Last Day Of The Year

The sun shines beautifully on the last day of the year. It is glorious today. This is a really lovely show for the end, saving the best to last, hey?

No real plans for tonight. I'm told that the fireworks are to be spread over 7 kilometres in Melbourne tonight, so I guess we'll be hugging Buddy and telling him it will be alright for sometime.

What can we take from this year just gone, that we are closer to climate catastrophe and the politicians still aren't doing anything about it. 

I'm not sure what else?

Oh come, come, there must be some positive spin we can go with? We're still happy, we're still healthy, Sam and I still have each other and we're happy about that. Music is still the food of the soul. And Buddy is still happy, wealthy and wise.

New Year's resolutions? None to mention.

Knowledge and Wisdom

Knowledge is knowing a tomato is a fruit. 

Wisdom is knowing not to put it in a fruit salad. 

Lawyer Jokes

A man was sent to hell for his sins. As he was being led into the pits for an eternity of torment, he saw a lawyer passionately kissing a beautiful woman. 

“What a joke!” he said. “I have to roast in flames for all eternity and that lawyer gets to spend it with that beautiful woman.”

Satan jabbed the man with his pitchfork and snarled, “Who are you to question that woman’s punishment?”

Bud's Birthday

It is Buddy's birthday today, he is 8 years old. I sang him Happy Birthday when I first woke up.

Happy birthday Buddy boy.

Walking The Dog

We are doing the big walk. We are coming down Brunswick Street from King Willian approaching Moor Street, where there is a woman with a shopping trolley which she has pushed up next to the public phone, pretty much, blocking the footpath. She is rummaging through a handbag she has on the trolley.

“Excuse me,” I say. We have to squeeze between her and the building to get passed. It appears obvious to me that, other than her and her trolley, the rest of the footpath is empty. “If you moved your trolley over there,” I say. “You wouldn’t be blocking the footpath.”

“What?” She looks at me. She has lank, peroxide blonde hair, and she is missing a front tooth. She has oddly grey skin with spots, or are they sores, maybe?

I smile, I don’t think nervously at this point, I can’t remember. “If you just move your trolley over here and then…”

“I’M GOING TO HAVE A SEISURE,” the woman screams. “I’m going to have a SEISURE!” The hounds of hell come to mind.

I am taken aback, as that isn’t the response I am expecting. “You could still move your trolley over there,” I say. I’ve seen people having seisures, and she didn’t look like one of them.

“I’M GOING TO HAVE A SEISURE,” she screams again. “A SEISURE. Is that what you want?” I can see veins in her eyeballs.

“What does your seisure have to do with the position of your trolley?" I ask.

“A SEISURE… A FUCKEN SEISURE!” She was dribbling by this point, I couldn’t help but look at the froth in the corners of her mouth, it looked like gold fish row on the surface of a pond.

“Well, you could just as easily have a seisure over there, as here,” I say.

“I’M HAVING A FUCKING SEISURE! DIDN’T YOU HEAR ME?”

“I heard you…” I think most of the CBD heard you.

“WHY DON’T YOU JUST FUCK OFF!”

I pull back, take a step away from her.

“FUCK OFF YOU FAT FUCK. YOU AND YOUR FAT FUCKING DOG CAN JUST FUCK OFF!” she screams.

Oh, just die you toothless loser, comes to mind, but I don't say that. I decide to just walk away instead. Too much like hard work... no... really. “Oh, have your seisure,” I say, as I turn to walk off.

“YOU CAN FUCK OFF YOU FUCKEN FAT FUCKEN DOG FUCK, JUST FUCK OFF!” She is screaming after us as we head off down Brunswick.

I turn to Sam. “Well, that went well.”

You Know Something,

You know something, with human beings denying climate change for their own personal gain, not knowing the basic truth of not poisoning their own nest; and because at any given moment half the human population is starving and half the human population is eating itself to death, (those with the food destroy 30% of it because it doesn’t look nice); and because it is now almost politically acceptable for the richest 5% (or whatever it is) to cheat the rest of the human population so the top percent of the population can grab all of the wealth, even if they have more than they will ever need; and all those humans fighting, and hating each other, discriminating against one another; and the lying, and the cheating, and the killing, and the inequality; and the mass extinctions of just about every other species on the planet; why should the human race be saved?

No, really, what are we trying to save?

A bunch of fools who shit all over everything and each other.


Thinking out loud,
America, Britain and Australia thought it was acceptable to invade Iraq with lies and 300 thousand Iraqis died. Hilary Clinton, allegedly, had Gaddafi killed to enhance her chances of winning the American election. Bashar al-Assad is poisoning his own people with biological weapons and the Syrians are fleeing their homeland in terror, and the racists around the world are getting uptight about letting those refugees into their countries. The right wingers are getting more and more confidant to discriminate against people of colour and of different heritage.

The American president is a compulsive liar.

The Russian President is a criminal, who has retained power illegally. There is a possibility he will invade Ukraine.

The Chinese president has given himself the job for life, while he invades the south china sea.

Conservative (Christian) westerners discriminate against Muslims and then act perplexed when Islamic State emerges. No idea that the policies of Neo Liberalism inequality could have contributed towards such a thing.

Big business is funding university research so they get the results they want.

There is now micro plastic in every living creature, including human beings.

I mean things aren’t going well.


And you know what, all of that is okay too. Human life has never had as much importance heaped upon it than the meaning human beings heap upon themselves. The universe, the world, the planet, and just about anything else that is not us, will not care, does not care if we are here, or not. And if we are not smart enough to preserve human life, nothing else will. The “bigger picture” will continue to be told with, or without us (and our gods). The infinite universe is not dependent on our existence. That is the truth.

It Poured with Rain

Day off Thursday.

The plumber was supposed to come to dig up my blocked stormwater pipe, the drain that drains away half the water from the roof of the house. He cancelled last week.

Rain was forecast and surprisingly I didn't hear from him.

It poured with rain. It deluged. Parts of Melbourne flooded. It was the kind of weather event that conservative politicians still deny has anything to do with climate change.

I kept waiting for it to come into the house due to the block drain. But it didn't.

Yay.

I like the rain. I like it when it rains. Even heavy rain. Heavy rain can be thrilling, it can. The power, the sound, watch it, feel it coming down. We can make happiness from the rain.

Office Xmas Decorations

They’d (Our department) been busily doing Xmas decorations all day, as they wanted to win the Melbourne office Xmas decoration competition. (Roll of the eyes)

Even Melissa got involved, but I figured that was because our boss Tony hated her and she was going for brownie points.

Word had come down from one of the other floors that one of the other departments were taking winning seriously, and they were going to be tough to beat. (Why they kept doing updates next to my desk I didn’t know)

2.30pm. Jesse suggested they put Declan in tights and then he could play Elf on the Shelf. I was all for seeing Declan in tights and a little elf hat, but he declined.

Truthfully, I had no idea what Elf on the Shelf, actually, was. I am assuming Declan would become a part of the Xmas decorations and he’d, actually, be sat on a shelf. Maybe, that was just because I thought Declan would look adorable like that? I could have that completely wrong. (shrug) It would have been an innovative approach, let’s face it.

Stephanie asked Declan if he'd do it if he was drunk. (Stephanie and I get along really well. We have the same sense of humour) I was all for seeing Declan drunk in a pair of tights and a cute elf hat. A whole lot of images came to mind with Declan drunk playing Elf on the Shelf. (shake of the head)

Word comes down later in the afternoon, no one is going to beat the other department.

Declan goes to investigate. He takes his phone to take photos.

Declan comes back. He didn’t take any photos and his only comment was, “We’re screwed.”

Not that I cared. In fact, the perpendicular side of my personality thought, If Declan isn’t going to put on the tights, and get on that damn shelf, I hope they lose.” (Notice it is ‘they’ now, and not ‘we’)

Tortoise or the Hare?

Really, Kris Kringle, I thought as Big Ange shoved the hat in my face and told me to pick?

Then the person buying for me didn’t know what to get me, as grumpy as I was about the whole cliched Kris Kringle thing, this made it worse. I worked it out for “my person” people, give it some thought.

Mel was asked to ask me what I wanted. So, I have to think of more than one present, I thought, really? How about fucking surprising me, I thought, as I held a completely straight face gazing back at Mel.

“I dunno.” I shrugged. I headed back to my desk.

Eventually, I asked for a plant, so as to avoid landfill.

I was given a plant in a (tacky) decorative pot which had no drain hole. When I, rather, maybe, ungratefully, pointed this out, I was told just to give it less water.

Just stupidity, I thought. And now I have to fix it.

So, I carried it all the way (walking) home and drilled a couple of holes in the bottom.

This morning I was carrying it back again. Briefcase in one hand, plant in the other. Swapping arms when they got sore, which didn’t really help as my arms never really got relief.



The athletic chick passes me on the inside coming down to the old treasury building, walking faster than me. In her activewear, of course, strapped singlet over her toned shoulders, arse like a pear. Of course, I get my back up because she pushes into me as she passes with her headphones on, and her “can do” attitude. Me with a bag in one hand and a pot plant in the other, my arms starting to ache.

Bitch, I think.

I jay walk at Spencer Street and get ahead of her heading down Collins Street.

Purposefully? Of course.

She passes me in front of Collins Place. I jay walk at Exhibition and Russell Streets. She’s passes me again in the straights, in front of 101, and in front of the Regent. We both hit Swanston Street at the same time.

I have forgotten about my aching arms.

She takes off in front of me, as the little green man is displayed. I jay walk at Elizabeth Street and was out front again. She passes me at 333 Collins. I walk straight across Queen without stopping, or without seemingly blinking an eye, and was ahead again.

I got to the finish line first, even if she didn’t know where the finish line was, even if she didn’t know there was a finish line.

Briefcase in one hand, plant in the other.

I wondered, was I the tortoise or the hare? I laughed to myself at the thought.

People, Not A Fan

Midday. I bought a large mixed salad because it was one of those rare days that I didn’t take my lunch to work. Sam makes it for me every day, but we ate leftover pork and noodles last night. My colleagues think I have gourmet lunches.

I chose a seat on my own in the less used empty corner room of the huge café set out in the foyer of the large building opposite mine. Is it the stock exchange building? Shrug. Oh, I don’t know.

One guy came and sat at the next table, despite every other table in that section of the room being free.

Oh, here we go, I thought.

Moments later a lawyer and his pin-stiped suited client, presumably, came and sat at the table on the other side of me. I knew the lawyer by sight from one of the law firms I have worked for.

They started to talk.

The first guy’s lunch companion arrived – like that was a surprise – and sat with him and they started talking at a great rate. I'm sure he was trying to sell the guy something, he sounded as dodgy as a used car salesman trying to sell a used car to a real estate agent.

The lawyer prattled away. Mr dodgy yap, yap, yapped.

Grrrr.

I moved across the room, so at least I wasn’t between the two groups, which, unfortunately, put myself in direct line with the lawyer’s client’s booming voice and his annoying laugh. He spoke so loudly and freely that I couldn’t help but think he was a CEO of some company.

Then two women, exhausted from a morning shopping, sat in my first seat and they stated to chat away, like high pitched machine guns. It was a cacophony.

Am I to be spared nothing?

There were two guys sitting in the opposite corner on their own with a seat between them, one on his laptop, the other reading, it looked like the library, so I moved there.

Not long after one of the guys finished eating and left.

Shortly after, a man and a woman took his seat. The male of the couple started to talk excitedly, in an effeminate voice, (not that there is anything wrong with that, of course) about all the weight he’d lost. He was giddy with delight.

Grrrrrr... people, not a fan.

Then the other guy left.

What looked like a Filipino house keeper and another woman’s Indian husband, who she is screwing, sat in the seat behind me. They were the worst, his high pitched voice arguing with her demands (to leave his wife), neither of whom I could understand clearly, she was whisper-yelling. She growled at him (You said you'd leave her), he whined back (Yes, darling, soon, be patient).

He will never leave her, I thought.

They were too much to bare and I had finished my salad by that stage anyway, I could forgo the coffee.

I headed back to my office.

Stooping to the Lowest Point

We went for a long walk, it is a Sunday kind of thing to do. It is nice going early, there is a calmness to early Sunday.

As we approached Brunswick Street in King William Street, a girl came around the corner with a Jack Russell on a lead, she let him off, and the Jack Russell ran for joy.

Not being allowed to let dogs off their leads is a ridiculous law. It is lowering the benchmark to the lowest stupidity point. Kind of the problem with the world today. Catering to the dumbest member. And yes sure, everyone needs to be looked after, but maybe we could try raising the lowest up occasionally, surely it can’t be that hard, rather than dragging everyone down.

I cut some red geranium cuttings from the garden of the house down the road. Red geraniums are my favourite thing at present. The deep red ones that contrast so beautifully with their green foliage.

Good Morning World

I’d pulled the doona over me at some stage in the night, really as protection from the fan, blowing through the heat, but really it was still too hot for a doona. I like the breeze from the fan, I like fresh air.

I tossed and turned a little as the morning broke wanting to stay asleep. Sweating, damp cotton, humidity, doesn’t make for a comfy sleep.

That wretched fucking bird squawking at 7am didn’t help. If I lived in the country, and had a gun, I would have shot the thing, no second thoughts.

The rubbish truck emptying the bins at 7.30am, certainly didn’t help either. I was awake after that, I knew it, but I tried to stay in bed, to no avail.

Grrrrr! One eye open. Both eyes open.

I sat up on the side of the bed, a bit giddy, still wanting to lay down, still wanting to be lying down.

I rubbed my feet gently on the floorboards, as my eyes fluttered to the permanent open position. I love that feeling of the old wooden boards against the soles of my feet. The softness, the porous feeling of the wood, like skin. It calms the aggravated soul.

It was still hot, although not as hot as it was yesterday.

Too Hot

It's too fucken hot to do anything today. It's 38 degrees. Bud and I are lying around the lounge room with the fan on. Milo is on one side like a dead cat, Bud is on the other side like a dead dog, I’m patting each. Milo’s fur sticks to my hand like it is statically charged.

I did manage to go out to lunch with Sam. We had hamburgers.

We went to the first hamburger shop where I suggested I might like a caramel milkshake to go with my hamburger, which is very unusual for me as generally I only ever drink water. Coffee (and tea) and water, is all I practically ever drink.

Sam led us out of the hamburger joint.

“Wasup?” I ask when we are standing out on the footpath again.

“Let’s have Thai,” says Sam.

“It was the caramel milkshake, wasn’t it?”

“Don’t be stupid,” replies Sam.

He then gives it away by leading us up Smith Street straight to the other hamburger joint that doesn’t serve caramel milk shakes.

“It was the caramel milk shake,” I say.

“Don’t be stupid,” says Sam again. “I thought I might like Thai, but as we walked up the street I really decided that I did want a hamburger.

It was the caramel milk shake, I think.


I lay on the couch and watched Youtube clips about the Rolling Stones all afternoon. It was just too hot to do anything else. Mick Jagger is the greatest rock and roll singer who ever lived. He was the first – first mainstream superstar – androgynous singer who appealed equally to men and women. He changed the world.

I'm a big fan, but I can't say I ever fancied him, but I can kind of see it now if I look back at old interviews/footage. I always just loved his music.

My Mother's Voice

I listened to a Xmas message on Facebook from a guy listening to Xmas tapes his dead mother had made him before she died.

Why didn’t I film Lottie, I could have, easily? I could have made many tapes. I never thought about it. It never occurred to me, sadly.

I’d love to hear her voice round about now. A bit late to think about these things 3 years after she has died. Shake of the head. The things you regret are the things you don’t do.


I am always a little surprised that tears are salty.

Probation

Melissa called me into her office and showed me a response to HR's enquiry to the end of my probation. She'd written something about I'd be okay going forward, that my inaccuracies may have had something to do with my previous employment. (Whatever that meant?) That I kept to myself, and… I didn't really read much after that. But, (boss) Tony agreed with her. I'm guessing, I should be pleased? I think? The font was small, I couldn't really see it all from my bending down over her shoulder position. I didn't really care enough to follow too closely. I passed. I think? I pretended to read it all, but I couldn’t really see it very clearly. As soon as she said something, I just agreed with a nod and it was done.

(Christian says he wouldn't care if they let him go, but, I am guessing, deep down he would still be hurt)

I turned and left her office. I haven't confirmed to the long term, I thought, as I headed back to my desk.

Blue Suits And Brown Shoes Are Like A Virus

Blue suits and brown shoes are like a virus. Some idiot straight boy, in the not too distant past, pulled on a pair of brown shoes with his blue suit, maybe he was hung over, maybe he was colour blind, maybe he was clueless (clearly, he was clueless) maybe he was simply stupid, who knows, and he went out in public and the other clueless straight boys saw him and thought it was a good thing and, like the AIDS virus, it spread amongst the young men until many of them are now infected. And now there are many of them who think you can wear brown shoes with a blue suit, seemingly without any idea that it is still an abomination.

Anxiety

Big Ange came around with the hat for us to pick a name for the office Kriss Kringle. (Am I to be spared nothing, I thought) I got our boss. Yay! What do you get a man who earns north of 500K with a $20 limit?

Head shake. Think about it later.

That night, I was in Coles and they had Fiddle-Leaf figs for $20. As I walked past, I thought, I could get Tony one of those. His office is a jungle of plants. And I did. Job done.

Then I had to wrap the thing and get it under the office tree without anyone noticing. I opted for a Xmas bag. How else do you wrap a plant? So, the plant wasn’t completely covered up and if anyone saw me they’d know what I’d bought and for who. The point of Kriss Kringle… oh, what is the point of Kriss Kringle?

I was anxious about the whole thing. Carrying it to work. Getting in early enough not to be seen. Getting in early enough before Tony, as he is usually in quite early, even if I am usually in before him.

I was anxious all the way to work. (Anxiety is the most common mental health issue today, apparently. Why are we all so anxious?)

I never got anxious as a kid, it was a time of endless summer days and freedom and fun. But now, I recognise the anxiety I feel at certain times, like getting my poorly wrapped Kriss Kringle present under the Xmas tree at work without anyone seeing.

Life has taught me anxiety. Life has taught me that bad things can happen. That cunts exist. Not everyone plays fair. Sometimes you have to bite and scratch, not matter how foreign that feels to you, just to maintain what you have.

Bad things happen to good people.

But, I did get the present under the tree without anyone seeing me. Only the nuffy one was in, and she wasn’t paying any notice to what I was doing. So, my judgment about the Xmas bag was sound, why the hell was I worried about it?

Declan played Xmas elf, which he took very seriously, so much so that more than one person said he was the grumpiest (little) elf they’d ever seen. I thought he looked adorable in the hat, smile, or no smile. (I picture him in his undies and he seems even sweeter)

Banana and Chocolate Muffins

I was up early, 7am. (That is early for a Saturday) I made banana (bananas I stole from work, twice a week from the fruit bowl) and chocolate muffins for breakfast. For Sam. They were still warm when he got up.

I love quiet mornings. Headphones, a little Norah Jones.

I can fit three bananas in my work trouser pockets when I make coffee in the mornings, without anyone noticing. Well, I don’t think they notice. I’m there early, so there is no one there to notice. They re-fill the fruit bowl twice a week, so that is 6 bananas every week. Usually, I make banana cake on my days off, but I had a block of cooking chocolate I hadn’t used, so I made muffins.

Steeling bananas? Time to increase the fruit order, that’s what I say. The corporate world steels from the workers now, so what’s a few bananas? That is not the attitude, I hear some of you tutt through lips that your grandmother’s might have pursed. When was the last time you all had pay rises? If you don’t believe me. Proper pay rises? Pay rises that allowed you to keep up with the cost of living? Who doesn’t think they are going backwards, as CEOs buy new Rolls Royce’s and bigger beach houses?

But, you’ve got to love freshly cooked muffins. Freshly cooked muffins and a sweet, sweet boyfriend, what more could I want?

Blocked Drains

The plumber came at 1pm. He tried for two hours to unblock my storm water drain, but he couldn’t. Cameras, probes, markers, none of them were working. In the end, he got me to listen out the front as he did something out the back and I could hear it banging under the ground, like someone was trying to escape from underneath with a sledge hammer. (Who’s seen The Screaming Woman?) The ghouls from the depths were about to rise up I thought, the sewer monsters… storm water things most foul. The lost tribes of the Mole People. The Mahogany Ship. Alien space craft. Rats as big as horses… um… er… but I digress… perhaps, a small sledge hammer, tap, tap, tap. A bump. A clank… thump, thump, thump.

He is coming back next week to dig it up. It is probably something as simple as the root of the hibiscus tree looking for moisture in all the dry weather we’ve been having.

Of course, all my red geraniums have finally taken root and are about to flower and look glorious. Just a carpet of red under the hibiscus and camellia trees, like red satin, or the blood of a thousand wood nymphs splashed amongst the under growth. They will look lovely, finally, poised with flower buds every one of them… but, apparently not, not now. We are to be denied loveliness, it is such a shame.

Next week, the plumber is going to dig them all up.

Of course. It isn’t fair. Life isn’t fair. (Ha ha, that's life, hey?) (Yes, of course, I realise how ridiculous I sound, so what?) There must be another law we can name with this?

(Oh, and, is he a cute tradie? Nah. It has never been my experience. I have never cracked it for what I would call a porn worthy tradie. Nope. Never. Do they even exist?)
-->

Young at Heart

I woke at 4am after having my failing at uni dream, yet again. My only recurring dream. No flying, or sex dreams for me. I have never had a sex dream, ever. I got up and had a piss. I love the stillness of the early morning, the quiet, the solitude. And I am lucky enough to fall back to sleep immediately. Both Sam and I can do that. (I’ve never understood people who have trouble sleeping)

I woke again at 5am and tossed and turned and contemplated getting up. The 5am dark is sublime. Just that crack of light, a hint, a tatse.

I woke again at 7.20am and it was light by then and I got up. I tip-toed around because Sam was still asleep. I sat down on the bed gently and lent over to pick up my track pants, I must have squeezed my tummy and I did the biggest fart as my torso was parallel to the floor.

“BARRAM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

“Lovely,” said Sam’s voice feebly from the other side of the bed.

It just came out, like it was beyond my control. Involuntary, is what I would have called it. Quite unexpected. I just leant over to collect my clothes from the bedroom floor and...

Straight across the bed to Sam.

“Just lovely,” is what comes out of Sam’s mouth next. I hear the doona being pulled over his head. A lot of rustling of cotton and what not.

I laughed, of course, farts are funny. Don’t exactly know why, but they are. Maybe, there is a childish part to all of us, way beyond adulthood. I hope so, anyway. Well, not just farts, of course, but somewhere deep inside a small part of us has to remain young at heart, marvelling at wonder.

Sometimes I Just Go Shopping. Yes, Me.

I bought second hand CDs from the op-shop for $1 each and I spent the afternoon loading them into iTunes.

John Farnham, Marvin Gaye, Pauline Henry, Norah Jones, Billy Joel, Incognito, James Brown, Fugees, Vince Jones, Al Green.

What else are days off for? (Writing? What? Writing what? Oh fuck, I can’t be arsed writing. There are so many things I could be doing, if I weren’t writing.)

Wasting my life? No, I wouldn’t say that.

After that, I had a nap on the couch. Lovely.

That’s why I work 3 days a week, baby. Get out of jail. Have more time off. Enjoy yourself more. Buy more shit. And second hand shit doesn’t add to the capitalist dream. It is outside the free market economy, Liberal Party, revolving Prime Minister, GDP wet dream, so that has to be a good thing, right? (Do you like that?) I like shopping more if it is a political act.

I know I should be writing, what is your point?

Work Problems

There are problems at work, Melissa told me. Mistakes have been made. (boss) Tony’s apparently not pleased. Melissa said he has been giving her shit for two weeks and it hasn’t been pleasant.

Giving her shit, I thought?

Contain the contagion, was my next thought. But no, apparently not. She was dumping it on me.

So, there are problems?

But, is it me, or is it Melissa. It was hard to know who?

She has a lousy memory, she really forgets everything. I knew about one mistake, as Tony spoke to me about it when Melissa was away. And I only did it, what turns out to be, the wrong way after I confirmed it with Melissa that it was the way to do it. I tried hard not to say that to Tony… but I think I tactfully slipped it in. (I’m standing up for myself now a days, sorry if that doesn’t work for you.)

She forgot to send the English figures from Wednesday to the next Monday. She said I could do them in future. (Because she forgot to do them?)

The other mistake, I am sure was HR’s fault, some chick who is sick and having a lot of time off. Melissa had mentioned it in passing, and when I asked her directly, she implied it was my fault, by saying she’d asked me to sort out the figures for the sick woman’s extended leave. And I did, but, as far as I knew, that finished last September.

Mellissa didn’t say it very forcefully, like it was still an excuse, for something she forgot to do, yet again. I have emails with HR saying it finished in September. So, did Melissa get further instructions that I don’t know about?


I decided not to worry about it. Oh, fuck it, who cares. I get stuff right… and I can’t help but suspect Melissa is blaming me for stuff she’s done. But that always seems to be my work story. Is that always the work story? Actually, yes, I have always found that to be the work story. If someone can lie and cheat and blame the shit for which they are responsible, on you, they will. In my opinion, that is the human condition.
Oh, who cares, whatever. I should be doing more artistic pursuits, anyway. That novel isn’t going to write itself…