Friday In Front Of The Fire

Sam heads to the office early.

I light a fire immediately Sam has gone.

Just me and you today, I say to Otto.

Cough, cough, I hear.

Yes, you too, Milo.

I sit with my back to the fire. Otto slides in between my legs and lies down. Not really a sustainable position, but cute for now

I sit on the couch and re-write my old blog posts with Otto curled up on the couch next to me on one side, and Milo curled up on the couch on the other side. First time really that has ever happened. Brun could be a little bitch to Milo never letting him relax in the lounge room with us, and now Milo can. Otto is much more relaxed about him.

Funny really, as Brun was the most chilled out, laid back dog you'd ever meet, but not where Milo was concerned.

Cold Thursday

I generated AI images for my old blog posts all day. It takes alot of time to get them all done, so I stick at it. Otto and I shared the couch. He slept next to me all day, until we headed out for a walk in the late afternoon.

I was cold all day.

I didn't go to the gym as my knee isn't getting better. Well, it is better than it was, but it hasn't actually got completely better, which is really annoying. I want to go to the gym. I don't want to lose the momentum of going 3 times a week, but my knee is still fucked up.

I don't know what I am going to do about it? I guess go to the doctor. Osteopath? Maybe. I guess.

Vile HR Slappers

The hideous little bitches that are now in our Sydney HR department are the worst we have ever had.

They are just vile little cunts. No, seriously, they are. Vile little cunts.

I don't know if they are just the generation that have grown up with foulness, which has made them foul.

Or, if they are just so into their own careers, that nobody, and nothing, else matters in any way.

Maybe, they aren't getting any, that the men in their lives don't like them? As much as I am loathed to say women are defined by the men in their lives, which they are not, in these cases the guy's dicks would shrivel up and fall off if exposed to these awful, duplicitous slappers.

Where do they get them from? The bosses? Bitches are Us?

I've had run-ins with all of them today. I wanted to say to Boris, just keep these vile little snot-rags away from me. Sadly, you can't do that. I developed a strategy of just avoiding them, and some how these disgusting wenches went to the CEO. What the fuck? Just putrid.

The problem is that Fish Face and The Giant Ponytail will only listen to these harping seal cubs and act on what these lying little mingers tell them.

So, big breath, Christian.

But they are slowly, but surely, ringing the last skerrick of enjoyment I had in my job right out of it.

I should put their names in the freezer?

Oh, yes, I should, it would amuse me, if nothing else.

Tuesday Just Me and Otto

I was making coffee this morning. I'd put the coffee shots in the cups and I was frothing the milk when my coffee machine began to make the most horrendous noise I had never heard it make before.

It was making a kind of grinding noise, and a clack, clack, clack noise at the same time.

I turned the frother on and off. I turned the machine off and on. I varied the speed of milk frothing, oh, I know, as if that is possible. I turned it off and on again, still the awful noise, I turned it off and on, once more. Is that the definition of insanity?

I thought I was going to finish with the milk frothing. It was clearly dying. What the fuck was I going to do?

This would require an emergency trip to the appliance shop should the worst be happening. Sam would blame me, of course.

"Of course," Sam would say.

Then I noticed out the corner of my eye it was out of water.

I filled up the water container. I patted it and told it I loved it, which I do, it's my favourite machine in the world, I couldn't bare the thought that I had damaged it in some way. 

Full of water, I switched it back on. The grinding noise stopped. The clack, clack, clack noise stopped. I breathed a sigh of relief. 
I wondered if I had done any damage to it.

Sam left at 8.15am.

Charlie left at 8.30am.

Just Otto and me for the day again.

I should get the wank out of the way straight up. Ha, ha. Isn't that what guys do when they have the house to themselves?

Home On My Own

Home on my own all day, just Otto and me. Sam had to go to his office, so I gave the excuse to my work that I had hurt my knee and that I couldn't come in, because someone has to be home to look after Otto, and today it was me.

Ha ha, so what if my knee is almost better, I'm a creative lad, I can pretend that is only happened yesterday, remember, I am an excellent liar.

Cosy Sunday

We cleaned the house, of course we did, it is Sunday and Sunday morning is cleaning day, sam is a stickler for that.

We ate lunch out in Carlton, on the tables on the street. It wasn't so warm, but it is winter in Melbourne, what do you expect, hey.

I ordered sweet corn soup and sweet tofu. I wasn't that hungry. Sam ordered fried chicken.

The first thing that happened was sweet tofu was delivered to the fat guy sitting next to us. I looked at Sam and then the fat boy, Sam looked at the fat boy, then raised his eye brows and looked at me.

Otto growled at the Panda guys, as he always does with guys on bikes wearng hiviz. That boy?

Then it was a leisurely walk back through the Carlton Gardens then home and closing the door on the worl.

Open fire. And screens, for us. I ate a packet of chips because I didn't eat much at lunch. And that was Sunday done.

We've binge watched Ride or Die.

Sore Knee

I hurt my knee, on Thursday. 

Otto and I had been on the couch all day, happy, contented, letting the day slip by unnoticed, while Sam was in the office. Sam sent a message late in the day saying get ready, he'd be home soon.

So, I got off the couch and went upstairs to change my clothes. I meant to take my wallet with me, but I forgot until I came back downstairs again and saw it still sitting on the coffee table.

"Duh!"

I snatched the wallet up off the coffee table and raced back upstairs to put it in the desk draw in our room.

Then I was coming back down the stairs two steps at a time, tra la la, as happy as you like, to get Otto ready so we were ready to go for a walk when Sam got home. It was getting late, after all, and I wanted to get the walk done.

Half way down the stairs, I landed down two steps on my left foot, and my left knee went twang, and, I think, kind of burned. I saw stars, and it took me all my energy not to just collapse down the rest of the stairs. Then I couldn't put any weight on it. I couldn't walk. It hurt. It fucken hurt. I hobbled back to the lounge room. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Sam got home not long after, by which time, I realised if I walked on the flat, you know, normal walking, it was okay, it was only when I went up steps, or down steps, that it really hurt and threatened to give way altogether.

So, we took Otto for a walk.

Yesterday, we took Otto for a long walk, after which Sam massaged Tiger balm into my knee, finding the sore spot, which almost sent me through the roof, a la any cartoon you have ever seen.

After that, I found I could only walk sideways, backwards and forwards motion was no longer available pain free.

It was painful right up to going to bed, which me wondering what a knee reconstruction was really like, even if I have heard some experts saying knee reconstructions were generally a waste of tme.

Today, it is significantly better, but I have taken pain killers, as advised by that pill popping prescription pill addict, David. And presently, I am feeling no pian.

It is my gym day, but I am assuming that is probably a bad idea. I, actually, want to go, you  know, keep up the momentum of going 3 times a week, but I guess I have to be sensible.

I am using it as an excuse not to go into the office on Monday, which may, or may not, piss Boris off, with her training the temp who is going to do her job when she is away, in a week, or so. Whatever, it can't be helped.

"Sorry, I can't walk." Which was certainly true, yesterday.

Anyway, that's me.