Yap, Yap, Yap

The sun shone down.

I rearranged my pots, that I had been meaning to rearrange for the longest time. I moved the huge empty terracotta pots, that David gave me when he escaped Melbourne (ran screaming), with which I really don’t know what to, next to the struggling lemon tree, to stop Bruno running along the raised garden, as he is want to do. I moved the pots of succulents, that were previously in the place the large pots occupied, into the sun, where they should have been in the first place. I don’t know how I got that around the wrong way in the first place, but I did, I stood and pondered for a while, and there now it was fixed.

I pulled out all the multicolour geraniums I had in pots, and replaced them all with red geranium cuttings. There, I’ve just about got only red geraniums now. One colour. I only ever wanted red, I’m not really sure how I ended up with an assortment of colours?

The young boy lawyers have moved in next door. Friday nights must be girlfriend’s night. They sit outside in the evening and get pissed and make a lot of noise. After which, I’m guessing, they retire and the girlfriends suck their cocks. Then the boys give the girls a thank you breakfast Saturday morning (seriously? You don't think that is how the world works?) hence them sitting outside again making a lot of noise all over again, this morning. Yay.

Beck lived there for 15 years and never made a noise. Before beck was that couple with a kid, who were quiet. And before that, it was the owners Kelly and Greg and Kell. So, it has always been quiet.

Why do the girls seem to make way more noise than the boys? Is it because they have been told they can? Or do they have to, otherwise they’ll be drowned out by the deeper timbre.

Where they sit out the back of their place is on the side of my house where I have all my plant stuff, hidden out of sight down the side of my house.

So, I am out there repotting my begonia, the big one that sits on the shelf above the stove that I have been meaning to repot for the longest time, and the baby lawyers are talking about all sorts of shit they think is cool, and maybe they even think it is revolutionary. (Oh, I can’t remember now, but it did make me laugh [out loud] a number of times as I had my fingers in my potting mix. Laughing, loud, confident, full of their entitlement, pregnant with their advantage, with very little world experience. What is it they say, naivety is lost on the young?) But, you know it’s not. It’s all stuff we have heard before, and was probably being said long before I even sat around with my young friends and talked the same stuff thinking we were going to make some difference to the world.

Good on them for getting an education, but for all their young, excited talk, they are just industry fodder, in the end. Some of them will do relatively well, some will be let go after one year at their first law firm, not making the grade after all that study. Some of them will struggle with even that.

Maybe one of them will do well, probably because luck was on their side. But, most likely, none of them will do anything special, none of them will make any mark on the world. They will be chewed up and spat out by life, some faring better than others. They will have so, so careers, at best, probably have broken marriages, most will probably struggle to balance work with shared custody of children, some of them, at least, probably never wanted.

One will die young. Maybe suddenly. Always having struggled with anxiety they kept well hidden.

They will all get fat and grey, and in a very short time after death, they will be remembered by hardly anyone. That’s the real truth.

And there, my begonia was repotted, and it was time to take it back inside and put it back on the kitchen shelf above the stove.

Put your fingers into dirt, that’s what’s real.

Oh, and of course, coffee.

(Ha ha, reading back over this, I was just cranky about their noise intruding on my Saturday morning. I’m used to having quiet neighbours who I hardly ever hear and now I have these straight boys who make a lot of noise. So, truthfully, I hope they all catch Covid 19, you know the strain with which you don’t fully recover and they drop out of uni and have to move back in with their mums. Or they die in a fiery car crash heading down to Bells driving too fast showing off to each other – isn’t that what straight boys do? Or their cocks drop off from some terrible new developing STD that only affects 21 year old straight boys, 21 year old straight girls being the carriers, and they have to immigrate to Thailand for years of reconstructive surgery {eventually becoming middle aged lady boys when all the surgeries fail} And the house is let out again to a nice quiet couple who I only ever hear from when they say hello at the front gate on the rare occasion we bump into each other in the street)

Now, I have to find out all their names and freeze them in ice block trays in the freezer. (I had an old aunt who used to do this for real)

Chuckle. (She was a poisonous old cow)