Writing at Work

The old wrought iron warehouse/workshop over the road in Gertrude Street is up for lease after all these years. I had a dream that Mark and Luke rented it out and Sam and I ran it as a cafe/coffee house. We called it Three Ducks on the Wall. It was open plan and minimalist with 3 ducks actually on the wall. It was all finished off with concrete floors with bagged walls and the 3 ducks were turquoise on a magenta shelf.

I was a bit late today or, at least, I thought I was. I got the MacAir out to charge it up for my lunch time writing, I'd hate for it to run out of power, at work. But, I got into typing on my blog. Last night, I stayed up and got all of June done. I managed to get up to date, which can be a struggle now a days. But then this morning I added some more. Do you know how quickly time passes when you do that? In the morning, I'm sure every 2 minutes passes as 1 minute.

The next thing I knew I was running upstairs to Sam, when I felt he'd left for the bathroom ages before. And before he could say anything, I burst into the room, all singing, all dancing. 

“PISSING ABOUT! PISSING ABOUT! BABY, I HAVE BEEN PISSING ABOUT. YES I HAVE.” 

I announced it before he could question me. It’s his favourite expression to use about me when I am, oh what would I say, not doing what I am supposed to, not following what I've been told. He rolled his eyes, as he dried himself. 

“I’ll pissing about you, in just a minute.” He’s funny. “Clean your teeth!”

Two out of the three most heard comments by me from him, not bad. The other one is, “Switch it off.” At night when I am watching TV, when I am on my laptop. When I am in bed watching the TV or on my laptop. When I am on my laptop and we are meant to be going out... to the supermarket... to take the dog for a walk. "Switch it off!"

I am pretty sure they will, actually, be the last words I ever hear. “Switch it off.”

And then after all that, rushing about, getting myself dressed, it was still only 8.10 when I stopped, brushed my suit down and looked up at the clock and the day. Lovely. You have got to love that. I could feel every cell in my body relaxing.

It was a grey morning again, another morning in a week of grey mornings, possible a month of grey mornings, maybe a season of grey mornings. Maybe every morning from hence forth... ha ha, ho ho.

Then, as I headed off down the hill in the direction of Abbotsford, the first thing I saw was an athletic boy on the bike sailing down Langridge, with a really lovely furry bum crack sliding out of the back of his dark shorts. You know, the kind that makes you want to go face first into it, slobber, slobber. Slide your tongue in there and make it all wet. You know when you begin to resemble Hommer Simpson drooling… I’m sure. Grgrgrgrg! It is a nice way to start... well, anything really. (It should be mandatory, um, er, a nice tradition at corporate meetings, get the cute office boy {he's the 20 year old with the flawless skin on his first job} onto the board room table, spread eagle, everyone could have a go… oh, um, er, did I write that out loud) The guy on the bike looked European, with his designer stubble and his thick brown hair and his swarthy good looks with his grey designed scarf wrapped around his neck, as I drove passed.

As I approached the lights, I got my phone out of my brief case and got ready, as I watched him come down the hill behind me. Those sorts of shots (shorts shots) are hard to get, so I just kept pushing the button.

Nice, I thought as I reviewed my handiwork, as he cut across the line of traffic and disappeared out of sight, as bike riders do.

Shirley stopped me this morning for the first time... the lollipop lady. How about that? Suddenly, she was marching out in front of my car, like a mirage, or a dream, in reflective clothing and not standing on the footpath talking to her friend. My foot hovered over the accelerator. Her stop sign was bigger than she is and her clothes in relation to her size are like those of a three year old, kind of big, ready to be grown into, it is kind of cute really.

I’ve been bringing in Sam’s MacBook Air to work to write on at lunch time. I started out bringing in one of my journals and writing at lunch time, but, you know, that just started to feel so old fashion very quickly. Writing by hand can be good for flow but really having to type it all up at a later date, no. So, I could have bought in my MacBook Pro, but I have a 17 inch Pro and it is a bit like carrying around a boat anchor. The air is great, you can practically put it in your pocket. Actually, I think the Air is really great, to tell you the truth. It is just the right size, really.

I told Sam that I loved it and do you know what cutey pie responded with. “You can have it honey, and I’ll buy myself a new Pro." Which is lovely, but it is impractical to have two laptops and I do like my 17 inch screen for photos and Photoshop and the like.