Tuesday, September 26, 2017

I tried to explain to a (born again) Christian friend/acquaintance that I didn’t want to get married, and a lot of my gay friends didn’t want to get married, as all of my straight friends who supported marriage equality didn’t suddenly want to marry someone of the same sex, and that didn’t matter, it didn’t have to be about us, just as it is not about her Christian beliefs. I tried to put it into words that she’d understand, that it was about loving your neighbour, helping your neighbour to achieve what they wanted to achieve, that it was okay if it was about other people and not about me, or her. It was about equality, about people being treated equally and therefore fairly, it was about kindness and love, love of your neighbour. However, she still felt that men who lived 2000 years ago, where still better judges of what we should do in the 21st century.

Monday, September 25, 2017

Miss D and Me

I dragged Sam around 3 book shops in the city on Saturday looking for a new Bette Davis biography, Miss D and Me, I want to read and, of course, none of the book shops had it in stock. They all offered to order it in, which would take weeks, or some such length of time. 

We'd eaten Indonesian food in Swanston Street, at Fat Oma, for lunch. We'd been to Myer to buy the new version of Apple TV, but Myer didn't have it in stock.

When we got home, Sam got out his iBook reader thingy and purchased the book in 5 minutes and handed it to me. Welcome to the 21st century, his look said. 

I love the feel of a book in my hand, I love the smell of it, I love the feeling of the paper on my fingers as I turn the page. I like to put the book on my book shelf after I have finished reading it. I have book shelves crammed with books and, truthfully, I am running out of room for new books. All that being said, I didn't take long to get used to the reader. With an iBook reader, you don't have to worry about sitting where there is good like, which is great, because in a terrace house good light is sometimes hard to find.

Today it is a not so pleasant, rainy, day in Melbourne, so I am now curled up on the couch with my new book. Lovely.

Sunday, September 24, 2017

Sometimes the old Fashioned Way is Best

I was making coffee in the kitchen and Sam was out the back messing around in the garden. I sent him a message, coffee? (We have unlimited messages and calls on both our phones)

He didn't answer and I was sure he had his Apple watch on. I'd finished making my coffee and I was ready to make his, should he want one.

We have a clear view from  the kitchen through the lounge room and out the windows to the back yard. So I made the sound, "Pssst!" and held up a coffee cup.

He looked up and nodded in the affirmative.

Modern technology eat your heart out.

Friday, September 22, 2017

Update on Tony Abbott Head-Butt Story

So, the update on this story, is that the attacker says it had nothing to do with marriage equality. He said he saw Tony Abbott and he thought to himself, he would never have another another opportunity to head-but the vile oaf. So, nothing to do with marriage equality, Tony, you contemptuous prick

Tony Abbott, allegedly, gets assaulted in Hobart, by a man wearing a 'Yes' badge no less, and he doesn't call the police, he calls 2GB. In fact, Tony Abbott never calls the police, the police have to call him to find out the details.

Thursday, September 21, 2017

Wednesday, September 20, 2017

Muesli

250 grams of wheat bran, half of the bag, for batch one. 500 grams [approx.] rolled oats, maybe a few more if you raid the porridge canister. Up to you. Cut up your 80 gram, bag of pistachios. Don't look at me like that, it doesn’t take that long.

You could use almonds, but I have an intolerance to almonds, so I use pistachios.

Never use walnuts, peanuts, or hazelnuts. I have learnt from bad experience. The walnuts take over, the only flavour you get is walnut, peanuts are too dry, and hazelnuts do the same as walnuts, except not quite so bad.

Add the rest of the ingredients, 500 grams [ish] sultanas, to taste, 150 grams currents, 170 grams cranberries, 200 grams pepitas, 200 grams sunflower kernels.

And mix. It is the mixing I love. Be careful not to spill any out of the side of the bowl, you should have plenty of room if you are careful.

Add a second 500 gram bag rolled oats. [fill a big mixing bowl, the type granny made fruit cakes in, with all of these ingredients, however many rolled oats it takes to fill a big mixing bowl?]

Mix again. The mixing bowl is now really full. Gently, you can do it, there is enough room to mix.

When the mixing is done, put the muesli into the muesli canister.

Done. A new batch of muesli, filling my two pantry canisters, it is a good feeling. No added sugar. Plenty of Fruit Muesli, because my mum told me I could eat as much fruit as I liked.


Thursday, September 07, 2017

The Very second of Waking Up

I was up early 5am. I just woke up. I always have really vivid dreams, so much so that they sometimes wake me up, often, with a start. And unless I remember them in that very second I take to wake up, I forget them in the next second. The third second of the day and my dreams are swimming away from me like fast fish. Rub one eye, rub the other eye, they are gone.

What? It was? A fast car skidding in the gravel on a country road. No, it is gone.

There was a full moon, at 5am, it shone brightly. I called Buddy inside. He didn’t move a paw in his kennel. I wrote my journal for a while, until I felt tired again. Milo snuggled up in the blanket that was covering me on the couch. We both dropped off.

Sam got up and made porridge. The blueberries and strawberries were sour on my oats. The maple syrup countered that, almost. Fruity, syrupy, mily, oaty is what I get. I eat it horizontally.

I had a nap on the couch while Sam showered. He exhaled when he re-entered the room, seeing me still on the couch. His kissed me good bye from the couch.

“You stay there, kiss, kiss.”


Perhaps, I should have a no joint before breakfast rule. He chuckles away to himself. Sam says he hates 'that' face gazing moronically.

I chatted to Mark, yesterday. He gave away what happens to Jon Snow. The last episode I watched was Jon Snow getting stabbed. I kind of thought Jon Snow was still in the show, I couldn’t resolve it in my head, but then again, they kill everyone in that show.

I said something about the red witch, and Mark responded, with what the red witch did. I’m not going to be a spoiler too. But in that second, Mark gave it away, so easily. He said he was sorry, that he didn’t mean to. I said it was oaky, I don’t take it that seriously. At that moment, I remembered all the occasions that I had, almost bragged, that I’d never watched Game of Thrones. Boy has that changed in the last month. We’ve got season 6 to watch this weekend.

Milo and I sleep a little longer on the couch.

I put Aerosmith on. I fertilise all of my indoor plants, and my house is like a jungle, but it doesn't take long. Four twelve litres made up and we're done, until tomorrow.

I’ve been thinking about guys who could sing Son of a Preacher Man. Wouldn’t you just love to see a straight, male singer perform that song, with a gay sensibility? I reckon it would be hot.

I watched Queen play with Paul Rogers, one of two guys who have fronted Queen, one of only two guys with the chops to come close to replacing Freddie Mercury.

This is the guy who Freddy Mercury idolised as a vocalist.


Actually, I tend to like him better than Adam Lambert, Paul Rodger's voice seems to be more organic than Lambert's singing machine.

Maybe I should play a bit of Jagger, and have a morning of great rock vocalists.

I reckon the male singer to sing Son of a Preacher Man would have to be younger than the rock titans. Maybe Harry Styles, I wonder.

Wednesday, September 06, 2017

My second Basal-cell Carcinoma

I had my second Basal-cell carcinoma cut off my face today. Me and Hugh Jackman, just like that [holding up two fingers that are crossed] 

My smoking surgeon, who didn't stink quite so bad of cigarettes today, is nice. Not that I care, I used to smoke, whatever, but I imagine some of his patients may care. The first local anaesthetic stung like a bee sting. The second, third, was there a forth, didn't hurt so much. 

We talked about car accidents, the old lady who drove into my front wall, and a bike rider that rode into the back of his car. The key factor was that both of the old lady, and the bike rider, had done exactly the same thing not long before they crashed into us. The old lady wrote her car off driving over a round about, and the bike rider had ridden into another car the day before he rode into the good doctor.

I could feel my forehead go numb, it was a strange feeling.

A bit of a tug. I couple of stitches.

Then the tiny bandage was put on and it was done. I nearly asked for a bigger bandage, as I was not going to get any sympathy with that tiny little square of cloth, magnifying glass in and out, as nobody will be able to see it. Actually, that is good, I jest, as the last one was on the side of my head and due to its position it needed a great big, cumbersome bandage.

The removed flesh was sent for a biopsy.

I'm back next week to have the stitches out.

Tuesday, September 05, 2017

Fixing My Knee

I have had a sore knee for a number of weeks. I don't know what I did to it, but some how I hurt it. I figured it would just get better, no need to go to the doctor, it would heal itself. Well, some weeks later it just wasn't getting any better, if anything, it was getting marginally worst.

Damn it, I thought to myself. I am going to have to go to the doctor, who will refer me to some knee guy, who'll send me off to have scans, of some kind. Damn it, how boring, bloody hell.

So, I haven't done anything about it, but it was dawning on me that I would have to do something about it very soon. Clearly it isn't getting better, I am going to have to buy into the medical system to get it fixed. It seemed like 'now' was the time, I had to finally admit to myself, whether I liked it, or not.

Apart from anything else, I needed to start doing some exercise again, I can't just sit around all day, because you know what they say about sitting.

Yesterday, my ex-boyfriend called me to tell me that his ex-wife and the mother of my step-children had died. She has had bowel cancer for quite a few years, so it wasn't altogether unexpected. It is quite sad, as she was still relatively young.

After we had chatted about that, Mark asked me when I was coming to visit. I said that I would, if only my knee would get better. He responded with, "I guess you are going to be rather sceptical about this, but go and get yourself some Comfrey Cream and put that on." 

Once we had a baby kangaroo - when Mark did animal rescue stuff - with a hopelessly broken arm which from all accounts would have to be amputated. At the time, Mark knew quite a renowned a Chinese herbalist who suggested comfrey and it healed the kangaroo's leg. And more recently, Mark hurt his little finger which he suspected may have been broken, but he put comfrey cream on it anyway. It clearly wasn't broken, as it was well on the way to being healed within 24 hours of the application of comfrey.

Knowing all of this information, I replied, "I'm not sceptical, and at this point I will try anything."

So, 24 hours later, having just applied my forth application of comfrey cream, not wanting to get ahead of myself in anyway, I will cautiously tell you my knee seems to be much improved.

Monday, September 04, 2017

Sitting on the Couch

Watched What's My Line for most of the day. I love that show. I only watch the celebrity mystery guest, I don't both with the ordinary contestants. Although, I watch some of the ordinary contestants occasionally, it is a window into a world that doesn't exist any more. Ava Gardener must be the most beautiful woman in the world, followed closely by Hedy Lemarr. Paul Newman is the most handsome man. Robert Morse and Steve Lawrence are also kind of hot.

The weather was shit. My knee is still sore.

Sunday, September 03, 2017

Lazy Days

I still haven't finished the front wall. It's been cold. My knee has been sore.

I’ve been watching YouTube, brushing up on my American cars. I never knew much about American cars, it was always my car knowledge weakness, but now I I’ve got a pretty good idea. My favourite era would be 1958 to 1959, but I have brushed up through the fifties, sixties, and seventies. The late fifties and the early sixties was the pinnacle of American car design. I don’t know why, but I have always been fascinated with cars, ever since I was young.


I’ve been watching car restoration YouTube channels, it’s fascinating. I love the guys who get old cars and get them going just with their mechanical ingenuity.

I should have been a mechanic, I reckon I could get into car restoration right about now. I’d like to restore VW Beetles.

I always wished I’d learned the piano. I should learn the piano.

I’ve always wanted to sing. I should take singing lessons. David has a teacher he recommended to me. He’s taking singing lessons with her. He sang a song at his big birthday party in Amsterdam. He was pretty good.

David has just split up with his latest boyfriend, another basket case that needs fixing.

“What is wrong with me, why can’t I get a boyfriend?”

“It’s not you, it is them,” I say.

He quotes his favourite line from sexy in The City, a line Charlotte uttered. “I’ve been looking for him since I was sixteen, where is he, I’m exhausted.”


Saturday, September 02, 2017

Saturday, Saturday

Today it was walking with my sore knee in the rain, which was painful and I complained until Sam told me to shut up.

"Why don't you try stretching it?"


I rolled my eyes. "That just works your thigh," I said. I kept walking to Victoria Street, trying not to complain too much more. At the lights, I did tentatively grab my foot and attempt a stretch, and it felt good, but I am sure it did my knee no good.

Oh how boring it is to have a knee that is not getting better. I thought it would have by now, but it hasn't. I don't know what I did to it, nothing specific. I'll have to go to my GP, who will have to send me to some knee guy, I presume, who will have to send me to get an x-ray, or something equally as boring. Oh, annoying. I read that knees were the most common joint injury, it is a thrill to be so common.

We ate Pho. We chose the wrong Pho shop and it wasn't so good. As nice as it could be. Oh well. You live and learn, hey. It is not so important.

We shopped at the Hive for groceries. Or, at least, Sam shopped and I sat at a table rubbing my knee.

The druggies were out in force, with their toothless smiles and their looks of fear, or was that concentration, as they rushed to somewhere, bare-foot, chewing.


One of them insisted he got the wrong change for his purchase, which cost $5.50 for which he swore he gave the girl on the register two fifty dollar notes. Which made no sense. The girl he couldn't identify, despite the girls on the cash registers having worked all day, which also made no sense. The boss was very patient, and the guy was clearly off his chops.

And we made wantons at the kitchen bench for chicken soup for diner for the coming cold night when we got home, which we ate for diner.


Friday, September 01, 2017

Sam's got my Cold

I've had a cold for a week and now Sam has it. He's home from work, yesterday afternoon and today. We've got season 4 and season 5 of Game of Thrones to watch so we'll be alright.

We've just started watching Game of Thrones in the last month. One of Sam's colleagues has it all on Blu-Ray and has been lending them to us. We tried watching it once before, a number of years ago, but couldn't get into it. I'm enjoying it this time, but I don't really get why it is the biggest TV show in the world, there are too many holes in the story line. It is incredibly violent, there are some images that will never leave me. I find it kind of disturbing that such a violent show is the most popular in the world. 

And all the gay characters have been killed off. My favourite characters keep getting done it.

My favourite character is Tyrion Lannister, the dwarf brother. He's been my favourite from the beginning. I hope, with trepidation, that he isn't killed off suddenly, you know, with an axe through the head. The rest of the Lannisters, nyr.

I hate the Dragon Queen, she is a terrible actress, but she does have really hot men around her, that is true. Although, most of them have come to a bad end, of course.

Sad that Rob Stark died and that his mother died. But, why did they wander around the country side until they died though? I never got that?

I loath the Queen Regent and the Red Witch. I love Arya and Brienne.

Jon Snow is more than serious, now isn't he. But who wouldn't want a wolf of their own?

And then there are all the swarthy men.

And now the self-righteous religious types are ruining everybody's lives, so in that sense nothing has changed over the years. The poison of the pious, have always been the nightmare of the masses.

Thursday, August 31, 2017


Psychosomatic Illness

I've developed a psychosomatic illness, if you would even call it that, when Sam says diner is ready, I have to go and take a piss. Every night. It is a recent thing. Is that even a thing? Sam just shakes his head.

"Do you always..." you can hear the rest.

It is probably some long lost childhood trauma finally bubbling to the surface. I just knew, I should have a few more of those. It is not healthy to be so normal, I am sure. It is kind of weird, though, like clock work, or is that like piss-take? And now that it is in my head...  every night. In the words of my favourite movie, It is beyond my control.

I should google it, I guess. Of course, that is never really recommended. Google will probably tell me it is cancer, or ulcerated something, or some mental disease, of some sort. Denys-Drash Syndrome, that's what I got when I googled it. Truthfully, I think it was the word syndrome. That is some hideous condition.

Oh, who are we kidding, Google will tell us what the businesses have paid Google to tell us, well, at least for the first page, or two, of the search. Whoever has paid Google the most, that is what we'll be told.

Remember when the internet used to tell you interesting, useful information? Not what business has paid them to tell us. Remember that?

Wednesday, August 30, 2017

Guilt, it is Such a Waste of Energy

You know, sometimes I feel like such a shonk.

Sam does all of the buying of the food, and pays for the meals when we eat out, and he does all the cooking. I do the cleaning of the kitchen after the cooking, and I pay the rest of the bills. I also do the clothes washing and any home maintenance that may need doing. We both share the cleaning of the house, I vacuum and he dusts, on a Sunday. I don't know if that is fair, but both of us seem happy enough with the arrangement.

So, Sam goes to work full time and he does all the cooking when he gets home. Thankfully. I am so glad I don't have to cook. Shake of the head. He comes home for lunch every day, we usually eat leftovers from the night before, or we go out to eat. I stay home and I don't work. I say that I am on long service leave, I'm just lucky that way. Someone said the other day, the boyfriend of a friend, "You are so lucky that you work from home."

Sure, let’s go with that, I thought.

Truthfully, I have been pissing around since we got back from Europe.

So, the shonk bit is... I race around, literally for 10 minutes and clean up the kitchen before Sam gets home for lunch at midday and again at 4.30pm before Sam gets home from work. Literally, it takes me 10 minutes, sometimes 5 minutes. Twice a day. Twenty minutes tops, and the house is clean. That is my day done. The rest of the time, I do what I like.

That's what I have to do on a daily basis. Some days I just feel like a con artist, when it is 4.40pm and I am finishing my 5 minutes of work, wiping the last saucepan and sliding it into the cupboard, as Sam closes the front door having just got home.

"Tea?" I ask, smiling sweetly.

Today, just now, after collecting historical photos of Melbourne all day on the internet, I thought, Jesus! I better get the kitchen done, Sam will be here soon, only to realise, after I was done, that I had raced around an hour early. Stupid me, I'm even losing track of the day.

There is apart of me who thinks, You really should cook. Poor Sam works all day and then has to come home and cook. Then the other part of me says, shrieks, ARE YOU FUCKING MAD? Cook? Everyday? Like a life sentence?

Because I can cook. Actually, I'm a really good cook. As Shane found out once. After being housemates forever, with Shane cooking often, (He started training to be a chef, when he first left school, until he discovered what the hours were like, or something. Truthfully, Shane is pretty ambitious) if anyone was going to cook, I casually wiped up a dinner party for a friend I hadn't seen for some time. And then I met some guy I fancied and I cooked for him. Shane stood in the kitchen doorway with his mouth open, saying the words,

"You can cook? You've never cooked for me."

I can, it just bores me. Every night, day in, day out, going to the supermarket, thinking of something to cook, every night, for the rest of your life, no, ah, ah, shake of the head, no thank you. Occasionally, in a spasm of sisterly generosity, I have whipped up a lasagne, or a spaghetti Bolognese you know, something simply, for Sam, but every day, for the rest of our lives, people do less time for murder.

In the kitchen for 20 minutes a day, that's enough for me.

I should just stop feeling guilty about it.

Tuesday, August 29, 2017

Tuesday Jazz

I've been listening to John Coltrane, me and Bud, cuddled up in a woollen blanket. It is cold outside. I feel cold. Buddy is warm. He snores and he really stinks when he farts, but he is like a hot water bottle.

I read the news (today, oh boy) nothing much. I try not to read too much, just the highlights, something interesting. I avoid anything on the anticipation of a war between two mad men, so that I don't live through it before it has happened.

Sam comes home for lunch. We had Puttanesca Pasta for lunch, Sam and I. It was the best Puttanesca, I reckon, Sam has made.

I cleaned the house. Well, the kitchen. And folded some washing. Towels and undies.

I bought butter and bread, sourdough, from the bakery, it is expensive, but worth it, it's got body and soul. It is covered in seeds, which scatter across my kitchen bench every time I cut the bread.

There are now two homeless people in front of Coles asking for money. Can you imagine being homeless, it gives me a shiver to think about it. I don't give them money, though. I give money to The Smith Family. 

Sam and I walked into town on Saturday to eat Laksa, in Little Lonsdale Street. I saw a homeless woman who I used to see when I used to walk into town to the awful law firm, that was getting onto ten years ago. She's been homeless for at least 10 years. Can you imagine? How has she filled her days for 10 years?

I must give the Smith Family another donation.

I wonder how the Liberal Governments war on poverty turned into an assault on the poor?

Monday, August 28, 2017

The day sparkled in the afternoon

Monday

I entered a short story competition, entries close the end of August, so I had to get it done. Results published in November. What am I going to spend the prize money on, I wonder? Ha ha. I really need to win a story competition soon, to justify calling myself a writer, not that I ever tell anyone I'm a writer, but if I won a writing competition I could.

I sent my tax to the accountant, something I've been meaning to do for weeks, well, since, June 30th, I guess. I do it all electronically, I haven't seen my account for ten years, maybe longer.

Then I watched YouTube all day, some car resto shows, I caught up on the latest episodes. I should subscribe, really, but I get lots of emails already that I never read. And then I watched old eps of What's My Line. I only really watch the mystery celebrity guest.

Oh yes, I tried to go for a walk before lunch, but my damn knee is still too sore. Did I mention that I have a sore knee? It's been sore for about a month. I guess, I better go see the doctor. Sam doesn't want me too get medical advice. 

"Waste of time," he says. "What are they going to do, take an xray?"

"Well, yes, I guess," I said. "That is exactly what they'd do."

"It'll get better," he said. "Stop being a pussy."

It doesn't feel like it is getting better. My morning walk is on hold.

Sunday, August 27, 2017

Fitzroy Street Art

Friday, August 25, 2017

Vote Yes for Same Sex Marriage

Vote Yes for Same Sex Marriage

Don't you all want to stop talking about same sex marriage? Don't you want everybody to stop talking about same sex marriage? Aren’t you sick of hearing about it, I know I am. Don't you all want to get on to the next thing that needs to be dealt with in society? 

There are now almost 1 billion people who live in countries that have legalised gay marriage and nothing has changed in those countries, other than gay people getting married.

So, gay people have been loud and pushy, you think? Some people think. So say the "No" campaign, to get some people onto the "No" side? Well, maybe? Maybe not? It is time to stop dwelling on the messenger, though, and think about the message. If gay people have been pushy, that is because nobody would listen if we weren’t loud and pushy. Sorry, if that has come across as rude, but we have been persecuted for 100’s of years for simply being who we were born to be. And if we never got loud and angry, on occasion, we’d still be illegal, we’d still be going to jail. It is that simple. This is not about who said what? This is about everybody being treated the same in society.


Is Australia the last Western Country to legalise same sex marriage? It is certainly one of the last.

Gay people aren’t going to be satisfied with a plebiscite that was designed to uphold Tony Abbot’s Catholic beliefs. You all know that a plebiscite that costs 122 million that isn’t binding is nonsense. An extensive survey that would have cost 2 million dollars would have done the same thing. (And we could have spent 120 million on the poor) Personally, I think we should boycott the plebiscite, as engaging in it only gives it legitimacy; something specifically designed to favour the older generations who are, apparently, more likely to vote no, and to disenfranchise the young who are more likely to vote yes. But, everybody tells me a boycott is not the way to go.

Gay people aren’t going to stop fighting for a fair and equitable treatment in the world if the plebiscite returns a no answer. The fight will continue because gay people are, literally, fighting for their lives, and no subterfuge by conservative politicians will stop that. So, it won’t stop with a no vote in a pointless plebiscite, the conversation will continue, it will continue to ring in all of our ears.

And here is the ridiculousness of the whole thing, from all accounts, what is generally believed to be true in our society is that the majority of the population thinks gay marriage should be legalised, and the majority of politicians would vote yes in parliament if given the chance, and yet we are wasting 120 million to pacify a couple of dinosaurs’ in the Liberal Party.

So, here’s your chance, to get everyone to finally stop taking about this subject, here is your chance to give everyone peace on same sex marriage, Vote Yes and everybody can just stop taking about it.

Thursday, August 24, 2017

Funny the Things You Think

When I was a kid, I used to hate the brown bits on bananas, which was unusual for me because as a kid I wasn't a fussy eater. The brown bruised parts of bananas I just couldn't abide, and my mum used to take those sections and eat them herself.

Now a days I just chop up the banana, bruised bits and all, and scatter the pieces over my muesli, without a care in the world. Funny the things you think about as you wait for your first coffee to kick in, before you have put anything in your stomach.

Onya mum, I thought. I smiled to myself.

Here's to all the mums who eat their little boy's bruised banana segments, so they don't have to eat them until they have grown into men.

Wednesday, August 23, 2017

I Quit Smoking

I did quit smoking though, 3 days in, with the onset of this cold. I would have quit anyway, but the cold did hurry it up. Of course, I am famous for quitting smoking, I do it all the time. It is good to be off them, even if I don't really feel it yet. 

I smoked for a couple of weeks. A bag of pot for a week, then cigarettes for a week, and then I stop. Then it will be a few months before I smoke again, before I want a bag of pot, much to Sam's chagrin. Toothy smile.

I don't even like it, the cigarettes that is, they make me feel second rate, shitty, to tell you the truth. I always feel better when I stop. Funny the things we do.

I wondered if my time scale is correct, so I am going back through my journal just to check. So, 25/7 to 21/08. Sam is right, he said it had been a month. 

We got back from overseas June 10th and I stopped smoking the following week, lets say 13/6, so I didn't smoke 13/6 to 24/7.

We went overseas 6/5 and I'd smoked for about a week before that. So let's say I smoked 01/5 to 10/06.

Sam is right, my smoking is creeping up, when I thought I'd done so well. So, I really need to not smoke for the rest of the year, at the very least.

Do I dare look at the beginning of the year, Jan to May? Hmmm? I'm sure I didn't smoke for those months. Of course, Sam disagrees.

Anyway, despite the cold, my breathing feels easier, my head feels clearer, my weight/gravity feels lighter, my stomach feels less nauseous. There is a sort of a lightness to be felt, that smoking takes away. An airiness. A physical ease with the world. I don't know how better to describe it. (He writes as he descends into another coughing fit) Big smile. I'm sure I will feel better soon.

Midday. I've just had lunch. I might go back to bed.

Tuesday, August 22, 2017

In Bed with a Cold

Buddy, and I, are in bed with a cold. Well, I have the cold, not Bud, he's stretched out and snoring next to me. I feel like crap. I don't think I have had a cold for ages. It feels like ages? I don't know how long it has been, but I don't feel good. I'm watching car resto shows on YouTube and I'm coughing a lot. I might go and get a coffee, I don't think I can drink anymore honey and lemon drinks.

I wanted a chocolate biscuit to cheer myself up. A chocolate coated Scotch Finger, is there any other type of chocolate biscuit, I ask you? I knew we had some, as I bought them. They were half price in Coles, so I bought two packets. Sam couldn't see the logic. Apparently, if they are half price, you buy one packet and get them for half the cost. I certainly didn't see it that way, half price, you buy two packets and get twice as many biscuits for the same price. It is a no brainer. 

I couldn't find them in the kitchen, Sam was clearly hiding them from me. I sniffed around in my weakened state, cursing Sam's skulduggery. Poor me, I thought, more than once, as my body ached, and my bare toes curled on the cold floor tiles. But I found them, yes I did, and the unusual place in which I found them confirmed that Sam was, in deed, hiding them. Rude.

Monday, August 21, 2017

The breakfast of champions... um... er... the breakfast of someone who feels like they are getting a cold. Sad the bread supply was in such a poor state. What is it they say, feed a cold. I'm staying inside by the open fire all day

Saturday, August 19, 2017

The daffodils were beautiful in the park, as we took Buddy for his walk.
Wander to the park
yellow faces turn to the sun
saffron winter bonnets
The sun warms
like honey,
the flowers
are almost
as golden

Friday, August 18, 2017

Hear No Evil, See No evil

I think when you globalise terror for political and corporate gain, we all suffer. Whenever I see there has been an, alleged, terrorist attack in the world, I know it is my queue to stop reading and listening to the news for a few days, so the hysteria can blow over. Life is much nice without the World Wide Psycho Drama encroaching on it. Sixteen people dying at the hands of some mentally deranged person running them down with a car is terrible for those people, but it is not terrible for my life. If it weren't for the news media chasing corporate profits delivering the tragedy directly into my lounge room, it wouldn't affect me in anyway. If I don't watch the news, it doesn't get to me. 

We watched Game of Thrones season 2 all night, which was way more preferable.

I love it when the Magnolias come out in Gertrude Street. It is just a pity the Yarra Council doesn't look after them just a little better.

Thursday, August 17, 2017

Old Pink Floyd

I'm listening to old Pink Floyd. I've never really listened to the stuff before Dark Side Of The Moon, but now I have Apple Streaming, I can listen to anything I like. Lovely, isn't it?

Wednesday, August 16, 2017

What's the problem?

Sam bought a new water filter. Sure, I dropped the top of the old one and it broke, but only the small flap thing that covered the water spout broke off. It wasn't really necessary, it wasn't integral to the working of the jug. However, Sam bought a new one and he can't quite understand why I don't like it.

The old jug was clear with a white plastic top. The new jug is kind of pink plastic with a white plastic top with pink spots the same colour as the main body. 

It was the only one they had when he went to buy a replacement, he said.

"Where did you go, Crap Jugs Are Us?" I asked.

Sam can't quite understand what I am objecting to?


Sunday, August 13, 2017

Cigarettes

If I buy my cigarettes at 7/11 they cost $30. If I buy my cigarettes at the milk bar they cost $27. If I buy my cigarettes at Coles they cost $23.25. Woollies are marginally cheaper than Coles. If I buy my cigarettes at the tobacconist/cigarette shop they cost $20.90.

Same cigarettes, different shops.

I'm quitting Monday, so it doesn't matter that much to me. A part from anything else, it is just too expensive to smoke. Who can afford it?

Saturday, August 12, 2017

Favourite Juice

Favourite juice - Coles brand orange and mango

Friday, August 11, 2017

And Then The Steps Were Done


The sun is shining today.

I read all the online news until the morning had just about slipped away.

I went for a walk at 11.11am, as it turned out. contributing to my minimum 180 minutes exercise for this week.

We ate Thai for lunch. Sam and I went out for it.

I pissed around on my computer for an hour after lunch. I shopped for dinner in Woollies.

Then I got on and finished the back steps. All done. I thought of my dad who taught me how to do these things, if not by direct instruction, by exam
ple, although it could have been either. I used to hang out with him and he worked in his garage, or in the garden, most weekends. It started to rain after I was done. Buddy didn’t get to go to the dog park because of the wet weather.

Thursday, August 10, 2017

Getting back To The Home Maintenance

3pm. I started looking at the paving. What I had done previous to that, I have no idea, such are my carefree days. Now, if only Sam would view them in the same light. What's with all this "achieving nonsense?" I ask you.

I pissed around for sometime, rearranging the stone pavers into the most pleasing pattern. Sam's interference yesterday, placing 4 smaller pieces in the gap for which I can't find the original piece, had solved the problem of the missing piece. And while I didn't entirely like what Sam had done, it only took changing 2 of the 4 pieces he'd placed in the problem gap to one, so there were now 3 pieces instead of 4 to make it all suddenly look right. 


I could have gone on doing this for the rest of the day, tra la la, checking and rechecking, but then the thought of Sam arriving home and looking disapprovingly at yet another day that I hadn’t, actually, progressed to concreting any of the pavers down, came into my head. I was only delaying, anyway, nervous at the fact that I didn’t really know what I was doing, but then who does? Who always knows what they are doing? Isn’t it the people who go forth regardless who are the ones who achieve in life. Isn’t that what “they” tell us?

So, I mixed up the mortar and I go on with it. I’d finished the upper step and the facia of that step by the time Sam got home. Of course, he took over from there and added his bit to it. I like that he does that and it frustrates me all at the same time, as he gets in my way, but I wouldn’t change it for anything.


Wednesday, August 09, 2017

Didn't Do Much

I didn't too much. I went for a walk listening to Joe Cocker. My exercise for the week. Apparently, we have to do 150 minutes per week to stay healthy. I do 3 one hour walks and that is 180 minutes, making me more than qualify. I'm aiming for a walk every day, except the weekend, but mysteriously, at the moment, I have a really sore knee, so perhaps 3 days will have to suffice.

David came over and we went to the costume shop to work out his drag look for his birthday party reunion. His birthday never stops and, of course, he has to do a performance. Naturally, he chose the shortest dress there and every time he bent over the whole shop got an eye-full. An old woman waiting for her niece in the fitting room gasped and her Chihuahua fainted.

Afterwards, we drank coffee and ate cake. I had a huge slab of lemon slice washed down with strong, black coffee. My great aunt Ada used to make a mean lemon slice and I can't help but think of her when I order it, despite her having been dead for most of my adult life.

David had a latte, "Do you have honey, instead of sugar?" He had a violet crumble and nougat brownie slice, which sat on the plate like a modern art instillation, swirls of chocolate sauce that somehow highlighted the fat that its circles contained. He shovelled it into his mouth as he talked, predominantly, about himself and about the costume shop letting out his outfit so it would fit him.

Tuesday, August 08, 2017

Home Maintenance

I read all the online news. (Just lately, I have been questioning how long I can sustain the lifestyle of doing nothing but staring into my laptop screen all day?) Not writing, still with my laptop on. (Despite promises to myself not to do that) I should make a time to turn my laptop off during the day, if I’m not writing, perhaps 9am is a good time.

9am. Get outside, breath in the fresh air.

10.30am. Getting off my laptop, well, that didn’t quite work. (Shut the computer, go outside)

Nice and sunny now. Smoking too much. Eat some vegemite toast, apparently, vitamin B helps fight depression. (Not that I suffer from depression, but it is good to know)

11am. I started on the back steps, re-motaring the pavers that came off, unstuck years a go. First thing, scrape off all the old mortar from the concrete steps underneath the paving. Actually, first thing put on a little Aerosmith. Just sitting in the sun is quite nice, tra la la. (some time later) Shake my head, day dreams are nice, pick up the scraper again.

Stopped for lunch when Sam gets home. We ate cauliflower soup, with huge door steps of toast to dunk into it. Too many carbs? Who said that?

So, back to the steps. First thing, find the cordless headphones. (The corded headphones keep catching on my knee, as I bend down, and they keep ripping out of my ears as I stand up again) Take it away Steven. (Aerosmith. Keep up) It’s a bit frustrating, as I am still missing some pieces. Nothing for it, start rummaging around in the garden in the hope to find a few more pieces. Nothing like a bit of archology to fix the garden steps. I locate that spikey garden implement, the one that comes in the set of three that I never know really know what it is for? I'm sure it is just some useless thing with which the corporate whores pad out the gardening set to screw more money out of us all. I prod around in the garden and I soon find the other small pieces.

2pm. Still missing on piece, arguably the most important piece. Centre piece, second step. Grrrr.

Sit and have yet another cigarette. So, to recap.

Apparently, one can’t spent one's whole life watching YouTube? So they say. So, the next best thing is a bit of home maintenance. And that brings me to the back steps. They have irritated me for quite sometime, the four, or so, missing pieces, and all the small facia on the third step. It was last Saturday, when I thought to myself, all the pieces were just here, looking at the garden beside the steps. That was when the, er, let’s just say it, the junkie I lived with at the time, in a fit of uncharacteristic energy cleaned up the back yard.

“See what I’ve done?” Eyes pointing in different directions, like a good dog that wanted a pat on the head for his efforts.

“Oh… um… well. You didn’t throw out the stone paving for the steps, did you?”

Apparently, it all went to the tip.

Close the eyes, one big breath. What can you say?

Shamefully, fast forward 15 years. (“Rome wasn’t built in a day,” he mutters nervously.) Last Saturday, in an act of desperation, I shoved my hands down into the soil of the garden next to the steps to see if any pieces had survived, had been missed in the fit of speed-induced action, to find a small piece of paving. Well, I thought to myself, if there is one piece, there may well be two. In the next few hours, on two days, I found all of the pieces except for one, arguably, the most important piece, the centre piece second step. So, I just have to find that last piece.

Funny, in such a relatively short period of time, all the pieces became quite buried. The 2 larger pieces were still vertically in the gardens next to the steps, but they had worked their way down to 5 centimetres below the surface. The smaller pieces were scattered through the garden, now under the existing plants.

What do I take from this? Never listen to junkies.

Nah, that’s far too easy. What I take from this, is that I am just a lazy arse. Still, never too late to change that, hey?

Steven starts singing the theme from Superman and I feel energised.

I was still struggling to get the stones worked out on the facia of the steps, tra la la, what is the hurry. Then Sam got home, and, of course, he took over and placed the stones, declaring it done and telling me to get on with it.


What he had done didn't look too bad, I have to admit to myself.

It had been nice sitting out in the sun in the fresh air moving pieces of paving around. Now, I have to mix concrete and, actually, do the job. Do I know what I am doing? No, but, apparently, I shouldn't let that stop me.

Thursday, July 27, 2017

I Fall Asleep On The Couch.

I’m only warming up slowly. I am managing to fight off a bout of shivering, only just.

6.30am. I find my thick red jumper to put on under my hoodie, so another joint is possible, before Saffy gets up. I find that even with exercising, I can wear shorts in any weather, as long as my top is warm. I need gloves, though. And a second pair of track pants, if I was honest.

“Give me a little drink, from your Loving cuup…”

I had only just come in, when my earbuds were pulled out forcibly, in the middle of Ruby Tuesday. “Look at you wrapped in your bunny rug.”

“It is freezing, it is true, it is freezing.”

“What time did you get up?”

“Oh, you know.”

“Oh, you know,” he parrots. He takes me off by screwing up his mouth and making a lot of zzzzzzzzz noises.

“Good morning, pumpkin.”

“Don’t you good morning pumpkin me. Have you had your breakfast? Have you eaten your breakfast?” I am sure he is talking to me like I am mentally incompetent.

“No.”

“Smoked salmon and avocado, you make the toast,” says Sam. “Move! Now!”

“Okay. Okay.” I get up and walk into the kitchen.

“There is no egg,” says Sam. “And it is cold in here.”

“No egg?”

“No egg.”

“We’ve got to have egg.”

“No egg.”

“There must be egg.”

“No egg.”

“There must be egg, come on! Poached eggs.”

“No egg.”

“How can you be so unkind, no, egg.”

“Why is it always your way,” says Sam. “Why is it always the Christian Fletcher way?”

There is going to be egg.

I head outside and get sticks from the stick pile. I pile the different sized sticks up over the fire lighter. I light the fire lighter.

There is very blond toast on the kitchen bench. “Cook this some more.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“The other toast is cooking.”

“You are cooking more toast?”

“You said two pieces.”

“But these pieces are big,” I say. “That is a lot of toast.”

“Well, I’ve already cooked them.”

“Two pieces,” I say. “One piece each.”

“I thought you meant two each.”

“Clearly.”

Buddy sits in my lap. He uses my right arm as his head rest. When I continue moving it, he puts his left paw up to, maybe to steady my arm. It is tiring typing with a bulldog counter weight.

I put more wood on the fire.

We buy Wicked Stepmother and Bordertown, Bette Davis last movie and one of her first. You’ve got to love PayPal. $54.

The Star is on its way.

I’ve got Little Foxes to watch today. As soon as pumpkin has left for work.

I don’t see why I can’t collect all of her movies, really finish the movie collection that I started, how many years ago. All the good ones, anyway, I don’t need to see the shit, certainly not the 3 movies she called junk herself.

7.30am. Joint outside. It is freezing. The sun is coming out.

Saffy leaves at 8am.

8.03am. I’m outside having a number. Freezing! Good lord. Buddy has just coming storming back down from the back garden.

“I’m just waiting on a friend.”

I put Little Foxes on, when I go back inside. I fall asleep on the couch.


I can't say that Little Foxes was one of my favourites  a period, period piece. To be fair, I did sleep through most of it.

The Music Has Stopped In My Ears, It Is Quiet And Cold

Buddy slept with us. I woke up at 3.15am with him sideways in the middle of the bed, with very little doona to cover myself. I’d had some full on dream, which I could instantly not recall the moment I woke up. But, I was jolted awake, with the final moments of my unconscious. I was a wake after that, staring at the ceiling. I needed a piss and a dump, which turned out to be a lot of fluid and a massive quantity of air farted out with great abandon, after I turned the coffee machine on to warm up. Always turn the coffee machine on first, it takes the longest time to warm up.

“You see going to bed at 10.10pm,” he counts up the hours on his fingers, sucking in air, “3.15. 5 hours.” More sucking of air. “That’s a bit short, even for me.” I only really need 6 hours.

It takes some time for the coffee machine to whir into life. I find my phone, pick the light app to turn on the lounge room lamps, plug in my laptop, take a shit, make coffee, clean the kitchen, roll the joint, transport the coffee and the joint outside, transport my laptop outside – never transport a laptop and a cup of coffee in the same trip, it is a golden rule, it can only end in tears. I find some shoes to keep my feet warm, smoke the joint, transport the empty coffee cup and the laptop inside, hook up the power, sit down. It is nearly 4am.

Milo appears. He clearly wants food put in his bowl.

4.20am. Gets up. Fills the cat bowl. Makes coffee. Actually, washes the dishes he only rearranged earlier. Clean the Kitchen until it is clean. Put milk in the coffee. Roll a joint. Transport the coffee and the joint outside. Transport my laptop outside, second. Hurry, the door is open.

It suddenly gets very cold at 4.30am. I am driven back inside to the lounge room, the grey blanket and Milo.

Transport laptop inside, go and get the empty coffee cup, bring it inside. Plug the laptop in. Wrap myself in the grey blanket. Milo sits on a corner of the blanket and cleans himself.

I want to listen to the last tracks of Aerosmith.

Is it bad that all I do is think about having the next joint?

I make Milo a nest of his own on one of the couches.

4.45am. Another joint. No coffee this time, so it can all go outside in one armful. It is cold and it is like I am smoking the never ending joint. The cold is driving me back inside.

I try to light the joint again, but when my hands are shaking too much from the cold, to actually light it, I give in, admit defeat and scurry back inside.

Milo has found the nest.

My nose is runny, snuffly, I need to blow it. I have to let some of my insulation go to reach over the coffee table to get a tissue. I wonder if it is worth it. I sniff. I sniff again. The music has stopped in my ears, it is quiet and cold. I wish I had a fire. I contemplate lighting it. I wonder if there is any kindling just outside the back door?

5am. I can fix the music. I change my headphones for earbuds, headphones make my head too hot.

I chose Adele. Home Town Glory.

I message David, he’s going through a depressive stage.

5.30am. I am dancing on the back veranda to Rolling in the Deep. It is freezing.

Dancing is all I can do to warm up. I have to go back inside.

5.45am. Wrapped in a woollen blanket, I chose the Rolling Stones ballads. It is a playlist I have, just vocal tracks. “Well, I followed her to the station…”

I regret giving Milo the other blanket.

"I'm a fool, baby, ah, yah, yah..."

Wednesday, July 26, 2017

I Make The Porridge This Morning

I made the porridge this morning, Sam left me with it when he went back upstairs to have a shower, kind of dared me to make it. Do you know how, was the look I got as he exited the kitchen? I’ll show you how, was my next thought. 1 cup of oats, 2 cups of water, I’m sure that is it? Must commit that to memory. I guess it is already committed to memory, I think. I chuckle… So, there were lots of sultanas... cinnamon, stewed apple and maple syrup, with a milk sauce. My speciality, all those oaty, caramely flavours.

It was just a normal kind of day after that. I smoked pot, ate big pieces of sour dough bread with apricot jam. I sneaked a small tub of peanut butter ice cream, it was on special, when I went to buy pies at the supermarket for lunch, which we didn’t eat. We went out for Pad Thai. I, initially, left half the tub of peanut butter ice cream for Sam, but I ate the rest of it in the afternoon, as I dozed on the couch listening to music. I threw the empty container into the recycle bin, cavalierly, thinking Sam will never look in there, why would he? I stayed indoors. I ordered the DVD, The Star, online. Can't wait for that to arrive.

We took Buddy to the dog park. Brad was there with Martin. (who else is Brad going to be with at the park?) It was cold. We didn’t stay too long. We took the short trip home. It was starting to rain, which wasn’t nice.

We ate snow peas and tofu and egg for dinner.

I fell asleep on the couch. Comfy couch. Big, black cushion.

Sam wakes me at 10.10pm and tells me to go to bed. I am very groggy.

Tuesday, July 25, 2017

I Got Pot Saturday

I made an Aerosmith Greatest Hits, Deluxe Vocal Mix. I deleted all the really hard rock tracks. It quietens it down, makes in more R&B. I update it with some more resent ballads, and recent singles from iTunes. It's great. I'm obsessed with it. I've got my ear plugs in all day.

“Living on the couch!” Did you see what I did there? “Clever.” I thought it was clever too.

I got pot Saturday.

I was going to go for a walk, but the sky turned black with clouds, at the very thought of going for a walk. I felt a chill up my spine. The weather has taken a turn for the worse. Black clouds blew in. It is freezing in Melbourne today. My fingers are like ice. So are my toes.

Not long after, I pull on my favourite blue hoodie, I head out for a walk for an hour. Steven Tyler singing all the way. Earbuds in. I find headphones too hot to exercise in.

Monday, July 24, 2017

Cable Internet

The cable guy came. He made all sorts of excuses why he couldn't install the cable anywhere but the front wall.

We have to get an electrician to move it, if we want it in another room.

"Is there a story above this?"

"Two."

"What? two?" he repeated. "Are you telling me this house is three stories?"

"Yes." As soon as I said yes, I could see his face change, from the pain he thought he was possibly going to have to go through, to just slithering out of a nightmare job, snatching victory from the jaws of defeat, at the last minute. Phew! kind of look. I could see the corners of his mouth crease in pleasure.

He drilled through the front of the house. I’m sure I wasn’t gone a minute. I was out the back, and I heard two whirs of an electric drill. There is so much renovation work going on around us, it is hard to tell from what direction the sound of building work is coming. When I went back into the bedroom, it was done.

"It’ll take 20 minutes to warm up." And he was gone. Just now.

Sam wasn't having any of it, you understand. He called Telstra and complained, the good thing about having a case manager. They agreed to move the connection.

Still, the internet is back on, as fast as you want, it would seem. No, it is much faster than it was.

Free instillation, months of free internet, maybe the pain of not having the internet for those 5 days does seem worth it.

Saturday, July 22, 2017

I Dreamt That My Aspidistras Were Flowering Ply Wood

I dreamt that my aspidistras were flowering, but they were flowering in sheets of ply wood. What does it mean?

I google it – mostly I am seeing if I have spelt aspidistra correctly – I am surprised what else comes up. First of all, it says that the type of flower was important. Yes, well, who can say. Next it says the colour of the flower is significant. What colour is plywood?

Was I giving, or receiving the flowers? Um neither.

Blah, blah, blah, blah, apparently, it's beauty, emotion, or an attempt to make things better.

OMG! Then I come across a post of what dreams about wood mean. It may represent someone with the last name of Wood, or Woods. (raised eyebrows) Dreams about plywood may represent being cheap. (I see) Who cares what dreams mean anyway.

I message Leah to see if she is free during the weekend. She messages back that she is busy. “Good for my bank account.” We pencil in a date for 3 weekends forward. But, I have dared to think about smoking pot. I know it, I can feel it. My usual wings-of-steel against, um, such things had come off maximum power. I can feel it.

I don't have breakfast before we leave home at 10am. “We’ll get something,” says Sam.

I go to Cash Converters and find the two U2 CDs I've been looking for, “Pop”, and “All That You Can't Leave Behind,” however, Northcote Cash Converters charges $3 for each CD and Fitzroy only charges $1. I only buy them because they are $1, that’s my justification. The only use they are to me is to be uploaded into iTunes, otherwise I have Apple Music, which covers everything, Sam continually points out.

And I have bought all the U2 Greatest Hits, all for $1, anyway. I have a tight arse moment, “$6 for CDs I don’t really need, no, the thought of a realist, I don’t really need them... at $6. At $1 for a whole album, that is cheaper than one track on iTunes.

We go to Northcote plaza, it has always been a miserable fucking dump, and once we can find the way in, every doorway looks like sewer, we head to Aldi. I’ve always thought that was telling about Northcote Plaza, never being able to find the way in. What does that say? Even Aldi looks cheap and that takes some doing.
All the PS4s are sold, “Sold out in the first hour, luv,” says Maddison manning the checkout.

Sam says that is curious. “They weren’t all that cheap, not really.”

None of the cafes/restaurants are open for food yet, up High Street, it is still not midday. So, I still haven’t eaten.

We go to the pet food shop, we park right out in front. We buy Buddy his chow. We change back to the original brand, BlackHawk. The cute son is there, he always says hello. It is worth going just to get that hello out of that handsome boy.

Buddy has been getting fat, everybody has commented. Even dogs get fat-shamed now a days. Has it been since we changed brands? Could be? It is worth a shot.

So, of course, we are close to the Preston Market. “We might as well go grocery shopping.” I look at Sam, easy for you to say, I think, Mr perpetually chauffer driven. Still no food. Sam gets out, as soon as we turn into the Preston Market car park, leaves me in the line of traffic, he wants to go to Aldi to look for a play station we’ll never use.

“But it can play Blu-Ray.”

“Which we never watch,” we carol together.

I stop in the far parking lot lane right at the beginning, and just wait, my usual Preston Market routine. Someone always eventually goes, otherwise it is a shit fight just driving around and around, missing car spot after car spot. I’ve been waiting five minutes, when a guy in a blue Corolla pulls in in front of me. People go to a car a bit further along. The guy in the blue Corolla backs up to the front of my car and puts his indicator on. I still haven’t eaten. Sam arrives back at the car. I toot the blue Corolla. He puts his hand out the window and waves me passed. People go to a car further along again. I think fuck it, and pull passed him to take the second car spot. Those people deposit something in their car and walk away. The first car backs out. I try to back up and reclaim the spot, before the blue Corolla, but it is useless. He steals my car park, I still haven't eaten. He gets his kid out of the back of his car, then he walks passed our open car window.

I tell him that he is everything that is wrong with the world, "I hope you never complain about selfish cunts in this world, mate,” I say.

“I didn’t know you were waiting for the car spot,” he says. “You didn’t have your blinker on.”

“You can’t be serious,” I say through the open passenger window. “What do you think I was doing?”

He offers to move his car in the smarmy-git way he’d done everything else. I don't believe him and tell him to, "fuck off!"

I go to Cash Converters to see the price of their CDs, more than a dollar, “Herumph!” I gaze at the DVDs, as I turn to walk out, I see the 5th season of Weeds, out of the corner of my eye, what are the chances of that?

The CDs, I want? The DVD, I want?

Sam is already in the dumpling eatery across the street.

I slump down in the chair. There is a small Asian girl at the next table who is talking incessantly. I look at Sam. He looks at me. I go to the toilet. I look in the dirty mirror, I am unshaven. I have toothpaste around the corners of my mouth, I have a white head pimple on my chin, and I have hairs hanging out of my nose. I was once beautiful, I think, as I grab the nose hairs between two finger nails and pull.

They are slow with the food.

There is a small Asian girl at the next table who is talking incessantly, I mean like a dement little cunt, she never stops.

“Bah! Bah! Bah! Bah! Bah! Bah! Bah! Bah! Bah! Bah! Bah! Bah!” I am not exaggerating, that is literally what she is saying, at one point.

I plot her death. I think it involves smashing her forehead into the polished concrete floor, or a toothless parolee in a public toilet.

The food comes for me, and the kid. We are both quietened down, me mentally, she verbally.

The food makes me nicer, quickly. Sugar levels return to joyous.

She really is a beautiful kid. I kind of feel sorry for her when I notice both her parents are staring down at their phones and ignoring her completely.


Friday, July 21, 2017

Like I Was A Lamington Having Just Been Rolled In Coconut.


I've had a bout of dry lips just lately. When I wake up in the morning I can feel the ridge of dead skin cells around both my lips. So, I have taken to having a tin of Blistex, actually, I think it is called Calmex, whatever, next to my bed. First thing, as soon as I wake up, I grab the tub and I wipe the cream on my lips. I can feel the dead skin particles coming away on my finger with each wipe around, top and bottom. This morning, I padded down stairs with Buddy, Milo was standing on the arm of the couch waiting for us and I picked him up and pushed my face into his fur and kissed him. I ended up with a layer of cat fur stuck to my face, like I was a lamington having just been rolled in coconut.


I’m in the cafĂ© around the corner eating French Brioche toast with berries and mascarpone cream and drinking coffee, which is quite nice, despite the fact I can now create a hotspot on my mobile phone and use the internet at home, any excess charges I may incur with that Telstra is going to refund, which is nice.