Maybe I'm Completely Deluded And It Is, In Fact, Me Who Is The Bitch?

Missy is emaciated, compared to her old self. Mark thinks she looks fabulous. Thin is always better with Mark… even the cat, my god, Mark’s mother did a great job on him regarding “fatness.” It was his mother who spread the phobia, as she power walked in her pink tack suit with weights in each of her hands extolling the virtues of "slim is best, dear."

Missy now looks like a slim cat, where before she was a fat cat. It’s not that she looks bad now, but there has been a dramatic change, for no other reason than her more expensive food has been changed for cheap food.

This is one area where generic branding may have to be reviewed? Missy has lost a huge amount of weight since I have had her on cheap generic food. Maybe it is not nutritious enough for her. Tim says she is over 20 years old, so maybe she has moved into the geriatric cat phase. Or maybe she is sick? Sickness seems the least likely, a she seems happy enough. She still seems to be her old self. Her behaviour hasn’t changed in anyway. So I’m going with the need for more nutrition and I’m going to buy her a bag of her old food to see what affect that has on her.

We left the house by 9.30, to get Mark and Luke to the airport by 10am. It was much cooler this morning, much nicer than the sweltering heat of yesterday. I dropped them off at the door to the departures, waving them good bye.

I parked behind the shops in Smith Street, on the way home and went and got a haircut. For Sam for Friday. He hates long hair and not that mine was long, as such, but it was beginning to get volume and length beyond short, if you know what I mean. Smile. He’ll be back Friday. Bigger smile.

I sat in the chair with my eyes closed, for the most part, enjoying the touch of my fat-boy barber’s hands. Sometimes I think the artificial effort we put in with the hairdresser and conversation is just too much. Today I didn’t feel like "the talking", so I didn’t. There is something nice about closing your eyes and just letting the barber move your head as he sees fit. Side to side, like the lapping of the water on a boat's hull.

Then, I went to the bulk billing doctor and signed up to see him. Finally. Do it now! Don’t procrastinate! You don’t have to give it any more thought.

I got to the door when I realised I forgot my glasses, so I headed back to the car to get them. When I got back, there were two Sudanese chicks with kids and prams who’d got in just before me, who had just turned up as well and I had to wait for them and their children to have their turn, clearly, in a surgery which had been empty before the five of us arrived. I cursed my stupidity at forgetting my glasses, otherwise, I could have been in and out in practically five minutes. I laughed at myself thinking that I didn’t have a full day of appointments ahead of me and to just relax and stare at the wall blankly, as calm people do in waiting rooms. It did give me time to think about the implications of a doctor’s surgery that, obviously, wasn’t popular. I got a script for Nexium and had the wart frozen off my chin. No more witchy pooh!

The best bit was that it cost me nothing. My usual doctor charges something like $70 per consultation now, some of which I get back, of course. But is there any sense in doing that when it is only a script that I, so often, want? It is apart of my “going homebrand” for the sake of the budget... and unemployment.

I came home and pissed around for a short time, turning my PC on to check my blog sizing on that computer. The sizing seems different on a Mac to a PC, it seemed to be huge on a PC, I’m not sure why.

While sitting at that computer, I saw all the bills that I hadn’t paid, which were now over due. "Oh damn, the late fees."

"Slack", Sam would say… if I told him. (Not to self – he reads your blog. Grin. Hi Babe. Wave.) 

So, I got them all together and headed to the post office and the Westpac bank, post haste, despite it being 12.30 and lunchtime. "Are you mad," as Anthony would say.

I should rent out my spare room again and get the cash in, or set up Internet banking, there is no in between.

Oh the lunch time crowds… why?... when you can do it at anytime during the day. I walked down to Smith Street with a sense of trepidation…

But YAY, people must still be on holidays and there weren’t any queues anywhere. You’ve got to love that, you've got to love it when the great unwashed are absent. It makes a change from when things are in the full swing of the business year and there is a queue out the door and onto the footpath even at the bakery.

Of course, I blame it on all the medium density housing that has been going on around here. The terrible traffic jams are all so to be blamed on the flats "they" are building everywhere.

I read today they is a major over supply of apartments in Melbourne. With the way they are building them EVERY WHERE that is no surprise to me.

I came home and re-wrote passages on my blog. Is it a case of needing to put in more effort, put in more time rewriting and perfecting, rather than thinking that I am wasting my time with my blog? Maybe the problem is that I am not taking my blog seriously enough?

I didn’t think about jobs.

The news is saying that job positions are drying up as we head for another GFC.

I don’t care.

I ate scrambled eggs and ham for lunch. It was lovely too.

My ex-girlfriend Leah was supposed to drop in for coffee around 16.30, but she didn’t turn up. I didn’t really pursue it, as I’m not at all sure that I want to see her anyway. She has turned into such a “Sydney” person that I’m not sure I can be bothered with her. But, I guess, I should at least try, we’ve known each other since we were teenagers... lost out virginity together and all that.

However, I can’t really hide the fact that I am relieved when she doesn’t turn up. (Ed note - from who? You are home alone at the time) Oh well, maybe the correct out come is arrived at?

I decided that I’d rather go for an hours walk in the warm afternoon sunshine, than chase her up. Maybe the problem here is that I am not self focused enough as the rest of them, as Leah is. 

I need to be more self focused on me… maybe. It’s always been my problem, really and what I should learn from all of this. Too laid back = too lazy, in my case.

Actually, my problem has always been a lack of confidence in myself. Shrug.

I saw the cutest house open for inspection in X Street. #233 the white house behind Woolies. If Sam wants to buy another house and one in Fitzroy, at approx. 700K and gorgeous this one is perfect.

I decide to give Leah one last opportunity and text her sometime after 6pm regarding our meeting, when I get home.

I get in the shower.

Shane came home saying he has a four day weekend. He headed out later saying he “has things to do.”

I know that this translates into he’s heading out to buy drugs.

Leah called and said I didn’t confirm our coffee date so she didn’t think it was on. “What the fuck are you like,” she said. “I didn’t hear from you... blah blah blah.”

Surely, the conformation was in the organisation of the coffee date, I thought. But then, pretty soon, I couldn't be bothered with her at all, after that.

These were our texts

11^th Jan texts

“I’ll be in town for 25^th, do you want to have a catch up?

I said, “Yes I’d be in town that would be lovely.”

“I’ve got a meeting at 4.30, I’ll come around after that.”

And because I didn’t confirm after that, she said she didn’t hear from me. But I had already confirmed.

I tried to be breezy, told how I’d seen this great house and how I should down size.

Then she started with her criticisms, about how awful my house is. Disgusting, I think is what she said. "The Amityville" horror house. She only understands modern chic stainless steal and glass, I guess, she doesn’t comprehend period style. She has that non-style of Sydney, you know, where style is whatever is in fashion for that particular millisecond. (Ha ha, her house in Sydney was really very nice)

Then it was why don’t you sell it? 

Why aren’t you travelling? 

Why don’t you do this? 

Why don’t you do that? 

You don’t have any goals? 

You never have any plans?

And, not far into the conversation I just wanted to hang up. She is judgemental, which comes across as aggressive... bitch, she really is, and that's what I am over.

Fortunately, Rachel turned up wherever Leah was and Leah said she had to go and I took the opportunity to, practically, hang up in her ear. Not that she would have noticed though, she had already turned her attention to Rachel and whatever it was that they were doing together.

Well, that went well, I thought. It kind of reinforced the actions I have taken.

Jill called about the invoice for the work I did for her. I told her about Leah and how I was through with her. Jill wondered why she wasn’t invited out for dinner with Rachel, Fat-David Monsoon and the poisonous Harry Whit.

“Because we are losers Jill, face it.”

Jill bristled at this description but, basically, I think it is true. Leah judges the two of us to be the least successful of all our old group of friends. (Ed note - read the least uptight, furiously networking, pretentious corporate wannabe tragics who think they are somebody important)

Even the obese, pretentious, kaftan wearing Fat-David gets a higher rating than the two of us, mainly because he can offer Leah something – a place to stay, in the city and in the country and a corporate pat on her back telling her how great she is.

Leah once told me that she inspires a whole corporation to do better. I wonder if the reality of that statement is that she inspires a whole corporation to hate her? Sorry, but my recent dealings with her make me think? Essentially, she is completely self-focused and judgemental with the self belief that she can say anything she likes to anybody, in a completely tactless way, because she knows best, as she is the one to inspire and encourage something better out of “lesser folk.”

She once told me that you just have to let some friends go some times. Well, you know what Leah, this is me letting you go.

I ate spaghetti with tomato and lentil bean sauce. I cooked it after Shane had come home and had gone to his room, assuming, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be eating. I didn’t see him again, except for a brief glimpse, which only confirmed my earlier beliefs about him smoking crystal.

I wrote the beginnings of, We have Eggs, a story that had been going around in my head while I was walking.

I watch TV on my own in the dark. It was lovely.