End of the Month

End of the month, another end of month, there seems to be an end of month every week. The year is almost over. Another year is almost over. It is just about done. Halfway through the decade. The decade is heading towards being done. Five years ways from Covid. All of that palaver now 5 years away. And we thought we'd never get through it. 

Its one thing you can be sure of, this too will pass.

The months are flying by, as the years are too, the decades are disappearing. Fuck me!

Soon it will be summer, and warmer weather. Nice. Except for the fear of scorching hot days and bush fires burning us all to death. 

I do wonder at what point the world will collectively start taking climate change seriously?

Soon I'll be in shorts. I'm in shorts for months. I get so used to being in shorts, long pants always feel weird when I get back into them, kind of suffocating for my legs. Shorts are so free.

1st November tomorrow. Pinch, punch, first of the month.

Evolutionary Change

When I think about it, the only field in which the human race has sustained revolutionary change is in the medical field, we haven't really done that in any other area of life.

Not really.

I, guess, you'd probably have to say space travel/exploration also simply because it didn't exist before.

We have evolved many areas of life in the last few thousand years, but, essentially, we still live the same way. Family structure & shelter, need for wealth, of some sort, need for sustenance. The very essence of our lives hasn't changed so much.

I guess the tech guys would tell you differently, but we have always had a need to communicate, the very basic nature of that hasn't changed and that's all the tech guys give us at a very basic level. They have essentially only really evolved the carrier pigeon, or the smoke signal. They haven't developed telepathy, or teleportation technologies, now have they.

Hump Day

I am still feeling like I should be doing something, you know, niggling somewhere in the back of my mind. It's weird, annoying, hard to let that work thing go, hey.

I'm still playing with AI image creation and re-writing stories.

I have created small pieces of art work to go with my stories on my fictional blog. They are kind of amateurish, created with photoshop created by hand. Well, I went through and put descriptions of each into an AI generator and the results were impressive. Not sure at present if I am going to replace my original artwork, or not.

This made me laugh, on the news, it was said that a 13 year old boy was saved from a sticky situation in Alphington. Rescuers  pulled him to safety. Don't the news writers hear what they are saying?

Anyway...

Have I ever told you I find boats creepy. Not speed boats, I guess that's because I was bought up on them as a water skier as a kid. But anything bigger, especially ocean liners, super creepy. The thought of them just gives me chills. I wonder if there is a name for that?

I'm not sure that I would call it a fear, I just find them creepy, but anyway, 

The fear of ships is known as naviphobia or navisphobia, a phobia that can also be connected to other anxieties like megalophobia (fear of large objects) and submechanophobia (fear of submerged man-made objects). It can be triggered by past negative maritime experiences, movies, or the sheer size of vessels and may result in symptoms like panic, sickness, or anxiety. 

It is a glorious day, the sun is shining, the weather is just perfect. Sam is in the office, apparently all his bosses have turned up and he has to go into the office for the next few days to meet with them.

He said, "kill me now." Closely followed by, "have I told you I don't want to work anymore?"

Every day, hun.

Go To The Gym

Is it Wednesday? No, it's Tuesday. No, it's Wednesday. Tuesday. It's Tuesday. It's Tuesday. I can't tell you how much I love being on holidays.

The sun is shining, it is a gorgeous day outside, really spectacular, even if it isn't as warm as it looks, but that just makes it deliciously fresh.

I could sit here and continue generating AI cowboy images all day, but, really? I should drag my sorry arse off to the gym.

In fact, as David says, think it, do it.

So, I get up and take myself out the door to the grim.

Writing Day

It was a lazy kind of day, I sat on my arse, and the day drifted away.

I didn't go to the gym, which means I won't go Mon, Wed & Fri, if I go tomorrow it means I will only go Tue & Thu.

I did finish a second short story though. I have lots of short stories that I have started but have never finished, so I've decided that during my holidays I'm going to try and finish them. I've finish two so far.

I had already written parts of it in note form and I just had to extend those out. It just flowed. Those days when it flows are what it's all about. Then once I am done, I feel drained.

So what inspiration I can get back tomorrow.

I did have a crack at a 3rd story this arvo, but it was hard work, not just flowing out of me, but that's okay. I got something. I always think whatever you get, even if it isn't much, is still good as, you know, it will lead to the next bit. And you just need to get the next bit, then the next bit, and hopefully, one day, the rest will just flow.

I put the first completed story on my fiction blog. It is supposed to be dark humour, it's too early for me to see if it works, that comes after some distance.. It will need to be re-written again, but it's okay so far.

And now I have finished a second one. That's not bad, hey. I'm well pleased with that, as Katherine Tate would say. (Or Nan's cute grandson) I'll put the second one on my fiction blog next.

I continued playing around with AI image creator.

Sam worked all day in the study. He's been really busy lately, with meeting after meeting, after meeting. He says he doesn't want to work any more. Who does, I tell him.

Grey, Wet Sunday

And the rain came down. It is predicted to be torrential, but then it so often is. I guess, we'd better get used to it, changing weather being what it is. Governments inaction being what it is.

We're inside, couches, blankets, thick socks, what else is there to do? I'm tempted to light a fire, except it isn't really cold.

I've been playing with AI images, broken up by Sam insisting I do the vacuuming.

Now I might write a story.

The rain falls continuously on the lounge room roof.

We're doing screens.

Sam is perusing The Hungry Panda menu for lunch. I told him I want the mango desert, when he asked what I want. Sam just looked at me in response.

Charlie has only just got up, oh to be 22 again.

The rain starts to fall heavier.

In the end, Hungry Panda didn't get the gig. Sam stir-fried noodles.

I watched DailyDrivenDeathTraps, and their 64 Barracuda. Sean and Alex have the best arses on YouTube.

Eventually, the torrential rain came, and boy did it come down. It didn't last for very long, but in that time parts of the city flooded from all reports.

Saturday

Late morning we head into the city and have haircuts. Oh, it was a what-to-do kind of day and that was the best we could come up with.

It was gorgeously overcast and threatening rain all the way on the walk in.

When Sam was having his haircut, the rain did start falling gently on my head, which I love. Enough rain to notice, but not enough to encourage you to try and get under shelter and away from it. It is a certain kind of freedom.

After haircuts, we head across town to get Indian food. 

We’re walking down Little Bourke Street, and what appears to be a homeless woman pushing suitcases walks towards me. 

She looks at Brun and she says to me, “God that dog’s ugly.” 

My mind, of course reals, with answers like, and you appear to be doing so well in life, or how do you seriously think I would respond to that comment? I say nothing, it’s a free world she can say what she likes. She’s entitled to her opinion.

And I’m lucky. And she's not.

It kind of made me feel smug, in a weird kind of way. That I just didn't care what she said. I just kept walking, without missing a beat.

I buy a Tina Turner CD on the way home. Tina Turns On The Country. It is the only CD of hers I don't have. I never thought I would actually buy it. Country, nyr. But there it was, and so I did.

It was quite a nice day to be out walking, despite the grey sky.

Family Time

It was dinner tonight at the local pub with my cousins. My brother, Will, organised it. We did it near my place, in fact in my street. We all keep saying we need to catch up more, so Will organised it

We all had a good time. My brother, and sister, Roz, both came with their partners. My brother and sister in-law, Reece, bought their dog, Boo, which they left at my place. But, he's a very small dog, so we left him separately to our dogs. Er, I'm pretty sure they would have all been okay together, but better to be safe.

I ate Caesar Salad. Sam ate fish & chips, so did my sister in-law Reece. My sister Roz and Cousin M had Beef Ragu. Brother Will had Gnocchi. My brother in-law Grant had chicken schnitzel, because Roz ordered it instead of Chicken Parmigiana. Oops. Cousin G had Barramundi. Cousin H and her partner D had Chicken Parmigiana. I drank two glasses of shiraz, which is almost unheard of for me. Cousin M and Cousin G drank white wine, they like a drink. 

My cousins are great. We all get on really well. We all laughed.

I sat next to Cousin M, who is really funny, she even made her recent breast cancer treatment sound not so frightening.

It's nice to spend time with family, we never do it enough. We all promised to catch up again soon.

The Gym

I went to the gym early.

During my previous gym visit, a couple of days ago, I realised that it made me feel better than the effort it took to do it. It was somewhat of a revelation, I minor one to be sure. But a good thing.

The revelation made me feel as good as the workout.

I was somewhat pleased with all of that.

No, I was. Funny the things you think sometimes, hey?

Anyway, I am feeling some much more positive about the gym than I did, which I am sure is only a good thing.

I will stop referring to it as The Grim. Maybe? Soon.

Armageddon

It was raining early in the day, I think when I woke up, but then it stopped late morning.

We were warned of catastrophic weather conditions starting this afternoon. A thunder storm asthma warning was issued.

So, I took the dogs for a walk in the morning.

Then I sat on my computer in the lounge re-writing an old story waiting for the sky to fall in.

It was, actually, kind of sunny all day where I was.

It got grey late afternoon, and maybe there was some light rain.

Apparently, the wind and the rain did eventuate in some parts of the city. Trees blew over. The SES had a full dance card. I believe a person died due to something falling on them.

None of the catastrophic conditions happened where we were. I'm guessing even the weather report has to make the ratings, though.

Buildings & Clouds

 

Nice clouds. Interesting light. Great glass building. I thought it looked as though it might take off. Well, there was movement, sure there was. Make it bigger, it kind of goes 3D. (said the footy player to the groupie)

Sleeping In

I've always been a good sleeper, Sam and I are both asleep within minutes of putting our heads on the pillow. Sam can fall asleep while I am in mid sentence to him.

In recent years, I have been waking up at 5am, I just thought that was how it was going to be for now. I have learnt to go to bed early because Sam goes to bed early, so I go to bed at 10.30pm instead of 12.30am like I always was used to. I thought that had something to do with it.

Apparently not, since I have been on holidays, I have been sleeping in again until 7am. Maybe that is just the beginning. 9am, here I come.

How bad is work for us?

There is a part of me that doesn't mind getting up early, that time to myself is great, but it would be nice to get up early because you choose to, and to sleep in because you choose to.

Sunday

Is it Sunday? That's right, isn't it? Every day feels like Saturday, even today. It's difficult to know what day it is when all your reference points fall away. What day? I have to stop and think. It is deliciously, oh, I wanted to say decadent, but it's not decadent, that would be downgrading decadent just a touch, it is deliciously comforting, knowing that it is all smooth sailing for as far as I can see into the future. It's lovely really.

We went and at lunch out. 30 degrees was promised, which, you know infers sunshine. It look as though it was going to rain the whole time, but it didn't. It stayed grey overhead and threatening, but the threat never eventuated.

We stumbled across the Italian festival as we transversed suburbs, that was interesting. And, as you'd probably expect, it was all about food. And cars, there was a whole display of Italian cars.

I fell asleep on the couch in the afternoon. Ah, that is the best, just drifting off, just like that, not a care.

Saturday

The sun shone, it was a glorious morning. We walked the dogs in the sun to the shops. It is always a nice walk.

We did the shopping in Abbotsford. There were none of the, shall we say, socially challenged in sight today. That part of town has a diverse range of punters, shall we say, of which I always love being apart, from drug addicts to lawyers, although the distance between the two may not be so wide, just one always gets up Monday morning and goes to work, and the other doesn't.

There is a guy with a gangrenous leg in a wheel chair who abuses you if you ignore him, there are those who are clear 'sped up' on who knows what. There are the are-ya-chasin, to the got-any-change brigade. There are those with portable speakers on full out completely oblivious, there are those who cross the road, completely oblivious to the traffic. There are those who do drug deals right in front of me, seemingly oblivious.

Oh yes, it is a glorious melting pot.

We bought pork rolls and sesame balls for lunch. The bánh mì shops have multiplied in recent times, so the shop we go to now has shorter queues. 

We walked home in the sun shine. I seem to remember getting all the lights, which is no mean feat with a couple of bulldogs.

We ate the pork rolls for lunch.

I made tea. We ate the sesame balls.

We watched multiple episodes of Celebrity Traitors. I was determined not to get sucked into it, but I did get sucked in. It's not a stupid piece of shit like Taskmaster, it is actually entertaining.

We did screens for the rest of the afternoon.

Every Day Is A Saturday

That's my first week off done. Every day seriously feels like a Saturday. It is a bit disconcerting and huge satisfying all at the same time.

Oh, it is nice to switch off, really nice. Switching off may be one of the greatest joys. Who cares? Not a care. I can say whatever and really mean it. You have got to love that.

I may never go back work.

Smashing Glass

Smashing up our lives

smashing up the world,

voting right wingers into power,

inexplicably, I don’t know why,

who won’t do anything to save us,

who’ll do everything to make a buck for themselves,

and we all seem to be okay with that,

when from all report’s emissions 

are increasing at an alarming rate,

and the only thing we seem to be doing 

is smashing glass on the ground under our own feet,

Why? because we hate ourselves so much?

Who can say really?

This is just a guess. Truly.

Keep smashing that glass, if it makes you feel better.

If you think it makes the world sweeter.

But, I can’t see it, not really.

I just think that is kind of silly.

And where do you think that will take us in the end?

It’s hard to defend.

Broken glass lying on the ground under our feet.

The news gets more dire.

The leaders of so many countries are such liars.

And we all feel powerless, 

to stop the world going to hell before our eyes.

So, we smash glass all over the ground,

as such a tantrum is all we have left to make a sound,

against everything turning the world to shit,

so, we are told every night by the next news rating hit.

Little cogs in a big wheel, we’re now being told how to feel

Protests are legislated out of our reach…

Smashing Up Our Lives?

Do you think the epidemic of smash glass on our footpaths in our cities is evidence of people hating their lives, and wanting to smash things up in response? 

There just seems to be smash glass everywhere. Don't you see it covering our footpaths? We're all walking on broken glass. A metaphor for the world we live in today?

The Rest Of The Day

I went and bought CDs from an opshop, one of my favourite things to do. Rummaging through all the shit to find the diamonds. Sometimes I only buy the CD for one track, but when you are paying $1 for the CD it is cheaper than buying the tracks online. Upload them into my iTunes, there done. Cheaper than buying them from Apple.

I pumped up my bike tyres (I like my bike tyres like my men) and rode that to the shops.

Sam and I took the dogs for a walk in the afternoon. It seems so different walking the dogs on a day off. It is more like a lovely break from whatever I was doing, to feel the sun on my skin and to breathe in the fresh air and less like a chore that has to be done. Not that it is ever really a chore, but you know, sometimes when you are tired from work. Stretch the legs and all that.

It didn't hurt that it was a glorious day, weather wise. It honest to goodness sparkled.

That's what I did on my first day. Nothing else. I didn't have to do anything else. I couldn't work in the garden as my green waste bin is full, and you know, that is the kind of drama in the day I could get used to.

Off To The Gym

I guess this is my first day of holidays.

Off to the gym. Er! Groan.

As Sam says, it's either go, or cancel your membership?

Grimace. He's right.

Big exhale. Yes, yes, get fit. No, no, don't waste money.

Grrr!

And Exhale

And today I feel sick. I think it is my body expelling all the work toxins.

The good tra la la bacteria is being reinstated.

The right side of my brain is taking over again.

The moons are aligning.

For a future being bright.

I Like Being On Holidays

I listened to Boz Scaggs sing the blues all day. I can't get enough of him just recently. He's great. His original blues stuff is better than his American Songbook stuff. I'm not sure I need to hear any more American Song book stuff.

I got up the ladder and pruned the creeper on my side wall, it's way over due. (A couple of years overdue) I filled the green bin and then I filled the main bin. And still there is more to cut down.

I played with my plants, repotting, pruning, watering. My giant bag of perlite arrived, wrapped up like a mummy in black plastic. I started to unwrap it but didn't get far. I got distracted. Coupla days, perhaps, whatever. It's sitting on my back veranda like a mummy.

The sun shone. The day sparkled. The sky was blue above us. Nice, huh. Well, that's what I thought.

I lay on the couch with my dogs. One lies up near my head, kind of fitting into my shoulder and side of my head. The other curls up between my legs, with his head over my thigh. 66 collective kilos of dogs and me on the big couch. What am I? 85 kilos? What's the maths on that?

I'm gonna like being on holidays. You know, do as I please.

Winding Down

I can still feel the anxiety of work. And now I don’t actually have work to worry about, I can feel the residual anxiety more acutely. It is a weird feeling. You know, the moments of brain activity after death. All I am left with is stress for no apparent reason. It makes me realise the level of work stress I must live with all the time. Clearly, work is bad for us.

Still, it is the most glorious fucking day outside, just as it was yesterday. Makes me think that every thing is right with the world, that my life choices, the universe, whatever fucking god you want to blame, The Great Pumpkin, my fairy god mother, serendipity, okay not serendipity, (I just like that word, like discombobulate, or flabbergasted, or pithy) whatever nonsense that gets you through, must be on my side. Smiling at my choices? Gazing at me kindly. Waving the hand of, um, er, approval, comfort? (Oh Jasus, I thought I was above this shit. Maybe, I'm delirious? Thankfully, time off has got to me just in time)

So why doesn't it feel real yet? (That's just life, I guess)

It will, I guess. (Winding down is a bitch)

It's just the learned behaviour which is hanging on, like muscle memory, or Déjà vu. Even recurring nightmares. The things that you don't know that you don't know that you don't know, until you know, when they catch you when you least expect them to, and it all becomes clear. (Does life ever really all become clear?)

I take the dogs for a walk. Is there a sweeter creature in the world? I think not. My lovely boys. Just spend time with them, and all this other shit just fades away. And the morning sun on my face, that is real too.

The Last Shit Show

Midday. I have everything finished, completed work, procedures, work timeline summary, I’s dotted and t’s crossed. I hand it all over. Boris had taken her time to really take in everything that needed to be done. She asked me a lot of questions.

1pm. We ate noodles with fish and prawns for lunch. (I recommend it to anyone to have a boyfriend who can cook)

The whole day was thrown out by Boris wanting to check everything more thoroughly than normal and ask questions. Questions, lots of questions. (What the religious types hate) So, everything seemed to take an inordinate amount of time. All dragged out for the duration.

All day I was waiting for The Big Poo to authorise my leave. Well, I couldn’t exactly go on leave if he hasn’t authorised it. I sent him a cheeky email saying as such.

The Big Poo hadn’t signed off anything either, apparently, he was in Sydney. (How many times have I walked the streets of that city in outfits consisting of barely enough [usually stretch] material to make a bandana? Ah, good times) When I say signed off, it’s just an acknowledgement email of work handed over. 'Two sets of eyes,' is his motto.

Then the issues started coming in. First issue, from the Midget. I’ve checked HR’s running sheet and these… blah, blah, blah? Oh, fuck off [real name!] 

Still no authorised leave.

Second issue. Perth. My paperwork isn’t right. My mistake, I didn’t see the second sheet in the PDF. Oops. I thought I was checking those religiously. (What is that? In a toga sucking off a disciple?) I fixed that one. I wrote an apology email.  (Did I mean it? Ha! Chuckle)

Still no authorised leave.

Third issue. Phone goes. Someone who clearly knows me, whose name I didn’t catch. Suddenly they were Yap, Yap, Yap in my ear. “How are you mate?” Yap, yap, yap.

“When did Fish Face send my expense claim?” 

“Was that the early September claim?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, it missed the cutoff." I only knew this because someone weirdly asked me about it being from early September and who they should ask about it, like it had something to do with me. I must stop being so nice to everyone. (Ha, ha, and if you believe that, I have a bridge to sell you)

No, seriously, I’m universally liked. I wouldn’t, actually, say that if it didn’t bamboozle my brain? So funny, 'the things he says', apparently. Seriously, that is true of anyone, if it is true of me. You people clearly don’t get out enough. (Funny, the only people who don’t think this is HR, incompetent bunch of slags)

Whoever it was on the other end of the phone, needed the expense claim for their emergency meningocele vaccination, or cancer treatment, or whatever, of course they did. 

They will call Fish Face themselves. I end the call thinking, why didn't you just do that in the first place? Clearly, they'd dealt with Fish Face before and they were gathering ammunition. Fish Face is like an eel, a Teflon eel, she will slither out of any situation.

Still no authorised leave.

Sam took the dogs for a walk.

I did some work that Boris would have to do while I was away waiting for The Big Poo.

Fourth issue. The Midget emails about the first issue. She wants it investigated and a fix worked out. She wants someone to get back to her. Tell someone who cares was the response in my head. I chuckled to myself, how I ache to actually send that response to her. (clearly I need time off, was my next thought) The Midget recently got a promotion to Chief Cocksucker and she has been sickeningly gung ho ever since.

Where is my leave authorisation so I can sign out and leave these bastards to it. COME ON!

There was another issue from Perth, blah, blah blah… whining like only Perth can…

Then finally, Yay! The Big Poo sends acknowledgment email. "Good work."

Then I got the email for which I’d been waiting. Sorry Christian, I’m in Sydney, in meetings. Leave authorised. Have a great holiday.

I closed the final email from Perth without finishing reading the rest of it. Seriously, don’t care.

And I signed out immediately.

I hate making mistakes, it makes me feel incompetent, or as Uncle Roger would say, “Weak, it makes me feel weak.” Admittedly, I only made one mistake and it really was neither here nor there in the greater scheme of things, still...

I was annihilated by the anxiety, I guess, and the issues bang, bang, bang, that just kept coming and by that stage I just wanted to lie on the couch very still and quiet, which I kind of did, with my trusty bulldog, Brun-y-Boo. (I don’t seriously call him that)

Does it feel like I am at the beginning of an 8 week break? No, not really, not yet. I guess it will sink in soon enough. Pretty soon, I won’t want to go back, I know that. Could I resign? It seems so ‘other person’ to be even saying that. It just doesn’t seem like it is about me. But...

Anyway, this is the first day of a long break. Enjoy it, savour it, don’t miss a moment of it, because you know what will happen in no time at all?

This morning, I signed in to work early and set up my out of office email. I remembered it in the dark in bed last night, just after we turned the light out. I told Sam. He said go to sleep.

Then I tried to cancel my work phone redirect to my mobile phone but the app I use for that comes back with ‘This site can’t be reached.’ So, I log off again. 

Damn it! 

But what can you do?

It wasn’t until Sam got up at 7am and I told him about the phone redirection issue that he said, “You have to cancel the redirect, the phone calls will drive you nuts over 8 weeks.”

Of course, he is right.

So, here I am, having sent an email to the Global Service Desk, waiting for the cheery as apple pie American voice to call me back to fix this redirect problem.

8am. The Global Help Desk emails. Issue sorted. It has been an honour to solve this issue for you. 

I mean seriously? An honour? Always such sickeningly sweetness and light.

But, they had it sorted without me having to speak to them, you have to love that.

Less Than A Day

One day to go and the Big Poo still hasn't approved my leave. So this little duck may not be going any where at all. Frowning duck bill.

Come on Big Poo, get on with it. Don't make me chase you up.

I can ever smell the freedom,

I can taste it,

and it tastes mighty fine.

Boris has calmed down, we have sorted everything we needed to sort,

and I am ready to fuck off for 8 weeks.

Come on Big Poo, come to the party.

Don't make me hate you.

Chuckle, I couldn't hate Big Poo, he is a great guy. 

But come on, tick the box, mark the form, tell your minions it is okay, instruct the gate keeper, whatever it takes. I don't care what you have to do, just do it.

Hours later, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick, tick… strumming my fingers on the table

2 Days Left

I was up early, because I am normally up early, 6am. I got all the work I had to do done. Then I sat for a few hours and wrote out a whole procedure of what I do. Step by step. (I know, kill me now)

Boris was truly shitting her pants yesterday about me going on leave. She wanted me to delay my holidays by a week, so we could formalise an extensive handover, but, I can't see what that will do. And, I don't want to, now I am in the mood to fuck off out of there.

Remember, they told me to take leave because I have too much accrued.

Boris is a smart cookie (I truly don't know where that expression came from) and I am certain she will breeze it in. She doesn't need to worry. In lots of ways, she is better than me, because she cares, and I don't give a shit. (go on sack me! maybe then I'll write that novel) 

I mean, I care enough to get everything right that I do, and not to fuck anything up, you know, the least course of resistance and all that, making life as easy for myself as I can. I don't care enough to make allowances for everyone else's mistakes, however.

Anyway, I wrote out an extensive procedure for her. She'll be fine.

Monday

Nry! Monday. What is there to say?

I don't want to do what I do anymore.

Boris rang me in a panic about the 8 weeks leave I am taking. 

She'd just seen my leave application. (Not sure how, now I think about it) The Big Poo is my leave authoriser, and he hasn't approved it yet, so who knows if I am going on leave, anyway. (I guess The Big Poo would have to have told her)

Oh yes, I know, shake of the head, is this the most interesting thing I have to talk about? Seriously. Where did my life go so wrong, I ask you?

"You've taken 8 weeks leave."

"Yes, I know, you guys told me to."

"It starts next Monday?"

"Yes, yes it does."

"I don't think we have enough time to get across everything."

"I think we will."

"Could you delay it for a week."

"I've nearly finished an extensive summary on everything you need to know."

"We only have 3 days, actually, less than 3 days."

"Wait until you read my summary, and if you think we need more time, I can work Monday."

"Oh, um, okay, sure."

I don't want to delay my holidays now that I have decided to take them. I'm ready for them now. I changed my mind about them almost instantly once I had applied for them. I don't want to delay now.

Grey Sunday Morning

7.42am. We’re up, both of us. Brun and Otto are lying right across Sam’s side of the bed, which is often the way.

I dreamed all night. The details of which all fly out of my head the moment Sam speaks to me.

“You always get up early,” says Sam. “Why didn’t you get up early this morning?” He motions to the few centimetres of bed he has due to boofhead one and boofhead two. I usually get up at 5am, and he switches to my side of the bed to get some stretched-out sleep before he gets up, but not this morning.

I don't know why Otto and Brun don't crowd me out in the night, maybe I smell bad.

Dam it! I like writing down my dreams. “I slept in.” My tone at the same time indicates mystery and no explanation, or is that the same thing. I shrug.

We both head downstairs, leaving the two of them the bed all to themselves.

I switch on my laptop.

8am. I make avocado toast.

I take the large plastic supermarket tray rubbish, wrapping stuff out to the bin on the corner of the street. Oh, it’s my protest at Yarra Council’s increase in the price of rubbish collection, taking it out from the umbrella of capped council charges to being a free for all charging regime. We should all protest by throwing rubbish in the street. Fuck Yarra Council!

I meet my lesbian neighbour with her dog walking towards me. Suddenly, I am embarrassed about taking the rubbish to the corner bin, 

so after I say "hello," 

and she says, "it's a quiet this morning," 

I step around the corner into the next street to make it look as though I was doing more than just taking the rubbish to the corner bin. I count to 10, so to speak, as I stand around the corner, then I step back into my street, only to see my neighbour standing at our gate looking back waiting for her dog. I panic and step back around the corner into the next street, so then, not am I only being socially awkward, let’s face it, I managed to look as though I was avoiding her, which I wasn’t, well, not for anything she’d done. I like her, she is nice. I was embarrassed.

What is wrong with me? I think. Don’t do that again. Next time just throw the rubbish in the bin and walk back to your gate with her, she probably would have even thought anything of it. And if she did, so what.

I finish making the toast with avocado.

Sam makes coffee.

8.40am. Otto comes running into the lounge room at speed, which is kind of unusual.

Brun follows in a much more restrained way.

I read The Guardian. It is short on interesting news. Blah, blah, blah, Sportsbet has done something, Gaza wha, wha, wha, another authoritarian has won in a European country, the minions of the bag of orange shit have done X, Y, Z. The All Yellows have, um, whomever… grimace.

Taylor Swift: The Life of a Showgirl review – dull razzle-dazzle from a star who seems frazzled. In fairness, Wood is one clanging misstep on an album that isn’t terrible: it’s just nowhere near as good as it should be given Swift’s talents, and it leaves you wondering why. Perhaps romantic contentment simply writes whiter than vengeful post-breakup bitterness, or perhaps it wobbles your judgment. Perhaps it was rushed. Or perhaps its author was just exhausted, which would be entirely understandable. Even the immortal, it seems, sometimes need to take a break from pop’s constant churn and unceasing clamour for content.

BirdLife WA calls consequences of Alcoa’s proposals to clear 11,000ha of jarrah forest ‘irreversible and catastrophic’ for endangered black cockatoo.

9.15am. I make more coffee. Stress head Sam stresses out when I spill a little water. He makes a groan as if the world is in danger of ending. I tell him to shut the fuck up. He seems to stress out more and more lately.

9.18am. Stress head Otto starts barking over something he hears. He intermittently barks for the longest time. That drives me nuts.

Sam starts cleaning, you know, because it is Sunday morning and Sunday morning is cleaning day. He takes several opportunities to remind me we are washing the dogs today.

“How do you think I would forget that when you remind me continually?” I say.

It is balmy, grey overcast day outside. What happened to the sparkling, 29 degrees I am sure we were promised?

What happened to that indeed.

“Not exactly the day to wash the dogs,” I say pointedly to Sam, who just ignores me. “We should have done it yesterday.”

He gives me serious side-eye before disappearing upstairs to clean the bathroom. 

He suggested we did it yesterday, but I said, “No, it is going to be warmer tomorrow.” Why do today, what you can put off to tomorrow, I have always said that.

A strong, cool breeze blows in the back door. It is not going to be bright and sunny today, I think. It is grey and overcast.

I listen to Sheryl Crow.

I read about how hopeless Gen Z’s are at dating. They have long faced accusations of being losers in the dating realm: young people are having less sex, meeting fewer new people, getting cringed out by even sending roses on Hinge. They are the most rejected generation and the loneliest generation.

Otto comes and sits next to me. I kiss face.

Brun has gone back upstairs to bed.

Sam comes back down from upstairs with the vacuum and starts vacuuming, which is my job. I tell him I will do it when I have finished writing this. He says it looks as though it is never going to get done. I tell him to put the vacuum down and that I will do it. He says he can't wait for me to do it. I ask him where he has to be urgently. He looks at me like he has no idea what I am talking about. I say, I will do it. He says he is doing it. I say suit your fucking self. I have finished writing this by this stage, I hit publish, and then I exit out the back door to water my plants.

I listen to Macy Gray, but she proves to be a bit hectic for the garden.

I listen to Bob Dylan, Nashville Skyline.

Plants and dogs are the best, people shit me. And even though Sam is my favourite human, he has his moments.

Saturday

The sun is shining, the sky is blue, it looks like it is going to be a beautiful day. It is a beautiful day. Spring. The plants are growing, the flowers are blooming.

All I have done thus far is screens and coffee, but it's Saturday and what else is Saturday for, I ask you? I've done far too much American politics, this morning, I know far too much about that piece of shit Trump. Now I'm onto car resto vids.

And they say today it is going to be 25 degrees today, and 28 degrees tomorrow, lovely.

Daylight savings starts soon, which is an added benefit. Can't wait.

Soon, we'll head out to lunch, walk the dogs to some eatery. Soon. Until then, I'm fluffing up my pillow on the couch.

Sam just got a new game delivered, so that's shut him up for, oh, hours, maybe.

It was dazzlingly bright out on the front veranda when I went to fetch the new game.

Anyway, where is my pillow? I might as well get comfy while I can.

Midday. We walked the Bulldogs to lunch. The sun is shining it’s lovely and warm, really warm. It’s like a summer’s day. It is gorgeous and really the first day of the year, well, this end of the year, when it is a t-shirt kind of day.

Through the Carlton gardens and up Victoria Parade, crossing over at the Audi dealership, nearly at Elisabeth Street.

Forty minutes later, we’re by the Vic Market eating lunch. All the vibrant places to eat lunch and we choose the most depressing, dull, grey development @ 155 Franklin Street. It is colourless and kind of depressing, and it smells like a public toilet.

I’m not that hungry, maybe my Ozempic is working, I’m going to have Tomato soup. Well, no, I’m not going to have tomato soup because the noodles will take 40 minutes. Freshly made noodles is the claim, but forty fucken minutes? Seriously?

We move on down the depressing walkway to the Honk Kong food place. I have curry Laksa, which was good. Sam bought fired wantons as a starter.

I suggest to Sam that they should hire an artist to paint a huge mural on the big slab of bare concrete grey wall.

“That might help, this place,” I say.

I can see graffiti out in the old laneway next to us and it seems like the only vibrate thing one can see.

Sam seems indifferent to my suggestion.

The whole development seems airless, even if there is no shortage of air. Heavy grey and heavy black colour scheme with enclosed walkways with low ceilings. It smacks of a development built to a budget and not an idea.

Admittedly, Sam only really cares if the food is good.

We sit next to a bunch of youguns who have one of those shrunken Samoyeds. It is very keen to say hello to the bulldogs, but the bulldogs don’t oblige.

An hour later and we’re walking home. We walk up Franklin Street, which is busy with foot traffic. I’m so full after eating that I turn down the opportunity to get fresh jam doughnuts from the market. I guess that speaks volumes about the curry Laska.

We walk through the Carlton Gardens. Brun is only a little uncooperative. He lies down a few times, don’t get me wrong, he does.

He lies down closer to the exit to Gertrude Street and suddenly there is an American accent saying, “That is why we have a pram.”

I see a couple accompanied by a geriatric Jack Russell.

The American guy of the duo says, “Old?”

“Huh?” I say. But before he has a chance to answer I understand what he said and I say, “No. He’s 6.”

They quite comfortably explain to us the stresses of having an old dog, when neither of us asked.

We exit the gardens and walk down Gertrude Street.

The tables are full at Cutler & Co.

At the Morning Market cnr Young Street. The first dog bowl is almost empty by the couple with the gorgeous Golden Retriever.

Brun takes an extended drink from the second water bowl by the couple with what looks like a shrunken Red Setter, not really, but you get the idea.

When Brun takes his time, the guy of the couple says, “You can’t be in a hurry.”

“No, you can’t hurry anywhere with a bulldog.” I think, he probably thinks it’s because of certain physical restraints but it’s not, bulldogs don’t have physical restraints, it is all mental, it is their stubbornness.

Ten minutes, a stop at the optician’s water bowl, and a stop at the dress shop’s water bowl, at both Brun gets pats, and we’re home.

We do screens all afternoon. Yep, you read that right. I move from my addiction to American politics, to car restoration videos, and music. I lounge on the couch without a care. I only have a couple of moments where I look up from my laptop screen to see it is a gorgeous day outside, wonder if this screen business is bad for me? Wonder if I am wasting my life this way. I look over at Sam and he is doing the same thing. Only wonder momentarily what else I could be doing with my life, before going back to my screen.

And really quicky, it is 6pm and Sam is turning the TV on a saying, singing, “Misery!”

We ate pork and noodle soup. It was very nice.

We watched all the misery on offer.

We watched Heretic. Hugh Grant. I enjoyed it more than I thought I would, Sam’s constant digging holes in the plot withstanding.

10.30pm. We go to bed when Brun wants to go out for a wee.

11pm. Lights out.

Fixing My Plants

Oh, I had just too much screen time making my eyes sore. (Is that a thing?) And I have been neglecting all my plants lately staring at the stupid screen.

So, I took the dogs for a walk after which I went to Bunnings and got pots and potting mix, as I was, unusually, out of potting mix. I usually take Brun with me to Bunnings, he is my Bunnings dog, but since he'd just been for a walk I left him at home, being careful that he didn't hear the jiggle of the house key on the car fob, otherwise he'd, they'd both, be at the front door before I was.

Then, I got to and revived a monstera, I picked up in the street a few days ago. 

I have a large palm in my atrium that, I think, is, actually riddled with bugs and just recently I have been thinking I need to get a plant to replace it, so I can give it a holiday outside to recover from its infestation. 

I was just wondering what to do, buy a plant at Bunnings nursery, look on eBay, go to an independent nursery, and although it would be too slow, grow my own from a cutting, and abracadabra, someone put a big enough, badly pot bound, monstera out on the footpath to be taken by the first taker, you know how they do now a days. 

I assume people buy these plants and when it comes time to repot them it is just too hard and they dispose of them, presumably buying a new one to take its place. 

All I had to do was repot it, easy peasy, and then being spring stand back and watch it grow.

The last Monstera I had was years ago. It got too big for inside and I put it outside in the garden just outside my back door by the side fence to next door. It stayed there for the longest time, in which it grew over the fence and planted itself in the garden next door, where it proliferated. More recently, the adorable gardener, Tommy, from next door, has chopped it up and put it in about ten large pots all along their fence line.

I repotted my tall Ficus that keeps blowing over in the wind. I have two both of which got too big for inside. The last Ficus that got too big for inside I sold for $200 on eBay.

I repotted my large pot of succulents that blew off the outside stairs pillar in all that fierce wind we had a few weeks ago, its terracotta pot smashing on the courtyard crazy paving.

So, that was all the immediate plant problems solved.

Now, I’m going to the gym. I must repair my gym attendance the same way I have attended to my plants.

Jane Goodall

Jane Goodall dying literally bought tears to my eyes when I read about it, which I wasn't, exactly, expecting? 

I think it was because she was such a force for good, and we are so short of forces for good in the world today. Evil is literally winning, seemingly, in so many parts of the world at the present, we can’t afford to lose those very good people.

Taking Leave

They want me to take annual leave, as I have too much annual leave accrued.

This is not something they ever really cared about traditionally, but now that we've got an American parent company they are suddenly caring about this shit.

It has been mentioned a couple of times, but I ignored it, but Boris bought it up seriously in a call to me a couple of days ago. It wasn't a call about that specifically, but it is how the call ended.

Boris joked, "Can you take it between monthly reporting." Then she laughed and said, "You take it whenever you want."

We are currently changing all our applications over to cloud based applications. And we've got all that painful HR initiated business to attend to.

I haven't taken extended leave since before the pandemic, only the few Xmas shut down days, and even then, I have worked through a few of those some years.

So, I applied for 8 weeks leave starting the week after next.

That should thrill Boris. Not that I applied for 8 weeks leave to taunt her, because I didn't. (Well? Um? Er? 😀 That's more, or less, true) I just thought about it, and thought that maybe a nice long break where I could totally switch off would do me good.

8 weeks is still only a fifth of the leave I have accrued, so it is barely going to take me off the 'must-take-leave' list. We'll see.

Sam has been told he has to take leave too. He hasn't said he will, yet.

Now that I have done it, I am looking forward to it, even if I sit around on my arse and do fuck all for its entirety. Even if all I do is get stuck into my pot plants. I don't think that is something I have ever said on here, that I have a green thumb. My house is full of plants, and they all need attention right about now, it being spring.

My garden could also do with some attention. That creeper on my side wall is Medusa’s hair once again.

Well, someone has to do it? There is no gardener, like there is no cleaner. I've had gardeners and cleaners before, but I suffer from something I call Invasion Syndrome. Working from home, or having days off and being home, I just can't stand anyone like a cleaner, or gardener being in, or at, the house, as I feel like my space has been invaded. I don't know if that is a thing, but it is a thing with me. I'm much happier doing it myself, than having someone here doing it for me. Maybe I could tolerate Tommy, from next door, here in summer, in a pair of shorts, working in the garden, maybe. Possible shirtless. I could take him a drink in the heat of the day, and he could kind of spill it down his chin and onto his chest, and I could… um? Er? Shake of the head. What was I talking about? Oh yes, call me crazy, but I would just prefer to do it myself.