I was up at 9.30. I had the periodontist to go to and I had to call my sister Gill back from yesterday. She’s trying to organise some investments, but I soooooo wasn’t in the mood yesterday. I knew I should call her, ignoring the question about our future doesn’t get us anywhere.
She didn’t answer her phone. I left a message.
I went back to bed. I snuggled back into my doona and turned my lap top on. Just until 11am, I told myself. Actually, 11.15, I knew, possibly 11.20. I’d be in bed as long as I could, I knew that. Squeeze it out as long as I could. Draw it out as far as it would stretch.
Then it was 11.20, fuck, fuck, fuck, it was time to leap out of bed and rush about. Ahhhh!!!!!! Poor me, poor me!!!! Sam would call me a drama queen at this point, I know that. Shower, get dressed, get ready, grab your stuff and leave… HANDS IN THE AIR, you know, like it had just occurred to me.
It was a lovely morning, there was a chill in the air, walking up Gertrude Street in my short-sleeved shirt. I wondered if I was going to be cold, which was so nice to feel. Really, it was.
Gill called as I walked down to Collins Street. The burning question is that we’d had an offer on Property Co. So soon? We didn’t think it would be so quick. We thought it would take six months. What should we do? We decided that we didn’t need to sell it just yet just yet. It pays good rent as it returns better than the other properties, in a sense, due to its relatively low value.
Apparently, we have an idea of rebuilding Property Cl now with two units. We can build two units for the price of buying a new property elsewhere with the proceeds of the sale of property Y.
“Developing property Cl?”
“Didn’t we discuss it?” Gill said.
“No.”
“Oh, that must have been with Will?”
So, is that good, I’m not sure?
The rent for the recently sold property Y and the rent for Property Cl come to less than for two newly developed units on Property Cl.
And we’d have one property with two units worth substantially more than it is now.
A new property, let’s call it property X, would be worth half of that. And the rent for non developed Cl and Property X would be less.
But we still have money left over from the sale of Property Y. But that would be the same no matter which way we went. Buying X or developing Cl would be about the same.
“So, which do you think is the best investment strategy?” asked Gill.
Ah? Er? Um? I was worried about a few hundred dollars the periodontist was going to charge me.
Oh, I don’t know… I’ll need to do a spread sheet, or something.
Of course, that is all tied up and I don’t get any of it any time soon. We are trying to maximise her income to continue paying for my mother’s private nursing home.
This is what I was trying to get my head around as I headed to the periodontist. As I illegally crossed Spring Street on the north side of the Collins Street intersection where, inexplicably, you are not supposed to cross, I couldn’t even begin to workout which investment strategy was going to be the best, all I could think of was the man with the pointy stabby thing who I may be paying a small fortune to for the pleasure of being hurt, maybe, I don’t know? Why didn’t I chase that receptionist up the last time I was there for the payment schedule?
Why can’t you cross the Collins Street Spring Street intersection on the north side?
I was concerned the periodontist would charge me another $800. In the beginning the receptionist said it would cost $220 a visit and then on the very first visit, bam! $800.
“Oh, that was the initial consultation. Didn’t I give you a cost schedule?”
“No, you didn’t.”
“Oh, I should have.”
“Yes please.”
She still hasn’t. I still didn’t have anything in writing. The bitch could charge me anything she/they wanted. I was at her/their mercy.
I didn’t give the pain spike any thought, so there are benefits to cost dysphoria. OMG! That spike down under my gum. Fuck off!
Zzt! Jump. Zzt! Jump. Zzt! Jump. Zzt! Zzt! jump jump, jump.
Then I just kind of relax and let it go, let it loose. I feel my fingers relax, is it that stress. Do I let go? Or screw them tight? I don’t know, this guy is pushing a probe under my gums. Then it is over. Done. Over. My gum are still numb from the spray he sprayed on them.
Then he said that I could go back to my dentist now and he could do the root filling, or whatever. I didn’t quite hear it.
More treatment from my dentist? What filling? What?... fucking dentists. Really?
The periodontist will see me in 3 months, when I’d be in the “maintenance” phase.
Actually, it is fucking smoking! Stupid me. But, I have now quit completely for over two months. Never give up giving up, as “they” say.
I was shaking at the receptions afterwards. Well, not actually shaking, you understand, just on the inside, maybe, a little.
Please! Please! Please!
“That’s $220 for today.”
Yes! Even if I was kind of distracted by then, due to the return-to-your-dentist-for-more-treatment comment. Really?
I took more samples of sensitive toothpaste, from the counter.
“Do you mind if I take…”
“No, no, go ahead.”
It has meant I haven’t needed to buy any. Am I cheap?
Immediately, I regretted not taking the ‘total’ toothpaste, as Sam is out of toothpaste in my bathroom. Rats! Too late. I didn’t want to appear like the mean prick that I really am.
I was finished at 12.30. I made use of the free wi fi on the ground floor of the periodontal building in the entrance to message Sam for lunch. He was having some kind of emergency evacuation situation at his building and had been evacuated and was already taking advantage of the situation and was already having lunch with his colleagues.
Sad Face.
He told me where to go and have lunch, like he likes to. Adorable, really. (do you think that will ever annoy me? You know, the things you find adorable in the beginning?)
I ignored him and I went to Pie Face for the first time and paid $5.50 for a luke warm, very ordinary pie. A four n twenty from 7 11 is better and cheaper, I think.
When I told him, he raised his hands in the air and just gave me that I-told-you-so look.
I was heading to the reject shop to get a new pair of glasses. They had two pairs for the price of one, so I snatched them up and headed to the cash register. One day I should go to the optometrist and get proper glasses, I guess, but, I break every pair of glasses I have, one way or another. Sit on them, kneel on them, drop them, they all end up in the elephant grave yard for glasses on my desk and when I’m paying little for them, I really don’t give a fuck. I just throw them away and say next! And I just need magnifiers for reading, so I never quite get the point of spending hundreds of dollars.
Just as I got to the cash register, I saw someone with toothpaste in their hand and I remembered I wanted some for Sam.
I had to double back to get his minty fresh. The line that had been full of boguns, which encouraged me to look at the toilet paper specials – working them out to the cost per sheet in the end, so as to avoid the long fucking queue, .0016, .0022, .0023 per sheet, the 18 rolls for $4 kept working out to be the cheapest – had cleared. Yay!
I walked up Bourke Street wanting junk food. I was thinking donuts, but then I remembered Bread Top. Surely the renovations would be completed by now. yes, of course. Asian business owners aren’t going to be out of work for that long. I got a coconut and pineapple and a red bean bun.
I felt like dawdling, as I knew I should head home and sand the walls of the front wall and then paint them. My lack of confidence in all things makes me hesitate and as Sam would quite rightly say, dilly dally, dilly dally.
I stopped at the Hill of Content and read a book about Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt and a book about gay lives.
I did TattsLotto, this is the very last weekend before the salt mines start… for good… forever… until death us do part. Boo fucken hoo!
I walked home. It was cool and there was a breeze and I wore short sleeves and enjoyed the cool and the fresh. Is it just Melbournian’s who wear shorts and t-shirts when it is cool? I know that I do.
I went to Manfax to get sand paper. $3.90 a metre. Lovely! It must have been a while since I bought sandpaper. I seem to remember it being under a dollar per metre? Maybe? Maybe I am imagining it?
Then, of course, I found a distraction. My usual modis de operandi to getting tasks done. Snatching the unpainted wall from the jaws of painted wall, as per usual.
I cleaned out the cupboard under the stairs on the first floor. Of course, I went to the cupboard to find paint. I found my old print, I didn’t realise I still had it. The orange and red abstract painting of a horse and rider, that a lot of people didn’t seem to like, but then not everybody has the painting good taste that I have. Of course, then I had to I google the artist, Marion Marini, just to find out if he was anybody. Of course, I marvelled at the internet yet again for its instant information and again wondered what people did when we didn’t have it. I guess the artist who painted my masterpiece would remain forever a mystery to me.
I threw out the excess of cardboard boxes. I found a plastic container and collected all of the screws and bolts and nails and things that were in the said cardboard boxes. I found the old can of Summer Range. It just depends if it is flat acrylic or enamel?
I sanded the walls. There was filler dust everywhere, covering everything. All over all of it... carpet, draws, bed, mantle, you name it.
I clogged the new vacuum with filler dust. Oh shit. The new vacuum Shane bought. Bad me! If it wasn’t transparent, it wouldn’t have been so serious. But, as Blanche knows, it is, Blanche, it is. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! I took it outside and desperately took it apart and cleaned it manically.
It didn’t seem to take so long. Another truth about doing stuff, it doesn’t usually take as long as you worry, think, dread. I went to my balcony and wrote on my computer.
Mark called, he has two new headphones, so he can use Skype pretending to be Madonna. Each cost $30.
“Cool hey?” He smiled, modelling the said headphones. I couldn’t hear him so well, which was corrected when Mark discovered he had the mic turned around the wrong way.
Shane came home.
I retired to my bed.
Shane went to slut yoga, saying he’d bring home food afterwards.
I messaged Sam and asked him what we did over the weekend for my journal. He was reticent to begin with, as he always is when I ask him for details.
(notes split from Friday night)
we need to shop for better wok, before it burns my whole fingers
Shane came home with hot potatoes. We watched Two and half men and Top Gear.
It was a gentle night.
are you watching Top Gear? asked Christian
of course not, replied Sam.
why not? said Christian
u know me, said Sam. car?
what are you doing?
get ready to sleep soon, replied Sam.
really? Christian already knew, but he was playing along.
my nanna time coming, said Sam.
nana, bless thought christian
have to go to work early tmmr
nana txxxx
a bonnet and a knee rug
i see
nana txxxx ah!
poor poor nana txxxx
have to wake up early tmmr
good night babe
sweet dreams
kisses and hugs
sweet dreams honey
kisses and hugs
pats and licks
licks to u too
don'tletthebedbugsbite
I watched Top Gear, Lamborghini vs McLaren vs Noble orange super cars. And Kitchen Nightmares, one crappy chef is all it takes. Then I went to bed and watched Entertainment Tonight, about the Oscars and who was the best dressed on the red carpet… inquiring minds need to know. And Hungry beast, which I love. Do you know “they” fake pharmaceuticals now. Illegal drugs, such as cocaine, have such long prison sentences if caught, much short than faking pharmaceutical pills, especially in Asian countries, that illegal gangs are faking pharmaceutical pills now, with potentially devastating effects.
This world of ours, fuck me.
I stayed up until 3am.
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