Monday

Of course, it was a shit show when I (mandatorily) got back to the office. I got in at 7am. Oh I don't know if anyone notices, but I leave early because of it, and they never say anything. The Chief, has often come in and I am already working at 7am.

Boris had hardly done any of my work, just the bare minimum. (Good thing I never expect any thing from anyone) When I took over for her, she got her work done tied with a veritable bow. I had so much to do, I had to just focus. 

She couldn't tell me what she'd done, just the bare minimum just she wasn't game to say it. She hadn't signed off on everything, she wasn't really sure what she had done and what she hadn't done.

"I didn't want to mess up any process you may have."

The irony was appalling.

I remember just looking at her, you know kind of silently, for longer than was Health & Safety advised, before I snapped out of it and smiled, "Sure. Okay." And I scuttled back to my office.

Sam said, "Sure it's not the herbs you've been hopped up on for the last 2 weeks." When I am half arse admitting stuff to him, some times the response requires Facetime, and Sam's face will just appear on my laptop.

"I'm sorry, what did you just say?"

"Ah?"

So, I just had to go through everything...

There was some rumbling re: Nick Watson. Apparently, he is still pissed off. Whatever? He has called two meetings to discuss my/our mistakes, and then has not bothered to turned up for either of them. But, apparently, he's still bitching.

I've always suspected he was toxic, he has the underlying whiff of the con artist.

He is kind of slack, and a bit slimy. I can’t help but think he has always set me up, you know kind of prophylactically, right from the beginning, just on the occasion that his slack work practises need to be covered up.

Yes, I am talking about a psychopath. One day there will be a film simply titled Watson. Look out for it.

He’s one of those smarmy straight boys whose suits are all ways a little tight for his fat frame. He wears a lot of pastels and pale grey suits, all ill fitting. You can tell he was never one of the kids to play sport at school. So much pent up resentment.

The type who you can't help but wonder hangs out in public toilets? (plenty of places to stop driving home to Geelong) Don't get me wrong, I was a big advocate of public toilets in my teenage years. Actually, I was a late bloomer, and I hung out in public toilets in my 20s. But not now.

Anyway, it came time to go out and buy lunch, and my first thought was, it would, most likely, be quicker to go home than to find lunch with the reduced options in the CBD.

And hardly any of our team are in the office when I am in here. Give me a break. The Chief, the managers, and the manager wannabies. The Midget, boy has she been cranky since she gave birth.

So, I told Boris that I was going home for the rest of the day to work. I was going to take an extended break as my eye was hurting, which it wasn't. Boris even squinted at it with her frowning face and said that it looked more inflamed than this morning and that I should go home.

30 minutes later Bruno and I were dancing our happy dance at me being home.

So, it seems half day Monday.

I'm exhausted.

Coffee in the Garden

I worked out my perfect coffee in the morning since Sam has been away. I make 2 cups and drink them one after the other. Because I drink what I call 30-30, 30 mils of coffee, 30 mills of milk, I drink them quickly, there is no lingering over a mug of coffee for this one. And no matter how many I drink, I am aways tonguing for more.

And, I don't like doubles, 60 60 just isn't the same.

Sam is the coffee machine nazi, if he hears me turning the coffee machine on for a 3rd time in the morning, there is an inquiry.

David Departs, It Was A Weird Visit

I was up early, just because I haven't discovered the secret not to.

I made toast and and coffee and perused eBay.

No sign of David. He suddenly changed his plans at the last minute, which raised one lonely red flag, and cut his stay from 2 days to 1 day and has been vague about any of the details ever since.

Suddenly he was all self conscious about his story being published. He said he knew I would understand when he asked me not to come.

I pissed about.

No sign of Charlie.

No sign of David. Apparently, the published author has a busy day?

I took Bruno for a walk. 

And when we returned, La David was rocketing down the stairs in the direction of the front door, me, us.

"Gotta go, the Uber is here."

"Did you sleep in?"

"Keep away, I'm coming down with something."

"Get out."

 A perfect Rose

Look at that pink, with that blush of yellow.

David Arrives

I watched YouTube and smoked pot. I got to the bakery and got bread.

Late afternoon, David will be here soon. I’m sure he will be up, you know, coming to Melbourne.

David messages from the Uber at the airport. “On my way. Get the fire burning.”

Oh, I look bleary-eyed from the couch to the fire place. Sam has it full of dog wipes and supermarket shopping packaging. It needed to burn. Today was an oddly cold snap. Underneath the debris was a complete half burned fire. I pulled out the pre-burnt wood. I gathered sticks. I setup the tepee of sticks over the smaller mound of packaging and set the whole thing alight. I gradually loaded the pre-burnt wood and a matter of 10 minutes we had a fully burning fire.

6.30pm. David arrives. The fire is glorious. “Thank you,” he says.

“Good thing you messaged,” I said. 

“It is always good to call ahead.”

The boys next door fire up with the fire indoors. Yay!

“Put the news on,” says David. He waves his hand in the direction of the TV.

Emissions are surging, and the WHO says the countries of the world have no real policies in position to combat the surging problem. Pretty much, for 30 years we have been warned, the day of no return would come, and we are no further along the road to solving the problem.

7pm. David goes and gets hamburgers and chips.

I smoke a joint. David doesn't smoke.

Sam calls, he is in the reception of his family's hotel. He keeps getting headaches.

The boys next door are loud. They just all seem to talk all at once. Is it a gaggle of roosters? I could just imagine all their limp dicks bouncing up and down in their jeans as they leap in the air for the ‘good point’ they had just made, or for a ‘good point’ one of the bros had just made. “Yay.” I think they play Beer Pong on the big table out the back on Friday nights. The rest of the week they are quiet. And a gaggle of straight boys is loud. All that cheering, and those shrieks of delight.

David & I watched Longtime Companion. David poured us pots of white wine. I think he drinks 2 pots. I hardly drink now a days. I don't drink, really. I think the booze sent me asleep towards the end, just waking in time for it not to be obvious, bleary-eyed, as suddenly the film was finished.

David went to bed at 11pm.

The boys next door, although much quieter than earlier, seemed to chuck it in at 11.20pm.

Bruno and I went to bed at 11.30pm.

Last Days

I feed Bruno and take him for a walk early before Sam reminds me for the umpteenth time to feed him and take him for a walk. It is nice walking early, the day is fresh. 

It is a cool melancholy kind of day. Bruno and I window shop, ha, ha as if. Bruno is keen to get to the next stink patch, as soon as he has finished sniffing the previous one. Let's not try to romanticise it.

Sam calls out of the blue, it must be 5am where he is. "What are you doing up?"He says he couldn't sleep. Kind of spoilt after, the effect of being able to tick off feeding and walking when Sam asked me.

I'm eating a chocolate filled donut. Charlie brings them home from work. One of the best restaurants around. He washes dishes. I've never been one who has to be told twice, "eat the pastries."

Num, num, num. Deluxe.

Really the ratio of chocolate to donut is all out of whack, far too much chocolate until I feel I am going to aspirate on the stuff.

I check and David's bed is made up. Yay. 6pm he'll be here. It means everything is done.

Hanging Out With Bruno

"I remember when you took my breath away..." sang Chaka Khan, just as I lent into the dishwasher to load the dirty plates, and thought, just like this dish washer just did.

Headphones. Track pants. Don't know when I had my last shower? Tuesday, I saw the doctor. What day is it? Is that bad?

I was going to stick to a good diet, right through, no question. I have eaten so much shit I'd be embarrassed to write it all down. Lemon Meringue Cup cakes in Coles, come to mind. Oh why...

I cooked lasagne, chicken and mushroom risotto, tomato and bacon gnocchi, spaghetti bolognese, meat pies & fried rice for lunch. All the classics. So I did do that, you know, too, for the kid. Charlie has to eat. He's a growing boy.

There was a couple of packs of Berliner Donuts too.

And ice cream.

And white chocolate cookies. 

David comes tomorrow. I cleaned up the kitchen today, first time in a week. I was so good in the first week, but that all went to hell in the second week when it sunk in that nobody was here to tell me what to do. Oh, don't get me wrong, I am the laziest cunt on earth, and I need someone to tell me what to do, but a reprieve, for a short time where, seriously, nothing has to be achieved? You are shitting me!

Half packets of donuts, a single cup cake, leftover cookies, that chocolate that none of us like, David will sniff them all out in the first 60 minutes of being here, no matter where I hide them. And he will inhale them as we have our first coffee. maybe with a very week, "You don't mind, do you?"

David is like a waste disposal unit, octopus hibrid when he sucks the kitchen dry of sweetie leftovers first thing right after touch down.

"Oh, nobody wanted the rest of that?" he'd say. Then as cheeky as you like, he will open a new packet of chocolate from the kitchen bench and devour it.

I have been a dedicated sloth, glued to the couch as if by magic, listening to music, and/or dozing off, the whole second week. The rain has helped, not having to take Bruno for a walk for a few days, but even then, stumbling around the set block is good for me too.

And while I have recovered quite substantially since I looked like I was knocked out in the 5th round, it still isn't all that pretty.

What Is Wrong With Me?

Sick leave, I could get used to this. What day is it? No, seriously, sick leave is a great idea.

My surgeon (his administrative assistant, if you want to be precise) asked me if I wanted more sick leave, just kind of in passing. 

"Really?"

"Anything we can do?"

I just laughed. (How outrageous would that be?)

"I could take more sick leave?"

"Yes, well, it is up to you?"

[I have a mountain of sick leave accrued] I laughed, stupid me.

Yes, oh yes, I think I need another week off, doctor. Let's talk about that? I said to a vacant [name of] Parade walking home. Stupid me.

I'm supposed to be a bright boy. Oh so clever.

"Yes, Christian has a very high IQ, we are expecting great things of him, Mrs Fletcher."

You've just got to grab it, sometimes. Got to learn to grab the opportunity. It's the clueless people who grab for the opportunity just with dumb luck, snatching a chance from the ether, who are successful in life, oh so often.

I'm listening to Chaka Khan, her latest album, Hello Happiness.

It's cold sitting outside.

Tuesday

 I come to, wake up, crack open my right eye, on the couch, to tears falling from the sky. Ah the rain. Will it ever stop?

We've had enough, Hewie.

Should I go to bed, or should I just stay up until my plastic surgeon's appointment at 9.50am?

Monday

My coffee cup always seems to be dry. The pond pump came on making me jump, kind of, not really, the morning had been so quiet, though, before that.

Ah yes, the sound of running water. I can't believe I jumped, even ever so slightly at the pond pump.

The sun is not shining.

The birds are calling.

Milo is very persistent going on about getting some food, not really sure why? How long has it been since I fed the cat? I better give him some food just in case.

A week into my sick leave. The black eye has reduced noticeably. I have taken a photo every day.

Mango Danish

I'm still thinking about that fresh mango danish, from the bakery, yesterday. 

The rain is falling. It is morning.

Lying on the couch. 

Wondering what delights the day may hold.

Sam calls to ask me if I'd brushed my teeth today?

"No."

"What!" [Huge sin, in Sam's eyes]

I haven't. "I did last night."

"What are you waiting for?" asks Sam quizzically.

His phone makes a kind of Star Trek sign-off call sound. Do, do. It makes me laugh. Just had a call from central control.

Up Early

I got up early, well, just kind of came to, really. I missed the last 2 gels for my eye yesterday, I immediately feel guilty, my eye immediate feels pain for the first time. Otherwise, I have followed the instructions to the letter, no matter how much pain relief I have self administered, if you get my drifteroo.

It was a lovely morning, glorious sunrise, joining many days of gorgeous sun rises. I took photos, but I was up a bit early.

Bruno was right up with me, no sleeping in for him this morning.

I haven't had a shower yet, as I don't know how to wash my head without getting the wound wet. I fear I might stink.

My coffee cup always seems to be empty, when I go for that last mouthful. So much disappointment. Don't know how many I have drunk?

I went and got cigarettes and a cheesy scroll from Coles at 6.30am. Coles doesn't open until 7am.

I wandered the empty streets momentarily, it was very peaceful and quiet stretching out empty in front of me. I don't know why, hoping for a supermarket that opened at 6.30am that I'd forgotten about, I'm guessing. I pulled my head together and walked home. 

I headed back to Coles at 7.05am. (its a lot of walking when, you know, you're bleary-eyed, dragging your feet 😁)

I think you must need a glass of water to get every mouthful of this cheesy scroll down. It is dry and hard work. It's a terrible thing. I think I can taste the MSG on my lips. It has a sherbet kind of after-note to it. It is much better with a swig of water right after the mouthful of stodgy white bread, much more manageable, and kind of disgusting at the same time, as the cheesy scroll quickly starts to resemble regurgitated food before I can get it down again. Basically, I am swallowing sick to get this cheesy scroll down. But, what can you do?.

Still enjoying sick leave, what day is it? This is the only way to work, no responsibility, and still get paid. No wonder the Greek and Italian migrants loved it too. "Get yourself on compo, hey?" Smart cookies. Stay home, get paid. I could get used to this.

I'll have to go to the office and drop my laptop on my foot, or something.

I mustn't forget to feed Bruno. Milo is demanding and soon tells me, Give me food! Rub, rub, rub, rub, rub up against me. But Bruno just kind of stands around and looks hopeful. Always the face at the kitchen door.

"Oh, yes, you. Mustn't forget to feed you."

I must go and do it. He's looking at me.

Updates

Their after operation wound care is excellent. It appears I got it wrong. [name of receptionist] was very nice about it even though I'd had her running about on follow up phone calls.

"It was in a small bag, Christian. You should have got a small bag."

"The show bag?"

"The show bag."

"Oh, it was a show bag?" My mind momentarily recognises what she is talking about. I have been staring at it all this time. It looked more like a Chanel No 5 carry bag, from a perfumery, than medical grade... stationery, I guess. Fancy lettering, very minimalist. I'd forgotten all about it. It was staring up at me from the middle of the coffee table all along. The instructions, the potions. "Oh yes, I do... er... have them all, here, it would seem," I say sheepishly while I am on the phone with [name of receptionist]

"Happy to be of help," says [name of receptionist] Call me if you have any further questions." I could almost feel the joy in her voice.

"I'm sorry to be such a problem."

"I'm just delighted it has all been sorted out." I get the feeling that nothing flaps [name of receptionist]

The thing on my eyelid, which cost me $1500 to have removed is a benign cystic.

If you had biopsied it first, would you not have had to cut so much of my eye up, if you were't taking larger sections just in case it was a BCC, were the thoughts I was beginning to have.

Luke asked the same question.

We have white coffee cups, or patterned coffee cups. All the patterned ones are all the same, all the white ones are all the same. When Sam is here, I always give him the patterned cups, and the white ones are mine, because we have our coffee differently. While Sam has been away, I have been using the patterned coffee cups, it kind of feels like he is here, seeing his coffee cups about the house.

I am enjoying sick leave, I can forget completely what day it is. Mission accomplished.

...with cheesecake swirl ice cream. Yeah, I have to stop that. I want to lose 5 kilos while Sam is away.

On The Couch

I tried Adele's 30 album for my first day recovering on the couch. And while it is a great album, she's a bit demanding.

So, I queued up the greatest album of all time, Nancy Wilson, Naturally. Get yourself potion'd-out on whatever substance you desire, I think it has been well documented what mine is, and lie back on the couch and put Nancy Wilson, Naturally on.

Whitney Houston's Preacher's Wife is another one.

Amy Winehouse, Back in Black, extended version, is another one.

Anything by Randy Crawford is transcendental.

I'm On Sick Leave

Then, as it turned out. Tuesday I was having surgery, I was finally getting this thing cut off my face. My second head.

I took Tuesday off.

Now this was proper plastic surgery, cutting out the BCC, and then reconstructing my eyelid, to a degree, and it occurred to me this was actual surgery, the type people take genuine sick leave to recover from. So I called the rooms and lovely [receptionists name] was more than happy to give me the time off, she would email it to me.

All of our deadlines are next Wednesday, not to mention those two boring meetings, from the complainers. Apparently, I'm not allowed to say, you got it wrong, own up, we have to be more constructive and come to a resolution that best suits all parties.

Fuck off.

HR needs to fess up, and if it goes on for much longer, an apology will be required as well.

Then there was a third monumental stuff up, involving Nick Watson yet again, just yesterday, and it became a no brainer, I've gone on sick leave for two weeks. You guys, who chose a higher pay grade than I, you guys sort it out, let me know what you come up with.

So, I called Guido. "Maaaate."

Oh, yes, okay, I'd already been in contact with Guido, long before then. Ever since Sam said he was going home for 3 weeks, months ago. I had it all planned.

And now I don't even have to work, for most of the time. Lovely.

Guido was having some problem with his dogs, so much so he gave one of them a way. I think. He seemed to have them all in the car.

I've eaten a lot less food than when Sam is here, and it's only been 5 days. He always cooks, and I would never change that for anything, but he cooks huge portions. I'm just cutting back while he is away. And when I weighed in at the hospital, with all my clothes on, I was 88.5 kilos, when I am normally kind of 91, 91.5 kilos with my clothes on, so I have lost some already.

The sun is out.

The magpies call almost on queue.

Terrible after care instructions from the medical team. I only have instructions for what pills to take and when. Do I take off the now bloody bandages, or do I leave them on until I see these guys again, next Tuesday? I don't know, I've had no instructions on what to do?

I look like I was knocked out in the fifth round.

Monday In The Office

Monday, I am back in the office. Oh, don't ask. HR blamed me for their mistakes recently and my bosses took the opportunity to say that I need to be in the office to avoid this happening in future.

What the fuck?

"How can me being in the office stop HR lying (through their clearly hideous snatches, Nick Watson included)?" I asked Boris.

Boris just sounded like she had raised the white flag. Her tone with me was 'don't argue' just come into the office on Monday.

Seriously?

We just need to find a resolution, we don't need to argue, we know that doesn't go in our favour, said Boris.

It's just the type HR people are, those with a holier than thou attitude. Translation, vile bitches, Nick Watson included, the slimy toad, and they all hate to be seen fucking up.

Nick is blaming us for his mistakes. He is so slack, and he leaves everything to the last minute, and usually just scrapes through. This time he fucked up.

So we go into our regular battle with incompetent HR. No one wins these battles. Two serious mistakes were made, both by HR, both they are blaming on us. HR knows if they kick up a big enough stink, they look, shall we say, less to blame.

It's all about transference. Throwing mud.

Boris called a meeting with Nick Watson this morning, unbeknownst to me, but his train was cancelled, and he didn't show. It has been rescheduled for next Monday ensuring I'd be in the office for another Monday, and I am guessing with that, a pattern has been set. [spare me]

Boris had called another meeting for Wednesday, involving internal finance grumblings by The Miget and Chip, am I to be spared nothing, I think. 

Modern Life

 

Like Daleks

A Peaceful Way To Live

I scanned a whole bunch of old family slides, listening to Joni Mitchell and Sunday slipped away gently. It was something crossed off my 10 year list. It is the last of them, and then they are all done. It is not something I can do when Sam is around, as it irritates him, he just can't see the point.

"Are you ever going to look at them?"

"Well, yes..."

"How often?"

"No.It's preservation."

"When was the last time you looked at them?"

"I have never looked at some of them?"

"So, tell me again why you are doing this?

"Then they are saved..."

"Really."

"Saved for whoever wants to look at them..."

"But you're not really going to look at them?"

"For the future generations to be able to look back at who came before them."

"Seriously, you think the kids of the future will want to look back at some old pictures, the people in which they never knew?"

"Yes."

Sam would then laugh that laugh. That laugh that encapsulates 'you are kidding yourself' so succinctly.

I ate roast port and BBQ leftovers with rice and some sauce Sam made for dinner. I avoided the news, but I switched on The Project while I ate, and even that bought the world's misery flooding into my lounge room. I had to laugh, they promised some exciting new reality TV show, Traitors, was it, oh fucken spoil us with more shit, just before I turned it off and shut them all out of my life again.

Bruno and I went back to Joni Mitchell and scanning the slides, and my world was peaceful again.

Ah, Sunday. Yawn. Big Stretch!

I bought a tub of caramel ice cream with shortbread pieces and some white chocolate and macadamia cookies first thing in the super market, which I sat up in bed and ate with a spoon like a teenager. Yum, yum. 

I set up the Apple TV in the bedroom with Sam on Facetime as the final call was being sounded for his connecting flight in Kuala Lumpur – he had a really bad delay for his connecting flight, which he was none too pleased about. I even managed to set up my iPhone up as a remote when I couldn't find the Apple TV remote, as the final calls continued. So that was good. Now I have all the streaming services and TV channels, not to mention my own movie channel on the old TV in the bedroom, which I have managed to fall asleep in front of each night since.

I’ve just finished watching Animal Kingdom. Those boys…

Last night I was watching The Durrells.

David called me wanting to know if I'd watched The Watcher which he binge watched and recommended.

I hadn't.

"Do you remember when we used to call each other and recommend clubs to go out to we'd just heard about?" I asked.

"It wasn't even all that long ago," said David.

We laughed.

And that's it for the bad diet, no more of that nonsense, that's over and done with. It's good food from now on, and maybe even less of it. 

Yesterday, I ate breakfast and then an early dinner, but I am sure that is because of the excess sugar from the day, nyr, previous 12 hour period. Bruno and I went for a long walk.

So, Sunday? I should go for a bike ride.

Er? Maybe a shower and a walk with Bruno in the park.

Maybe, I'll just lie on the couch and contemplate life?

Sam just Face Timed me from a banana lounge at his parent's hotel. He's now got maids to do everything for him, which he is taking full advantage of as he says he is exhausted from all the travelling. He really only got there early this morning. Or is that just in Melbourne time? Oh, I'm not sure. But he hasn't been there long.

11.11am. The rain starts to fall. Maybe I'll go get my doona and watch a movie on the couch.

11.21am. The sun shines down brightly.

Wave Sam Goodbye

Sam left for overseas at midnight, just gone, to go visit his family who he hasn't see since before Covid. Bruno and I drove him to the airport. It rained.

It seems weird here without him here. You imagine what being home alone is, the reality is different, in its realness.

And I have always been good on my own, in fact, on many occasions I prefer it to people. People are so peopley.

I guess it has been a while since I have been on my own, though.

I was in the kitchen and the house was really quiet, and I got to thinking about Sam, and I got to thinking about MH370 – oh, I don't know why – and thought about that wife of that guy who was lost on that plane and how she is always pushing for more to be done. And I thought about if that happened to Sam and my eyes welled up and a tear rolled down my cheek before I even knew about it... but then my phone rang and Sam was Face Timing me, "Have you fed the Bruno yet? Have you taken him for a walk? Have you thought about what you need to get from the super market? Do you have a plan?" And I snapped out of it, and I smiled at Sam's handsome face. And he didn't even notice the tears, I guess, because he wasn't expecting them.

So, it's just me and Bruno for 3 weeks. And, of course, Charlie, but I don't see much of him between his study and his work, even when Sam is here.

And just as I write that, Milo touches me with his paw from under the coffee table, as if to say "me too," and then climbs into my lap. He is so soft and feels so delicate after dealing with the heft of Bruno.

As soon as Bruno sees Milo in my lap he will chase him away. We still haven't been able to stop him. Bruno is asleep on the couch next to us. I've just fed him so his tummy is full and he'll be contented, at least for now, to work on his 20 hours sleep.

It's weird, though, because during the day they cohabitate just fine, Milo even cleans Bruno's face when he is sleeping. It seems to be when the sun goes down that Bruno gets jealous. So, Milo doesn't get to cuddle up with everyone at night like he used to before Bruno came along.

Buddy and Milo used to curl up together in the sun spots on the carpet of the sun coming in through the window and sleep.

Italian Style

I get tuna in Coles. I couldn't resist the Italian style with olive oil. 

I laughed to myself as I had an Italian boyfriend, Laurie, and I know exactly what Italian Style with olive oil is all about.

Such A Cool Tree

Such a cool tree. It is a small moment of joy in the day. It makes me smile whenever I walk that way. I love it when people do interesting things, it is a bright spark in the urban landscape. Lovely. It is lovely. Good for them. 

I want to wear it as a hat to the races, not that I ever go to the races, but figuratively, just because one could.

Or sail it to a tropical island with a bright red sail and trusty sailor dog, with a patch over one eye, and perhaps a parrot, a bright blue parrot, you know, as you do.

Race it as a go-cart with bright yellow wheels and a black roll cage, and a candy striped helmet, with a scarf made of silk.

Rain, Rain, Rain

Raining. It has been raining since I got up. It's rained a lot lately. Oh, no it hasn't rained as much as water logged NSW, but it has rained consistently.

I got up on my roof yesterday afternoon, in the sunshine, and cleaned out my gutters in preparation for the rain Armageddon the news services have been predicting for the next few days. You know, according to the news services if we don't all drown between now and next week, we will suffocate from the rainstorm asthma that is also coming our way.

Anyway, news services doom and gloom withstanding, while I was up on the roof, I think I recognised the point where my glass roof leaks when the rain buckets down. Oh yes, suddenly the weak point seemed oh so obvious and I couldn't believe my stupidity, blindness, call it what you will.

You know, when you look at something so many times, and then you come back to it some time later and you see it in a new light. 

So, I got out my trusty tube of silicone and silconed every thing in sight, in the spot that I have only just identified as not having been done before. Of course, my silicone cartridge malfunctioned and I had to squeeze the trigger with the strength of the Hulk to get even the smallest amount to come out, so it was a long and tedious process.

The news service said the rain wasn't due until Wednesday night, so it had plenty of time to cure.

Then this morning when I got up it was raining. I stood on the stairs looking out the window calculating on my fingers how long the silicone had had to dry. I wonder what time the rain started? (no idea?) I went to bed at 12.30am, after Animal Kingdom, and it wasn't raining then. I did the work around 6pm, so that is at least 6 1/2 hours it had time to dry. I think it is meant to dry in 24 hours. The internet says anywhere between a few hours and 24 hours. Grrrr. I can't be bothered running outside to my shed in the rain to check the tube. Hopefully because it is on a vertical wall (What wall isn't vertical?) it will be less affected. Cross your fingers.

Hours later it is still raining.

Oh no, climate change doesn't exist, its just a blah, blah, blah, blah...

Seriously, open your eyes, look around.

 

Getting my tyre fixed

It's had a slow leak for some weeks, so I had to get it fixed.

And that is a new tyre, I got it a few months ago because the previous tyre had a leak that couldn't be fixed.

Apparently, it had a a screw in it, when I went to pick it up.

"And that was a new tyre," I said.

"It doesn't matter if it's a new tyre, or an old tyre, mate," said the tyre guy.

"Yes, of course," I said. "A screws a screw... ah..." Yes, I said that. He didn't flinch at the comment, so neither did I. I could feel my smile becoming fixed on my face though.

Time

The only thing that is precious in this world is time.

David thought I was being profound, when I told him this. (David often thinks I am profound, which, I guess, is kind of nice, when I often feel I struggle to be interesting)

If a truth is profound, then maybe I was.

But, nah, not profound, I just think it is true.

Real.

Something, perhaps, that we lose sight of, as we waste it so often.

It is the only thing we can't get back. Time. Time to live. Time to love. Time to be free.

I wish my first boyfriend, Anthony, hadn't drunk himself to death. I wish one of my best mate, Tom's two bone marrow transplants had worked. I wish my great mate Simon had never fallen off his bike that Saturday night and hit his head, drunk or not. I wish my great mate Fergus had got away from his lying, rat-faced bitch of a cheating boyfriend, before said rat-faced boyfriend gave him the HIV virus.

And what I want with all of them is more time.

We can work hard, for money, and for love, for that matter, but no amount of work will give you back time.

It is just true.

We all end up getting our bums wiped by someone else, and the only thing that separates us from that is time.

 Ferraris at The Exhibition Buildings

"I'll have a red one, thanks."

Sad Little Vlad

Vladimir Putin accuses Ukraine of Terrorism? 

Seriously? Is this a russki too-much-vodka joke? It is laughable.

Do you think it is dementia? At 70 dementia is a real possibility.

I wonder if this sad little man can hear the rest of the world laughing at him?

The Essendon CEO says it is troubling that an individual would lose their job because of their faith. And yet when it came to the religious discrimination laws people with faith had no problem with people losing their jobs because they are gay.

Even today, the Catholic Archbishop is essentially saying, "It is okay for us to discriminate, but nobody should be allowed to discriminated against us."

Charlie

Charlie has some new jeans and I can't help but noticing the boy has a nice arse. Oh yes, I know, I can't think about the nephew like that. No, no, no. And I don't really. I don't. It is just here where I can say it. And it is just an observation, nothing more. You know, let's just state the obvious, if you don't have a nice arse at 19 you are never going to have a nice arse, let's face. 

The real secret is having a nice arse when you are 50, now that is the challenge really.

I guess I haven't written much about Charlie. I'm not really sure where we stand? He's really quiet, he really keeps to himself. If he is not at uni, or working, he is in his room and I really wouldn't even know he was here, for the most part. 

He's not very chatty. I don't get much of a conversation out of him. It usually only amounts to a question and an answer, nothing really beyond that. I'm not really sure if that is just him being a 19 year old, or not.

Should I try harder?

I did (kind of, sort of helped) raise my step son, Jay, with Mark, of course. So I have already done this before, in a sense. But Jay was very out going and was loud and quite opinionated, so the comparisons don't really work with him & Charlie.

And as difficult as Jay was, could be, I did have conversations and jokes and discussions with him, we did have a relationship, which is not something I really get with Charlie. He doesn't joke with me, or chat to me, or even seem to want to chat, like Jay used to.

So they are quite different.

So, I don't know...

I think it will be okay though, with Charlie, he is a nice guy under the silence, I can see that. I think we'll be fine, it's just time really. We're still getting to know each other, let's face it, it has only been since July.

It's only been two months.

Some May Call This Mid Week

The rain comes down, tinkle, tinkle, forming beads of moisture on my glass roof. My view of the world gradually becomes more and more opaque as the morning grows old. (A metaphor on life really, now isn't it) The door to my study looks out to my atrium greenery, which is nice, but it makes my study much more susceptible to the change in temperature. It is colder today, I can feel it. I have thick socks on, thick and woolley. (truthfully, they are Explorer socks, which I don't think have much wool in them) I could, of course, close the door, but that shuts out more of the world than I wish to shut out.

It is nearly lunch time, I can tell, as my stomach is beginning to tell me so. 

Those fools at work have pretty much left me alone today. Everyone is an idiot, except me, of course. Actually, no one in my department is an idiot, except, of course, The Idiot, but she plays on it, defines herself by it, and that is what makes her funny. It's her shtick. Of course, she isn't really an idiot. 

Everyone else is efficient, focussed and capable. A sea of accountants in the ocean of law. The cold efficiency of figures against the ruthless legal argument. And then there is me, the black sheep of the... no, I can't admit to it, not more than once a year... account... accc... counting... ant... oh gee, why didn't I study literature and history and art at university, I ask myself often. Creative writing, philosophy? Oh, how I'd like to go back to my 21 year old self and just slap his face. Thwack! "You idiot!"

(Oh, could you imagine? Coming steaming across the quad, there he would be, that stupid 20 year old. Just walk straight up to him. Face to face. Eyeball him. He'd look quizzical, but deep down some where he'd know, I mean, he is still really smart under all that somewhere? Then just hall off and clobber him one. "What the fuck?" I'd pay money to be sitting on a seat nearby with a box of pop corn. Of course, that would mean 3 of me and I'd fear for the space time continuum, but, you know, whatever...)

We are having pies for lunch. I can now smell them cooking in the oven. Big sniff. Not bad, I think, even if they are just a couple of Four 'N Twenties.

The rain is still falling.

And despite the rain it is quite a gentle morning.

And then The Midget emails me updated procedures for my work process and I just want to stab my eyes out with sharp pencils.

I'm sure she starts fingering herself the moment she gets new procedures to write.

She has reviewed all procedures and she has found some misalignments to our work flows and current process and here is her bullet point review to bring the process into alignment with... blah, blah, blah... blah, blah, blah... blah, blah, blah.... oh please universe kill me now!

You Stink of Cigarettes

I went to see a doctor to see about having a cyst cut off my face, my eye lid to be exact. Another one.

I had one previously removed some years ago and the new doctor asked me who removed it?

"Oh, a guy in [name of suburb] "

"Okay," he said.

"He smelt of cigarettes."

"Oh that's [name of doctor]

"Yes, that's him."

Fancy being recognised by your stink of tobacco products, as a doctor.

It's Me & Hugh Jackman having BCCs cut off our faces.

This one is right in the corner of my eye where my top lid and my bottom lid joins. Not sure how he is going to stitch it or bandage it. I wonder if I'll have my whole eye bandaged at least for a while?

Where's Buddy?

I see photos of Buddy and Bruno and before I have time to think, my mind will ask, "Oh, where's Bud."

Funny how you think.

A Perfect Sunday

What a sparkling, perfect day. One of those perfect Melbourne days, nothing like them when they come. 

We walked down by the river, Sam, me and Bruno. We walked the rest of the track, that we didn't walk before because of Buddy being older, or at least attempted to, until my fear of heights, Acrophobia, started kicking in when the path got too high up from the Yarra, and the joy of the walk drained away, for me anyway, and we turned back. 

I don't know where that came from, the Acrophobia. I never had it as a kid, just as an adult, you know when you learn life shit is real, I guess. It is annoying, really. I just googled it, apparently, it is an anxiety condition. An anxiety disorder, gives me something to think about. That means I could get over it.

We met Emma the black Labrador and her Kelpie buddy. The sun shone down, the sky was a perfect blue.

We ate pork rolls for lunch. We always disagree about how many we should eat. Sam always says 3 pork rolls between us, I always say 4. We had 4. We should have had 3, Sam was right, of course. The queue for the pork rolls was long, it took Sam ages to get them.

We shopped for food. Groceries. The necessities, you know, as you do. Sam does the shopping. Bruno and I sit out the front on the tiled entrance until Sam is done. It is the way I love to shop.

Just a normal kind of Sunday.

Work tomorrow. I wonder if I'll get any of that return to the office stuff tomorrow? I haven't heard anything about it for a few weeks now. I'm still ignoring it, but we'll see. We have all learned there is a new way to work, and the bosses want to take it away from us. That's a lot of unnecessary fuckery. The workers need to rise up!

Pinch Punch First of the Month

Pinch, punch first of the month, isn't that what they say?

All the girls are left to wonder why all the boys are turning gay?

All the pretty ones, that is, such dismay.

It's 'cause they like it that way?

Boys will be boys.

Hey?

MAGA, making Australia gay again.