Eating The Chocolate Elephant

(This is an excerpt from my journal)

6.56am. I was up. It was still raining outside. It is still raining, I say out loud, before I have really clinked into my consciousness.

7am. In the lounge room and the rain start to fall hard. Really hard. Torrential, it seems. It is over as quickly as it starts, but I still wonder if that caused flooding anywhere.

I make coffee.

I start re-writing my fiction blog.

7.59am. Sam is up.

8.30am. I make Vegemite toast. Sam makes coffee.

Sam feeds the bulldogs.

I re-write UTR posts. I’m trying to make those scraps that are left into something more closely resembling a story. A short story, to be sure. A very short story, sure. But with some sort of resolution such as it is, but a resolution none the less. Okay, it may be a stretch of the definition, but at least it has some sort of fulfillment for the reader.

9.30am. The rain pours down again. Okay, enough with the fucking rain already.

I start creating AI images for FletcherBeaver. The aim is to create an AI image for every post that doesn’t have an image associated with it. Yeah, sure, that is a big ask, FletcherBeaver has been going for over 20 years. Still? What is it they say, There is only one way to eat an elephant: one bite at a time. (I like it, have I ever shown you my elephant collection?)

9.45am. The sun comes out.

Sam cleans. I do the vacuuming. It is Sunday, there is no getting out of it. What? No, I wouldn’t call Sam bossy, he says out loud while nodding his head in the affirmative.

I continue creating AI images for my blog. My fiction blog is complete, every post now has an image.

I have a shower.

11:39am. We take the Bulldogs for a walk to the Vic Market. I fancied Pho. It’s overcast, and warm, and windy, and we’re risking the rain falling on our heads.

The rain starts to fall as we walk up Gertrude Street, in fact, we only make it to Napier Street. We assume that it’s gonna be raining like this all day, so we turn around and head back to Smith Street.

There is no shelter once we really get along the way to the market, and if the rain falls again we would get soaked.

Midday. We’re at Wasabi saloon, it’s only just opened, eating on the tables outside.

A handsome guy comes walking down Smith Street. He pulls his pants up as he walks. His pants must be made of soft fabric, as when he hitches them up, not a whole lot is left to the imagination.

The rain has stopped, even if I am in a vulnerable position with my back to the street and the closest to the elements

That once handsome aboriginal boy lies on the footpath closer to Gertrude Street and smokes a cigarette. I’ve watched his decline over the last few years.

An equally challenged aboriginal woman, foetal alcohol syndrome, perhaps, with purple hair and a limp engages with him momentarily but then walks away.

Customers enter Wasabi Salon. So, we are only the first customers by moments. But then I look inside and there are two tables of punters, I never saw when the other table arrived.

I had Katsu Curry Chicken. Sam has Ramen.

The challenged Aboriginal boy walks passed and I notice he is still very handsome. It seems such a shame he finds life so difficult. I mean, I know looks don’t really come into it, sure.

You know, I remember not so long ago our lunches used to cost $40? Then went to $50 and now they’re $60.

The challenged aboriginal woman has taken up her position outside Coles with an equally challenged aboriginal man, both in the have-you-got-changed-position? They both look as though they have had a hard night.

12:33pm. Brun, Otto and I are waiting outside Woolies while Sam looks for specials.

The day has turned sunny, in fact the son is quite hot, er, we always like a hot son, but it is the sun that is quite hot. The sky is even turning blue. The grey sky is breaking up into clouds. The day suddenly looks sunny and bright.

A Hot boy in black shorts comes out of Woolies. He’s got a slightly pointy face and a Nero haircut, pale skin and hairy legs.

The Asian woman who wanders the footpath outside Woolies non stop starts to walk the day

A very handsome brown skin boy with a buzz cut haircut, a kind face, a gold jacket and expensive looking leather boots, leaves Woolies.

Sam reappears at 12:45pm.

We got a monkey face and one of these jam shortbread I never know the name of, at the Italian cake shop on our way up Smith Street

12:55pm. Brun, Otto and I are waiting outside Aldi out of the son, always a shame, er, sun and in the wind whilst Sam  shops. I can see the son but I can’t feel it any more. Oh, my dictation is too much. I’m in the shadows and I can’t feel the sun any longer.

Two women stop to ask what sort of dogs I have. They say how incredible they think they are.

12:58pm. Sam is back.

We see Lenny the Golden Retriever as we walked down Smith Street. There is a guy with an oodle at the same time. The dogs all say hello to one another like they always do.

1:11 pm. Brun Otto and I are sitting on the window sill of the Bonds shop whilst Sam goes to Coles.

A young woman comes along eating an ice cream who looks down at Brun lying in his super dog position and says, Oh my God it’s too much.” As she walks away, I look at her huge dimply arse with pale grey/silver tights that look like they are painted on so it looks like she’s just walking naked from the waist down with blue skin. She looks like a cadaver in a puffer jacket.

The day is getting greyer, as the sun is not shining as brightly as it did a short time ago. Of course, it just came out brightly when I said that. The breeze is getting just a bit stronger. And sitting in the shadows it’s feels just a bit cooler.

A Pretty Asian girl comes along gazing at the Bulldogs, she smiles that wide mouthed smile of someone who wants to say something but doesn’t quite know what? She’s followed by her big solid Asian boyfriend who’s in loose blue cotton shorts that kind of hug him, you know, down there.

1:19pm. Sam returns

1:26pm. We’re home.

Sam falls sleep on the couch, as I make tea and prepare our shortbreads. Sam drinks his tea cold anyway, I know, grimace, so it doesn’t really matter. He wakes up just long enough to say half/half on the shortbreads.