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It was such a lovely, the sun was shining and the birds were singing. |
Ug! The cleaner comes today. Very soon I'll here the front door go click click and I'll hear the scuff of her gold jiffies on the floorboards. She'll stop at my study door and I'll look at her and she'll look at me and we'll both shiver at the very same moment and I’ll say, “Newman!” Ha ha! “Guadalupe!”
And she'll say, "Ullo," in that way that she does, with that nasty mouth and those suspicious eyes.
Rats!
I've got to go and have a shower and be ready to vacate the house at a moment’s notice.
I've got my bag packed by the door - iPad, iPad keyboard, camera, latest novel I am reading – Martin Amis, The Pregnant Widow, just by the way – a health bar, wallet, keys.
(She doesn't have a nasty mouth, or suspicious eyes, she is perfectly nice, of course, I just can’t throw my sense of invasion when she is here)
There was an old Jewish chick following me up Chapel Street after lunch in her silver Mercedes, she was a gun. She looked like she was in her seventies, with her red permed hair and her thick glasses and her burberry scarf. As I weaved in and out of the traffic, passing all the idiots, getting next to trams and racing them off at the lights, whipping through the orange lights as all those around me dilly dallied and were left behind, there she was right behind me, hoiking that Mercedes through the traffic like a pro.
I was very impressed.
I had lunch with Rachel in Chapel Street. She took six months off last September when she sold her restaurant and she's still not working. We both agreed how much unemployment suits us.
This week was my week to get my act together and get out there and look for work.
I'm thinking I might brush off that old romance novel and get writing.
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| It was early, before 8am. I put on a leather jacket with my track suit pants and Sam said he was glad that he wasn't going to be seen with me... just rude, really |
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| I was very tempted, let me tell you |
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| The sky was crystal blue |
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| 3 silver Peugeots all in a row |
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| I love doorways, don't you? One day I'm going to do a whole book on them. I guess, it's already been done, hey? |
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| A lovely old Mercedes |
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| It was a gorgeous morning |
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| If a little cold... |
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| ...but that blue sky, what a treat |
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| Melbourne has lovely, sunny winter days |
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| yes, that is the famous TV shop |
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| dappled morning sunshine, nothing quite as lovely |
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| And there were cute workmen |
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| Good luck little soldier |
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| Maybe even a book on windows |
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| Ah, the daisy's are in bloom again |
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| That's me, giving a wave |
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| You'd lick him, you'd be lying if you said you wouldn't |
Usually, I don't really like long hair on men. I just never have. You know, the Fabio's of this world. In the past, it has stopped me hooking up with guys, oh you know, next. It always seemed so messy and, usually, wet when you are, you know, getting it on. I've been flicked in the eye, before, at the height of passion and it's not so nice, it's not sexy. Oh, get a hair cut is what I usually think. I generally like my men more masculine than long hair makes them. I don't know, it has just never done it for me.
Although, there have been some exceptions.
I remember beautiful smoking man, when I worked in Collins Street. Of course, he was exceptionally handsome and it probably wouldn't have mattered, actually, if his hair was short or long, or frizzy red. (Well?) I say probably, as I, of course, never saw him with short hair. But he was so handsome, I used to just gaze at him, as we both smoked our cigarettes out in pariah's lane.
I always wanted to say to him, "No, don't smoke. Don't do anything to spoil that perfect face."
Then there was beautiful Anton, with his bushy black hair, blue eyes and that smile, when I went to have dinner with Jill at our friend Rachel's restaurant. He and his sister Amy walked in at the end of our meal and sat with us. I mustn't have seen him in a while, although it didn't seem that long, I'm sure. Boy is he gorgeous. Is it wrong to look at a friend's sixteen year old son and think how beautiful he is? No, of course not. It's a compliment, if anything. I mean, I only thought it, I didn't say it. He'd have never have known.
Then there was that mechanic who used to work on my Renault. Black hair down to his shoulders and, more often than not, overalls unbuttoned down to his crotch, just so I could see the white elastic of his jocks. It was very distracting. And a French accent, which I always suspected was put on. Not sure why now? But it completed the picture, let me tell you.
I've got to go see my mum today. I haven't seen her since I was terminated. I just haven't felt like it, you know. Of course, that week I smoked pot for the whole week didn't help. Comfortably numb. It was after that I felt down and stressed, sinning around in circles, holding my breath but nothing changes.
Poor mum, at least that is the one advantage of Alzheimer's. "Where have you been? You haven't been for a month."
"Nonsense old woman, you're talking nonsense. Let's go out for lunch."
"Oh yes, that would be lovely."
Ha ha. Oh well, if you don't laugh at this awful disease, you know what else you'd do.
I've also been having car trouble, the GTI has been playing up like a little retarded bitch. It's had a starting problem, although I have always managed to get him going, some days I'm not sure how, and a rattle in the suspension, which has driven me... well, it's been irritating. In fact, I'm just off to the mechanic to pick him up for the fourth/sixth time in a month/2 months, yeah.
And although my mechanics have always been fantastic, to the point where I recommend them to people, I'm not at all sure if the ongoing problems have, for some reason, been mechanic slackness, rather than the car as such.
They just didn't seem to be able to fix the starting problem, it turned out to be a loose engine mount. (I know, I'm not sure either) And the suspension was fixed by them, after which there was a squeak, which developed into a rattle, which was happening the last time I took it in for starting, but they didn't look at it. I believe the term, we forgot, was used, which is highly unusual for them, however...
On the upside, I don't have to work, which is great! And I can just wander in at my leisure.... a stroll through The Exhibition Gardens, then hop the City Circle (Sam calls me tight arse Christian, I deny it, of course) or not. Perhaps a leisurely walk all the way to the workshop. Either way I'm happy. Whatever I feel like doing?
The sun is shining, the sky is blue.
I don't want to work any more. I think I'd like to go to art school.
I've been cooking while I have been off work. It's funny because usually I don't cook and everybody seems to think that I can't. Shane has been quite surprised with my efforts, although the down side is that now that he knows that I can cook he seems to think I'll be cooking the evening meals. When he comes home and says, "What's for dinner?" I don't know why, but it kind of pisses me off.
I used to love it as a teenager, although I am primarily a pastry chef, that's what I really like doing. I used to like getting a new recipe and giving it a go. And all the stuff that I learned way back when with my mum as a kid is still in my brain, which is nice.
I've cooked spaghetti carbonara, beef stew, a frittata, a pork roast, vegetable soup, a pumpkin and chickpea curry and roast pumpkin soup.
You know, I like it when I have time to think about it and have time to fit it in to the day. It is so different to coming home from work and then having to cook.
There is a joy to it when it is relaxed and not rushed.
Sam has been helping me.
Missy had to go to the vet and she cost me $400. Yeah, good onya, great timing.
She's been in a fight and she has gotten bitten on the back paw, right through her pad. You should have seen it, the vet gave it a squeeze and splurt, blood every where. She had to be operated on, of course.
I'm taking great delight in squeezing the last of the puss out of the wound, let me tell you.
It was a glorious morning, the sun was shining down warmly like treacle, even if I was just sorting the bins in the street, it was lovely none the less.
The medium density ring-in neighbours put all their bins out in front of my place, which pisses me off when they could put them a few metres away where there are no house frontages. Call me the bin Nazi if you like..
Take mine, drag the neighbours up-the-lane bins back across the lane, roll of the eyes. To be fair, they've pretty much got it now, not in front of my place, it's just where the garbos left them after emptying them today. But, they still have that habit of leaving them out for a day, or four. See, passive aggression does sometimes works.
My next door neighbour staggers up in dark sunglasses, with the newspaper in his hand, looking dishevelled, but then again, Jackson always looks dishevelled. He either looks like a rock star, or a dero, never sure which. He's like Krammer, smart underneath it all.
"Oh... jee..." Contorted unwrap arm movement, as he looks at the bins. "Christian." Contorted arms wrapped back the other way. "Aren't you like putting them out like a week early, or something?" Arms spread as if as a question.
The original space cadet, the first space captain.
"No Jackson, they've just been emptied, I'm taking them back in."
He stopped, his eyes widened. He looked off into space. He winced. He looked at me, looked at the bin and then looked back at me, as I struggled with the bin.
“Oh... um...er...”
I was lost in my best efforts to get both bins back behind the gate side by side, when I looked up again, he was gone.
Embarrassed? Back to the mull bowl? Who can say?
He’s lovely, really, don’t get me wrong, he’s a character. I like people who are their own person and not beige facsimiles of the everybody else.
A great day to have lunch with my sister, as she got the sack too. Yes, same week. There must have been something in the air, as my grandmother used to say. That's the property developer and not the alcoholic one.
I just went and got my mints from the car, you know, just in case the mouth goes dry. Essential kit for heading out into public and having to hold a conversation.
Mint?
Wink.
I'm glad to be heading out, the cleaner is due. Er! Any moment, I'm expecting to hear the front door go click, click and then unpleasant scuff of her jiffy on the tiles.
Oh. ullo.
OMG! And there it goes. Scratch, scratch. I kid you not, (in a whisper), at the precise second that I wrote that sentence. Click, click. OMG! ...Oh, is there a more terrifying sound. Spine chill!
"Ullo."
Come on sis!
Missy comes limping towards me in the hall. WHAT! She can't walk on her back paw. Er! Traitor.
June long weekend. Winterdaze, party all night, take drugs all weekend. Queen's Birthday weekend, it always seemed to be our very own, in some sense. That’s what we all would have been doing once, partying. The biggest buzz for this weekend was some pot. I organised it myself, on the way up.
I took Sam up to the country. I, um, er, poisoned him all weekend. So often I looked over at him and he just looked in pain. It stopped me a couple of times. I don’t even want a boyfriend like this, so why am I doing it to him? I don’t want a pot smoking boyfriend, so why when I have one do I feed him pot?
It was a lazy weekend. May and Adrian were up too. Adrian has had breast cancer and she is still going through the chemotherapy. They cooked gnocchi. I cooked an orange cake with whipped crème and raspberry coulis.
I lay around all weekend, on the couch, in front of the open fire. Lovely. Sam dragged me out for one walk in the forest, something about fresh air, whatever. Mark dragged me out to cut fire wood.
You know I came home with pot. Of course. It wasn’t until after 11pm and I was hoping Shane was in bed. Well, after not getting half the dope deal – I just said give me half of what’s left and we’ll be square. Mark turned into his middle child and grabbed it all for himself – and only getting enough for one good days smoking, I suddenly became selfish and wanted to keep it all for myself.
Oh, I know, I’m a bad person. I’ll go to hell. How could I? Shane is the most generous person in the world. Yes, all perfectly valid points.
But, I did. I’m UNEMPLOYED!
The roller door slid open to reveal... oh damn! The lounge room lights on. Damn! The coast isn’t clear. So we’re hoping it’s just Shane, which it could be, he had an exam today.
Head in the door, and go straight upstairs, don’t stop, taking all the bags with you, so the pot is secure.
And the tall, miserable one is out of action, oh please yes. Good news on that front, he had a car accident. Woo-hoo. Pat me, prop me up, support me. Oh please! Spare us! I guess I should just sleep with him and get it out of the way.
And Sebastian will have been out partying, no chance he’ll be even conscious by now.
Oh good, just Shane.
Slip in the door, act nonchalant.
“Did you go to Bolago?” asks Shane.
“Yes.” Oh yes, wince, that’s right, he doesn’t like it when I do that. “I told you... seeing Adrian... remember?” I did tell him that. I mouth the Big C.
“No.”
“Yes, it was a good weekend. And you?”
Around the corner, out of ear shot, up into my room, hide the booty, like a gentle breeze.
Missy is stretched out on the clean washing I just never never leave clean washing on the bed for precisely the picture I’m now looking at. She must have taken up residence before my car was out the driveway Friday night, judging by the spinifex-wheels of fur blowing across my sheets.
She opens one eye. I gather myself. Spin around, down stairs.
Downstairs straight to the kettle. “How was your test?” The reason Shane couldn’t party this weekend, he an exam for night school.
“I didn’t go.”
Oh. Into the study turn the computer on. Back into the kitchen. “You didn’t go?”
“No, I didn’t have to, it was option...”
An option?
The kettle boils. Water in cup, milk in tea… back to the study.
I sneak upstairs and roll a joint crouched by the side of my bed like a thief in the night, to be ready the moment he heads to bed, must be soon. I slip back into the study unnoticed in the dark.
“Well dohl, I’m heading to bed?” Small talk, small talk, blah, blah, blah, at my study door. I had to turn around, never turn around, sometimes you just got to turn around. Oh really, how lovely. Yes, yes. Ha hah!
Go to bed. Awkward silence. Don’t engage, you can out-stare him, you know that.
“Oh well, good night.”
Ahhhh, there you go. Hooray. “nite.”
Clump, clump, clump go the footsteps on the stairs.
I’m at the kettle nervously pushing the button, as I hear the toilet flush and the sink water being run. The kettle clicks like a gun in the dimmed light as I pour the water into my cup. Jiggle, jiggle, jigger, JIGGLE! goes the tea bag.
Out the back door in the crack in the dark, straight back to my sixteen year old self sneaking out the back door to go have a fag halfway through home work.
Click, click, click, sparks the lighter.
Puff, puff, puff. The night air has a lovely translucent quality to it, you see when you stand and gaze at it.
Back inside, sneaking all the way until I’m back behind the computer in my study. But, I know I have more marijuana and sixteen year old Christian makes a reappearance. Roll another, roll another.
I could see from the atrium that Shane’s bedroom light was off. And I decided that I was probably going to make less noise by reverting back to the lounge room mull station, rather than creeping around at the side of my bed up stairs.
Shane had gone to bed and turned off all the lights in the lounge, unlike him. And I see there is a fire burning, but the screen was there the whole time I was home. Shane probably was just on the moment of going to bed when I got home, see sometimes your timing isn’t so bad. I poke at the logs with the metal poker.
So, I turned the light on over the desk again and pulled the door down and rolled directly onto Mark’s great grandfather’s one hundred year old desk, in the only pool of light falling to the ground anywhere in the room.
It was just me in the lamp light. Shane had been in bed for a good half an hour by now. Sometimes he comes down, but not often. It was a considered risk.
My fingers work quickly.
Then there is a noise, a brush against a table, a flick of a tail. I glance sideways and there’s Missy sitting and staring straight at me, from the very edge of the lamp light on the rug... very big eyes.
I see, she says.
Off to the dentist first thing to get my teeth cleaned. I headed down to St Kilda with a book on the tram, lovely. People were heading to work, I didn't feel it. I click into non-work mode oh so easily.
My dentist is lovely. He looked kind of sexy when he walked in in his aviator sunglasses.
Then it was lunch with Sam at South Bank. It was a beautiful day with the sun shining down on us like molten honey. Gorgeous. These lovely Melbourne winter days, some of the nicest you'll experience. Blue skies, crisp sun.
Who needs to work? It's an out-dated ethic, I tell you.
Then it was a stroll around the botanical gardens, as Sam says we are both getting fat. And we are. Too happy, as they say.
I was bouncing around with far too much energy, as Sam said. Clearly, not a care in the world.
When I went to Costco, on Wednesday with my mate Jill, she said she hasn't seen me look so happy in years.
Then home to work on some photos, before Sam comes over after work and we head to the country for the long weekend. Queens Birthday, it's our weekend boys!
Lovely... see you Tuesday.
I had a bitch lunch to go to anyway, so I didn't, really, care if the weather was fine or furious. My first with the ex-(name of company) "We hate (name of company) club," plus an ever diminishing number of current employees, the nice ones, the people still with a little "normal" DNA left running through their bodies and not the super cyborg corporate plasma fusion where the blood used to be, aught to be, once was. In fact, the ratio has now tilted in favour of the ex's, with fewer current employees.
They were all amazed and perplexed about my exit. Apparently, my new colleague who I was, allegedly, unpleasant to, was in tears after I left. They all tut tutted about the anorexic bitches comments and spiel. They couldn't believe that what she used to describe me was, in fact, describing herself more accurately. They all agreed that the moody anorexic bitch now looks thinner and sicker than she ever has before and they all guessed at what her use by date might be with the company, nobody gave have anything later than the end of the year.
They all agreed unanimously that the anorexic bitch has always been a moody miserable cow. I gave little prompting, I promise. I wished her dead, I readily admit that and nobody tried to pull me up on it by saying that I didn't mean it.
They all wondered who might be next and for what reason, as they could see that the reason for my demise was scant.
And wasn't the weather furious afterwards, as if it was instant karma for my evil thoughts. Or was it the ebbing winds about to descend the powers of hell onto the evil anorexic bitches head. Oh, here's hoping.
Bitter? Well, maybe just a little. I expect to move through it soon, but to what? Anger? Grief? Melancholy? Maybe, I could move straight through to the Camilla Parker-Bowls stage, a dignified silence.
I'm sure all my friends have their fingers crossed. Actually, all of my friends think it is great. They think I have worked for Miseries & Co for far too long and think this is a positive move.
So, what do you do when you feel like you have been hard done by and you are feeling just a little bit down?
Make an apple tea cake and pour yourself a strong coffee, what else?
Sit out in the garden in the sun and dust yourself off, figuratively, if you don't want to put your hand to cloth. (except, of course, it is raining today. Lovely)
And, of course, wish them all dead. (Well? I'm only human)
The cunts sacked me. I didn't really see that coming, even if my mate Jill suggested it and said it sounded so much like what happened to her, a number of years ago.
I've had several meetings with the CFO about my performance, none of which have made sense to me. The anorexic CFO has sat opposite me and made certain allegations, none of which seem to have had any bearing on reality, none of which had been brought up by my new manager.
I went back to my new manager, after the first meeting and tried to put things right and she said that she didn't have those issues with me.
What exactly was I suppose to do at that point?
I guess, I should have heard alarm bells at that, but I just put it down to the obviously very ill CFO loosing it. After all, she had just done the same to my old boss Beck.
This place is screwy, I thought. I should start looking for a new job, which I had just started doing.
After the second meeting, my new snake manager admitted to a small number of the issues, but said everything would be fine. Since then, I'd been asking my new snake manager for feedback and she had given me positive feedback.
I figured all the problems were behind me.
In the third meeting, I thought the CFO was going to say, Good work, nice to see everything is going well, but no, instead she said things were diabolically bad and that I was sacked. This time, nothing she said bore any resemblance to what I had been discussing with my new bitch snake manager.
Conclusion, the new bitch manager wanted me gone.
I don't think they, actually, have any grounds to sack me, but, you know, sometimes it is better just to move on. The best revenge is living well, as they say.
All the time the near-death anorexic CFO was blabbing on, all I could think was, Okay, so we all agree. You have made up my mind for me.
And you'll soon be dead.
I cooked vegetable soup for lunch and chicken and mushroom risotto for dinner. I quite like cooking when I'm not rushing home from work at dusk.
I quite like cooking when I can meander down to the supermarket and buy the ingredients when it's not rush hour at the check out.
I also stewed some apple for my muesli, that made me feel like I was turning into my mother. Mum always had a bowl of stewed apple in the fridge.
