4.44am. I was up. (Well, I did fall asleep on the couch in front of the TV last night for three hours)
4.49am. Milo comes and cuddles up, first time in days since he got beaten up, I can only assume, by a new cat in the neighbourhood. Hopefully, whoever owns it will start keeping it inside at night so Milo can roam free without fear of violence perpetrated against him. Ha ha.
I generate AI images for my 2008 blog
5am. I go out and dump all the boxes Sam cleaned out of the cupboards yesterday afternoon into three street bins in the dark. I got rid of everything. His major collection of white Apple packing boxes, I never thought I’d see the day that he’d get rid of them, but his hall cupboard is literally packed to the roof.
He was looking for a suitcase as he is heading overseas in a few weeks to visit his family.
I empty the dishwasher.
I make coffee.
I continue generating AI images for my 2008 blog
8.20am. Sam is up.
8.25am. Otto was up.
Magpies sing outside. I love the magpies singing in the morning. It is my one beautiful memory of being sent to the country to my mad auntie Olive Joan and uncles farm, the wide open spaces in the morning and the magpie’s song.
I make Vegemite toast.
It was cleaning day, of course. So, we cleaned the house after breakfast, well, my breakfast, as Sam doesn’t eat breakfast.
12:35 pm. We take Otto for a walk.
12:52 pm. We’re at Rathdowne Street. The Sun is shining. The sky is blue. The gaggle stumbles across the lights on the green man. Last week, I was walking across this same crossing, typing my journal into my phone as I walked, and the first car waiting to turn left started to toot me, and when I looked up I think he was pointing at the lights and his watch, and when I laughed at him, he started to gesticulate even more wildly.
12:57pm. We’re in Lygon street eating Malaysian, 118 Lygon Street. It’s actually hot sitting in the sun. Excuse me while I take off my blue hoodie to show off my lilac t-shirt, unusual for me not to be wearing a black t-shirt. I just kind of grabbed it by mistake this morning and though, Oh, why not?
There are crowds of people, there’s a number of very cute boys (20 year olds, don’t get me wrong) amongst them, whose jocks you'd just peel down over their arses like chocolate wrappers and lick them out, just saying. Did I say that out loud? They are all sorts of noisy, it’s a circus.
1:04pm. There seems to be more people not fewer, the circus isn’t moving on, I guess, the sun brings them out. Sam tells me he thinks they are church people. You can usually tell church people by the dumb, deluded looks on their faces, I say. You know, the dumb smiles because they think they’ve got life sorted. All I see is dead eyes looking back at me. I guess I wouldn’t be licking their son’s arses then, well, not with their approval. Maybe, in a dark, secluded car park somewhere on the fringes, that what religious belief gives gay sons.
I ate Hainanese chicken rice, Sam ate Beef Rendang.
The authentic Malaysian restaurant was too mean to give us a take away container to give Otto water, so he had to make do with a small paper cup refilled continually.
Otto growled at the Pandas arriving to collect their food deliveries.
1:31pm. We’re walking home in the glorious sunshine. It’s actually a beautiful day the weather is just perfect spring.
It is a lovely day to meander through the gardens.
I continued generating AI images for my 2008 blog. Somehow, I got lost in generating images of sexy male angels in tights, that seemed to consume me for some time.
We started watching Young Sherlock again. Sam gives Otto his ball again, shutting off the fire with the screen. I’m disappointed how screwed up my imusic is again, now that Sam has given me his iPhone 16. He’ll give my iPhone 15 to his sister when he goes home. And he’ll buy a new iPhone later in the year when the new one is released, using his work iphone until then. That coupled with Otto incessantly pushing his ball into me, and my waning interest in Young Sherlock, I feel I got a bit crabby.
David calls me and tells me in conjunction with Chat GPT his major birthday in Switzerland email from a few days ago is just the beginning of his birthday festival, there will be teasers and updates each month, I assume until next June. Something, or other, will happen next month, then the month after that the theme will be announced, A Splash of Blue, In September the official invitation will be sent out, complete with booklet. Then I think after that there will be instructions, and recommendations and updates, I think, every month for a year.
I’d really lost interest after the mention of the first update.
I fell asleep on the couch.
11pm. Sam woke me to go to bed.
I'm going to the gym. It is really difficult to get motivated to put on shorts and go out into the cold, on htese cold mornings. Winter is not really the greatest for getting out and being physical.
But, I am making myself. Go, Christian, go! (Sam is telling me too)
I think feeling bad about myself for not going is the major motivation, though. Better than naything else.
Sam talked about his tax bill for 7 hours straight today, yesterday, I'm not exaggerating, until my ears were, literally, bleeding.
It is fair to say he was upset about it.
I got nothing done on my day off, after lunch. Nothing. He kept at me to calculate figures for him. But I want to waste my time doing meaningless, things that interest me and keep me from thinking about my awful job that I want to quit.
He says he is quitting work if all he does is work to pay tax. I'm all for someone quitting their job and doing something else. But what is that something else?
And you don't want to make yourself poor in the process, either.
I just wanted to play around with my blog, you know, the waste of time olympics. That's what I wanted to do. I'm nearly done adding AI images to my blog posts.
I contemplated kissing him and having sex with him to shut him up, but I didn't.
But, you know, you have to listen and take interest in your partner if they have a concern, now don't you. Oh, yes you do, that is apart of the boyfriend agreement.
So I listened, I calculated figures - Jasus, anyone would think I was an accou, an accou, no, I can't say it - right up until we started back onto it again later in the evening, then I had to say, Sam, enough. I felt awfully disloyal doing it, but it was getting towards a case of self-preservation by then. Chuckle.
I'm sitting on the couch with Otto cuddled up to my right leg, enjoying generating AI image for my old blog posts, it is currently my favourite thing to do. Oh, you never know, some producer might discover it one day and turn it into the new Tales of The City. Ha ha, I could die alone too.
I'm wondering how rude I was to those Sydney HR scrags yesterday? I don't think I was, no, not at all, but they hold some sort of strange gypsy curse over the finance team managers who never seem to be able to stand up to them, always crumbling under any duress sprayed at us from that team of mingers. It is very strange. Even the Big Pooh seems to cave into to the Horrible Reprobates.
Anyway, as I've said, I don't care.
First day off, and my gym day. I have to put it in my head some hours before I go, so as to will myself up off the couch and into shorts and out the door. That percolation of will has about another hour to bubble away inside me before the requisite pressure has built up in me to propel me out the door.
So, until then, lets see how many other AI images I can generate?
10.45am. I go to the gym.
Which reminds me, Tuesday I went to the gym. I was talking to Boris just before I left 10.30am'ish and I mentioned to her that I was up to date and that I was going to the gym for an hour.
She laughed like me going to the gym was incredulous.
Bitch, I thought.
She's also not coping with everything at the moment and maybe she laughed because she thought it was too much for me to go to the gym during work hours when she was feeling like she is going under.
That could also be it.
But, girl, that's why I stopped doing the manager's job as soon as I could afford to do so, years ago.
Be the manager, it's your choice.
We've got this new problem in Sydney HR named, we'll call her Lassie. I really think she suffers from OCD. I can't be sure, she might just be an anally fucked up retentive monster, but, with my history with Manny, the feeling is OCD that I get.
She asks me to confirm every singe interaction that we have, that recently I said that I wouldn't.
"I'll deal with it, Lassie," you loser, I think, "You don't need to be involved any longer."
Then she asked me to relay whatever conversation I have when dealing with the matter, so she could make notes.
Again, I said no.
She is so pathetic that when I was trying to have an email conversation with her about some figures, the other day, she kept cc'ing in The Midget to the email.
WTF!
All I could think was, what are you doing, you pathetic cow, can't you deal with something on your own merits, without clinging to those above you.
Recently, she asked me to confirm something completely useless, just like her, and I thought, Oh, piss off you moron, and I didn't confirm it.
She sent an email to the head of HR and The Midget telling them how I failed to confirm something for her.
Boris is getting kicked by The Midget and is now prefacing what she has to say with, I-can't-deal-with-this-any-more, blah, blah, blah.
The problem is, ever since Brun died, someone as sweet and real, and lovely as Brun, suddenly dying, I don't really care any more. If someone as good and pure as Brun can be taken from us, you know, pointlessly, what is the fucking point to anything, really.
I don't know if that makes sense, but it makes sense to me.
So, I don't care. I'm dangerous - desperately trying to think up a better expression - oh, so fucken dangerous, listen to me, when I don't care. Jasus!
Anyway, whatever, you know this means war. Well, you know, quiet, immovable, uncooperative, war. I'm done with her.
Where do they get these pint sized Hitlers from? I think it must be a prerequisite to work in HR. Or is that having half your brain removed? Yeah, I'm not sure which.
I worked at home all day on my own, which I like. I'm happy on my own. I never understand why people aren't.
Sam had to go to the office. Charlie disappeared early too. It was just me and Otto and The Rolling Stones all day.
Charlie had left a bag of BreadTop pastries in the kitchen, so, you know, I like that too. Anything with the word pasty in its' title is alright with me.
