David Calls

I sign out of work just after 3pm and we go for a walk. 

David calls. I want to die, he says.

Oh David, we all do.

We all do, he says. The thought cheers him up.

Yes, of course, life sucks.

So, If I organise it, will you do it with me?

Sure, I say.

When, he asks.

Oh well, I couldn’t fit it in this year.

Why? What do you have to do?

I have to see all the awful people, I say. So many awful people to see.

The world is full of them, he says.

Ain’t that the truth, sister, I say.

He laughs. Why is it that you are the only person who can cheer me up, he asks.

It’s a gift, I say. Like the ability to smoke vast amounts of pot, stand on one leg and rub my tummy, or work a Rubix Cube, I say.

He laughs. He says he is taking his dogs to the dog beach.

Oh well, good luck with that, I say.

He says, oh the horror the horror is stretched out in front of me.

You at the beach, are you? I ask.

Yes, he says.

Enjoy, I say.

Lazy Sunday

It was dog washing day. We got it done mid-morning. 

Then it was time to take them for a walk in the sun. It was a gorgeous sunny day.

We were going to walk to Carlton and we got halfway through the Carlton Gardens when we realised we were too early for restaurants and cafes, stupid us.

I see a young Indian boy looking at Brun like he wants to pat him. Kids get a certain look on their faces when they want to pat the dogs but don't quite know how to ask, especially the younger ones. I tell him he can and he does. I see him catch up with his parents, who missed the whole thing, telling them excitedly what he’d just done.

We cut back and went to the supermarket. The walk was nice. It was a really lovely day.

And that's pretty much all we had to do today. 

I had a hamburger for lunch. Sam and Charlie ate noodles.

We had a new coffee machine delivered yesterday, and it makes great coffee.

The rest of the day we spent with our feet up on the couch, one of my favourite ways to spend Sunday. I watched Youtube car shows. Sam is addicted to TikTok. The bulldogs spent the afternoon sprawled out across the lounge room floor sleeping.

Mr Lovely

A week, or so ago, I was down the street and there was a guy with a pill testing information table outside Coles.

I was outside Coles with the dogs as Sam shopped and me and this guy got chatting.

He was handsome, and confident and friendly and really nice so chatting to him was pretty easy.

Today we went shopping, I was sure the cute pill testing info guy was just getting off his bike, in tight blue shorts that looked great on him, as we walk up to Woolies.

A couple of people asked if they could pat the dogs, as is usually the case. Some people want to take photos, I never really know why?

Then, a bit later, the cute Pill Testing guy comes back out of Woolies and says hello.

"Pill testing Guy," I said.

He smiled his gorgeous smile. “I wasn’t sure you’d recognise me in the sunglasses,” he said. He smiled some more.

He was looking as cute as ever, and sexy too in his shorts and snug blue T- shirt. Mr Smiley, I thought. What a lovely guy, I thought. We chatted for a few moments, I wanted to keep chatting. What a sexy arse, I thought, as he walked away.

I reckon he is just the perfect guy; cute, sexy, friendly, handsome, and confident. He is just gorgeous. I hope I see him again.

Everyone Being Treated As Equal

I was a popular kid at school. I was at the same private school from year 4 with the same kids all the way through to year 12.

But I still dumped all my school friends when I left school.

I had a fairly lonely time at uni, none of my school mates did my coarse, which I still find kind of weird, I was on my own for most of the time. Oh sure, I made uni friends to hang with in lectures and tunes, but no-one to go out with outside uni.

I had a girlfriend and a large number of friends outside uni, which I hung with for the first half of my twenties.

At age 24, I split up with my girlfriend, and I headed overseas for a couple of years with a good female friend. She told me she was planning to live overseas for a year or so, and I remember feeling the urge go. Get away.

She and I hung out for most of that time in London and travelled in Europe. I didn't see anyone, or hook up with anyone. I saw plays and theatre and I travelled up and down the continent from Greece to Finland.

Then at 26, I came home and I got a job and bought my first house and I was kind of on my own again for the second half of my twenties. 

It wasn't until I was 29 years of age, 6 months off turning 30 when I met Mark and my life completely changed. It really started from then.

I didn't feel tortured at all during any of this time, I think it was a case of what I didn't know that I didn't know. I floated through unscathed, more is the pity. Floating through unscathed never did anyone any good. It's only when I look back on it now that I think, OMG! What the hell was wrong with you? Talk about floating through your life and essentially not participating. Not exactly, but kind of. All the things that I could have done. All that time that once it is gone it is absolutely gone.

Years later, my mum said to me that she could always see that I was her least happiest child and she often wondered why and for years felt helpless not knowing what to do. She said that while she was shocked when I told her I was gay, she said, after she had got over the initial shock, it answered this questions for her.

"You were in inner turmoil, my darling," she said. "I so wish I had known. I wouldn't have known what to do for you, but I would have damn well found out."

I used to say to her that I didn't think that being gay was the problem. You know, I don't know why I said that, perhaps it was the last bits of learned behaviour that I was hanging onto. I don't know.

Now I think she was right.

That is why I now think it is so important for gay kids to be recognised and acknowledged, when they are kids. It is important for their well being to be normalised, so they can put all their energies into being the best selves they can be, rather than wasting most of their energy on protective shells.

That is why I think it is so wrong what conservative politicians are doing to score points for themselves. Kids should be taught there are gay kids and trans kids, and kids with two mothers and kids with two fathers. Kids should be taught there are kids who are different to them. So then, when they meet gay kids, or trans kids, or kids who are different to them, it is no big deal and their natural response would be, "Hi, how are you."

I made up for everything in my 30s, but that isn't really the point.

Don't vote conservative in the next federal election, because they are self-serving and don't give a damn about the people.

Big Mouth In The Office

I head into the office for my yearly flu shot. I ride my bike. It is a nice morning.

I head in to say hello to Boris after the flu shot it done. Boris' office was empty, I stand at the door for a moment.

A temp financial accountant asks me if she can help me.

"No, it's okay, I work here."

She kind of looks confused.

I point to my office and tell her that is mine. It is next to hers.

"Oh," she says. "So you are the guy who has that office." She left out the word 'mythical' but I heard it in her tone.

"Yes, that's me."

She is filling in for the sexy Irishman who, I assume is on holidays, probably extended, probably in Ireland. She didn't say any of that, but I fill in the blanks.

Then there is another guy who I have never seen before introducing himself to me. "Hi," I say.

Then Joe comes out of his office and gets chatting, as Joe likes to do. He's the other gay guy in the office so we have a certain camaraderie.

Joe is asking me how I get away with never coming into the office.

"I don't know how I get away with it," I say. Immediately realising I am saying too much, but I have already started saying it. "I just," er somebody stop me, "do."

Then all three of them are talking about working in the office, or not, and I am thinking, beam me up Scotty, me and my big mouth.

So, I quickly ask about Boris, who, apparently, was working from home today.

Joe and I chat a bit more about Fitzroy, as he lives in Fitzroy too.

Then I excuse myself, and I get the hell out of there.

I'm kicking myself for such a stupid lapse, opening myself up for questioning about not being in the office as instructed.

As it turns out, Joe was leaving the next day, and the other two are temps so maybe I might just get away with it.

Stupid me, I tell myself, fancy letting all of that happen, I think, as I ride my bike up Collins Street in the sun.

Charlie And The Pastries

Charlie bought home two packets of baked pastry things. I opened the first packet because I am a baked good fiend and they were red bean paste pastries, lovely.

Charlie is good like that bringing home sweeties all the time.

"Do you think his girlfriend gave them to him?" asked Sam.

Oh, we always want to know if he has a girlfriend. You know, it is so hard to get any information out of him on any subject, he is practically monosyllabic. We almost have to make it up. The closest relationship he has is with his phone.

"Charlie has a girlfriend?" I ask.

"I don't know, but maybe?" says Sam

"Well, surely his girlfriend would have a vested interest in keeping him thin," I say. "No girl wants a fat boyfriend."

We both laugh.

"Unless she is a chubby chaser to start with," says Sam.

"Well, yes, there is that?" I say.

"Surely, going to uni and being 22 he would meet a girl by now," says Sam.

I'm still hoping he is going to bring home nice boy, but, you know, whatever.

"Have you noticed his arse is getting bigger in those shorts he wears ever since he has started going to the gym?" I say.

"He is getting a big, beefy butt," says Sam.

Anyway, at 5am I made coffee and the second packet of pastries was on the kitchen bench, just speaking to me, so I picked one out and bit into it. Oh Dear universe! "Jesus Fuck!" The second packet weren't sweet red bean paste pastries, at all, they were some kind of sweet chilli curry pastries and quite a shock to my 5am sensibilities. "Er!" I wanted to spit it out but, but, but I wasn't awake enough to, so I just swallowed it. "Er." bad taste in my mouth. Orange juice! Orange Juice! That sure woke me up in a hurry.

Tuesday

I dreamed I was in a group guessing the ingredients in potato chips, and snacks, for diabetic and dietary reasons. It was a competition, like we were in a game show on TV, and we were classifying the snacks as per the results, with lights and bells and whistles.

Elvis Costello was the compare.

I woke up at 6.30am still with the lights and buzzers going off in my head. Ah? Er? Quiet.

I made coffee and signed into work. I start early and then I have a lot of my work done before 9am, before any of the other have even signed in.

It was an easy day today. I wrapped everything up at work, end of month, blah, blah blah. Easy. Do it with my eyes closed.

I took myself off to the gym at 2pm.

3pm. I signed off. I'm still loving working from home.

Monday

Monday morning, back to work. I sign in early, and get a lot done before any of the others leave their houses, pull on their clothes, scratch their arses.

Monday was Monday, nothing special. Just a day. 😶

We had our regular Finance Meeting, which I am always losing the will to live by the time it is over. They talk and talk and talk. At least when I am logging in remotely, I can just get on with work as they yabber on. They would even bore the pants off the dead.

Nothing much else happened.

Out In The Garden Sunday

2am. Sam apparently took Brun outside for diarrhoea. There has been a lot of wind and noise and disgusting things coming out his bum end over the last few days. I'm not really sure what's wrong with him.

I slept through that, of course.

6.20am. I got up and it was light. Daylight savings must have happened, I think.

I make coffee.

Milo comes and lies next to me, cuddles up, while the bulldog bullies aren't around to bully him.

I watch some Karen videos. I’m a bit obsessed with the gobsmacking self interest of Karen videos at present. People! Seriously. There must be something about conflict that attracts us. Is it in our DNA, do you think? Or is it a bi-product of conservative politicians and commentators using conflict to gain power in the world?

I watch Coldwarmotors, my favourite YouTube car show.

6.55am. Charlie was up, early for him. I ask him why, but of course, he just mumbles some sort of answer.

I watch DailyDrivenDeathTraps. The two sexy guys Sean and Alex buy a HiAce Chinook. I reckon there is no way that Alex isn’t the bottom. Ha ha, you can dream. Either way, I’d like to see that. Those boys arses are works of art.

9.30am. Sam and Otto were up.

I make vegemite toast and coffee.

10.30am. I make more coffee and eat the last of the expensive disappointing bakery hot cross buns. Sam won’t touch them, but then I am the ‘bakery’ guy.

I do the vacuuming. It is Sunday, after all. Cleaning day.

11am. I start gardening in the back yard. I re-arrange and re-pot the pot plants out the back.  I have been going to do this for, well, months really.

I repot the huge begonia into the large empty terracotta pot, which I have been meaning to do forever, which frees up a lot of space in the back yard.

The half dead palm is finally removed from its prime position in the garden. We momentarily try the, now huge, umbrella plant, which proves to be too big over shadowing all the other plants in the rockery, so it gets repotted, and with a heavy prune it is returned to its original position in the garden. So, then it is one of the two Japanese Maples to take the palms place. I fancy the taller of the two, but Sam favours the shorter of the two, saying it fills the volume of the air over the garden better. I don’t really mind which so I go with the one Sam wanted. So, I find the one large empty pot I have left in my supply of empty pots, and I re-pot the shorted of the two Maples into it and position it in the middle of the rockery garden. Then I repot the taller of the two maples into the pot out of which I had just taken the other Maple. The shorter of the two had been re-potted most recently, so it was in a bigger pot than the bigger tree.

I manage to hide the large half dead palm in the corner of the garden.

“That will die there,” says Sam.

“I don’t care if it does,” I say.

It all looked great once I was done.

We ate stir fry veg for lunch.

2pm. I have a shower. Wash off the dirt and the sweat. I hold my eyes under the hot water as a treatment for my possibly blocked tear ducts. I think it helps.

2:30pm. We take the dogs for a walk. It’s a barmy, windy, muggy kind of day. The sky is grey, the breeze is blowing, it’s still kind of warm. We do our normal loop around the suburb.

3.13pm. Brun, Otto and I are waiting outside Woolies while Sam shops.

Me and the dogs go to Chemistwarehouse and get the eyedrops that the optometrist recommended yesterday.

There are a lot of people in Smith Street, I guess it’s just Sunday afternoon with people filling in their bored life routines, I think.

Right at that moment, a woman walks past the entrance to Woolies and says to her husband, “Where we goin’? In a real okker accent.

He says something which I didn’t hear.

She says, “I know,” as though her question had been rhetorical. She smiles as though her question was rhetorical.

Maybe, her husband asked, “In Life?” I don’t know, but that is the comment from her husband I would have guessed at to fill in the blank.

A couple of women stop and want to pat the bulldogs. “That’s Otto,” I say. 

The one with the beard and the rotten teeth, tells me about Jake and the Fat Man. How many people have stopped and told me about Jake and the Fat Man? 

“I would have called him Jake,” she said. The dog in Jake and the Fat Man was called Max, even I know that having never watch an episode.

So, I gently tell her, correct her on that matter. I can’t help myself.

She tells me Jake and the Fat Man is on channel 12 every day, and that it is repeated, I don’t know when, I stopped listening. I don’t plan to watch it. I didn’t really know which channel is channel 12?

A security guard comes out and sits with me wanting to talk about the Bulldogs. He stays and chats endlessly about all the different kinds of bull dogs until Sam re-appears.

Sam reappears at hello 3:30pm.

We see Meagan and Robyn, the lesbians from the dog park, eating ice cream at Messina, ice cream neither of them needed, let’s face it.

3:45pm. we’re home.

I got lost in a group of American boys filming people in public, exercising their first amended right of freedom of the press and how those people reacted to it. It was addictive. People lose their shit over it. Really? You got filmed, who cares people.

They asked the people if they knew the five pillars of the first amendment, which none of them knew. People, people, even I know what they were, and I really don't care.

Freedom of speech, freedom of religion, freedom of assembly, freedom of the press, and freedom to question the govt. They bang on about it all the time, but none of them knew what they were.

And I wasted the rest of the day, which is so easy to do.

We ate corn on the cobb and hamburgers for dinner.

We watched all the news programs.

Saturday Shopping Day

Late in the morning, we take the Bulldogs for a walk to the shops. The sun is shining and the sky is blue, but the breeze is blowing very cool.

We walk through Collingwood, past the Porsche Dealership to Victoria Parade and onto Victoria Street.

On the way, I go to The Salvos. I get two Queen DVDs, Live at Wembley and We Will Rock You, two Rolling Stones DVDs, The 1960s & Jean Luc Goddard’s doco Sympathy for the Devil, and a U2 DVD Live in Chicago, which I hope I don’t have, but that’s how it has gone with U2 DVDs lately. (It would turn out later that I did have it)

After that, I hurry off down to the shops where Sam will be waiting, probably tapping his fingers. Then, I’m at the entrance to The Hive with Brun and Otto.

The sun is shining. The sky is blue.

A little girl enters the centre with her hot, blond dad.

Sam returns and we cross over to the Asian Supermarket across the rod, where Brun and Otto and I wait outside again.

It’s a lovely day in Abbotsford, bright and sunny with a cool breeze, with people going about their business shopping and whatever else it is they do on a Saturday morning. Couples with babies on the father’s shoulder wrapped up in their dad’s arms. Couples with trolleys, gay men with shopping jeeps, boys carrying cards they are gonna post to their sweethearts, old man with Jack Russell terriers enthusiastically leading the way, old women with bad perms and oversized reusable shopping bags making hard work of crossing Nicholson Street with all the traffic coming from both directions. There are cars selfishly parking in the bike lane because quite clearly they don’t give a shit about anybody else. A man with a black-and-white striped T-shirt with a black and white polka dot long sleeve shirt over the top of it. Asian man in bright green Macan Porsche GTS with Bat 9 number plate, which I’m sure means something, fucked if I know what. A woman in a white Mazda four-wheel-drive with KimFinn number plates. Tradies in dual cabin Utes, usually in white. Asian women rummaging through their shopping bags to check they bought what they need. A past middle-aged white woman in tight black active gear, and a bright orange top, walks to her nearby tied up pushbike with panniers, slides the shopping into the panniers then rides away with some cautious effort as though she has only just recently taken up bike riding. A very handsome, muscly Asian boy with a bag of bread in his hands. A fat woman walking too small black terriers, one of which has a ginormous shit on the footpath, almost bigger than its fucking body. An old Asian woman getting into a blue Honda SUV in which her husband is waiting patiently for her to return with the takeaway lunch, which she has. A beautiful woman walks past in a singlet and looks like a designer bag with groceries in it. A car drives past playing loud music. The gay couple with the shopping jeep exit The Hive and walk away quickly as though they have shoplifted. An Asian chick with what looks like a grandmother who is giving her directions in a loud voice. A girl as beautiful as Lissa Waterford with tattoos walks up and pats the Bulldogs, she says she has two Frenchies. Two boyfriends one who looks like junkyard digs Kevin and the other one very cute walk past having a discussion about something they are having a friendly disagreeing about.

Sam reappears at 12:19pm.

12:22pm. We’re at the butcher in Victoria Street. There’s a younger guy lying out on the footpath pretty out of it with the back of his track pants down over his arse although he’s lying on it. There are three guys in varying states of social decay standing around chatting, all three smile when they see the Bulldogs. A girl walks up in a Hoodie with the hood over her head, which fails to cover the scabs she has all over her face. She seems to know the out-of-it guy with his arse hanging out. In fact, most of the socially challenged seem to know each other, which isn’t hard to understand.

Sam reappears at 12.30pm.

12:30pm. We’re at the pork roll shop.

12.40pm. It’s too hot standing in the sun outside the pork roll shop so we cross the road and sit on one of the seats provided. I’m not sure if it’s provided for the tram stop or if it’s just a general seat, maybe just a general seat. It’s nice to be out of the sun though. Brun lies down on the cool concrete pretty quickly, Otto crawls under the seat and lies down.

A handsome boy jogger runs past with tattoos all over his legs. 

The tram pulls up with don’t-cut-in-front-of-trams-rhinoceros advertising, three hot boys get off in tracksuit pants. The first one does thumbs up at the bulldogs accompanied with a stupid smile.

12.50pm. We are walking home. It takes us about half an hour.

3.15pm. We leave for the city and SpecSavers.

We walk through the Carlton Gardens, which is nice.

The sun is shining.

We catch a number 30 tram at Spring Street.

We get off at Swanston Street for Melbourne Central. SpecSavers is on the lower ground floor. It always feels like descending into the bowels down here. It feels like anything could happen, and does. It’s a bit wild west.

3.45pm. Sam books in. The nice shop chick tells me I can book in closer to my appointment time of 4.20pm.

I look endlessly at the glasses to pas the time.

4.20pm. I’m sitting at the bookin desk.

4.27pm. I have done the initial test. Photographs of the back of the eye, and puff tests.

Waiting for the optometrist now.

4.35pm. The person before me is out, so it shouldn’t be long now. 

My eye test reveals that my prescription hasn’t change and I don’t need new glasses. The optometrist did recommend a hot eye patch for my dry eyes as it looks as though I have blocked tear ducts. She also recommended some different eye drops. I have had annoying dry eyes for a little while now.

The nice shop chick does a quote for new glasses, anyway. You know, just in case my health insurance will pay all of the cost. You know, as likely as that is. Even if it did, I am still unlikely to get new glasses that I don’t need, but it is good to know. The nice shop chick doesn’t appear to know what she is doing. She gets another chick to help her who seems just as clueless. 

The glasses would cost $300 out of pocket, well, I think that is what they would cost, the two girls helping me didn’t seem to quite know.

We get drinks on our way home, grapefruit and passionfruit tea. As we walk out of Melbourne Central into the sunshine, Sam says, “Well, that was a waste of time.”

“Wasn’t it,” I say.

5.23pm.we catch 30a tram at Swanston Street. We get off at The Carlton Gardens when the free tram zone runs out. We walk through the gardens and up Gertrude Street.

5.39pm. We’re home.

Piss In The Shower?

All the drama about people who piss in the shower, I don't get it? 

I wait until I have turned the water off and then I piss in the shower, last thing I do before I get out. 

I think it is my natural aversion to stupidity that is manifesting itself in naughty behaviour.

Federal Election Saturday 3 May 2025

Vote

In the Senate

because it is a drug that has never harmed anyone.

It is time to stop criminalising people's choices.

Elton John

I'm going through a vintage Elton John stage at the moment.

Recently, I have been loving Captain Fantastic and The Brown Dirt Cowboy and Don't Shoot Me I'm Only The Piano Player.

But my latest 'like' is Mad Man Across The Water. Not so sure about Razor face, it seems a bit serial killer, but the rest is fantastic.

I guess there is a reason that he is one of the few living legends in the world today.

How many songs has he got that are the greatest songs of all time? I don't know? More than most artists.

Right now, I am listening to Goodbye Yellow Brick Road. A whole album of greatest songs.

April Fool's Day

April Fool's day. It doesn't seem to have the, er, effect that it once did. There used to be very elaborate practical jokes going on, once. 

I didn't see any this time around.

I guess the world is just a more serious place.

What happened to April Fool's Day?

One to me, Nill to The Pony Tail

It's fair to say The Ponytail, that idiot senior HR manager in Melbourne, don't like each other. And that is mostly because she likes to off-load as much work as she can onto other people, and I simply push back on her and tell her to do it herself.

Whenever I deal with her, before I answer any emails from her, I do a mental mind shift of 'release the judgement' and then I fearlessly stand my ground and push back. There is nothing she can do with that approach.

I don't like her because she is awful. If she makes an error she usually managers to blame it on someone else. If anyone else makes an error she throws the biggest drama telling the world.

She sent me an email requesting a whole mountain of information, she cc'd in every (senior) HR person and then she went on holidays for a week.

Something she probably didn't know was that one of the young HR people in Sydney was re-working all of that particular information at present.

I thought, nice try Bitchy McBitch Face, cc'ing in everyone so I answer everyone for her while she is away on holidays. Well, I'm not doing your work for you, I think. So, I simply replied to The PonyTail only, please contact Josie Blogs. What is that expression I detest? Am I bad. 

So, no one got the information I can only assume she was meant to get, or follow up on why they may not have got the information, so she's not happy.

Oh well.

Oh, I know, it is a minor thing, and pathetic really, I understand, but you have to rejoice in your minor victories, as they say.

She has always tried to push me around, from the very beginning, I assume because I don't have manager in my title, and she has never been successful. I've dealt with HR people for a long time.

Ah, Monday morning and The PonyTail is at me already, you see, there is no god.

The one thing I miss, or don't miss, possibly, ha ha, you work it out, is looking out of my office to see that ponytail swinging from side to side as The Ponytail is in full flight in my direction. Oh, beam me up Scotty! Another reason to love working from home.

Oh, and if she calls me, I never answer the phone, I always make her send me an email, you know, if she has something to say, she can put it in writing.

Handi Man

We were back at Sam's rental. The tenants have moved out and the real estate agent is in the process of finding new tenants.

The giant yucca that we chopped out before the last tenants moved in, which we poisoned, and into which we poured sulphuric acid, had sprouted again with six new shoots.

I'd read you can't kill these fuckers once they are planted in the ground and this one is enormous. So, Sam read some where if you cover it in thick paint it can kill it by suffocating it. 

I had several cans of silver spray paint which I'd bought for something but hadn't used, so we sprayed it with the silver paint to start with. Fuck me, does that stuff stink, am I to assume the graffiti artists are all brain damaged from the constant paint fumes, because it immediately gave me a head ache - which is coming back now just by thinking about it - and had to give it up and give the spray cans to Sam.

Well, the silver was one of the most ridiculous ideas that we'd had. It looked like some sort of budget Doctor Who SiFi movie set, it looked really bad.

So, we headed to Bunnings.

It was bulldog day at Bunnings with 5 bulldogs in the shop at once.

Anyway, Sam had the bright idea of getting sample pots of brown with which to cover the silver paint, which we did. The sample pots didn't go any where near covering the silver and we just made it worse. Now, it somehow resembled a murder scene, the brown somehow looking suspiciously like blood contrasted against the remains of the silver still showing, splattered all over the giant stump.

So, it was back to Bunnings. There, I could only get 1 litre of the brown we'd already got, as it didn't come in 500 mils which was the size I thought I needed.

"Do you just have 500 mils of something like Mission Brown?" They did, for $17, which was good, as 1 litre of the other was going to cost $70.

"What," I said. "I just want to buy a tin of their paint, I don't want to buy shares in the Dulux?" I replied.

I told her I worked in a hardware shop when I went to uni, which is true, I did, a job I was so hopeless at it makes me cringe when I think about it. 

"$70 for a litre of paint," I said. "The prices have certainly gone up since then."

She looked me in the eye and said, "I can well imagine." 

And all I could think was, fuck you bitch, I'm not that old.

I remember 4 litres was $40, as one day I was selling a tin to a crusty old tradie and his reply to me telling him the price was, "Jesus fuck me Christ, the cunts are expensive, aren't they." Oh, I must have been somewhat sheltered in my eastern suburbs private school upbringing, as I was speechless upon hearing that.

Anyway, the 500 mils tin didn't fix the job either. Now it looked like some kind of crazy Tim Burton birthday cake looming in the corner of the court yard drawing all eyes to it. Grrrr!

Sam said he thought the spray cans worked better than brushing the paint on.

So, it was back to Bunnings. I took Otto with me this time and everyone recognised me because of him. I'm too bland to be recognised without a big bouncing dog, sad to say.

This time I got a spray can of gloss brown. 

Anyway, 6 receptacles of paint and half a day later, the giant stump finally just seemed to fade away into the back ground unnoticed.

There was also the matter of the front door lock striker plates, which the problem tenants, the ones before the previous tenants had removed from the front door. Why? We don't know? Sam still reckons they were dealing drugs, as they installed all kinds of security cameras around the perimetre. Anyway, he reckons the striker plates were removed because of some sort of security system these losers had installed, which they removed when they eventually disappeared in the night doing a runner.

The current realestate agent complained that the striker plates were missing, as it is some kind of security issue. So, as well as the many paint buying runs, I was also buying striker plates, which I was trying to fit as Sam performed his Picasso routine in the court yard, none of which I could get to work.

So we were both having our own levels of frustration. 

None of the different striker plates worked. Why? Why? Why? This should be so easy. The last one I fitted, just as I was going to test it, I realised I'd screwed it onto the door frame a couple of millimetres down too low. Nyr! I was exasperated with myself, and I just kind of pushed the door in disgust to get some tools from behind it and the door clicked shut.

"WTF?"

I tested it a few times, and with the striker plate clearly screwed into the wrong position on the door frame, the damn thing worked.

Oh. I laughed to myself. Seriously? Um? Shrug. There you go. Fixed.

So, there you go, after much frustration we got the jobs done.

Of course, the bulldogs wrestled in the garden ruining quite a few plants, just what was needed for getting new tenants. Yeah, good onya you two.

In The Gym

 

Otto

 

At The Gym

I’m on the exercise bike at the gym as I type this.

I’m on the exercise bike at the gym as I hope this goes fast.

There’s some tosser in fluro shorts posing, doing a double pull down right across the width of the gym. 

There are a couple of twisted sisters in matching onesies looking like they wanna kill. I’ve never seen a pair of matching grimaces.

There is a big guy in impossibly small, tight shorts. He looks like he is going gently so as not to split his shorts.

There is a beautiful girl doing leg extensions. She seems self conscious and does a lot of ab exercises.

There is an old chick doing lat pull downs. She spends most of her time reclining on the machines.

Oh, I gotta go, I’ve discovered I can’t type and pedal at the same time.

Anyway, it is time to hit the treadmill.

Wednesday

My work week ends, yay,

It's been hell, ha, ha, easy as.

and my weekend begins, relax and breathe,

just the way it should be.

Lovely.

A couple of days until the weekend proper starts.

Days to myself, you have to love that.

I even got to the gym last Tuesday, think it, do it, as David says, and I thought it and did it, just like that, so I am right on track for two visits this week.

I spoke to my girl trainer a few days ago, essentially apologising for only making it to the gym once a week, lately. She said I should congratulate myself for keeping it up regularly and then try to go twice a week.

So, well done me.

Tuesday

I'm up early.

I get stuck into work.

Ah, the gentle sound of a bulldog snoring at my feet accompanies me on the day. 

What would the world be like without the snore of a bulldog?

A little more Tina Turner. What the world needs now is a little more Tina Turner.

And coffee. Oh yes, more coffee. Ha ha. I would never say anything but.

Ah, the morning just drifts away.

Monday

Monday?

What can I say?

I started early,

as I do.

I listened to Tina Turner for most of the day.

I had most of my work down after lunch,

well, what I had to do anyway.

A meeting with my team in the afternoon,

finance boffins,

as boring as they are,

I can't really begin to tell you how boring they really are.

How did I get into this field?

My boss was back for the first time since brain surgery,

he looked okay. Good to have him back, as long as he doesn't insist on me going back to the office.

I thought he might spend a lot more time away,

but you know how those execs are, always something to prove.

We walked the dogs after work.

We ate roast chicken for dinner,

after which I fell asleep on the couch.

Off To The Country

So, let's try the country trip today...

Lunch in the hills.

Lovely.

Let's go.

The bulldogs always get super excited when they hear the car key jiggle. And I have a keyless entry fob with one house key attached to it, so their hearing is really fine tuned down to the sound of that. All it takes is one, even slight, rattle and they are on it immediately.

Walk into the City

We were going to go walking in the country, but Otto vomited up his chicken breakfast he got so excited about an immanent car ride that we didn't go.

We walked into the city instead, so Sam could sort out some games he'd bought. He discovered a better deal after he'd bought them, so he returned them. Sam is always looking for a better deal.

We had lunch sitting at the State Library, which was very nice, just sitting in the sun with the green grass as a back drop. The only thing that spoiled it, was some mentally deranged loon came and sat up the other end of the sitting area, screaming sad things at the world passing by him.

Still, the sun shone and it was a lovely day.

Friday

Friday, again. Friday just keeps rolling around with regular monotony, now doesn't it. I guess that is good, though, in a sense, as if it didn't roll around, I'm guessing you'd be dead. Hey? Better to have Friday roll around, than the alternative.

But seriously, every time I seem to look up, it is Friday. Thursday always seems to be little more than a blip.

Brun comes downstairs, it's early for him. He gives me a I-need-a-wee look as he heads straight to the back door. He makes a vague attempt at chasing Milo, when he comes back in, which makes me laugh, it is almost over as it begins, then he hops up on the couch next to me, snuffling and sniffing.

It's early, of course, it is still dark outside.

Brun is now snoring. He's my big teddybear.

So, Friday hey? So many options? I could do anything I like. I am powerful, I can do anything. David is always banging on about positive affirmations, so I thought I'd give them a go. They made me feel pretty silly, if I was honest.

Later, I take the dogs for a walk in the rain, let me explain. While the footpaths are still wet from the recent down pour, there is no actual rain falling from the sky, as we head out the door. 

It wouldn't be so bad, not really, they don't care if the rain falls, and it is kind of romantic when it does, even if I am only waling with my two favourite K9s, and not my great love.

10.15am

And it did rain, and we walked in it, the dogs don't care, before we amended our route to walk mostly under shop awnings.

Now I'm going to the gym.

Writing, Writing

Day off. Rather than waste my life on YouTube, yet again, I re-wrote my fiction blog all day. I re-wrote a number of old draft entries that have been unfinished for the longest time, and published them, finally.

It was a balmy, blustery, windy kind of day. I don't know if I am weird, but I love the wind. It was overcast and grey, but warm.

I took the dogs for a walk early. Everyone seemed to have the same idea, walk your dog early as it was going to be hot, and while it was kind of hot, it wasn't too hot.

I didn't get to the gym. Bad me.

And the day just disappeared.

Waking Up Early

I wake up early. I don't mind waking up early, it means I have to deal with people for less hours in the day. 😁

Besides, it is peaceful early in the morning.

That doesn't include Sam, you understand, he is still my favourite human, nah, it just includes everybody else, people are annoying, with a few exceptions, none of whom are around early in the morning when I get up.

5am'ish, somewhere in that 5am hour is my usual time to get up now a days. Funny how things change. I used to stay up late and get up much later than I do now, but Sam has always gone to bed early, 10pm, and I have succumbed to his influence, still it's not bad, as I said earlier, in fact, I quite like getting up early now.

Nonsense

There are increased anti immigration rants, by people around the world.

Immigration that made so many countries so successful, including Australia.

And with very low birth rates in western countries, it is what is going to make us successful in the future, most likely.

So, people, stop the nonsense, stop listening to conservative politicians point scoring, and stop being racist, and ridiculous and stop denigrating immigration, it is what is going to secure most of our futures.

Let's face it, anti immigration rants are just racism repackaged. That's all they are. Why are we accepting racism today? We should condemn the people making anti immigration speeches.

Don't vote for the party that is using immigration as a political tool in the coming federal election, vote for the party that is going to do most for all Australians.

And remember, despite what they say, nuclear power will be the most expensive form of energy generation. Renewables, despite whatever drawbacks they have, will always be cheaper than nuclear. Any argument to the contrary is smoke and mirrors and an argument for something other than nuclear, in Australia's case, it is an argument for the continuing use of fossil fuels.

Not Quite 72 Virgins

 

Apparently, this is what gay Muslims see when they get to heaven.

Oh why not, it's Monday, and I don't want to think about Monday.

It made me laugh.

I mean, if you can't laugh at Abrahamic religions, what can you laugh at?

Sunday Morning

It's a rainy Sunday, almost my favourite kind of day.

Of course, that means cleaning day, always on a Sunday morning.

Sam gets to dusting, and throwing looks at me still on the couch.

He moves everything, including my laptop, off the coffee table to clean it.

He continues to throw looks, I continue to pretend not to see them.

Once Sam is done with the dusting downstairs he heads upstairs, on his way he finally says, "Do the vacuuming."

Then he disappears upstairs to clean our bedroom and the bathroom.

Moments later, I get to my feet. Get it over and done with, I think.

I'm clearly serious about the vacuuming this morning, as I break out the full sized Dyson vacuum. I have been using the shit LG stick vacuum, but it really is a useless pile of shit.

I select Tina Turner live in my headphones. Addicted to love starts to play. Tina starts to sing.

Saturday

I don't know, it was Saturday. A day not to know, it was almost created for it. Saturdays. And not knowing.

What do you do on Saturdays?

I wonder as the fan whirs in the corner of the room.

The news tried to make out it was going to be a scorcher of a day, life threatening, breathlessly reported, but it was 31 degrees, which is quite nice.

The news seems to want to grab ratings with even sensationalising the weather just lately. I don't really understand it?

Does it have something to do with competing with social media, which is always looking for drama to sell itself?

Everybody seems to be doing drama now a days.

I was so concerned, I fell asleep on the couch in the afternoon for a couple of hours.

Otto is sick, he has a cold and a cough. The internet says it should clear up in a week, after that he'll need to go to the vet.

Lovely Friday

It's a great day, gorgeous, warm, 25 degrees.

I finish a short story that I start a day, or so ago.

I take the dogs for a walk for an hour, then I get my arse off to the gym.

All before lunch, pretty good going even if I do say so myself.

Sam is in back to back meetings all morning. They sound as boring as fuck. I stand off to the side out of sight and text him.

"Why don't you tell them to go and fuck themselves with a big long stick."

Sam reaches for his keyboard nonchalantly, as whoever is talking yaps on. "Oh, kill me now," Sam replies.

And I now have the afternoon to piss away as I feel like.

Pissing In The Shower

I read another survey on how many people piss in the shower.

Really?

Who cares if you piss in the shower?

The water is running, it washes away.

In fact, it is probably a good thing to do as far as water usage is concerned. You know, save water.

Why do we do useless surveys? But the world is so full of nonsense, the trick is not to get caught up in it. Who cares really is such a good yard stick.

I guess it is interesting to know, non the less. But it's not something about which to get the ick. It's not important.

I'll admit it, I piss in the shower.

Mark

I was busy working, it was my busy day, when my phone rang and Luke's name came up on my phone.

I picked it up and answered with a certain amount of trepidation, hoping it wasn't bad news. "Hi, how are you?"

Mark's voice came on. "I'm still alive," he said.

OMG! I couldn't believe it. Funny how we say that. Of course, I could believe it, I was just as pleased as pleased. Sitting by his bed for a week was worth it for this moment, not that it was ever not worth it. He sounded great. He didn't remember Lolie and I sitting by his bed for a week, but I could tell he was pleased. He became emotional at the information.

I was very pleased. It was good to have him back, finally. Thank you inuiverse. (Not that the universe had anything to do with it, let's not border on a troglodyte) Thank you modern medicine.

Busy

It was a busy day back after the long weekend. The 01st of March is when everything changes in our company, pay rises, promotions, new baby lawyers, reset, renew, the music stops and everybody stands, so it is always a busy time. Straight after a long weekend, always, so much more to do, with less time to do it in, it's always the way, you've gotta hate that.

Oh universe, I was pulling my hair out, despite having a haircut days before, but I got it done, even if Boris kept giving me the wrong information, which is really unlike her. Grrr. I don't know what she was thinking, or not thinking, as the case may be. Her mind was some where else, clearly. She apologised after each fuck up, profusely after the last couple, which really wasn't necessary, as we are both there just to get things done. No-one is there for recriminations. It will be my turn to fuck up next week, if you know what I mean.

I was thanked for my work. Shrug. I'd rather be writing my blog. Clearly.

Woke

The only thing woke means is that you care about other people.

That's what it means. How could anyone be against that?

Quiet Weekend

It's really quiet in the streets, it seems like the people have gone away for the long weekend, leaving the place nice and quiet. It's nice, no tourists.

I sing a round of Where Have All The Annoying People Gone, as I walk around to the shops. Whistling between verses. Ha ha. And a little dance right on the side of the footpath, dancing like nobody is watching, because nobody was.

There should be more long weekends. I love long weekends.

Haircuts, Indian Food, Music

We head into the city and have haircuts.

We go to Melbourne Central and eat Indian food, we take the dogs. Melbourne Central has faux laneways so we eat in them with Brun and Otto. People seem enchanted to see them.

I go to JBHiFi and buy a Rolling Stones Cd and a Guy Sebastian Cd.

I come home and fall asleep on the couch for the afternoon.

Breeding Pair

One of the resident loons, who I have seen around for years, and who just lately seems to have got her medication under control, as she is no longer pacing the street calling out to god to forgive these sinners, quite out of the blue asked me, "Are they a breeding pair?"

"No," I said. "They are not."

"Don't you want to breed with them?" she asked.

"No, no I don't."

"Oh," she said and she walked off.

Not are they both boys, which is clearly my kind of breeding pair, but probably not what she had in mind, I thought. They are also both de-sexed.

She is clearly not a dog person. Nor a genius.

Day Off, Take The Dogs For A Walk

I just had a shower, was getting dressed. I had one leg in my the leg of my shorts, just about to put my other leg in, when Otto decided it was time for a game and jumped up on me, with enthusiastic force, quite unexpectedly. I was lucky to just grab the end bedhead, spinning around in a half circle, before I hit the floor, or collided with the desk, or the wall, at speed. OMG! The fucker! That’s how I am.

We ran downstairs together. Only to find it was raining when I opened the front door.

Me and Otto looking out with disappointed faces, no doubt. Brun probably looking quite pleased.

Wednesday Morning

Wow. It is a lovely morning, almost makes you feel glad to be alive. Oh well, you know, a lovely morning is always nectar for the living.

It does your soul good, seeing the warm sun shining down. And to think daylight savings finishes this weekend.

I'm working, of course. Wednesday. Hump Day.

I made coffee mid morning and I sneaked two lamingtons to have with my coffee, but stupidly left the lamington tin in the middle of the kitchen bench rather than putting the lamington tin back on the shelf. If you are going to sneak lamingtons, don't leave the lamington tin on the kitchen bench, it is a dead give away.

No word on Mark. But right at the moment, I take no news as good news.

Now I have coconut caught in my teeth, which is annoying.

Afternoon Walk

It was hot, surprisingly hot. I was waiting for a parcel to be delivered and each time I headed outside to check it seemed to be hotter.

It was almost too hot to take the dogs for a walk, but we took them for a shorter walk, in the afternoon shade where we could manage it to the supermarket to get food for dinner.

Monday

Monday. Back to work.

Apparently, Mark had a bad night, getting fluid in his lungs.

I should have stayed up there and helped. I can work from there.

Time To Head home

Lollie came up on Wednesday. We sat together at Mark's bedside all week, with Luke. Lollie crocheting.

Lollie and I flew home together today. 

I probably should have stayed and helped Luke.

There's No God

 

Surely, if there was a god, I'd have one of these, I'm a nice guy, I'm nice to all the people I meet.

Music

I wondered if such a strong, primal voice as Nina Simone's would get into Mark's consciousness being played across his land. You know, float on the air to him, or something.

I hoped it might. Funny the places your mind goes to when you are grasping at any possibility.

I guessed I'd have to take it to his hospital room.

Then I thought today, I might play him music in his hospital room, as he lies there out to it, hooked up to a multitude of machines.

Sing It, Nina

I listened to Nina Simone all day. Cottage door open, her dulcet tones floating off across the rain forest. Sun shining. It is a small slice of paradise here, it really is.

I wasn't going to work, I told Boris that this morning. But then she phoned me sounding pathetic, and Mark's brother and sister were visiting Mark, so I was letting them have their time, so I wasn't working anyway, so I told Boris I would work, and I worked all day.

This Is A Terrible Turn Of Events

Mark is really unwell. I am holding my breath. We sit vigil in his hospital room, I guess, waiting for any sign of improvement, no matter how small. There has really been none so far.

Two Hour Flight

I'm getting a plane to Northern Rivers, as the doctors don't know if Mark is going to make it.

I'm numb.

I get a flight leaving 3 hours later. Sam booked it for me. He packed me a bag and ordered me an Uber.

I am at the airport in 2 hours.

The sun is shining and the sky is blue as I walk out to the aircraft.

Sunday Screen Day

I should have gone to the gym today, as I never made it Tuesday, so I only got there for one day this week. It's not enough. I'd say my bad, but I want to kill anyone I hear use that stupid expression.

But, I didn't get there. I intended to go, but I didn't. You know how it is.

We went walking early. It was actually a great day for walking, as there was a fairly strong breeze, which I love. I love the wind it makes me feel alive. And it sure made a change to yesterday, blowing away all the heat and the sweat and stickiness, right out of our, er, souls? Hair? Saturday? I dunno, but it made a nice change.

Then it was just couches and screens, you know how it is.

It deluged with rain, like a torrential storm, the only type we seem to get now a days, climate change anyone, then it died off as if it was over. Then there was a lull where we all caught our breath watching the street gutters expel the run off. Then it poured with rain again, rain drops bouncing off the ground like bullets. Then it stopped and the sun came out brightly, sparkling and glistening on the rain drops hanging off everything.

Mark still isn't really coming good. He's not getting worse, but he's not getting better either. What does that say about post-operative infection? I don't know. Everyone is staying positive. I wish I wasn't 1600 kilometres away. I should have gone. Cross your fingers.

Hot Day

It was hot today, what can you do when it is hot? You know, when the air feels like soup to breathe in, when it almost feels solid when you walk out into it, when it hits you straight away.

We washed the dogs, that's a good hot day activity. All of us under all that water, it is a nice place to be, except for Otto who still hasn't got used to the shower raining down on him. So, a jug poured over him, many jugs poured over him, does the job. 

Then we took them walking so they dried off in the sunshine. Much easier than trying to towel dry them. And it's not so suffocating as drying them with a hair dryer in an enclosed bath room.

And when it got really hot, we hid inside away from the heat. Both of us sprawled out on a couch each, Brun and Otto lying wherever they like.

That was Saturday. Over too quickly, as Saturdays always are. Over to fats. That day, for me anyway, that is an oasis in the middle of other days off.

Friday

I got my lazy arse to the gym today. That's once this week. That's once last week. It's not enough. I must go more often. I don't know why I can't, I don't find it hard once I am there. It's just getting my shit together and getting there. (It literally only takes a short walk)

I was pretty much the only one in the gym. The cute instructor was boxing when I got there, but he stopped almost immediately after I got there.

I did take the dogs for an hours walk on both days, so that must count for something, I guess. Although, they are more about sniffing and pissing than they are about exercise.

My ex, Mark, has made a slight improvement. At least that is in the right direction. What else can I say? It is still a waiting game, it would seem.

Hospital

My ex-boyfriend, Mark, had his gaul bladder removed, actually, in the end I don't think he had it removed, I think they did something to make it better without removing it.

I think it was keyhole surgery, and not the full slice open.

He got an infection after the surgery, which developed into an infection in his blood.

He has been really sick with it, from all accounts struggling to get better.

And for a time there things really didn't look good.

Well, that was last week.

Then they did another MRI and they found that he had some sort fluid retention around, or behind, his pancreas which kept expelling liquid intermittently reinfecting him. Or something.

This week he is in ICU, but they now think they have him on the right treatment.

Cross your fingers.

Oh, boy, he is my best friend. I can hardly breathe when I think about what he is going through. I can't imagine losing him. The greatest guy. And he lives so far way, the Northern Rivers, so I can't just drop into see him, and sit with him, by his bed.

Bored At Work

It was really slow work wise for the last three days. I don't know if that was due to my superior work ethic? Ha ha, do you like that? Or is it just the natural slump after the Xmas break.

Oh, I don't know.

I'd worked on the new remunerations for the company, as exciting as that sounds, but those around me don't seem to have pulled their fingers out of their Hoo-ha's, as yet, and that's all seemingly gone on hold, not that that effects me any, as my work is done. Signed off. I had the hard bit, the rest of them just have to impart the information to the people. It just puts off the inevitable changes I have to do when all of my internal clients realise the mistakes they have made forcing them to come back to me and give me their individaul sob stories. I can hardly wait...

Anyway, enough of that. 

I got bored and decided to research modern graphic gay movies, ones with nudity and good sex scenes, real movies, not porn, which there seems to be plenty. I bought eight movies spending just over $200. Lovely.

Being 17, You & I, Shank, Red River - that's the classic in the collection - The Prince, Broken Sky, Acrobat, Horeseplay, The Blond One, and Free Fall, mainly because of the two confused, handsome, blond, straight guy, main characters

That's quite a lot of foreign language movies, as I like them to be real and true to life. I don't want a whole lot of camp guys zhooshing about, no thank you.

Anyway, they should all arrive in due course.

Sam is going to Japan with his mum and dad in April, taking them on holidays. And I'm going to have a gay movie marathon. Lovely.

Will & Harper

We watched Will & Harper 

Will Farrell goes on a road trip around America with his friend of 30 years Harper Steele who has just transitioned as a trans woman. Harper used to travel the length and breathed of America before she transitioned and this would be the first time since transition that she would return to those places apprehensive that she’d be able to visit the same places now.

It's uplifting to hear someone's story of finding happiness in their lives.

It is such a shame that trans people are being used as the political punching bag by conservatives. What business is it of anyone's other than the trans person and their family and perhaps their medical people. Conservatives who really have nothing in their lives other than what? A multitude of lies that make them feel better about themselves, failing christianity and some strange belief they'd rather be living in the 1950s.

Just Call Me Warren Buffett

I was going to buy some shares, but I hesitated when some of the reviews I read said they'd done their rise in value by then. So, I didn't buy them. I checked in with them a few days later and their value had risen above what I would have paid, so I panic bought them, which is never good, I know that, but half as many as I was going to buy originally. And the moment I bought them, their price plunged back to the original price I would have paid for them if I hadn't hesitated. So, that was good. 👍 Another success story.

Just call me Warren Buffett.

Still, their value could still come back, even though half as many aren't really going to do me much good in the end.

I don't know, hopefully.

Climate Change

Climate change anyone.

Last Saturday it was 40 degrees, hot and sunny. This Saturday we have the open fire burning, as it is wet and cold outside. 

I still don't know why us humans aren't taking the imminent demise of our species by climate change seriously. The evidence is there for us to see on a daily basis, practically.

In this instance, we had a fire just because Sam took advantage of the cool day to burn off all the cardboard/paper debris that has been thrown into our fireplace over summer. 

But then, my pyromaniac instincts are lit up whenever I see flames and I couldn't help myself but to go and get all the rubbish bits of wood from the wood delivery 6 months ago, that we will never burn otherwise, and throw them on the flames to keep them burning. 

I tell you, if I had slightly different brain chemistry I'd be masturbating, a match in my other hand, as fires take a hold of the bush in the country at the hight of summer. 

None the less, the change in the weather is dramatic.

Brave New World?

You know there is no such thing as ‘woke.’ Other than being a conservative political construct.

No, it doesn’t exist.

Anybody fighting against ‘woke’, or saying the world is too ‘woke’, is essentially saying, I want to be able to say what I want and to discriminate against whom ever I chose. They are really just saying, essentially, I am a bigot.

If you don’t believe me, ask any one of the Everything-is-woke-brigade to define what they mean by ‘woke.’

In fact, if you don't believe me, tell me what 'woke' is yourself.

No white person will be able to give me the same definition.

The, actual, original meaning of being woke, that is before the conservatives comandeeered it for political gain, is when Black people become aware of social and political issues affecting them in the world.

That is the, actual, meaning of woke.

Happy Friday

It's been a lazy kind of day.

I took the dogs for a walk. I went and bought some stuff I needed, eye drops, chemist stuff.

We ate curry chicken for lunch, after which I lay on the couch not intending to do anything else for the day.

However, Sam has now asked me about going to the gym several times in his inimitable style, you know that way that only a partner can ask you about something they clearly think you should be doing, so finally I am off to the gym.

Wish me luck.

Going For A Walk Early In The Day Is Always Good

 

It was nice walking early today before it got hot. Mornings are magical. It was forecast to be 37 today, it got close to that, but I don't think it quite made it to that. Good to get exercise over first thing in the day, it makes you feel good for the rest of the day.

Okay, That's Not Good

Boris calls me in the morning. "Has anyone from the office spoken to you today?"

Instantly, I think I am being sacked. What does that say about me?

In the next instant, I think this is about my non-compliance with the going into the office as now required.

"No," I say. Probably nervously. I don't know, I don't hear myself.

It turns out, she is calling about our beloved boss. "The PooBah has a brain tumour and is as we speak being operated on in an emergency operation."

"Oh, that is terrible, poor PooBah," I say.

"Are you okay?" asks Boris.

Am I okay, I think? What? Oh yes, of course, that is the part we are playing. I mean, seriously, why would I be emotionally devastated by this. I like our boss, but I don't have the brain tumour.

"It is a great shock to all of us," says Boris.

I must play along, and I switch into concerned colleague. "Oh, poor [I use his name, of course] that's awful. Yes, I'm okay," I say. I almost feel like a fraud saying I'm okay.

"It is very serious," says Boris.

Serious for our boss, not so serious for us.

Apparently, the company has hired a psychologist, or someone similar, to attend to any of us incase we are over come with grief. 

Seriously, I think. "Oh, have they, well good to know," I say.

"The Midget is now in charge," says Boris.

Oh god, The Midget in charge, now I need counselling. Little Miss Humourless. Now she could insist I comply with the current in the office requirements. Damn, I think.

A short time later, HR calls to tell me officially.

"That's terrible news," I tell FatBoy from HR.

"I don't want a new boss, the Big Poo is a great guy," I say.

"Yes, our prayers are with him," says FatBoy.

He's going to need more than you stupid prayers, I think. "Yes," is all I could manage to that.

FatBoy reiterates various counselling programs the company has put in place. He says something about prayers more than once.

I thank him and finish the call.

I wonder what this means about my non-compliance with being in the office. The Big Poo had been pretty lenient towards me up until now. The Midget isn't likely to be so lenient. Damn, I think, again.

Everybody loves our big boss, he is kind and funny and good at what he does. He is always interested in all of us.

How about that, you never know, now do you. He is uber successful, he has a happy family life, and kids who, from all accounts, are exceptional like him and successful.

He is sporty and healthy. He goes overseas and does triathlons in his down time. He was supposed to be on holidays OS this week with his wife.

Okay HR, Your Help Won't Be Required Any Longer

I sign into work at 6am. I read Sydney HR manager FishFace's whingie emails first thing. More senior legal Sydney woman - what is it with senior Sydney legal women, I ask you? - pissing their pants over practically nothing.

Those expensive hoo-ha's pissing out liquid into their nylon knickers at the slightest affront that they feel. I imagine it as a scene from Little Britain.

They must be so rung out with the battle ground of our northern neighbour city that any little thing is likely to trigger them and set them off as monsters.

And then they can be as dumb as a box of fucking rocks with any explanation they receive.

To be fair, sometimes they can be as sweet as a kitten with a little sweet talking too, but so often it is the other.

I don’t think anyone is all that nice to them, in the pig fight that is Sydney.

And, of course, our love-a-good-drama HR team plays right into these entitled woman’s sense of outrage. HR throws petrol on the fire, not water, always in a self-aggrandising effort, to make themselves look better.

So, the first thing I do is cut HR out of any discussions I might have with those who feel wronged. You know, get rid of the super girl drama queen element, isolate them, make it one on one. And then, you know, I can fake sincerity better than just about anyone else. 9 times out of 10, I win them over and kind of jedi mind trick them out of any sense of having-been-done-wrong-by just by being even handed, and drama free. Calm, steady voice.

This is not going to hurt. Trust me. See, what did I tell you, pain free.

And I get a "thank you Christian," from the apparently enraged Sydney professional, once HR's drama queen input has been removed from the situation.

Easy.

Now, wiping my hands together, another fire storm put out. How they cope with making important life decisions, I will never know.