandied about again. It is spoken of as though there is some minimum requirement deserved to everyone without any sort of requirement to earn it, like it was once understood.
The rest of us kind of tuned out and continued in our own conversation, leaving Mark on his own. It was his own sister, he was in no danger. He's a big boy.
Quietly, I think Debbie is a bludger. Inexplicably, I think she may have the same opinion about me.

Friday, November 25, 2011

Thursday, November 24, 2011


My best mate Anthony has come back into my life, after a nine year estrangement. He was one of my best friends, me, Tom and Anthony. Of course, there are other's who are important, as well. I say the three, as the three of us got on so well. We were all very different, except we always "got" each other. they were the two people to who I could tell anything and they would just get it. We were on the same wave length, we were all very smart and most importantly, we had the same sense of humour.

Of course, Mark is the other person, but Mark has lived in the country for many years and has been, slightly, separated in that sense.
Tom, Anthony and I were the city guys.
Luke's in there too, but he came later.

Anthony has been through hell in the nine years apart and he has not come back unscathed. Gone is the handsome, blond shaggy-haired man who told me life was too painful and that he couldn't see me any more, the last time I saw him. Returned is a bloated, over weight man, who some how still resembles my friend.

He now lives on sickness benefits.

He calls me once a day, if not more on some days. He usually has something funny to say. A comment on life, usually wrapped up in a complaint... with a laugh.

"Still, we could be living next to Fukushima."
"Or thirsty in the Sudan."
"I read about a woman who had her face ripped off by an angry monkey."
"Bloody hell.."
He laughed. "Like they had to state the monkey was angry."
"I wonder what she did to make him do that?"
"Oh, she was probably just being human. That would be enough for me, some days, I'm telling you."

He's definitely more audible in the mornings.
It was hysterical one day. I'd been out for the entire day and night and when I got home there were three messages.
"Hello it's Anthony here."
"Hello... it's... Anthony... here."
"Ullo... it's, um... Antny... ere."
Oh, I couldn't help but laugh.

Some days it's...
"Oh I've had a bugger of a day, but soon it will be better."
"Putting your feet up, are you?"
"No. Well." Laugh. "Yes. But I've also poured myself a wine. And with that and the valium, things should be improving in roughly fifteen minutes, or so." Laugh.

He has a lap-top which he has no end of problems with. Maybe, less problems in the morning than in the evening, trouble is one generally uses such things more often in the evenings.

His sister gave him a digital camera that never seems to work. "Bloody things. It just won't connect to my lap-top in any way. I'm going to have to get Santo over to help me."

He cooks every night, what sound like, scrumptious, delicious meals. He confided in me that driving to the shops in the afternoon is problematic.

"Oh yes, last time the neighbours were mighty cross. when I left tyre tracks across their front law." Laugh. "I don't know why."
So he has to be organised, you see. There are things to be done, which needy to get done and then we can rest... medicate.

I like his calls. He tells me his news, I tell him my news, we both laugh, we both hang up. It's nice. It is when phone calls are tolerable, manageable, dare I say enjoyable. Succinct, to the point and everybody leaves smiling.

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

I Dreamt About My Old Boss Again

I dreamt about my old boss again.

I was heading home with David K, don’t ask me why, I haven't worked with him for years, but, he was a part of that first team when I first worked at the black law firm, which included Bitch Face, Anorexic Belinda.

David and I walked around to the tram stop, after work, which was a big building where the Trams drove right up to the front, like a bus station. It was a deco building, complete with the punters dressed in trench coats and hats. There was a sea of faceless trench coats and hats, like a stylised Brack painting. Out the front of the building was a big waiting area; concrete, sharp lines. A square, if you like.

Everyone stood in rows waiting for the tram to arrive.

Anorexic Belinda was already standing there. I walked up and stood next to her, inadvertently. When I noticed her, I didn’t say anything, but I wanted to. I was itching to, you might sat. (not unlike the remaining cells of flesh must itch under her loose skin) I couldn’t help giving her the evil eye. I could feel my breathing turn confrontational, deeper and deeper, inside me. I could hear my breathing in my ears, like a heart beat.

She looked around. “Oh you are beautiful, Christian,” said Belinda. Sarcastically, of course, in that off-hand, holier than thou tone that she uses.
I couldn’t hold back. “Get fucked Belinda, why don’t you go and get fucked.”
“Oh here we go,” said Belinda. She stepped back, retreating. Her eyes loose in the eye sockets in her head, her teeth now far too big for her jaws, the skin stretched tightly across her now protruding cheek bones.

She went to stand at the back of the waiting area. I looked back at her.

“You’re not beautiful.” Hatred was on my tongue. "You are ugly, but how you look on the outside is the least of your problems."
"How dare you speak to me like that," she said. "Who do you think you are."
"You are a horror story, look at you," I said. "Mrs Bates."

Her face creased into pain and she began to cry. I didn’t expect that but made me feel good. Yes it did. It made me feel good. It was a win in a long line of losses with her.

David came back from somewhere and I told him what had happened. Then he seemed to disappear. Of course, he has been a long standing friendship with Belinda.

The waiting area filled up with people until it was packed, as the tram was coming down the narrow alleyway, which came to the front of the waiting area. The trouble was I didn’t know what tram to catch, David hadn’t told me. I asked the crowd, who seemed much bigger and taller than me, all of a sudden, with mouths that were lugubrious, big, gasping at the air to suck in life's oxygen.

Several people seemed to know David, all of them identified themselves as accountants and a discussion ensured as to which tram I should catch. They talked about the roads in the western suburbs, one disagreeing with the other, and another agreeing with the first guy.

"You must catch..."

"No, you must catch..."

Tuesday, November 22, 2011

I'm careering from one distraction to another, like a drunk

I was coming home from the country to stop pissing around and start to look for a job, seriously. Come on, stop pissing around, get your act together, get on with it. In the zone and what have you. Stiff upper lip, every poor sod has to work... before they head off into the nursing home where they fight, finally, having everything done for them.

I've done nothing for the last two days but stress. Big time. You know that blinding stress that just takes your perception away and makes your view of the world go funny, spotty, unreal. I mean, it's still more kin to a huge harumph than anything coming close to neurological failure, don't get me wrong. Preoccupied, can't think of anything else, rather than mental disease.

You know, when you can't hook onto a real plan and you just career from one distraction to another, like a nutter or a drunk. Where none of the options quite measure up to... well, to bliss, lets face it.

Careering from nothing to nothing?

The only thing that brings me back to the present, out of the problem, is hunger. Ha, ha. Always sex and food, hey? Oh woe is me, woe is me, woe is me, WOE IS ME, life is ending as I know it... gosh, I aren't half hungry.

My cat has been sitting next to me licking my arm as if she is worried about me. Of course, she is still a cat and therefore it is more likely, than is isn't, that her actions are about her. We know that, it is why we love them and hate them. She probably only wants food. Maybe, I taste nice.
Friskies Senior.

I'm worried about me. I've should/rationally/logically get a job, before I "have to" get a job, if you know what I mean, and I just can find the inspiration to pick up the phone and call. I've got contacts, people to call, leads on jobs, so it shouldn't even be that hard. You'd think that would be enough of an inspiration? I've just got to turn up in a suit and say something intelligent.

No, apparently not.

No, it is not inspiration. I just can't face the prospect of going back to work and I have become my favourite waste of time... all the time berating myself because of it.
It's tattslotto, or nothing. Then I could sit around and do nothing for the rest of my life, angst free.

Bloody hell, how did I get myself into this position? I've tasted freedom, had it in my grasp, enjoyed it's taste and scent. it felt good on me, but, oh, I did nothing and now it is being snatched away from me.


And then, as has happened before, bang, it will all be done and I'll have a job and the world will seem stress free again.
It's funny how inaction gets inaction and while you are in it, it seems never ending.
I need not to care so much. A wise friend of mine said lately, there is only today and tomorrow, that's all there is.

Maybe, I just need some vegemite toast,  some food, sustenance, mangia, memories of childhood, the equivalent of a mother's touch. I don't think I will pour the glass of milk, though.

Ha ha, woe is me, I make myself laugh. I am such a lazy bastard.

Monday, November 21, 2011

Start of another week

Santo leaves at 8am.
Shane leaves at 9am.
I’m into the pot 10am.


My friend, Adriana, told me on the weekend that she is being abused (controlled by, emotionally... but sometimes worse) by her boyfriend and she doesn't see anyway out, at present.
"I don't have any where to go. What do I do?"
I shivered at the thought, it seems so unfair. Adriana is the easiest going person in the world. Really, she is. She is lovely, guys would be lucky to have her as their girlfriend.
I couldn't stop thinking about it. My house is my cave, my burrow, my hole in the ground. I love it and feel safe here. Imagine not feeling completely safe 100 per cent of the time... and also feel like you had no way out. And the rest of us continue living our lives uneffected all around. It must be awful.
So, I text her first thing. You can always come and live with me.
That’s inviting the jealous boyfriend around, I know, and that made me hesitate. Can you imagine, all the turmoil before they sort themselves out. But, that’s what friends do for each other, isn't it?

I did January 2004 blog entries all day. What do I care about a job? My tribute to Tom. I don't care if nobody reads them. I can read them, though. Not often, but occasionally, his words bring him back to life, in some way.

Mark is getting emotional about leaving Bolago behind, he thinks I’m back in Melbourne looking for jobs. And I'm supposed to be.
I think Mark would like me up there supporting him. And I should be. The house sale, them moving away, it all makes me feel a bit numb.
I hung out on blogger, but, I can’t think of anything to write today.
Late in the afternoon, I whacked off, just bored really. It get's rid of stress.

I eat rocket and tomatoes.
Scrambled eggs.
Two kit kats. (that's packets, not pieces)
Two pieces of peanut butter on toast.

I lay on the couch and watch TV.

Shane comes home and rolls me joints.


Sunday, November 20, 2011

Saturday, November 19, 2011

Off to the country

Off to the country for the last weekend at Bolago. They hand over next week and head up north. Sniff, sniff.

I'll miss them.

It will seem strange.

I'll have no where to go to in the country. It's the end of an era. I never thought this day would arrive and now it is approx 10 days away.

What the fuck am I going to do without them? What am I going to do without my best friends?
I'm supposed to move there too, eventually. I'd think about going now, think about, contemplate, feel what it is like without Mark and Luke.

But, Santo. I'll have to get him to consider getting a job in Brisbane and commuting the two hours there and back, every day. I'm sure he'll love the prospect of that?
He doesn't drive, though. He doesn't even have he licence.

Ha ha, the things you think of to change your circumstances. Have the courage to change what you can and have the foresight to accept what you can't. Isn't that how it goes.

Dream on baby, get a job.

Friday, November 18, 2011

So, what do you think I'm doing

So, what do you think I'm doing on the day I should be following up my emails with calls to employment agencies?

I went to the video shop and hired Brokeback Mountain. Of course, as you do.

Let's see if I like it any more than I did the first time, when I was just luke warm about it.

Let's see if I can understand more than half of what Heath Ledger says this time? That was really the main problem when I saw it the first time. I couldn't understand what he was saying.

I never really got the sexual tension in the build up to the tent sex scene, either. It was as though there were two cowboys who hung around together and one night one jumped the other.

Although, snigger, snigger. I'd like to see Heath pump Jake's arse for real.

Thursday, November 17, 2011

Bang Bang

I was still up around midnight, well, let’s face it, wasting my life on my computer, when I heard a loud bang. What the hell? Then I realized it was the spark problem out the front of the house, which I had experienced once the week before last, which I hesitatingly accredited to something, or someone, going bang in the street and which a neighbour called the fire brigade about last week, confirming my stuffed down belief that it was closer to home that a passer by misbehaving. So, I headed out the front to see if I could see exactly what was sparking. I suspected it was happening at the connection to the house and not the power pole at all, but I needed to see for myself.
I was standing under the veranda out of the rain when it happened again, but I had diverted my eyes momentarily and it was too bright and too sudden for me to see exactly what was making the sparks fly. It made me jump though and call out, Jesus fucking Christ!
So, I got an umbrella and stood in the rain on the road. As I stood there, a large rat ran out the front gate, did a twirl and then ran back in the gate and up my front path again. Euw! And the front door was ajar too. Euw! again. I did a little anxiety dance on the spot.
Taxi’s came and taxis went. The rain fell down and dripped from every corner of my umbrella. The streetlights shone out in yellow contained pools, seemingly restricted by the inclement weather. Each end of the street seemed to be hidden behind a veil of water falling down, as though frosted glass had been installed at the extremities. Everything in between seemed to shine with the wet slick that covered them.
I wondered if I should be looking directly at it, if the previous explosion was anything to go by. I’d hate for my retinas to be permanently scarred. I contemplated making one of those box mirror things that you use to look at an eclipse. It was rubbish night, the bins were out… I figured all I’d need to complete the picture was a bunch of plastic bags, a worn trench coat and a Safeway trolley.
When I reported the problem five days ago, the nice lady at the electricity company said that it was quite common for power poles to spark in the wet and that it was nothing to worry about.
I gazed up at the power pole standing sentry at the side of the road; big and black and looming. The black sky behind made it look slightly menacing.
I jumped.
Sparks flew from the electricity connection on the front of the house. It sounded like a gunshot ringing out in the street, no wonder the neighbour reported it. If they were a light sleeper, it could certainly be problematic.
The old Addams Family façade lit up like it was the 4th of July. All it need was a few pinwheels and some rockets and maybe an eighteen year old jumping out of a cake.
I fixed my face into a permanent wince, I could feel it in my cheeks and around my eyes, not a good thing for crow’s feet and wrinkles, I’m sure and held my breath, as I gazed at the house and waited.
I amused myself with the thought of the neighbour bouncing off the bed with each explosion.
As I gazed at the front of the house, dripping in octagonal sprinkles, waiting for the next gunshot, I shook my head and though, what more do you need to see?
I came inside and called the nice lady from the electricity company.
“Where the power attaches to your house, you say?”
“Yes, the connection to the house.”
“I’ll have a crew out as soon as I can. Can I have a number that they can call you on if they need to talk to you? Will you be on site and available?”
Who can sleep with shot gun salute playing every fifteen fucking minutes? “Yes.”
“Okay, rightio then.”
Rightio? “I don’t mind waiting up, if you can tell me how long they will be?”
“No, I can’t give you a time.” Give or take a week, I thought. “You don’t need to wait up?”
But if they are going to call? “Okay then.”
“They take this very seriously, don’t worry.”
Poor bastards, I thought. In the dark and the rain, they must love that.
An hour later, a white truck pulled up outside, as I lay in bed watching TV. The phone began to ring. I headed outside, instead of answering it.
“Sorry to wake you up,” said the strapping man in the reflective wet weather gear with the soothing voice, although it had stopped raining by then. “We’ll have to replace the line from the power pole. These old connections are covered in plastic, but when it deteriorates, it allows the water to connect with the power… and…” he held his hands in the air.
“It’s loud explosion.”
“Yes, I’m sure. We’ll have to turn you power off for half an hour, or so. Okay?”
“You can go back to bed now.”
I watched the strapping man’s mate climb an impossibly tall ladder that reached all the way to the top of the sentry light pole, as a light sprinkling of rain began to fall again. My vertigo made me shiver at the thought. I fell into bed and pulled the doona up to my face. Torchlights flickered behind my curtains like an extra terrestrial landing. I thought of Close Encounters of the third kind.
I hoped the neighbour was watching just to see that something was being done. Poor, sleep deprived bitch!
My last thoughts were, Ah, house maintenance, at last. Tick.

Wednesday, November 16, 2011

Why is this the face of jesus? Why isn't it the face of Abdul the tailor?

Environmental nonsense

Shane buys environmentally friendly 100% recycled toilet paper and thinks anyone who is against the carbon tax is an idiot...
... and then can leave every light in the house, from the front door to the back door, including the front and back outside lights, on without a care.

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

Back to Work?

My old work agency is calling me about jobs. They've called me a few times, but up until this morning, I didn't put the missed call number together with theirs.

Just when I'm thinking that I really do need to find a job. I guess I should take it as a sign and get back to them.

Oh? Really? It seems such a wrench.

It's a lovely summery sunny day, so I went outside and watered my plants instead and thought about it no more.

But really, it is now on my mind and I'm trying to talk myself into calling them. I'm trying to get my mind back into work mode.

I might make more coffee.

Monday, November 14, 2011

Out of the blue

Manny called last night, out of the blue.

"Hi Chris, it's me Manny. I don't think we have seen each other for five years, but I broke up with my partner two weeks ago and I thought I'd give you a call, it's a shame you aren't home. I went to your office, but they said you'd left. I'll give you another call later."

Really? I thought.

After five years, it's me you give a call?

You remember my number? because I don't remember  yours.

I've moved on, Manny, really, and I don't want to see you. Would that be too cruel to say to someone?
I guess we should be able to be friends, but I don't really want to be. Have a nice life Manny, you are a sweet boy and I hope you find happiness.

Sunday, November 13, 2011

I think the choice was a throw back to her school girl crashes

Up early to see Moneyball with Jill. I think the choice was a throw back to her school girl crashes and Brad Pitt, than so much of an actual choice in movie. 

Santo and I felt a bit wrecked, cursing that we’d agreed to an early session, 13.45. Santo said he was waiting for me to cancel.

The movie was good, okay. Brad Pitt was pretty good, I guess. It had a nice moody atmosphere. Good cinematography. Another win for him to add gold to his coffers.

We had soup in Victoria Street as we headed home.

Saturday, November 12, 2011

It was a gorgeous, sparkling day

It was a gorgeous, sparkling day. We went riding along Southbank and then just kept going. Past the Exhibition Centre, past the Pollywoodside, all the way along. The development along the Yarra is quite amazing, all apartments and marinas and esplanades to walk on and to ride on. It all seemed quite relaxed too, not over crowded, not teaming with people, but just a nice bunch, of what seemed liked locals, enjoying the day.

Not that I want to live in an apartment, I kept saying.

We looked at the prices in a real estate shop window. Goodness me, there seemed to be a good per cent age of them over one million.

Then we came to the end and there were a group of town houses nestled there, in sight of the Westgate Bridge. They had 180 degree views of the Yarra, with lovely water frontages. They seemed peaceful and serene.

Now, I could live here.

There were a collection of walk bridges which connected them to the Docklands and other parts of that end of the city.

As we rode back, it struck me that it would be like being on holidays every day. You could walk to the city along the water front walkways. It all seemed quite lovely, quite an amazing world they have built, nearly, all the way to the bay.

Wednesday, November 09, 2011

Now we know what we have to do, break their necks

I’m up at 11am. I turn on the coffee machine, full expresso. I am impatient and the coffee is cold.
I go back to bed to my computer. There is no side table to sit my coffee cup on. Things are packed up ready to ship to the new house. It hardly seems the effort to juggle a cold cup of coffee on my legs with my laptop.

Burly welsh rugby player, beer drinking, 125 kilos, breaks his neck while trying to impress his mates, which causes him to have a stroke.
He wakes up from the coma and immediately feels different. He is watching a TV program with a handsome actor, which gives our boy the same feelings in his stomach that he used to feel when he looked at women.
He’s now a 71 kilo hairdresser.
Now we know what we have to do, flip them over backwards and break their necks.

When I get up again, Mark and Luke are up. I eat muesli. We watch Doctor Phil. We smoke a joint.

I sneak a cigarette and walk up the driveway to smoke it. I feel stoned, and feel that I am guilty with every thing I do. Just smoke the cigarette, own it, feel yourself grow.
Yeah right, if it was that simple everyone would be doing it.

I get my camera, to take photos up the driveway.
My camera runs out of batteries after the fourth shot. But, the driveway is gorgeous in dappled light meandering through the forest... I'll miss it.
Dusty is playing in the barn as I walk back. They are packing it up, what do you expect?
I don’t have the camera charger, bugger. Would that be one of those moments that Santo says I need to plan?
But, I was sure I had it, mum.

I need a good dump and a shower, I know that much is true. The country has a way of doing that to you.

I gardened all afternoon, out in the sun. I think it's good to get a little vitamin D, I mean, how long do I spend in doors behind my computer. And I've had the odd blocked pore, of late.
The sun was hot. The breeze was cool. The sky was blue. I usually break every half hour for a cup of tea, that's my idea of working in the garden. And a cake, even better. You know what I mean? I move like the seasons. A seasonal gardener, thats me. But not today, I cruised through until dusk without a break. Do you know how many greens there are in nature? I was in a trance. Digging those weeds, mostly out in the canna garden. I wanted to get them all. The Japanese Maple is amazing this year. In the zone, as they say. How cute are wrens bathing in water?
I could smell rain in the air. A huge storm blew in and the thunder rolled and the lightening flashed and the rain fell in huge drops. We opened the double doors and stood between indoors and out doors. The other dimension.

The rain

I woke up to the rain gently falling on the roof. I love that sound, there is nothing quite like it for making me feel relaxed and comfy. Nothing quite like it to make me want to open the curtains and pull the blankets up to my face and just stare out at it.

Some people hate Melbourne's changeable weather, I love Melbourne for it. So often it means that when it gets really hot and oppressively hot in the city, you know it won't be long before there is a cool change and all the heat will be blown away and we will be renewed and the sparkling sun light will start all over again.

I like that break. I look for that break. It makes the heat more bearable. I see it as an advantage.

Of course, I am still in the country, where it doesn't matter how hot it gets, as it all cools down again when the evening falls. I'm surrounded by birds and trees.

Tuesday, November 08, 2011

Lending a hand

Santo kissed me good bye at the bed room door; really my first recollection of the day. Big lips, kisses like he loves me. A lovely way to start Monday, to start the week. It was nice being with Santo all weekend, without Shane home, it felt like a different house. Ours. Relaxed. No tension.

Not that Shane is hard to live, because he's not. He cooks for me.

I dozed. But say, 9.15 and I was awake again, comfy, warm, just one doona needed to keep me warm. The summer doona, we'd changed over. The weather has changed, we've moved, perceptibly, from winter to summer.
Shane got up and went to the toilet and then went back to bed. He didn’t scratch and rattle around in his room and then head lead-footed down the stairs. No, the door made its familiar clunk and then silence. Nothing. He’d gone back to bed. Clearly.

I rolled over and went back to sleep, if not total rem sleep, I certainly dozed. Cuddling pillows. I rolled over and looked at my clock, it was half past nine. Oh, please don’t tell me you are staying home? I mean, what kind of conference does an office manager need, I ask you. Go to work.

It was a beautiful morning, I rolled over in my bed, relaxed, free, as free as the wind. I got my book out and read for a while. Hands straight up in the air.

Shane made no more sounds, not a scratch, not a scrape, not even a cough. Shane can sleep, if he doesn’t have to get up, well into the afternoon. I read for a while.

The phone was ringing. Luke was asking me if I wanted my old Bette Davis videos. Like I'd part with them? I bet you never play another video in your life, says Luke.
Then Mark is on the phone saying he is really anxious, he doesn’t feel like he’s going to get it done. There is so much. I can’t sleep. I need help.

My first reaction was, get Valium. I'm not proud.

I looked over at the clock, it was 11.45. What? How? I look out the window, Shane’s car is still in the street. Oh what? He did stay home. What a beautiful day? He’s spoiling it. What a nice drive to the country. What about my rent. I just want to disappear, not explain. He could be up in a minute? I could honestly be packed in fifteen minutes. I don’t want it to look like I’m sneaking out. He easily sleeps to 2pm. If he has had a big day. Just pack and leave. Pull on clothes. Drag the necessities together, clothes, computer. Just start, you can have it done in the time you stop and say you can’t. Get the hell out. Get money out of the bank.

I left just after midday. In the car. The sun is shining. Into the day. Into the country, without a word to any one.
The Caulder was well lit, the day sparkled, the countryside looked beautiful. That gorgeous warm day smell floating in the wide open windows of the car. I listened to Joss Stone.
Mark said it was a surprise.

We watched a doco about Christians and atheists.
Apparently, Abby has found Christianity at an evangelical church whose congregation speaks in tongues and Abby thinks it is a perfectly normal Christian tradition.
Maybe a normal American Evangelical tradition
They buy her trips to Melbourne and Trips to Bali. It sounds like the same old Abby, relying on someone else to pay her way.
Apparently, she is already asking Mark to challenge her religiously. And she feels as though God has told her to do many things since she is born again. And she feels it is her duty to spread the word.
However, I must qualify my position here, as Abby and I have never really discussed her Christian beliefs, and the information I have I got from Mark.

Luke packed ornaments and knick knacks. Lots of bubble wrap, lots of boxes.
I packed the Pianola rolls. I drove the tractor. We packed quite a few boxes and we took them to the barn, the tractor packed full, ready to be picked up by the removalist.

Luke cooked diner. Chicken salad, it was yum.
I ate one of the violet crumble squares and Mark calls me fat. He is critical of me at the moment, any guesses why?

We watch the Xfactor and MTV Awards, Belfast. Justin Bieber sang, ah ha, he was okay. Lady Ga Ga sang, but the shots were long shots and bad, you couldn’t see her, she was too far away, which made me suspect she was miming. She had this big, stupid hat on. Queen performed, Adam Lambert sang, he didn’t really cut it, half the time he sounded a bit like a Dalek. I saw Paul Rogers from Bad Company front them, he was much better, he’s their man.
There was cute Irish boy streaking with his cock hanging out. It was nice to see his dick, it was nice they showed it in TV… but blanked it out on the Internet news.

Luke rolled joints.
Mark and Luke went to bed.
I stayed up to see Queen and rolled a joint. Then I went to bed. In the corner room and wrote this.

I played on my laptop. Checking emails.

My buddy Leah is going to sell a cutlery set, which I was going to simply throw out, on eBay... Yeah, sure... sell the cutlery set, thanks Leah, one million dollars would be great, I could retire. I did mean to ask my sister if she wanted it, just in case. You know. But, I forgot. I’m sure she wont, though. So yes, sell it.
I'm at Bolago helping the boys pack, they sounded anxious and I have nothing else to do. No, really I don't.
Leah hasn't work for the period  that I haven't worked, but I'm not on to the credit card stage, as yet, like she is, so I'm sure that is good, perhaps not so good for her. But, I guess I'm going to have to get a job and am probably living in a fool's paradise, so who am I to judge. So there you go. It's a shame to see the cutlery set got, but it is of a different time. It was a wedding present to my mum and dad on their 17th December 1955 wedding, so I'm sure Xmas was mighty swish that year. It is solid silver? Or is it? I can't quite remember.

The day is perfect

No, I'm not bored, the sun is illuminating the world so beautifully, I just go to my happy tune. Happy, nonsense songs. The day is a magnificent 28, glorious degrees. I'm gazing out at the silken air, as I sip my coffee, first thing, on a radiant morning.

The day is perfect. I take a trip into the country. It feels great to be alive.

It is a beautiful night, the moon shines down brightly.
The frogs are croaking on the lake.

Thursday, November 03, 2011

Who knows something, sing polly wolly doodle all the day.

Who knows anything, sing polly wolly doodle all the day.

Who knows what life is about, sing... no?

Okay, show me in interpretive dance,


Wednesday, November 02, 2011

Going to see Darren Hayes

I was up at 10.30, mostly because my bladder was telling me so.
I came downstairs to a healthy Aby, now fully recovered from her codeine poisoning.
Aby’s friend LuLu arrived a short time later and they headed out into the day.

It is cold and wet, the skies are grey, the breeze has a bite to it. Santo and I needed umbrellas to head out to dinner this last evening. The hint of summer that we had has all disappeared and it is raining, you can see your breath puff out in front of you when you breath out.

I was happily pulled up at the coffee table with my laptop and my coffee, thick explorer socks, hoodie, track pants and thermal underwear, happy as a Christian can be... atheist boy named Christian, that is. The morning was drifting into lunch time, Missy was snuggled up next to me, purring as my hand gently stroked her back.

I might write a little for the day and then rest. It seemed like a good idea. Or maybe, if when I got to it, I decided that I wasn't sleepy, I might head out for a snack. Who cared? I could do anything, the day was mine.

Click, click sounded the front door. Scrape, scrape was the sound of the silver jiffies on the floorboards. Scratch, scratch was the sound of the fingernails on the wall at the lounge room door, as she came into sight.

Sharp breath in. "Oh, 'allo."

"Oh... hello Guadalupe."

I head straight outside and write on my lap-top on the back veranda, my coffee next to me. It wasn’t exactly warm and I wondered how crazy I looked, but at least I was out of her way cleaning. And it helps with my cleaner phobia, something about my back to her.

When I was sick of writing, I then continue with the cleaning of up the back, the upper layer, normally out of sight. I was determined to clean it all up, finish the job, clean it so I could see the bitumen covering the ground where the cars park, or at least, my car parks.
I scrape, I scratch, I sweep, I shovel, I clean the surface of all its dirt.
I pile up the side garden/compost heap with all the debris that was lying all of the surface of the drive and the car park.
I sweep and I sweep and I sweep some more so the surface is clean. It takes some time. I promise myself that I wont let this happen again. Deep down, I’m pretty convinced that it will.

I wonder if I could rent it out? Who has a spare car space in the inner suburbs which they don't use?

All the while I am enjoying my alone time.
It takes me the rest of the day, fueled by many cups of tea, and I am fucked when I am finished, aching all over, thinking I’m not twenty any more.

Santo arrives after work.
Mark and Luke arrive later than they said they would, but they have brought the bed back for the front room, strapped to the roof of the Subaru. They are in the middle of their house packing, as they are leaving for NSW in three weeks, so they are busy cleaning up all the loose ends. They borrow the bed some months ago.
We are going to see Darren Hayes at the Forum.
We ate at Coconut Palms; Mark and Luke are too hungry to even talk. The both seem grumpy. We walked up Smith Street and caught a taxi in Victoria Parade. The taxi driver was a maniac, you know, your clichéd road terror taxi driver.

Brendan Maclean is the support act. He was a self indulgent tosser who seemed to be terribly enamoured with his own small talent.

Darren Hayes started right on time. He comes out under a ultra violet lit umbrella, which seems really dumb, and doesn’t bode well for the rest of the performance. We got a posy up near the front. The sound was shit. Mark and Luke didn’t seem to be having a very good time. Santo said he was excited. Then Luke disappeared. When I asked Mark where he was, he said Luke had gone home, as he wasn’t into it.
It was standing room only and I seemed to be getting a sore back from all the standing.
Mark disappeared and then reappeared saying the sound was better up the back… which it was. Then Mark went out for a cigarette. I said to Santo let’s go out and get some fresh air. Mark walked up to us on the footpath and said, “So, are you ready to go?”
“Oh?” That’s not really what I had in mind. I look at Santo, he nods. “Ok,” we said.

Mark said he was freezing as we walked home, lets catch a taxi, of course he didn’t have any money. The taxi drive was a really gorgeous, big strong, boysy Indian guy with a beautiful smile.

Some how we beat Luke home. He must have walked.

Luke said he saw Shane and David in a bar in Gertrude Street.
Mark and Luke left pretty soon after. They had a cup of tea, but they still didn’t seem all that happy.
Santo and I went to bed.

David came home with Shane and knocked on my bedroom door. We jokingly kept silent, thinking David would be more determined than he actually proved to be. He must have walked straight down the stairs and out the front door.
Santo and I were watching Graham Norton.
I text him a few times after that. He called me a witch and said he’d gone to Club 80.
“I’ve been away for four months you bitch.”

Tuesday, November 01, 2011

Cooking me lunch

I was awake at 9am, ready to get up and go pick up Santo, since I had been so dense about it being Cup Day and him coming over after work.

I was showered and ready to go by 10.30.

There was no sound of Aby being up and about, despite there being some Lilly noise earlier, it was now quiet. I went up to the top room to see her and she had been vomiting from the codeine in the painkillers I had given her last night for her sciatica.
“Oh,” I said.
“I think I’ll be right now, thought.”
“I’m going to pick Santo up, so I’ll be back later.”
I’m sure Ab had said something last night about the possibility of codeine making her sick. I wondered if that is what she had said as I headed out to the car. I thought it was funny how we would do such things to ourselves, if that is, in fact, what she said.
But, I wanted to leave and her being sick threatened to get in the way. I wanted to spend her first day at my place doing what I wanted to do, suiting myself, if you like.
So, I left “I’ll be back later” as deliberately vague and scampered out to the car.

Santo handed me Secateurs and gloves, as soon as I got there, and pointed towards the garden. “My garden needs your attention.”
Kiss kiss babe.
He said he was cooking me fried rice for lunch, he’d told me yesterday in the failed conversation about Cup Day.

We both tendered the garden, stealing smiles at each other.

We get to watching documentaries on drugs – one each on Cocaine, meth, heroin, with lots of people shooting up, too much, too much and of course, god’s herb itself, marijuana.
I text Ab to say I had been caught up. I felt guilty, her first day at my place and she was sick and I abandon the house. I shouldn’t have, I know. What kind of friend am I? But, that is just how it worked out. She says Shane has come over to look after her and that everything was fine. I hoped that was true.

Santo and I watch Drugs, inc, documentaries about Cocaine, Crystal meth, heroin and marihuana. We were bemused by the smuggling methods and the unlimited funds of the Columbian cartels, we were amazed by the damage meth caused, we were squeamish about the intravenous injections of heroin and laughed about marijuana being labeled “God’s Herb,” as that is what I always tell Santo what it is.

We have opposing views on drug policy, mine is that it needs to be legalized and therefore the criminal element can be removed and then all the money from policing/detection/jails can then be put into medical programs/counselling. Santo thinks it needs to be policed for the good of society.

My little monster Santo's favourite drug is crystal meth.
My favourite drug would still be pot.

We got back to my place about 18.30. There appeared to be nobody home. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t slightly pleased by that. Santo was pretty quickly asking what we were going to eat. He wanted to go to Malaysian in Carlton. Sounds good, so we walked over there.

I tentatively headed up stairs to see if Ab was around, to ask her out for dinner too. I knew Shane had had trade around and I didn’t really want to invite him for dinner. I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t please that neither of them were around.
So Santo and I headed out the door quickly. And as if by some sort of karmice retribution, we both though we heard Lilly yelling out as we headed oout the door to the front gate.
“Should we go and look?” asked Santo.
“But I checked, there is no where else they could be. Nah, let's go.”
What kind of friend would you s ay I was?

It was a lovely walk to Carlton. It was a lovely evening, even if it wasn’t especially hot, but it was warm enough. Not barmy, but mild. I love that walk from Nicolson Street to Rathdown between the Exhibition Buildings and the museum, it is an urban oasis, a constructed valley, between two urban ridges. The landscape of history meets the landscape of knowledge, with lovely long expanses and end of day shadows in between.

Dinner was lovely, the café was busy. We sat outside, surrounded by pretty boy students all feasting to the end of the weekend, well, holiday to be strictly correct.

We were back home by about 8pm, still there seemed to be nobody home.

Neither of us had a clue about the big race, nor did we care.

Shane came home pretty soon after that. He’d hired Pirates of the Caribbean 4, so we watched that. As with the other Pirates movie, I found it to be hard to follow and possibly nonsensical, although, it could have just been me.

Ab came home having been out for Vietnamese soup. Where she was earlier remains a mystery.