Nina Low (the toy company) rang me at 8am and said she needed the details of some figures, as someone was questioning them. I guess I was happy to tell her, but I so wanted to tell her that this would classify as the second day, which they were claiming that role didn’t require. I didn’t say that, of course, but I wanted to.
Ah work, who needs it. But what about the future, I hear you say? Yes, well good point. The future? I guess I should be worried about the future? We spend so much time worrying about it though. What about today? What about living in the moment?
Is climate change and our federal government and other governments around the world scandalous neglect of the environment going to make the future a mute point? Is big business and the likes of Rupert Murdoch actively work against the environment science going to make the future less guaranteed? You know, you have got to wonder? All you have to do, like a good defense lawyer, is plant a seed of doubt in people’s minds… which they have succeeded in doing, for ‘their’ own profits.
Some scientists say we have twenty good years left, so I’m never going to get to retirement, if they are true. Well, I’ll be nudging, true. But what is the point of planning so meticulously for Armageddon?
But back to the future. Granted, I should get myself a job that I love, yes I should. How many people do you think are doing jobs that they love? I have no idea, really. But mostly I hear people say that they hate their jobs? Or they wish they didn’t have to work. Or they wish they did something else. They wished they did something that they loved.
I wish I was one of those people who had it all sorted, career plan, superannuation paid to the max, money in the bank… energy bills geared towards the maximum discount, I wish I was. I’ve always been someone who has wanted to be something else, do something else, but never quite managing it. My personal life has always been so happy and so contented that my work life has always taken a second place. Shrug. So now it would seem that I have got to a stage when my professional life is a drag. Pity really. I know I have turned into one of those whiny people who I feel sorry for. It is true. How did that happen? I mean, I know how it happened, it is just an eye opener, is that a sad truth, that it has. I hear myself some days, oh what a whinger.
They say that old age is no place for sissies. We spend our whole lives preparing for it, which just seems odd sometimes. How much of living do we have to allocate to dying, I sometimes wonder?
So, have another ciggie, another cream bun and the future will take care of itself.
So, who wants to work? I do, actually, I don’t mind work, but a good job, with nice people. I’m just beginning to hate continually going in and cleaning up somebody else’s mess. I think it makes me live in a constant state of anxiety. It is time for a change.
My old boss, Beck, has the perfect job for me, but she can’t get rid of Miss Useless who my boss inherited when she took her job. Assistant Financial blah blah. (I can’t put the words in print) Miss Useless gets everything wrong and is hopeless. And she doesn’t even seem to care, spending her time on Facebook and Gumtree and other such sites, unashamedly. She got pregnant last year and everything was looking good for me, but then annoyingly she had a miscarriage, so she didn’t leave. Damn!
It was three days a week, which was not quite enough for me, but now my boss is only going to work four days so what would be my role has increased to four days per week, which would just suit me.
Grrrrr!
Why is the perfect job dangled so temptingly in front of me but yet remains just out of my grasp? It is annoying.
I’ve got one day a week this week. I think I am on the outer with my boss Jack. I’m not really sure why.
Mark got up after me. I was already sitting at the coffee table with my lappey. He sat there for a while not saying much. Then he said,
“Well, I guess nobody is going to the shop to get me milk.”
Really, I thought. There is plenty of milk at shop. There was, of course, light milk in the fridge, but Mark insists on full cream milk. Seriously?
He clearly didn’t want to go to the supermarket, he clearly wanted me to go. I think, expected me to go was more how he was feeling. He’s funny. Who can blame him, I never want to go to the supermarket either, but, if you want something, other than what your hosts – no matter if said host is your ex-boyfriend – have on offer, go and get it yourself, you have little choice.
Mark headed off and had lunch with his mother, before heading to Sandy’s to help her pack up her house. He took my car. I let him use my car whenever he wants. He never puts petrol in it after he has used it. he somehow managers to use all the petrol it has in it, also.
Anyway, I’m off out into the garden to clean up.
I decided that if I cut up all the garden waste in the back yard and put it in the bin, it would be taken tomorrow. Then tomorrow, I could cut up the rest of it and even though it wouldn’t be collected until next week, at least it would be out of sight and the back yard would be relatively clean. I wondered why I hadn’t thought about this before?
I also have that second bin that had been hanging around in the street for weeks that nobody seemed to claim. I eventually bought it in and stored in the front yard. So, I could fill that one with all of the garden refuse, while keeping my normal bin for our household rubbish. Fuck the council! They keep putting our rates up to pay for the Yarra Council’s CEO’s pay rises, we need something back sometimes.
What if everybody did that, I hear you ask? What about it? Everybody didn’t and everybody wont. Hopefully, the second bin won’t be claimed by anyone in the street and I will be able to claim it again for future use. It didn’t really matter if that happened, or not. Whatever? I must mark it in some way so I easily recognise which one it is. Sam came up with an Apple sticker, which was good thinking, so we stuck that to the side of the stray bin and claimed it as ours.
Antony called me in the afternoon and said that (his mother) Aileen had to go to Peter Mac and have three more operations up until the end of October. He said it was stressing him out and setting off his anxieties. He also told me that he’d got it into his mind that (stepson) Fenn would be at the party here on Saturday night. I think he dreamt that they had a big fight.
I assured Antony that Fenn was not invited and that he wouldn’t becoming. I told him that the last time I saw Fenn I told him that I never wanted to see him again, and while I didn’t mean it at the time, he took it to heart, of course, and over the years I have decided that those words were prophetic.
I never want to see Fenn again and I am really comfortable with that decision.
The doctor’s receptionist called and said I had to come in the next day.
Sam cooked tomato soup. It was better than the last time.
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