Snatching Victory from the Jaws Of Defeat

I woke up worrying about the decision I made to fill in for Boris while she goes away for her annual 6 weeks holiday back to LapLand every year.

I think she goes beginning of August.

Okay, yeah, sure, I said I would do it.

What was I thinking?

Monday we had to have a meeting with the Big Poo and The Midget because HR's FishFace in Sydney escalated an issue to the both of them relaying her serious concerns, about a practise that we have always done.

Now, I'm not saying FishFace is a problem often forgetting procedures, or long standing practises that we have, no I'm not saying that.

(She is a fucking problem, that is what I am saying, let's be clear)

Anyway, that bought into sharp focus how I so don't want to work any more than I am doing now.

The PonyTail in Melbourne is also a problem.

You can add that to the fact that in the last 12 months HR has replaced existing staff with know-all millennial, straight out of uni not-actually-knowing-anything types who are all about promoting their own careers in the process of their day to day work, who will push every issue to the nth degree to get the answer they want, even if the answer they want is wrong. Couple this with The Midget's personality altering promotion in the last year where she micromanages us all now to an unbearable degree. Add to that we are now expected to turn up to the office 3 days a week if we are working full time. 

Boris and I say to each other regularly now that working for our company has almost become unbearable. The work/life/enjoyment has seriously deteriorated in the last 12 months, or so.

And I am beating myself up for the terrible mistake I made agreeing to work full time and take on her responsibilities, juggling HR/Finance/the Partners in a deteriorating environment for 6 weeks.

I sat in my lounge room at 4am (yesterday afternoon when the realisation hit me, I lay on the couch with Otto and dosed off in front of the open fire. Sam woke me at 5pm when he came home. I stayed awake long enough to eat dinner, but then went back to sleep until 11pm when Sam woke me to go to bed. So I had slept a lot) this morning writing out my resignation letter.

There is another minor issue too. They don't pay me a higher pay rate when I do holiday relief for Boris, my boss, which I don't care about, I get paid well. But, this year, I also didn't get a pay rise, or a bonus, either. The Big Poo called me and apologised personally for that, something about he pushed for it, but HR knocked it back. Really? Straight out of the mouth of the CFO of the Southern hemisphere. Really.

There I am working my 3 days, going to the office one day, not needing, or wanting to, do any more than that, being happy enough with my lot (despite the whinging) as it stood.

WHAT THE FUCK WAS I THINKING?

You idiot! You idiot! You idiot! You idiot!

So, letting Boris down because I said I would work, withstanding, at 6am, I wrote out an email saying that I had changed my mind and that I no longer want to do her holiday relief, rather than resigning all together.

She's got 4 to 6 weeks to sort out an alternative.

And although I feel bad about my lousy timing, I'm sorry, but it came down to me, or Boris in the end.

Weirdly, I won. 😐

She is going to be pissed off, sure. Oh why didn't I just say no 2 weeks ago. Stupid me. 

Wet Tuesday

Sam went to his office early. Charlie dressed up in his Nija outfit and rode off on his bike to parts unknown. So, I was home by myself for the day.

Lovely. I don't hate that.

Mid morning I went to the bakery and got a muffin.

Just after I'd finished the muffin, Tattslotto sent me a message about a 40 million dollar draw. Stop sending me this shit, I thought. I'm not wasting any more money.

The rain fell all day, kind of dribbly non-stop depressing wet and grey really.

Late morning, I went to the Tattslotto shop and bought a ticket in the big draw, as advised. I so want to give up work and put my feet up. You know, I actually win enough so as not to make it a total loss.

I walked to the shop in the rain. I don't mind walking in the rain. I can hardly say it was romantic when I am doing it on my own. Hey?

It's my end of month, as much as I have an end of month, so I got that out of the way and clocked off at 2.15 with a heated up chicken curry for lunch.

I lit the open fire and Otto and I are on the couch together. The rest of the afternoon on the couch, you have to love that.

puffing up some pillows as I type.

The rain is still falling.

I should go to the gym, it is my gym day. The rain falling outside is hardly enticing. Nah, I'm not going, I'm too comfortable.

No response from Josh, but that isn't surprising. Apart from the fact that he may have hated me, it was an old hotmail email address. Does anyone have hotmail email adresses any more?

In The Office Monday

Monday, in the office day. BooHoo. I'm up early as per usual, getting ready in the day. Otto has developed this funny habit of suddenly getting all excited when I am up getting dressed to go to the office, as though, you know, I have just come home, or something. Suddenly, 35 kilos of dog is wiggling at me in the dark

I'm making breakfast and, of course, the rain starts to fall. Jasus! I momentarily consider pulling the 'its raining, I'm working from home' trick, but it is just a fleeting thought.

And I don't stay home. 

The rain stopped.

And I went to the office. It is still dark when I leave the house.

Er. Kill me now.

Totally pointless. I do exactly the same things, but I have to leave the house and spend time getting there to do the exact same things.

There are lots of beefy blokes in hiviz on the tram early in the morning.

Josh

Reading back over my old blog posts not only have I reacquainted myself with my old mate Tom, I have also read back over old writing from my old mate Josh.

Josh and I had a falling out 15 years ago and we haven't spoken since. It was kind of dumb, the falling out. I thought he used me... three times. He may, or may not, have been in genuine need when I felt he tried to use me for a fourth time, and I refused to help him. He may have felt I betrayed him. Oh, you know, something along those lines.

Neither one of us has contacted the other since.

We used to write each other wordy emails, which we thought were clever, we both thought the other one was clever.

I did try to contact him through Facebook a number of years ago, but nothing came of it.

I might be able to remember his old email address, I might, would he still even have the same address. He now lives in Berlin.

I wrote the below email. I'm going to send it to what I think was his email address.

It took me all of 5 minutes to write, so I have really nothing to lose.

Let's see what happens.

Hello.

Say hello.

I just said hello.

Hello is always a good way to start.

I did.

And?

And what?

What happened?

Well, nothing. 

Nothing happened?

Nothing happened.

No?

No.

Well, that is hardly ideal.

No, not ideal at all. 

No, not at all?

No

Well, say hello again.

Hello. 

Not to me.

Oh.

A-ha.

Hello.

Still nothing?

Still nothing.

Well, do you think you are getting through?

I don’t know.

You don’t know.

No. 

No?

No.

Well, did you ask for someone intelligent.

Not yet.

Is there intelligent life?

I don’t know.

You don’t know?

No. 

No?

Who knows.

Well, again, not ideal. 

Well, why don’t you do it. 

No, you do it.

I am doing it.

Not very successfully.

No, I know that.

Well, as long as you know that.

What would you suggest? 

Oh, tell him this may well be the last transmission.

The last transmission?

Yes, the last transmission.

Oh, okay. 

What else would you call it?

An apology.

Oh, no, I don’t think I’d call it that.

Wouldn’t you?

No.

No?

Never eulogise or apologise.

Never what?

Eulogise…

Eulogise? 

Or apologise.

What? 

The Queen mum.

The Queen mum?

The Queen mum.

The old dear with a gin? 

That’s the one.

You mean complain, or explain. 

Oh… yes.

Well, I think a certain amount of explanation may well be in order.

Really?

Yes 

Really? 

Oh?

Tell him you are dying.

Dying? 

That always makes people get a wriggle on.

I’ll just say we are the last people alive and…

Alpha Centauri to the mother land.

This is all we can manage now.

All we can manage

The years go slow, but times passes quickly. 

Never the less.

Never the less.

He clicks his fingers.

Transmission ends.

Cold Saturday Morning

It's really cold in Fitzroy this morning. For our readers who live in cold climates that is 5 degrees C.

It doesn't really inspire thoughts of going out and getting into it, I can tell you, for us Aussies.

I had to go to the supermarket because Sam forgot to buy butter for my morning toast when he was at the supermarket yesterday.

I hate going to the supermarket in the morning to get butter because by the time I get to the front door Sam has added 20 kilos of rice and 20 kilos of dog meat and can I go to the deli department, and, oh yes, we might need some potatoes and pumpkin. 

It is cold outside, misty, foggy, grey and overcast and the cold bites at me. It is now 7 degrees.

I put Guy Sebastian on my headphones. I sing along to Before I Go as I walk down my street. There is no one else around.

The streets are quiet, I guess, it is still early on Saturday morning.

And then Sam usually calls me when I am in the supermarket telling me all the specials he has just seen that I should pick up while I am there.

But, I only want fucking butter for my bread and I am hungry because I haven't had breakfast because there is no butter.

Oh, I don't know, perhaps the cold weather makes me grumpy.

When I’m checking out, a cute guy in black shorts and a black singlet comes in with the best arse on him, which just makes you want to lick out his arse crack out right there and then. Well, not actually in the supermarket, you understand.

As I head out of the supermarket there is another message from Sam to pick up... but, I am now crossing the street and it would not be untrue to say I felt nothing but relief at missing that message.

When I get home, I cut my bread and go to put it in the toaster quickly because I am getting hangry, but the toaster elements are red and it is already cooking toast, and I grumble, yes, I did grumble.

"I'm just cooking myself some," says Sam.

Charlie has a habit of buying super processed white sliced bread and it turns out Sam has a penchant for super processed white sliced bread too, and he is cooking himself some toast, which is unusual for him as he doesn't normally eat breakfast. 

His toast pops and he is taking it out but it is still white, not toasted at all.

"That isn't even toasted," I say.

Sam visibly shakes and says, "I'm too scared to leave it in any longer."

He holds my gaze.

I laugh.

And he laughs.

I say I'm sorry.

I put my bread in the toaster.

I kiss Sam. He hands me the coffee he has made for me.

I smile at him. 

He smiles at me.

He puts Nutella on his white toast.

Friday Off

We took Otto to a new vet yesterday, one recommended by a fellow bulldog owner. It was a bit further away, and Sam booked a 4.45pm appointment. Some days it is painfully obvious that Sam doesn't drive.

Our nervous little pooch really lost his shit as the vet tried to put a stethoscope up to his chest, it was sad to see.

The vet called for a nurse to help, who was slow to appear, then said we'd put Otto up on the table so he had less space in which to move around.

That was when I stepped in and picked him up in my arms and held him reassuringly on the table so the vet could listen to his chest and examine his front leg on which he intermittently limps.

We bought kebabs somewhere out in the boondocks of Melbourne on our way home. Sam and I sat there in the caravan annex type cafe and ate ours, with Otto parking his arse firmly down looking up at us once we'd givin him the first piece of lamb.

I still think Otto seems a bit sad, but I may well be projecting onto him, I don't know.

Today, I really have nothing to do, so Otto and I are on the couch together while he, I am sure, gets over yesterday's ordeal, haha, not really, he is asleep the way dogs spend most days, and I am pissing around with my old blogs, generating AI images for them and re-write whole sections. 

Am I wasting my time, quite frankly in the larger scheme of life, quite possible, but for my own peace of mind, and sense of accomplishment, no way.

Anyway. That's all.

Stepping Back Into Life

Okay, back to the gym today. Sam has been nagging reminding and I guess the time has come to shake off my malaise about Brun dying and get back into life.

I so don't want to, I can assure you, but that is how I always feel when I am getting back to it after having time off.

None of us want to go to the gym, not really. But none of us want to be fat and to drop dead early, now do we, so we do what we do.

Anyway, I'm getting up and going. No, I am. I am. Watch me. I'm going now.

Once I get back into it, it isn't nearly so bad, I mean, fuck me, there are even days when I enjoy it.

Sorry Brun, I can't stay in morning for you forever, my lovely, sweet, teddy bear of a pooch, who I miss with every fibre of my being every second of the day. I love you snuffly, and I will never forget you. Oh, Jasus! Tears in my eyes again.