Do you think this looks like two dogs who fight? Butter wouldn't melt in their mouths, that's what that photo says to me. The little scamps, I think. They only fight occasionally now. It's called sibling rivalry, apparently, like how two teenager brothers might fight.
They share food. They share drinks. They share toys. One can take the toy from the other one, but then they just give it back again. Repeat. They can play together endlessly.
I can't eat bananas around my dogs, they will come right up to me and sit together next to me looking expectant.
I can't eat apples around them either, they rush me for apples.
Just recently, I caught Charlie giving them mandarine.
"Noooooooooo," I said, but it was too late. And now they are all over me when I eat one.
No one had better give them orange.
On the new age verification for internet and social media users under 16 years of age. You have everybody else being inconvenienced because parents can’t control their children’s online activity.
Why?
I have watched all my girlfriends, all good mothers with lovely kids, I will add, when their children were babies and toddlers, giving them their phones and tablets to entertain them, so often with the words, “Oh, I know, I said I would never do that.”
Um? Er? Maybe we need to change parent's behaviour?
Now we have a problem with teenagers and the internet? We wonder why the internet is consuming their lives?
You have teenagers breaking into houses and stealing cars, repeatedly. Where are their parents in all of their crime? 15 year olds? I hardly ever left the house, at 15.
Shouldn't parents be responsible for looking after their own kids. Isn't that a parent's role? Should everyone else have to take responsibility for other people's kids?
Let’s start putting the responsibility back on the parents instead of putting it on everyone else. Why can't we do that? The govt could help parents with targeted programs.
You know, I wonder if some of the problem is that birth rates are historically low in all countries around the world and govts are paying incentives to people to have children they basically don't want? I don't know, you gotta wonder?
Barnaby Joyce, that conservative douche, introduces net zero repeal bill into parliament. And this genius' reasoning is, nobody else is doing net zero so why should we.
Yeah, good onya, Barny.
He introduced legislation into the House of Reps this morning.
This is from the climate change denying, fossil fuel loving conservative party of Australia, so it is hardly surprising.
It’s a private member’s bill and there’s no chance it would ever get up (given there isn’t consensus within the Coalition of conservative parties room to abandon the policy) but it’s certainly stirring up a bit of controversy.
The world is on the brink of a breakthrough in the climate fight and fossil fuels are running out of road, the UN chief said on Tuesday, as he urged countries to funnel support into low-carbon energy.
(I'm using an extract from my journal, as nothing else is coming to mind)
5.45am. I get up and have a wee. I think it is too early considering what time I went to bed, so I go back to bed.
The bulldogs are over on Sam’s side which is usual. But, I am not falling to sleep, so at 5.55am. I get up. On a Sunday?
As I turn the corner at the laundry, I can see through my glass roof that my next door’s first floor bathroom light is on, of course, I imagine Tommy is in there having a tug. That makes me chuckle on my way to look at the fire from last night.
There are still red coals in the fire, so I push all the coals together. I go outside to get some small twigs to revive the fire. I load the coals up with the small twigs and they are sending up smoke in no time.
I make coffee, of course I do. It is the one mandatory chore of the morning.
I watch Johnny Smith and his barn find of two rare Skodas. The late owner’s son is quite tall, dark and handsome with an English accent so I get quite lost in their episode.
Milo snuggles in the pink blanket with me. He has to get his love before the monsters get out of bed.
7.45am Charlie was up. He comes out in his black long johns. I tell you they are quite distracting. If you don’t want me to look at your arse, Charlie, don’t wear skintight long johns. (Oh, I kind of cringed as I read that back. I guess that is kind of terrible, isn't it? Nyr? I don't really think about Charlie that way, I just don't. But, occasionally, he can catch me offguard) Ha ha.
8.15am. Otto is up followed by Sam.
8.16am. Brun is up.
They both jump up on the couch with me. Milo makes an exit stage left.
We have a friend, Enzo, from the country staying for a couple of weeks. He seems to have taken to Melbourne’s night life with gusto. Read, he is taking anything and everything and is enticing men over here at all hours of the night to partake with him.
Last night he headed out sometime after midnight. He came home at 9am’ish looking worse for wear.
How much meth have you had, I wonder.
Oh, Enzo, been there, done that. You chase your arse, it is all consuming, you do nothing else, you waste your life, and in the end you are even lucky if you can remember any of it.
9.40am. I start watching Youtube car shows.
No AI image creation today, gotta get this under control. I mean, what am I gonna do with them all. I’m collecting all these images that I am very pleased with, but I’m not gonna use really. I could start a dedicated page, but I’ve already got three blogs, and it’s writing that I really want to do which is actually me creating something, and not me just giving instructions to an app to create something.
I fell asleep on the couch, dozing off having a snooze while I was watching Youtube, it was lovely, I didn’t try to stop myself, I just gave into it. This was while Sam was cleaning, so he vacuumed instead of me, and I slept through it happily.
Otto attacks Brun twice this morning. Once while the two of them do still fight. I don’t know, it doesn’t make sense, as most of the time they are cuddled up together somewhere. The vet says it is called sibling rivalry, just like kids in a family sometimes fight.
Sam was vacuuming, and Sam tore into Otto with the vacuum, slamming it down on the floor next to him and yelling at him. Otto is scared of the vacuum at the best of times. He wasn’t that happy after that.
11:55am. We walked the Bulldogs to Lygon Street. The rain has stopped, the day is a bit warmer, I think the son is even out… oh my dictation, chuckle…(I dictate into my phone when I am out walking) the sun is even out. (I'm not sure why blogger does this increased size with an edit, but I tend to leave it that way when it happens)
Come on, we’re going for a walk, my dictation picked up me saying to Brun.
We meet the sisters as we walk the short distance of footpath to our street corner. There are two of the sisters, one of which loves Brun and is always saying hello to him. If she is with one of the other sisters, she is always telling the other sister who he is. It is very cute.
12.15pm. We’re walking the long way around the Carlton Gardens via Victoria Parade to Lygon Street. A jogger in tight blue shorts jogs past who has a really lovely defined arse crack up the back of his pale blue shorts, like a jelly mould.
12:28pm. We’re in Lyon Street getting takeaway Malaysian food.
It threatens to rain on us on the walk home, but it only really starts raining once we have turned the corner into our street. Brun resists running in the rain, even for that short distance from the corner, so I unclip his lead and leave him to it. Sam isn’t so pleased with that and he waits in the rain for Brun to get to our front gate.
1pm. We’re home.
We ate a bowl of Malaysian food for lunch.
I lay on the floor in front of the open fire with a pillow and my laptop for most of the afternoon. It was lovely. There is something really relaxing about lying on the hard floor.
I watched YouTube.
I re-wrote blog posts for CJG.
I ate restaurant lasagne that Charlie bought home from work for dinner.
We watched MasterChef. Sara was sent home, which really was a fail.
We watched The Lost World of The Hanging Gardens. That was quite interesting
We watched 60Minutes. Andrew Tate and Ed Sheeran. Two extremes of men. The good and the bad. One that only seems to want good for humanity, and one that seems happy to suck the good out of humanity for his own benefit.
We turned the TV off after that.
10.30pm. We went to bed.
10.45pm. Lights out.
I really had very little to do today. What can I say? I'm used to getting all my work done in my usual 3 days.
I provided the information to The Big Poo for the auditors the Boris for got to do.
I answered all the questions The Midget had for the auditors that Boris forgot to answer.
For the rest of the day I created AI images.
And I re-wrote blog posts to make my blog better. Oh, you know, someone might one day discover me as a hidden writing talent.
(Oh look, a pig just flew by my window, you don't see that every day)
I watched several of my YouTube car shows, Tasty Classics and Coldwarmotors and Mortske Repair, just to mention a few of my favourites.
Drivers turning from one street into another seem to hate it the most when pedestrians cross the road in front of them looking at their phones. Some of them get really hysterical about it. Seriously, they crack the shits.
But it’s just a way of them justifying their ignorance, in a way that other people will use such ridiculous arguments, bullying, to justify their bigotry, or their racism, or their bad behaviour. You know, going the attack to knowingly, or unknowing, cover your defence. It’s kind of the same thing.
As a pedestrian, it doesn't matter what I am doing, if I am looking at my phone, or not, picking my nose, or scratching my arse, whatever, it doesn't change the law that cars have to give way to pedestrians.
It's also worth noting, that the little red man, and green man have nothing to do with drivers, they are only there to advise the pedestrian.
The other morning, when I was heading to an appointment, I was writing my journal as I walked, it's a good time to multi task, and this guying turning into a street I was crossing, lifted his hands into the air inside the car and started pointing, wildly, at something, I still don't know what?
"What? Give way to pedestrians, that is the law," I said. Fuck off, I thought.
It is amazing how many drivers genuinely don't know the road laws. It is frightening, actually.
What a miserable fucken day. I was cold all day. And now it is raining. The world outside is crying.
This should have been my last day for the week, but because Boris is swanning around Europe, I have to keep working.
This is when the realisation of not saying no (Is that a double negative?) hits me. I really don't want to work any more than my three days a week, fuck Boris and her trips home to her family. It pisses me off that I didn't say no.
This is when I start saying, Get someone else to fill in for you.
Already the Ponytail from HR wants something.
The big poo wants me to discuss what's her name who is off with terminal cancer. Apparently, she has found another thing to complain about. Jesus, what next! The only thing I can think is, Oh just die will you. But you aren't aloud to say that? She was never that nice, even when she didn't have cancer.
The IT guys want me to oversee the change from computer storage to cloud storage, apparently, I have a meeting about it Monday.
And the auditors are asking for a whole bunch of stuff that they asked Boris for, but apparently, she must have forgotten.
What happened to my quiet life?
Grrrr!
I'm going to my cardiologist first thing this morning. Good to remember such appointments, hey?
It should be the last time I see him, if previous visits are anything to go by. Should it? I'm not sure about that now that I write it. (Later - nah, it's not the last time)
It was a just blip on my health record, and it has all turned out okay, no need to worry about it in the future. Some stupid vein that can't even be seen by the human eye, give me a break.
Don't know if I will have to see him on a yearly basis, or not? Maybe?
I guess, I'll probably have to take something like aspirin going forward, we'll see.
It is windy outside, an unsettled winter morning, lets hope that is not an indication of things to come. Ha ha, it won't be.
Anyway, I must go get ready to leave for my appointment.
It is raining outside as I open the front door. Grrrr!
I'm listening to David Bowie, as I inhale and set off in the balmy day.
PS. It is not the last time I am seeing him, oh, no, no, no. I'm not sure from where I got that idea. I have to see him again in six months.
I'm up early. I'm always up early. The open fire still has red coals, which you have to love early on a winter's morning.
I make coffee. And read the news.
Milo cuddles up while he can, unhindered by the red monsters.
I'm hoping today is a do nothing day. Of course, we'll have to clean, that is non negotiable from he who must be obey. Ha ha. You know it just that I am a lazy bastard and if it was up to me, I'd clean every 6 months, of when I can't stand the sight of dust tumbleweeds blowing across the kitchen floor, so I need to be, shall we say encourage some what. But other than that?
I'm guessing, Boris has fucked off overseas to see her family by tomorrow, I'm not sure she actually told me the dates, even if there are several emails in my inbox from her that I haven't bothered to read, as yet.
I sit patting Milo wondering if I really am a soft touch, you know? I don't want to fill in for Boris, I don't want to do her work for her, but every year I say yes, like a dope. Am I just an idiot? Do I just like to whinge? I have to wonder?
I hope The Big Poo doesn't think I am working full time? Ah! Screwing my hands into balls. He probably does. Grrr!
I read about the South Australian Liberal Party being taken over by devout Evangelical Christians and wonder if the world really is going to hell with these retrograde individuals gaining some sort of power. Why would the general public listen to these delusional politicians who are really just essentially importing the worst of America into this country?
(I'm using an extract from my journal, as it is easier than thinking up anything new)
Midday. We walk the dogs to Abbotsford for the weekly shop. The sun is shining, it’s really quite a nice afternoon. The sky is blue with white clouds. The wind blows.
The sun is shining in as we navigate the back streets of Collingwood. That café that sold the best blackberry muffins in the world that closed but reopened recently on the corner is in full swing. It’s full of people.
A guy in tan pants, with a big, beefy butt, runs past us in front of the Porsche showroom. (I have to admit, I thought I’d like to see him in his undies, as he disappeared off in the distance)
Cnr Hoddle Street & Victoria Parade. The cars heading into the lefthand turn lane don’t put their indicators on, causing us to, perhaps miss the opportunity to cross that lane, and miss the lights to cross over Hoddle Street, which take an age to come around again as it is such a big intersection.
“None of these cunts are indicating,” I hear myself say to Sam. There is an older couple standing at the side of Victoria Parade with us. I wonder if my coarse langue offended them?
Then I wonder, Are there any swear words left anymore?
Standing on the island median, as all the cars rush by on Hoddle Street, I think about the news articles I read this morning. Tony Abbott’s objection to standing in front of the aboriginal flag and supporting the voice to parliament. What do you call that? What do you call that? Really? I ask you? Racism right out in full sight? What else would you call it?
I stop at The Salvos to look at the CDs. Sam continues on with the dogs. I have to be quick, as Sam only barely puts up with me going to The Salvos when we are on a dedicated shopping mission.
I get a Michael Bublé Xmas EP. For $1 I couldn’t resist. It’s not something I’d usually get, but Michael Bublé is, seemingly, such a great guy. And it still amuses me that he is ever so slightly miffed that his highest selling album is his Xmas album, which I bought for a $1 sometime after I heard him harrumph ever so slightly about its success.
I run all the way down Victoria Street so Sam doesn’t have to wait for me any longer than he has to
A short time later. I’m standing at the entrance to the hive with Brun and Otto while Sam shops.
A Woolies guy stops and pats the Bulldogs. He says he has French bulldogs at home.
10 minutes later. Sam reappears, drops off a full shopping bag, and then heads back into the centre with an empty bag.
I’ve got the sniffles. Is it the wind? I wonder.
There’s a cute 20 year old blonde lad standing just inside the centre opposite Aldi, in a puffer jacket and black shorts, I see, as I stare off into the distance, in which he just happens to be. I can’t help but notice, his hands seem to be, intermittently, playing with himself in the pockets of his shorts, quite frankly, most of the time. It isn’t and altogether bad look.
Maybe, he sees me looking at him? Maybe he has that expression of a guy who wants to be seen? Maybe he starts playing with himself even more? Maybe he starts gazing in my direction? Maybe it is all in my imagination. I’m just staring off into space passing the time waiting for Sam to be done shopping.
5 minutes later. Sam appears with dog meat. He grabs another empty reusable shopping bag and heads back into the centre.
5 minutes after that, the cute blonde guy in the black shorts and the black puffer jacket leaves with his father, when his father appears with the shopping, I presume, from Aldi. He gets that ‘I’m not looking at you looking at you’ expression as he walks past? Or maybe the whole thing is just in my head? It doesn’t really matter either way. It’s the thought that counts, after all.
Sam reappears at 1:15pm.
A minute later. We’re at mens fat, oh my dictation is a killer, Minh Phat supermarket.
I dictate all of this into my phone, like a secret agent, to pass the time while I am standing around waiting for Sam. I get a lot of my journal written that way, but I do have to go back over it and check it, the dictation function isn't always so accurate.
The sun shines. The breeze blows. People walk past, the prominent apparel is coats, or big woolly jumpers. Puffer jackets are making a good show of it too. The wind is kind of cold despite the sun shining down beautifully. An old man drops a cigarette but on the footpath. A girl stands with the shopping, checking her phone, as if she’s looking for a message from someone who’s possibly picking her up. There are lots of chunky boys in shorts and jackets. There’s a good number of boys in hoodies and jeans. A taxi toots and a couple indicate they’re the taxis passengers and they cross the road over to the taxi, which is blocking the road ware it has stopped in the middle of traffic. There are plenty of Teslas driving past. The sun is nice on my back, despite the wind. An old lady walks past with a walking stick, she looks like she’s struggling to make her way. A cute couple crossover Nicholson Street smiling at the Bulldogs as they enter men’s fats, oh my dictation is a scream, Minh Phat. But then I wonder how long ago it was that the cute blonde girl, of the couple, got her scruffy, but cute man’s fat? (It's the dictation, it's not me) The bulldogs lie at my feet.
Sam reappears at 1:24pm.
1:27pm. We’re at the Butcher in Victoria Street. The wind is now blowing strongly, if you could get out of it, son would be lovely.... er any son would be lovely... sun would be lovely. That’s out of the wind, not off your face, you understand.
1:30pm. Boys Walk past in black and grey. It seems to be the colour scheme of the day.
I can see Sam laughing with the butcher through the shop window.
1:32pm. Sam reappears.
The guy in the wheelchair, missing a leg with a gangrenous stump, which looks bandaged and cared for, as opposed to the exposed fly blown mess I have seen on past occasions, is halfway down Victoria Street. He looks like hs is finally being looked after by someone. Brun stops and sniffs at his leg, which leaves me wondering if Brun can smell the festering flesh there. I pull Brun along, but wheelchair guy catches on and asks me for change. I’ve been abused by him more than once, so I pull on Brun’s lead and hurry away.
1:36pm. We’re at the pork roll shop. It’s nice standing in the sun, despite the wind blowing strong.
Moments later. Oh good! I think. A socially challenged chick, missing most of her teeth arrives, in a dressing gown wailing and mock crying. She sits down next to us with a begging hat. After a moment of calm, she starts to cry again.
It doesn’t take her long, to ask me if I have change.
“No, I don’t,” I say.
She starts to wail and cry again. She cries out, to no one in particular, “What are you looking at, do you always look at me like I’m a fucking monkey?”
The owner of the pork roll shop appears at the door and tells her to move on. “Get out!” he says. She departs wailing to the world, the stumps of all her black teeth visible in her gums.
Sam appears quicker than normal with our pork rolls.
We walk up Victoria Street, with Brun being his difficult self. I have little patience for his nonsense with bags of shopping over both shoulders and beginning to feel the hunger of the late hour of the day.
Two of the socially challenged, walk up the other side of Victoria Street with the type of dog they always seem to go for, a brindle pitbull type. They walk opposite to us all the way to Hoddle Street. I can hear the nasally whine of one of the less than fortunate all the way. It always worries me that the less than, oh, shall we say, smart have these powerful dogs which, I may be wrong, but am pretty sure they don't train, when they are anywhere near my dogs.
Way past lunch time, we’re home. I’m starving.
We ate pork rolls and rice paper rolls.
I’m taking the dogs for a walk, and it is freezing. Speaking to Mark a day, or so, ago he said there was an Arctic blast on its way, well it’s here.
Speaking to Mark we laughed about our ailments. How old are we? Mark joked.
We meet a baby staffy. Its owner pulls it away from Otto when Otto bounces over to him, but his owner quite happy when I tell him that Otto is just playful.
"He's still a big puppy."
"So is he," the dogs owner says.
The dogs sniff where dogs usually sniff.
We meet a cute man outside the café who is waiting for coffee, he pats both the dogs. I wouldn’t of minded a pat too.
We meet a nice couple who laugh and encourage Brun to get walking on this cold, cold day.
"He was asleep in his bed 5 minutes ago," I say.
"Oh, poor baby," the girl of the couple says. "It'll be okay."
A bit further up there’s a socially challenged guy on the other side of the road who I presume is yelling out to me from across the road as I clean up the dog shit, but I ignore him. Usually, I’ll talk to anyone but when I’m cleaning up dog shit, I don’t need to speak to anyone.
Then we head to Brunswick Street. I’ve got a jacket on for the walk which is unheard of. Anyway.
A guy comes walking towards me in tiny shorts, and great muscular legs, and a t-shirt. I, actually, shiver at the sight of him.
The sun has come out as we walk down Brunswick Street, it is lovely and warm like heated honey.
Johnston Street is bathed in sunshine. Otto strides ahead, I think the sunshine has warmed him up.
The smell of coffee from one of the cafes is enough of a hit to spur me on to home.
And we're home in no time, walk done.
My day off, time to do nothing. Well, I re-write some blog posts. That takes most of the day.
It's not so nice outside anyway, so who wants to go out there. Not me.
The rain falls intermittently all day.
I developed a sore hip yesterday around midday. I wondered what the fuck? Is this a sign of what is to come? Maybe I'd been sitting around too much? But, I haven't been sitting around anymore than usual.
It's true, I haven't been to the gym in a couple of weeks, bad me. Maybe my body was reacting to that? Oh yeah, nice thought, or convenient thought, as it wasn't so nice. What do I think I am a professional athlete? My gym routine, or the cessation of such, wouldn't even trigger the slightest case muscle memory.
So, what? It was back to falling apart and being in a wheel chair before I know it. It was truly a sad prospect, I never thought it would go that way.
Anyway, this morning I woke up early. I was cogitating on a problem at work. Don't you hate that when work interferes with your private life? I know I do. So, I was up way too goddam fucking early this morning, and when I'd made myself a coffee and gingerly sat my lazy arse down on the couch, it all suddenly came back to me.
Monday afternoon, taking the dogs for a walk, Otto had charged ahead trying to say hello to some dog, or something and he tripped me up and I landed on that hip. Smack! Crash! Oh, that was a relief. There was a reason, I'd just forgotten all about it. Well, I mean it was embarrassing when everyone in the street turned to look at me having gone down like a bag of shit on the footpath. No wonder I put it right out of my mind.
Anyway, it was a relief to know I didn't have early onset Osteoporosis, or bone cancer, or malignant arthritis, or whatever. Big smile.
Boris tells me she is going home to the motherland yet again, and she wants me to do her work for her, again.
Oh, sure, I say.
I so don't want to do it, I really don't. I don't want work any more than I do now. I have no interest in doing that. No. Bugger that. But, I say yes because, well, I'm not really sure why I say yes. But I do.
I'm an idiot, maybe that is the best description.
I'm stupid, I should say no.
The big pooh bah does give me a bonus every year for filling in, I know that's why he gives me a bonus.
So, that's why I do it, to get the bonus?
Well, not exactly. I'd be happy not to do it and not to get the bonus, really.
I can't even really say its because I am being nice. Groan.
The sad truth is probably because it just easier than saying no. Bottom line is, it is just laziness on my part.
A Lawyer who is getting $8000 a fortnight, paid as company parental leave payments, is getting $2000 a fortnight parental leave Centrelink payments.
Really?
No wonder inequality is growing in this country.
Why are we paying highly paid workers govt parental leave?
Homelessness is on the rise, and we're giving away money to the well off?
Seriously?
I've been getting quite into AI image creator. I'm enjoying it very much. Like these guys. I call them Ben, Beau and Brad. They grew up in the Eastern Suburbs, they went to a private boys school, after which they went to uni together. They make quite an impact wherever they go.
I watch a car turn right out of Johnston Street into Smith Street. At the same time a pedestrian crosses Smith Street after the little man has turned red. The driver of the car recklessly nearly runs the pedestrian over.
It’s sad but true, that drivers would rather run a pedestrian over who is crossing the lights when the little man has turned red than give away to them.
What does that say about our society? Cruelty has just become the norm.
Especially, in Victoria, a car must give way to pedestrians irrespective of what colour the little man is.
You see, despite what many driver's think, the red and green man on a crossing has nothing to do with the driver, they are only there for the pedestrian as an indication of how long they have before the lights change.
Anyway, I turn up Queen's Sheer Heart Attack and walk away.
I read the news today, oh boy,
Netanyahu is playing Trump with his ridiculous Nobel peace prize nomination,
while Jane Birkin's original Hermes bag sells for 8.5 million Euro.
I make coffee and laugh at the world,
and seriously wonder if it is all over for the human race this century,
is that really such a bad thing?
What do all the Young American's think?
Oh yes, I know, there should always be hope. And us humans are a pretty clever lot, you know if you overlook the wars, and the hatred and the bigotry and the selfishness and the lies and, the fact, that we are poisoning our own nest with gusto, so all that being what it may, here’s hoping that we can fight and win against all the conservative forces that are fighting against saving the planet for personal profit and deluded mythical beliefs.
I engaged in the waste of time olympics by sitting on the floor at my oversized coffee table, resizing old photos, while sitting in front of the open fire, with one, or either, bulldog between my legs, while listening to Queen music, all day.
It was cold and wet and windy outside. I took the dogs for a walk early and managed to avoid any of the rain which fell all day.
It was a lovely way to spend the day.
I was up at 4am. Oh, yes, I know, stupidity. My nose was blocked and I woke from a dream, you know, Ga ga ga what was that all about?
I think Kaye Ballard was going through my stuff at an out door picture theatre. But, I was kind of pleased, pleased that someone was interested in me. I was in Queensland and I was going to a party, but I had to fly home to Melbourne to get my ticket to the party and everyone was making me promise I'd come back, but I wasn't so sure that I would.
I woke up from the turmoil.
Today, we're having a low of 8 degrees and a high of 12 degrees, so not so much better than yesterday.
Sun rise 7.35am. Sunset 5.15pm. Oh, the dark, that is what I hate about winter the most.
Well, hate is way overstating it, I don't hate it. It would be the thing I'd say, if I had to say, that disappoints me the most about winter.
I don't hate anything, I'm far too chilled/lazy for that kind of thing.
It is just the things that disappoint you that are real.
It's disappointing that the sun doesn't shine until 9pm. It's just disappointing, I don't hate it.
Bigotry is disappointing.
Conservative politics is disappointing.
Evangelical religion being the biggest threat to democracy is disappointing.
The Middle East conflict being imported to Australia is disappointing.
That guy missing in Butler was disappointing.
Hating things doesn't get you anywhere. It is a waste of energy.
Oh well, they were all the things I was thinking, before my dog came downstairs and wanted to go outside for a wee, and then proceeded to eat the plants in the garden in the cold in the dark, which stopped me from thinking about everything that is disappointing in the world, as I followed him around in the dark with a torch @ 6am.
It was freezing all day long.
The wind blew oh so strong.
The trees rocked backwards and forwards outside.
The cold air seeped in every crack in our defences.
My feet were freezing all day long.
Even when I got into bed, my toes were like ice against the sheets.
It is winter, I hear you say, and of course I cannot deny this fact.
And, it is true, I'd choose cold over very hot, if I had to choose.
But that does not change the fact that today was very fucking cold.
Of course, I hear those people who, actually, live in cold climates scoff.
It is true, the temperature here did not dip below 7 degrees, and I hear those people from, actual, cold climates ask what have I got to complain about?
Well, I guess that is true, but I would add, it is all relative, don't you think?
I, actually, shiver at the thought of living somewhere where it snows.
Erf! No.
When talking about the new rules to keep cats locked inside our houses, why do councils say it is for the health and safety of our cats when we all know councils don't give a shit about the welfare of our cats.
Is this what happens when marketing departments insert themselves into the legislative process?
We took a leisurely walk to Carlton and ate Indonesian.
The dogs had a fight in the middle of it all which was kind of embarrassing. They do fight very occasionally. All those people who say they are afraid of them - who are afraid of dogs in general - looked shocked and scared as though everything they ever thought about dogs was just proved right there in front of them.
It was a nice sunny day, just perfect for a walk through the gardens.
Then it was the couch and screens for the rest of the day.
It’s annoying, the dog’s fighting, sure. But they are not like humans, they don’t hold grudges. Once it’s over they are okay. It is disconcerting, sure, and I’m a bit nervous for a while afterwards, yes, I am. But they get over it. It doesn’t happen very often. It’s like having two boy humans who fight. It happens. It is no big deal, you just pull them apart and smack their noses and tell them they are bad boys, not all that unlike how you deal with exboyfriends.
We walked into town and had haircuts. The hair salon wasn't busy and we got straight in, which is unusual. Ugly/cute guy cut my hair, who I really like cutting my hair. He has a face that looks like it is in the middle of an Anaphylactic shock, but there is still something vital and appealing about him. There is something sexy about his mono syllabic dialogue.
We ate Pho in Swanston Street for lunch, sitting in the glorious winter sun, before walking home.
We binged the rest of Squid Game later in the afternoon. I thought season 3 was great.
I was up early, perhaps not as early as I normally am, but still early enough to remember the blood test I have to have.
Yesterday, I thought I had an appointment with my specialist when I was having a test and then seeing him, and in the morning I suddenly remembered I was supposed to have a blood test too.
Oh Jasus! Why do I remember these things the morning of my appointment and not a week before? How come? It's just useless then.
So, I rummaged through my pile of papers, you know that pile where all the papers are, so I know where everything is, and I find the pathology slip. Damn it! There it is, in black and white, so to speak. Have blood test at the beginning of July.
Now I am wondering how pissed off my specialist is going to be? You know how long in advance you have to book? I can’t really cancel the appointment two hours before? No, I can't. Is there even any point in going, though? I wondered.
Anyway? What can you do?
So off I go, preparing to be reprimanded for my forgetfulness. I head off listening to the new Rolling Stones song, that I only just found out had been released.
So, I get to the medical reception and I say I am there to see the specialist's name. The reception's expression changes like a mum who doesn't want to disappoint her kid. She says, the specialist isn't working today.
I repeat the time and date from the conformation text. She just shakes her head. She says, "Maybe you are having a test?"
"Yes," I say. I tell her the test and she confirms the test I am having.
"Your appointment with the specialist is in two weeks," she says.
"Oh? So it is just the test today."
"Yes," she says.
"Oh, good, that's good," I say. And I smile.
And she smiles back at me.
I feel relief. "I thought I was going to get into trouble for not having the blood test." Reverting back to son taking to his mother.
"Well," she says. She laughs. "You have time to get the blood test and you won't get into trouble."
I smile again.
And she smiles.
This morning, I am up at 7am. It’s cold. The fire is dead, no red coals.
Milo is meow, meow, meowing, so I feed him.
Then I remember the blood test I have to have at St Vincents, good thing, I think. Get it done, now, go, as it is a starvation test.
So, I get my shit together.
7.12am. I go to St Vincents for the blood test, knowing they don't start until 7.30am, but I want to be the first in line.
It’s cold walking up Gertrude Street. And still dark.
7.21am. I’m at pathology. I’m there before the lifts have even started working. I didn't know that was even a thing. A guy who looks like Santa Claus in a mask tells me to wait until the red light on the button pad turns green, only then will the lift work.
It turns green a few minutes later.
7.30am. The long time pathologist comes out replete with washer woman head scarf. She sounds like she once smoked a lot of cigarettes. And she seems a bit uptight for this time of the morning. I guess she is just getting the day started?
She takes the couple who arrived practically last through first.
7.43am. So much for being here first, old smoky seems to be taking everyone else in ahead of me.
It’s hot in here, the usual overheated winter rooms.
And you know you can’t even complain to a service industry worker now a days as they will call it abuse and refuse to serve you, as quick as. (I never hear any of the anti woke brigade complain about that)
7.50am. I’m in. The Indian chick takes my blood.
I’m going to get a raspberry and white chocolate muffin on my way home. Fuck it, I think.
8am. I’m walking home eating my muffin. There’s a few good looking medical workers, young doctors I like to think, arriving in their small sports shorts and singlets, not bad to look at.
I’m listening to Blue and Lonesome by The Rolling Stones.
It is still cold.
There, done, all sorted, I think, ready for [specialist's name] in a few weeks.
These muffins have really shrunk, I think, they used to be much bigger once.
When I went into the office Tuesday morning they’d put on breakfast for the staff, something they started doing to encourage the staff to come back to the office. They have a barista making everyone coffee, so I went to get coffee before I headed over to IT to get my new laptop.
The first person I ran into was HR Jimmy. I call him Little Buddy He’s been with the company for roughly 12 months. When he first started, I remember thinking that if I was in the office more, I’d flirt with him, and if it wasn’t a work situation I might just hit him. (editor’s note – I wouldn’t do that, it’s just the thought that amuses me)
However, the last 12 months has clearly been hard on Little Buddy, as he looked terrible. Like really terrible. I started thinking, well, in my mind anyway, deteriorating Jimmy.
What happened to you! That was the first thing that nearly came out of my mouth, but, of course, it didn't.
Clearly, the Pony Tail, Fat Tony and Fish Guts has been treating Little Buddy poorly, which is what they do. They eat the young.
We had a bit of a chat, none of which I really took in as I couldn't stop thinking, you look so bad, bud. You have to get out, clearly. Make a break for it! You have to escape, run away, mate, before it is too late.
Gone were the chirpy fresh good looks and the cool haircut and the cute, cheeky smile. He looked pale, and drawn and his hair was long and hanging down unkept.
I guess that is what happens when you have to hang out with those bitches from HR.
Our permanent house guest left this morning, fled overseas to grannies and grandpas continuing his seemingly constant search for peace for his mental health issues.
He was funny, he had all day yesterday to say good bye, but he waited until Sam and I were in bed with the light off. Then he knocked on the door.
He said he was no good at goodbyes, as he struggled to hold back the tears. Thanked us for our kindness and understanding.
Sam had gotten out of bed to open the bedroom door, so he gave him a hug.
I lay in bed wondering if I was going to get up in my undies and give him a hug, but I didn't.
Anyway, after a lot of clunking and thumping, I got out of bed to the sound of the front door closing this morning to see him trying to stuff his huge bags into what seemed like the smallest Uber possible.
See ya kid.
The 1st of July, I always think of it as a turning point in the light and the cold of winter. Well, possibly not the cold, but it does mean we are heading out of the dark.
I had to head into the office to get my new laptop.
I was up early, 6am, and I was going to go in early, but as soon as I thought of it the rain started to fall, so I worked at home for a few hours and then went into the office.
Macy Gray's Relating To A Psychopath makes me laugh as I walk into town. I used to think Macy Gray sounded like Donald Duck, but now I love her.
I get on a tram in the free zone for the last bit of my trip to work and look at all the miserable faces heading into town. I wondered why we gave up working from home so easily? Surely, it was worth fighting for? Surely, it is the way of a modern city? Working from home, and solar panels on everyone's roof top, and an electric car – despite how boring they are – in every garage, surely are the way of modern cities. And an extensive public transport network, of course.
The Labor party is fighting for better public transport in Victoria, and the Victorian Liberal Party is doing everything it can to use it as a poisonous battering ram. And, I think, The Liberal Party troglodytes are winning over some people. It is a shame so many people are so gullible. How can anyone be against expanded public transport?
I get into the city and I get to my office.
The chick who sits outside my office says she is leaving soon. She says she has been working for the company on a 12 month contract and that this is only the second time she has seen me. I nearly responded with, and your point is? But, I just smiled inside instead. She's off travelling, WA and then across the top, Broome, Darwin, I couldn't help but feel a little envious.
A couple of people asked me if it was just a visit, or was this going to be a permanent thing? Seriously? I don't answer such questions. Good thing I am skilled at such social avoidance. I figure the least I say, the least ammunition they have to use me as an example, even if I quietly doubt that really isn't going to work in the long run. If they want to talk, they will and nothing I say, or don't say, will change that.
I had quite a lot of interaction with the Big PooBah, and he didn't mention my office attendance. Nyr!
I left at 3pm.
I got the hell out as quickly as I could. Little boxes made from ticky tacky are not a natural place for us to hang out. No, they are not. All that artificial air, and artificial, um, piling up of people and things and places and stuff and everything that goes along with that. Oh, big breath! I’m out of here.
