Monday. Next Monday I’m back at work. That’s a disappointing thought. I don’t want to go back to work, I want to resign and write instead. I wish I was brave enough. What am I going to think at the end of my life? I wish I had?
I wrote more of an old short story. The Black Car. It’s not finished yet, but I have an idea of the next part of it. That’s why I like writing in a blog format, I can go and rewrite them whenever I like. And I don't have to put myself out there with publishers only to get rejected. But mostly the first reason
I’m in the gym midday. Where did this morning go? I suddenly look up and it is 11:45 am. I reckon the feels like time was 9:45 am. What the fuck?
I hurry and get ready and head to the gym.
I see Jackson Wagg across the street he seems to be having some painting done.
I'm at the gym before midday.
I'm listening to Haddaway.
There was a very butch buzz-cut blond guy here already doing cable pull down exercises, he was worth looking at. I could hear him grunting from the exercise bike. Ha ha, I couldn't really, but I felt like I could just by looking at him.
There is a guy in glasses and chinos and a t-shirt, which is really unusual, I think. Guys usually take the gym gear fairly seriously. He leaves pretty soon after I arrive, so I am wondering if he was exercising at all.
Suddenly, there’s some old Blond Queen in micro shorts who is giving it show girl. I'm not sure where he came from.
Some chick with a serious look on her face turns up, she gets out steps and starts doing step up exercises. She is completely focused. She'd be wild to interrupt.
A guy with wild hair and a bright orange headband and a singlet and shorts that are kind of hanging off him turns up, he goes and does cable pull downs also.
I can't listen to Haddaway any longer, too old school disco.
I’m now listening to the Teskey Brothers
I keep peddling the exercise bike for all I’m worth, hoping my 30 minutes on the bike will be over quickly.
Some big chick in black comes and uses the exercise bike next to me, she has rolls, and giant shorts. I’ve never heard the exercise squeak so much.
The old blond queen leaves.
A big strapping preppy dark-blonde guy wearing shorts and T-shirt turns up, he’s a good look. He reminds me of Alex, my first schoolboy boyfriend. Ah Alex, that boy loved it, but I guess that is just 18 year old guys in general. I can't help but sneak looks at this guy. I hope he doesn't notice. I don't want to be known as the weird guy.
I leave the big chick behind and head into the gym. Just the tall handsome preppy guy, the wild haired guy with the big orange headband and the serious chick in black stepping like she is OCD counting. Oh and some blonde chick, where the hell did she come from? Am I going blind? I didn't see her come in.
Cable pulldown. Seems like everyone is doing cable pull downs today.
Lat Pulldown. It's nice to sit down.
Chest Press, I’m machine jumping.
Inclined chest press with dumbbells. I lie back and lift the weights above me.
The two girls give me side eye at the same time, it is unnerving.
Leg press. I’m careful with this one, as I suspect it might be hurting my back.
Kettle lunge walk. I step into it and do it seriously. I’ve been slacking on this one lately. Oh, it's kind of awkward.
High planking, I love this one as it is always the last exercise in my routine.
An hour later, I leave the gym.
I’m meet Jackson Wagg, he’s supervising the completion of the painting of his shops. He's grown a 1970's porn star moustache, I find it hard to look at him. We have a chat about gyms and pools and exercise. He says he goes swimming every day.
I meet the Sam at the front gate. He’s heading off to do online purchase returns and then go to the supermarket and get lunch.
I have a shower.
We ate chicken and salad for lunch. Tomato, olives, cucumber, carrot, feta cheese, lettuce, dressing, of course.
I watch some American news YouTube.
I start getting ready to take the bulldogs for a walk.
I take the Bulldogs for a walk. Sam says I should wait for the sun to come out, but the day is getting on and if I am going to take them for a walk, I need to go now. I don’t want to wait any longer. Let’s hope it isn’t famous last words.
Of course, neither of the bulldogs will leave the front gate, initially. “Come on.” Fresh out of snapping, they aren’t with me yet, I feel.
“Hello.” They look at me and start walking.
We meet my gay next door neighbour and his dogs, and Jackson Wagg in our street as we walk towards Gertrude Street. Jackson says, “Here’s trouble.”
My gay neighbour's female dog prostrates herself on the ground in front of the bulldogs, as she always does. I nearly say, like father like daughter, but I really don’t know him that well, and instead I say, they all know each other, clearly.
Clearly, he says.
It is clear in Gertrude Street for the main part. No rain yet, I think. There is a woman with a huge German Sheperd walking up ahead. We seem to be catching them, I’m wondering if I am going to risk walking past them. They take a side street and disappear.
A cute boy in black shorts approaches us at Napier Street. Those flimsy shorts, normally in charcoal grey, or black, that all the boys are wearing now a days look good on them.
A woolly-haired, geriatric dog barks at us just as we approach Young Street. Otto decides to take a shit right there and then, and the old dog barks even more. Sorry, sorry, I think. I hope the demented old dog’s owner doesn’t think I did it on purpose. Although the reason for that would be, I think?
A few drops of rain fall in Gertrude Street as we approach Brunswick Street.
We turn into Brunswick Street.
I’m listening to Boz Scaggs, the blues.
Not far down Brunswick Street, it rains for a moment. We’re outside Vinnies. We stand under the veranda and wonder if this is where we’ll be waiting, for how long? But no, it stops almost as quickly as it started, and we get walking again.
It rains again as we get to Greeves Street. Short and sharp, but there are verandas there, so whatever, we head under cover.
We turn into Johnston Street in the very light spitty rain. We cross back over at Napier Street, against the lights, jay-walking style, in a rare clear moment on Johnston Street. Was there a rainbow? I remember a rainbow.
We turn into Smith Street in the rain and walk the rest of the way undercover.
The sun comes out in Smith Street.
Brun resists walking all the way down Smith Street pretty much, I have to keep encouraging him, so to speak. No, I wouldn't exactly say I was inking on his lead.
At the Bonds shop where Brun always lies down, he lies down. An old guy stands in the doorway to the Bonds shop and tuts tuts and says repeatedly, “Poor Thing. Poor Thing,” as continually I get Brun back up on his paws. Bulldogs are stubborn, though, so he keeps lying down.
Why don't you fuck off forms on my lips, I can almost hear the sounds leaving my lips, but I tell myself just to say nothing, and I don't.
Then we’re home.
Mark calls, it looks like he is going to need more heart surgery. So yay to that!
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