Free Us All From Hate

 

All I see is Middle Eastern hatred being turned into an export product shipped around the world.

Feet up, Looking At Art

Young Greek guy coming home from the bars Sunday morning and eating yogurt

I've sat on my arse for two days and saved all the art images. On the couch invariably with a bulldog curled up next to me on both sides. It's been glorious. I've discovered a few new artists, and I have found new work from some old favourites. So relaxing, some may say, so lazy, but no, it's been fun.

The sun has shone. The days have been warm. Just how we like them.

Beautiful images flooding my eyes and my mind. All that creativity to inspire me. It's been a lovely way to spend a few days. All that beauty.

Some many interesting ideas. So much cleverness. Lost in it all.

Thursday Art Day

I saved art images all day. Modern art, I only like modern art. I only find modern art interesting.

Some days I discover a page online that has all sorts of interesting art, so I save all the images I like. I can get quite lost in it all, especially modern art.

I don't use it for anything, I just keep it for my own enjoyment. I try not to use other people's work for the most part.

Mark and Luke dropped in on their way to Gippsland to for of all stay with Mark's sister, then to go onto to one of Luke's 10 brother's weddings. I forget their names. Paul, Tommy, Daniel, Sean, Adam, Christopher, Marcus, Dean, Cameron and Luke. The brother, I think it is Sean, and his girlfriend from what I understand have been together for years but have no decided to get married.

You'd think with 10 boys there might be more than one gay brother, (what is it, 1 in 3?) well, apparently, it might be Paul who also likes to play hide the sausage with other fellas.

Mark and Luke arrived in the reddest hire car I think I have ever seen.

I made them a banana cake for their visit.

It was a nice day, which is always good for whiney NSW people who complain about the cold.

After they left I got back to saving more art.

I collect and old favourite George Platt Lynes, then a new guys Robsert Bliss, Pavel Tchelitchew, Avel De Knight plus, Andy Warhol, and Cecil Beaton and others. 

20th century modern is my aesthetic. I love its grittiness.

Admittedly, not too many images of chicks. There are a few hard-arsed lesbian images, that I can find interesting. But not many. 

They are just missing all the bits that make a nude fascinating.

Hump Day Wednesday

Wednesday, end of my week. I put in what I had to do. I did my hours, staring early, of course. Not sure what else I can say? It was a Wednesday. A standard issue Wednesday. The best thing about Wednesdays is when they are over.

I had a whole lot of shit I had to do, and I got it done.

Yay, me.

Tuesday At Home

Today, I'm back working from home, yay.

I start early and by lunch I have everything done.

I go out a prune the creeper on the side wall, something I've been meaning to do for however long. The green waste collection comes in the morning. It's nice. I have music in my ears. I get right up the ladder, my fear of heights withstanding.

Then I come back in and catch up my blog.

Gotta love working from home.

Otto hung out with me all day. Brun hung out with Sam upstairs all day.

3pm. I've finished for the day.

I go lie on the couch. I push Milo off. Poor cat, at the bottom of the pecking order. Otto comes and lies on the couch with me as though he is rubbing it into to Milo.

I slept for 2 hours. Lovely.

Sam is really busy at work lately, so he doesn't disturb me until 5pm.

Monday Blues

(I wasn't going to use my journal, but fuck it, I haven't written anything else)

5am. I was up. I have to go into the office. Fuck the world! I’m not really sure what the company gets out of me trapsing into the office?

I get dressed in the dark, into my dark blue office outfit. I kind of like the all dark blue look rather than all black. The all dark blue has a bit more life in it.

It’s cold. Summer is over.

I look at YouTube while I eat my Vegemite toast. One of the YouTubers says the new Stones track is up on a message board, link below. So, I play it. Finally. Yeah, nice. I like it.

I faff about, getting all my shit together.

6:09am. I leave the house. It is still dark.

I’m listening to my Rolling Stones Mixed Tape as I walk up the street in the dark.

An 86 tram comes along just as I get to the first tram stop, so I hop on

There’s a tradie on the tram with a yellow hiviz Hoodie pulled up over his head, he’s teamed that with small, tight, blue shorts. He has great legs. Is that how we like the handsome ones? Head covered, no pants? Maybe? 

“Hey?”

What?

“That is the waistband of my shorts.”

I thought you had your hoodie over your head.

“I can still feel your hand on the buttons to my shorts.”

Oh, come on, stop struggling, let me look at you.

“Hey… stop…” 

This isn’t gonna hurt, well, not permanently. Come on boy, show us yours… Let’s see how big you can make it. 

“Oh! Why are there handcuffs on my wrists?”

Well.

“You’re holding it real tight. Who just blindfold me?”

That’s the way, you’re getting the idea.

“You are really squeezing it.”

Keep swelling it up, come on keep swelling up, let’s see you make it nice and hard.

“Oh god, I never thought another man’s hand…”

See, I thought you could impress us, a strapping guy like you. 

“Oh fuck, that feels good.”

Come on boy, we all wanna have a go.

“Where did the other guys come from?”

Honey for the bees.

“I don’t know? I don’t know? Oh, oh, oh, ohhhhhhhhh.”

Your knees are shaking. You’re breathing heavily, suddenly.

“I’ve only ever been with one girl.”

Well, that’s the last time you can say that.

I shake my head and come back to the real world. The shops flash by in the dark.

I get off on the corner in the dark.

There is no tram cnr Brunswick Street so I get walking.

It’s dark.

6:18am. I’m at St Vincent’s Plaza. There are a couple of people waiting on the platform, all looking at their phones in the dark. The light from their screens casts an eery reflection 

6:21am. A pretty 109 comes along.

There is a Cute Asian boy all in black, good shorts, nice legs, I go sit opposite him. He gets off at 101 Collins. 

A skinny dark haired boy in a full matching cream and pale green track suit gets on and takes the Asian boy’s seat opposite. Not much of a bulge. He doesn’t look up from his phone. He looks like the type who would have mental health issues.

I look out the window.

6:28am. We’re at Elizabeth Street all of a sudden.

6:29am. Tradie standing at the open door to his parked Ute, halfway to William Street. He’s in small, dark blue shorts, and an orange top. He slides his hand down the back of his shorts to scratch his arse, as the tram passes by, probably showing the world more of his arse than he really intended. Nice arse though. Thata boy.

Two chicks and a gay guy bang the side of the tram and whoop at the sight of his bare cheeks.

6:30am. We’re at William Street.

An athletic type gets off ahead of us, track suit material pale grey shorts, fleecy hoodie, he wafts the smell of Dencorub behind him.

6:33am. I’m in the lift.

I make coffee. I grab the old bananas from last week for a banana cake.

7:11am. Big Ange comes in.

I start listening to Hackney Diamonds.

I go have a big shit, before getting a second coffee.

I see IT muscles Attaboy in the kitchen, still with his stupid hipster beard. I want to tell him he has missed that look by nearly 10 years. I want to tell him to shave it off. I nearly have a couple of times, but of course you can’t

7:46am. The old, fat finance chick is in next. She seems nice, she always says good morning. She’s 10 years younger than me, but looks 10 years older. She also lives in the outer suburbs.

7:50am. The Big Poo is in, surprisingly down beat for him, he’s usually go go go even in the morning.

8:02am. My cute, old school mate, David Baum, service boy lookalike, who I have an arse licking date with in my dreams someday, arrives. Panties around his knees, down on all fours.

“Morning,” I say. That image is in my head.

He smiles. “Good morning.”

8:15am. Jason Jones is in.

8:53am. Tall, blokey, Miss Cliché, who sits outside my office, is in. I can’t decide if she is a lesbian, a bogan, or a bogan lesbian?

8:55am. The Midget and Nam arrive together? That’s an odd pairing. What do you reckon? Nam is fucking The Midget? Nyr. Doesn’t bare thinking about.

9:15am. Boris is in.

9:20am. Some plain blonde chick comes and yaps on to the blokey bogan lesbian chick.

Blokey bogan lesbian chick chats to David, as soon as she is done yapping on to the plain blonde chick.

10am. the get-Christian-into-the-office meeting starts. Me, Boris, and The Midget.

10:15am. Meeting over. Now the bogan lesbian is yapping on to some delivery guy. Is there anyone this bitch won’t yabber on to?

Greek Easter, Greek Easter, Greek Easter. Jesus does she ever shut up? The next time I head to the kitchen for a coffee I slide my office door shut when I return. Then I get the optics but none of the whitter. Better.

I could throw my weight around and get her moved. Oh, laugh. I don’t have any weight to throw around.

I listen the Black & Blue, the new tracks. Headphones are great. I turn it up. My office door closed, no one disturbs me.

Midday I have my lunch bought from home. Sam packed it for me.

2pm. It’s the finance meeting. Oh god – used ironically – the longer they all yap on I lose the will to live just a little. Jesus some of them love the sound of their own voices.

3pm. I leave the office.

I run across William Street where there is a huge black Ute waiting for the pedestrians. He makes a point of accelerating hard as I approach, clearly deluded about the green and red pedestrian man. Ignorant arsewipe. It’s frightening how many drivers think the pedestrian crossing men have anything to do with them.

3:04pm. I’m running for a tram which I miss, and as I miss it, I realise it was a 48. I can’t catch a 48. Grrr!

I catch the 11 all the way to Brunswick Street & Gertrude Street cnr. Free public transport for April. This would be my stop if they made public transport free. I wonder if making public transport free would be the cheapest climate change initiative a govt could do?

3.30pm. I’m home.

Otto is over excited to see me. Brun tries to be excited around bouncing Otto.

4:14pm. We take the Bulldogs for a walk. It looks like it’s about to rain, black clouds overhead.

We do a big circle of the suburb ending back on Smith Street.

5:01pm. Brun, Otto and I are waiting outside while Sam shops in Coles for something for dinner.

5:05 pm. A Malamute comes past and of course boof head carries on. The Malamute seems to want to make an issue of it too, but his owner pulls him away.

Sam reappears at 5:08pm.

5:17pm. We home

We ate chicken and fishcakes and greens and rice for dinner.

We watched 4Corners on how bad social media is for society. Oh, no kidding. It was why I stopped going on Facebook, more often that not it was just abuse it was offering, and I decided that I just didn’t need it.

Oh, you know, sometimes it is fun to troll the stupid people, but it wears thin pretty quickly.

We watched Media Watch. They do a really long expose on Aussie Gold Hunters not really sure why. It seemed out of character for Media Watch

10.15pm. Sam and Brun went to bed.

I stayed up trying to write a blog post, but nothing is coming.

11.45pm. Otto and I went to bed.

Afternoon Nap

Any day, where you get to sleep for a couple of hours on the couch in the afternoon, is a good day. Good day.

Ha ha, what am I like?

It's just nice lying here.

We went out for lunch, so my stomach was full. Nice.

I'm just a lazy cow at heart. True.

Blur Saturday

It's got cold these last few days, summer has gone. Back to jeans, which always feels strange after a summer of shorts. It rained for most of the day, that slow, set in drizzle type of rain. We got out in a window period when the rain stopped. We bought Pad Thai.

It was a blur kind of day. You know, not every day can be a great day.

We did go to the Italian cake shop and get jam shortbreads though, so in that sense, it was a very good day.

I stayed up to hear the new Rolling Stones track released today, but that was unsuccessful.

But, you know, it was that kind of day, I guess.

Do you ever wonder what’s going to happen in the end? You know, what’s going to happen to you at the end of your life? What kind of disease, problem, you are going to get? What words the doctor is going to use to tell you, you know, the jig, that is your life, is up? What words are you going to hear?

Oh, I don’t know, maybe it is just that kind of day?

Getting frustrated with not finding The Rolling Stones new song, my mind starts to wander as I sit up late, getting nowhere.

It’s escape. You know, the pressure valve letting off steam. 

I’m now picturing the top of my head as a funnel…

Maybe, I should just go to bed?

You Know, We Could Have A Clean Energy City

I think we have found a way to fight climate change from the bloated orange compulsive liar shooting himself in the foot recently. As with making cigarettes more expensive led to a decrease in smoking, apparently, the increased cost of fuel has seen a drop in the traffic on Melbourne & Sydney roads. Perhaps, that is good for the planet.

What do you think?

Brutal? Maybe so.

If what the scientists say is coming, comes, it is going to be far more brutal. And quite possibly sooner than later.

A few years ago, the scientists said if we simply planted trees on all the available public land on the planet, the scientists even told us where the land was on which we could do that, we could delay the effects of climate change by a decade, or so, but we didn't do that.

Conservative forces are arguing against a change to renewable energy, electric cars and the like. The conservative forces are even arguing against Melbourne building the suburban rail line when we need clean energy, non-petrol cars and public transport. I find this just plain odd. (I'm guessing the fossil fuel industry financing of conservatives is strong)

So, maybe we should give making fossil fuels more expensive a go to encourage people not to use them, as recent events seem to indicate that works.

If more people are encouraged to use public transport, we will get better public transport, it follows logically, supply & demand, and we will all win if that happens.

Windy Sunny Thursday

8.15am. I just took Otto out for his morning wee, to discover it is a glorious morning, really lovely. Brun and Otto are always the last out of bed. Maybe, we are still in for some good weather before winter descends.

Pretty soon after that the wind really started to blow, even if the sun was still shining. I wondered if that was an allegory of the Australian economy, at present? That kind of made me laugh, economic jokes at this time of the morning. Sheesh.

I thought about what a knob Conservative leader Angus Tayolor is. Even his good looks are fading as fast as his credibility. I thought about Ultra (irrelevant) Conservative leader Matt Canavan’s 1950’s throw back, hardly even concealed these days fossil fuel loving, economic plan, which would, essentially, have us all paying more for everything. 

I wondered why people were voting for conservative parties – the orange bag of shit in the US, the lizard in the UK, a handful of South American countries, the whining, got-no-credible-answers, ranga from up north – I can’t work it out. Parties that really have no answers, just grievances. It is just baffling. I shook my head

The anti-intellectual messaging by the conservative parties has clearly been effective. 

It is a good thing the Labor Party won so many seats in the least election against our very own happy-clapper, evangelical PM, that it is probably almost impossible for them to lose the next election.

I exhaled and thought about that last piece of information and felt comforted by it. 

I puffed my pillow, and pull the blanket up over me, on the couch I am sharing with Otto and I listen to the Beatles, Magical Mystery Tour. I was never a fan, but I am coming around slowly.

I watch YouTube.

The sun is continuing to shine through the wind.

I might head down the shops, I haven’t done that for weeks.

Nyr? Whatever.

 

An HR Meeting To Finish Off The Week

A late meeting with HR, called by The Midget, over a stuff up over a lawyer working OS, after which my weekend started.

Boris and I wondered what it had to do with us – we were familiar with the issue at hand, as we had been asked to do a few calculations by the poor overworked HR administrator, Cinnamon Wang – but we attended none the less.

The Giant PonyTail attended the meeting – she must be attempting a whitewash of her corporate image – and she consistently tried to lay blame on everyone but HR, but I wasn't having it, no I wasn't. I have to give it to her, she was relentless in a subtle way. A one-eyed, Teflon coated, not-my-fault, never-my-fault, Dalek moving through the corporate world seeking to Destroy! Destroy! Destroy! anyone who goes against that mantra. I kept it up to her, though, subtly bringing it back to the problem was HRs.

Boris opened her gob and gave them an out, oh something about our recent change to cloud-based applications had caused numerous issues, and The Giant PonyTail latched onto that quick as a flash, so much so it looked kind of desperate. Oh Boris, I thought. To paraphrase Amanda Priestly, that was the biggest disappointment of the meeting. Suddenly, I thought, is Boris a fixer, does she have a touch of The Hero Complex about her? It would explain a lot.

Then The Giant PonyTail tried to wrap the meeting up in her favour, with her pinched face, and her hair pulled back so severely I wouldn't have been surprised at the appearance of a beard, but I was ready when she finished, and I clearly re-stated the issue as one of HR's making. She exhaled loudly, but said nothing more.

Then my weekend started and I forgot all about it. I took the dogs for a walk and sucked in fresh air and cleared my mind.

My week was over and my weekend was about to begin, and as Taylor Swift would say, I shook it off.

Back To Work

The day off disappeared quickly, like days off do, well lubricated by the rain, no doubt.

There was a window of sunshine in the afternoon when we took the woofs for their walk.

The rain returned almost as soon as we were back home. An Easter miracle, perhaps.

And that was that, the yearly chocolate festival was over again for another year, without me eating one egg.

And here I am back at my work desk again licking the salt from the salt mine walls like every good worker is expected to do.

Daylight Savings has finished for the year so any moment we are to be plunged into winter darkness, something to look forward to hey, to cheer us up back at the mine.

And that fat orange idiot, lets see if he plunges us into a perpetual dark winter. Ah, I guess we have to look on the bright side, what else do we have, the fat orange one will go to jail, or die. I want him to go to jail, to be humiliated, you know, if I cared that much, and the world order will be returned to its normal haves & have nots, with climate change threatening everyone's existence.

Those were my cheery thoughts this morning, as my work computer whirred into life, sipping on my first coffee for the day, as it just became light outside.

Up Early, Just Me And The Cat

I got up early. Public holiday, day at home. It was raining. It was just Milo and me for the first few hours of the day. Milo takes his opportunity to cuddle up while the red monsters are still in bed. They are the last to get out of bed.

When Sam got up, I said, "Good morning honey."

He grunted.

I thought, that really is a grunt. So, I asked, "How are you?"

He grunted again.

Another grunt, I thought.

So, I asked, "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes."

Better, but still not great. "It is a lovely morning."

He looked at me, titled his head, his forehead squeezed together, and he looked at me like what is going on. “It’s raining.”

"So, you slept really well?"

"Yes." Still giving me the you-are-exhausting-me kind of look.

"Nice dreams?"

"What?”

“Any dreams?”

He breathed in heavily. "Not really."

I laughed.

He gave me his gorgeous, nervous, smile. 

"How many years is it?"

"What?" Back to the you-are-exhausting-me look.

"That we've been together and I have never realised how much of an awful morning person you are?"

Quizzical look. "How many years?"

"Sixteen."

Another nervous smile. "I was just repeating what you said."

"Did you know that?"

"Yes."

He knew that, and now he was smiling.

He sat down on the couch and picked up his iPad.

"Like badly cooked spaghetti," I said.

"What?" Back to the you-are-exhausting-me look.

"We stick together." Oh, I don't know, I was just being silly by then.

He looked at me over the top of his iPad.

“A day off,” I said.

“Huh.”

“Public holiday.”

Then he was back to grunting.

It rained all morning. It rained until lunch. It was a stay inside do nothing kind of rainy day.

Jesus Gave Up His Weekend For Your Sins

 

If I could... meme

If I could be in two places at once: @ home with Sam & invisible in next door in Tommy’s bed room when he gets undressed and goes to bed.

If I could give away a fortune – to who: stem cell research

If I could sing one song to a loved one it would be: Ain’t No Sunshine

If I could fly – I'd spread my wings and take Sam by the hand and sore into the blue...

If I could make one dream come true – it would be: to spend one more day with Tom.

If I could change one thing about my image: Much more confidence

If I could clone a physique, it would be: a blemish free, well built 21 year old

If I could choose the lead role in any movie it would be: some kind of road movie, driving across the country with a handsome accomplice in a historic sports car

If I could turn back time I would: go back to The Exchange and find my pub buddy Ian and say yes (I’d just come out, and Ian never actually asked me, even though my mate Rick said Ian wanted to)

If I could fix one thing in this world it would be: inequality

Easter

"What a trip!"

Last puff on a spliff.

"Sins neutralised."

"Ready to beam up, Godot."

Music Critic

Sam and Brun went to bed. I stayed up later with Otto.

If I go to bed too early, I wake up way too early.

I pissed around with AI.

Later, I realised I hadn't cleaned the kitchen, so I put some Bette Midler on while I cleaned up. Thighs & Whispers. I've delete the three awful tracks and added Martha, It Should Have Been Me, and Here Comes The Flood. (I love electronic albums) I would usually listen to music on my head phones, but this time I put if on the lounge room sound system.

I've been on a bit of a Bette Midler kick lately, after Mark sent me the track, Martha, the other day saying he'd never heard it.

Otto was under the coffee table asleep. As soon as I put the music on, he pulled himself out from under the coffee table, looked around as if he was saying, What is this noise? I'm not staying here and listening to this. I'm going to bed. And he took himself off to bed.

It was funny. It made me laugh. Everyone is a fucking critic.

"Everything okay in the critic section?" I called after him as his cute little arse disappeared out of sight.

Apparently not.

"It was worse before I fixed it." That made me laugh some more.

The Door Slammed You On The Fat Arse On The Way Out, Tony, You Just Didn't Feel It

I had to do some final remuneration figures for Fat Tony's demise, er, departure, all the tax routes breaks, the shit they package, etc, you know, that sort of thing.

After I had done them and sent them off, I saw that I'd made a mistake. Oh damn! So, I re-worked the figures and was about to send them to the Great PonyTail when I thought - my actual thoughts - this bitch will make such a song and dance about these mistakes, because, I am pretty sure, she is addicted to the drama, LOVES the drama, especially if it is vindictive and on someone other than herself. So, you know what, none of them are much smarter than a box of rocks, when it all comes down to it, and I pulled my finger away from the send button at the very last moment.

It's a couple of thousand K. Awe, poor Tony.

What to do?

Owning up to it, which is what I should do, is a bit like kicking an own goal with this lot and none of them have the capacity to look at those figures and pick up the error. None of them are Sheldon Cooper, lets face it.

Tony was the slackest arse around, always missing deadlines, and schedules and things he had to do, more often, than not, blaming it on anyone he could, other than himself.

If I own up, The Giant PonyTail will come down shrieking doing cartwheels through our department to the Big Poo's door, (she loooooooves running to The Big Poo) pointing and calling me a 'mistake maker' and demanding a Royal Commission into what went wrong like the odious cow that she is.

You know, my perverse side sees it as 2K for all your shit we had to put up with, Fat Tony, too incompetent to realise you've been ripped off 2K. It makes me chuckle, it really does,

The only one I have to be concerned about is The Midget, with her feverish little gaze, and her habit of pawing over the figures to find the very last morsel to shore up her yearly bonus. Oh yes, it is she I have to worry about.

Still. Shrug! The genuine joy it gives me to know I won in the end, Fat Tony, kind of out weighs being caught out by The Midget.

"Oh, really, a mistake, you say?" Vague look.

What is she going to do? I didn't get a pay rise, or a bonus, this year. (Are some of you wondering right about now that you may have worked out why? Oh, stop it.) so that threat is off the table. She can't demote me. Can she? Nah? No one below me, as such.

Sack me? Go on. It would at least make my mind up about my procrastination with resigning.

Does this make me look bad? Yeah, sure it does. But, it is delicious. (he rolls the S on the end of that word multiple times)

Let's just look at it as an allegory about kindness, or lack there of, in the corporate world.

Feeling Better

Boris called me this morning and asked me if I was feeling better.

"Yes, I'm feeling better," I said. "I just felt like I was going to be sick yesterday."

"I didn't think you looked well in our meeting (with the midget)," she said. "You didn't look like your normal self."

"Oh." No, that was me being pissed off. "I didn't feel good, no."

"Well as long as you are feeling better today."

Yes, I am home today. "Yes, I feel better," I said.

What can I say? I am a good actor.

And today? They all (not Boris) seem to have taken their stupid pills.

Monday in the Office

I was in the office begrudgingly. I had a meeting with Boris and The Midget scheduled to get me into the office.

I was going to take a sickie, i um'd and ah'd about that, as the sun came up, but I also wondered if Boris would reschedule for Tuesday making me to go to the office then.

Nyr! I couldn't risk it. It would be infuriating. I might just resign on the spot, and I still haven't quite decided to do that, or not?

Oh I know, no one procrastinates like I do.

We have an American chick in our department who never shuts the fuck up. It is a continual stream of American drawl yap from her.

Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!

Why do I have to put up with this yappy halfwit, I asked the universe? Did her parents tell her she was beautiful too often?

I don't have to put up with this working from home, I find myself muttering to myself.

I started scheming to pull a half day sick day from 11am.

I left at 1pm. Lovely. 

Boris said, take care, when I told her I didn't feel well, almost made me feel guilty. Almost.

It was a spectacular day, great weather. (there is something about being out in the sunshine in the middle of the day, when you should be some where else, that is so satisfying)

I came home and played around with my old blogs.

After that, we took the dogs for a walk.

I Wanted A lazy Track Suit Pants Kind Of Sunday

We cleaned, of course, it is Sunday after all, and my boyfriend is bossy keen to keep the house clean.

I did the vacuuming, as it is my job.

I was suggesting early that we should just order mango deserts from Hungry Panda and put a movie on, but pretty much, as I was saying that, the sun came out like a blooming flower and diminished my bargaining power quite significantly.

Not longer after, after we'd settled back down, Sam said, "Oh, should I just go to the supermarket?"

"Oh, yes," I agreed smartly. I was pretty keen for a lazy, stay at home, Sunday. Again, thank you fucking universe, the sun came out brightly illuminating the world beautifully, and Sam said, "I'm going to have a shower." And we all know that is code for, get ready, we are going out to get lunch.

 

Wet Saturday

It rained for most of the day. It was a stay in doors kind of day. I'd not have ventured out at all, but that's not Sam's thinking.

I set alight the mountain of burnable detritus that had built up in the fire place over the summer, throwing on a whole bunch of wet sticks I collected from our wet back yard, and we had our first fire for the year. (Do we normally have open fires in April? It seems a little early, but I don't know, I can't remember now)

Of course, as soon as I'd lit the fire, the sun came out. Sorry Greta.

I lazed around watching car YouTubers, my favourite English Ben, and generating AL images for the big edit of my old blogs.

The rain eventually stopped in the afternoon and we took the dogs for a walk.

The rain had stopped, clearly, the son is really warm, (oh, my dictation) now we all like a warm son, but the sun is really warm when it’s shining on you

We see the nuns coming back from their other house, around the corner,

“Hello.”

"Hello."

One of the nuns has a real soft spot for Brun. She always says hello to him personally.

"'ello, Brun."

We walked through the commission flats grounds to Brunswick Street, across the grass, under the lovely trees. 

What is the Labor party thinking selling off this open land to private property developers. It's almost enough of a reason to vote that rat-faced, whinny little bitch Jess Wilson into power.

We walked down Brunswick Street looking for sweeties. Something sweet for us to have with afternoon tea. There were lots of people around. 

We went to the A1 bakery, but they seemed to be short on for sweeties, so we kept walking. We decide on the Italian cake shop in Smith Street, when we couldn't find anything in Brunswick Street.

We cut through the side street. We walk up Smith Street, heading for the Italian cake shop, but then we decided we didn’t need any Italian cakes, if I was going to make banana cake.

I have black bananas in the fruit bowl.

I always laugh when I think of my chef mate, Sebastian, and bananas for a banana cake.

"Oh yes, and what other rotten fruit do you eat?"

I get bananas from Woolworths Metro to make a banana cake. 

Sam said I should take a banana from the ‘Free for Kids,’ banana bin. I look at him. He motions with his head to do it.

We’re stopped in Smith Street by a woman who said she had a British bulldog but it was much smaller than our guys.

What could we say? You got a dud? Ha, ha, chuckle. She was nice, though/

We’re at Hinoki Japanese pantry, getting food for future dinners, but since we didn't bring a grocery bag we get a box, which becomes have in my arms pretty quickly.

The sun is shining, a breeze is blowing

3.15pm. We’re home.

I made a banana cake.

We made tea and ate banana cake and drank tea.

We ate sushi for dinner.

Thinking About Lottie

My mother told me that religion was 

love thy neighbour, love one another.

That’s it. That’s what it is.

It isn’t anything else. It is that simple.

That was what my mother taught me.

And we go to church at Xmas and Easter,

to be together and to sing songs.

Because that’s what we do.

There is a certain joy in being together,

and doing that.

My mother wasn't a Christian, in fact, she thought most of it was nonsense, but she did believe in the basic message of love.

I can still hear my mother's voice saying those words.

"Anything else is, well, whoever is saying it, it is their baggage." She'd smile that gorgeous smile of hers. "It's just about love, it's really that simple."

You know, I often wished I had more video of my mum – and my dad, for that matter – I think it would be lovely to be able to play it now.

But, you know, when I think about it, all the good stuff is inside me anyway.

Rainy Thursday

Brun and I walked to Bunnings in the morning, to get stuff to finally fix the back door handle, which has been threatening to part ways with the backdoor for weeks, and a new pole for my fast growing Monstera, which is now hanging out over our walk through to the kitchen like we are in a jungle, which I quite like, but I realise not everyone feels the same way.

The sun shone. Brun and I trotted along. I bought a blueberry muffin for the walk, shhh, don't say anything.

I ignored a friend in Bunnings, successfully. Oh, I know, what am I like, but when I have stuff to do I don't have time for idle chit chat.

"Oh yes, good, I'm good. How are you? Oh great. You are looking good. Oh, thank's I try my best. Or, I don't." We both laugh. "Oh, yes Sam is good. Perry? Oh good. No I haven't been up to to much. How about you? Oh great, that sounds great. Lucky you. We haven't seen you guys for ages. Oh, yes, faster and faster every year. Now, don't be a stranger..."

Oh, er! Best avoided.

When we got back, Otto rushed to meet us at the door, followed by a bulldog meeting that really looked like Otto asked Brun where we had been and what we'd done, and Brun told him.

I fix the back door handle.

We ate a fancy meat sauce that Charlie had bought home from the restaurant for lunch, which I could have taken, or left. I don't know, it was supposed to be fancy. Nyr?

I re-staked my Monstera.

Then it rained for the rest of the day, so what can you do?

I updated my old blog with new AI images. Quite possibly nobody will ever notice, but I like it.

Otto didn't get a walk, but he's young, and he'll cope. Actually, not so long agao he'd be bouncing off the walls without a walk, but thankfully that age has passed.

Grey Haired Old Men Destroying The Fucken World To Save Their Own Sorry Arses

 

Damn It!

That bitch Boris has out smarted me. I can't help but think well played, Ms.

I'm just ignoring the come into the office requests despite them being repeated, so Boris has organised meetings at 10am Monday mornings with The Midget, who practically wets her little corporate self with glee at the thought of another fucking meeting.

Damn! Is all I can say.

Look @ The Baby

At the wedding, my sister wanted me to look at some guests 8 week old baby.

Nyr, I don't know, they all look the same to me, at that age.

So, I just said the first thing that came into my head.

"Wow! Climate change is going to kick your arse buddy."

My sister was holding the kid, but the kid's, actual, mother was in earshot. Oops.

The Wedding

You know, in the end, when your head is spinning and you think you are going to fail in the world, you just have to remember that mantra to live your by, "Shhhh, nobody cares."

That's not to say nobody cares about you. That is to say no one cares if you are fat or thin, no one cares if you are young, or old, no one cares if you are rich, or poor, no one cares if you are plain, or cute, no one cares if you wear green, or blue. They are all too concerned about how they look, present, or hold themselves.

That's, of course, talking about everyone else, the world around us.

But getting back to self, what makes me happier in the end, what I have to remember, and it seems so simple to say it, but I have to do more than think about all the things I have to do, actually doing them, gives me a greater sense of achievement, or to be perfectly honest, less of a feeling of failure.

So…

Maybe it is me who is the drama queen. I don’t know?

Sam thawed out, not immediately that he got up, but soon after. He had to let me know he was still a bit pissed off.

Then we took the dogs for a walk. 

I told Sam that if someone wanted our hotel room, we’d hand it over and drive home after the wedding, it is only an hour and 25 minutes. He thought my brother Will and his wife were sharing with someone, possibly.

Then I looked at the invite. It said your presence was present enough, but if you wanted to contribute to the cost of the honeymoon, that would mean the world. So, I transferred $500 into my niece’s bank account, with the message Happy Honeymoon.

Then we got our outfits together.

And we still had an hour, more or less, before we had to leave.

And everything was sorted.

So, what was wrong with me, yesterday? Nyr! Occasionally, I unravel like everyone else.

It is kind of true that I stress out about stuff now, where I never used to.

Everything turned out.

We got there at 3.20pm. We booked into our hotel room and lay on the bed until the ceremony.

The ceremony started at 4pm. The weather was perfect.

My niece looked gorgeous. Her fiancé looked handsome.

Everyone had a good time.

No stress.

Straight boy's can dance, apparently.

The food was 

What a Fuck Up, Is All I Could Think

 

I generated AI images all day.

We ate leftovers for lunch.

I just generated AI images all afternoon with no concern for anything else. I’d got kind of obsessed with it. It took up the rest of the day.

4pm. Sam comes downstairs and says, “Let’s go.” Take the dogs for a walk.

I’m in the bathroom. Oh, the wedding tomorrow? (now, today) My nieces wedding. In the country, tomorrow. I should have thought about it before now. I’d done nothing. I’d not even sorted out the clothes I’d wear. I should have done stuff.

I just thought I’d transfer the money as a present, but I’m thinking about it now, is that wedding enough? I should have put more thought into this?

Should I have got a cheque, or a money order, or whatever, and put it into a card to give. You know, so I had something to give?

Should I have got a card? Does anyone care about cards?

Not to mention I find social settings kind of stressful, Sam does too. Not with friends, of course, but these aren't friends, these are my young nieces friends.

Oh, I started to stress.

We take the dogs for a walk.

There is a couple sitting at pubs out door tables. They “oo” about the bulldogs. They want to pat one of them, both of them. 

Of course you do, I think wearily.

“This is Brun.” Otto walked ahead with Sam. “He’s a bit… he’s got a bit, since he’s become a teenager, he’s a bit less likely to want to be patted actually.”

“Oh, fair enough,” they say. They pat Brun. He performs like a dog getting patted.

I’m thinking more about the wedding. I took one of the hotel rooms because I thought it was a few hours away, you know, 2 ½, or the like, but it is only an hour and twenty minutes.

I wish we hadn’t got the hotel room. That was a mistake. I can’t really back out of that now. We should have just left at the end of it, and made a clear get away, that would have been the sensible thing to do. 

Why didn’t I give that more thought?

Drive up, do the wedding, drive home afterwards. We could have looked after the bulldogs ourselves. Charlie could have gone to work. (Sam made Charlie give up a night of work to look after Brun and Otto)

Why didn’t I get a cheque/money order? Why didn’t I get a card? Why did I get a hotel room? Why did I get all of that so wrong?

Sam starts to nag me about the gym as we’re walking up the street. Initially, I thought he said he wanted to go to the gym?

“You want to go to the gym?”

“No, you. Go to the gym, or cancel it.”

“Oh.” Not now.

“You are just throwing money down the drain.”

“Am I?” Resigned sigh. 

You know I’d been thinking lately that things are wrong. Mark & Luke are coming to town. They asked to borrow my car. Oh, yeah, sure. I didn’t really want to, but I said yes. David now asks to borrow my car when he’s in town too. At least David gives it back full of petrol. But he ran up toll charges. Mark is kind of careless with stuff, so it would be nothing for him to run up toll charges and get speeding fines, or scratch it. Oh, he probably wouldn’t scratch it, but… oh, um? Am I just being selfish, but it’s not a hirer car.

David, Mark and Luke, don’t ask to stay because they think we have house mates, which came from the one time when we had friends staying from overseas. Then, after, that they said something about not being able to stay because of our housemates, incorrectly, and we just kind of agreed. 

I’m not sure why, but they think it is still the case, and you know, it is easier that way.

Mark and David have so many lovely qualities that it would be hard to mention them all, Mark is my favourite person on the planet, after Sam, of course, but they are both, what I call, anyway-back-to-me people, yes, kind of self focussed, you know when people’s best qualities and their wost qualities are often the same qualities. So in the process of thinking about their own needs, that is where this confusion about not being able to stay has come from. I’m not sure if that makes senses, but it makes sense to me.

I love Mark dearly, but he is hard work when he stays. He complains endlessly about Brun and Otto, wants them put outside all the time, which Sam absolutely hates, and I do too. Mark kind of spends his whole time subtly complaining about anything and everything, which I am sure he doesn’t even realise he is doing, and Sam hates that too. Sam likes Mark, but he hates him staying.

You know, I got all the lovely, fabulous stuff with Mark over the years, but Sam has never really got all of that to counteract the negative.

Anyway, they are coming to Melbourne, and I can’t help but think it is all kind of built on a lie.

“Have you cancelled it?”

I tune back into Sam. “What?”

“Have you cancelled it?”

“What?” I had tuned out.

“Your gym?”

Oh, we are still talking about that? “Yes, yes I have.”

“Really?”

I just looked at him like I really didn’t want to hear this again, now. I wanted to scream. YES, SURE I SHOULD HAVE CANCELLED IT, OR SUSPENDED IT, OF WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU DO WITH THEM, BUT I HAVEN’T, NO, I HAVEN’T. IT IS JUST ANOTHER FUCK UP, IN A LONG LINE OF FUCK UPS THAT I HAVE MANAGED TO ACHIEVE LATELY, but I didn’t. I just sighed heavily.

“How many hundreds of dollars have you thrown away.”

I didn’t answer.

“Or is it thousands by now?”

Usually, I just ignore him. Usually, I can stay calm with such things, maybe to my detriment, but I couldn’t. “Oh, shut up will you!”

The wedding. The gym. Mark and Luke coming down, and the lie about the flat mates. The lie about the flatmates with David, for that matter. Otto being a problem with people visiting the house. The mistakes I have been making at work. My car? I just wanted it all to stop. So, I stopped. I stopped talking. I just went silent. You know when everything starts to overwhelm you, in the end, sometimes, you just have to put up your shields. 

We walked the back streets of Fitzroy in silence. You know that warm, almost satisfying silence that comforts and kind of separates you from everything all at the same time. The kind of silence you relax deep down into, losing yourself.

I’m sure Sam thought I stopped talking to him, but, really, I stopped communicating with the world.

4:45pm. We’re at the bar with the big dog bowl. The two boofs have a big drink of water each.

The sun is shining. Crows (I think they are ravens) are calling from the top of the light poles.

Fifteen minutes later we’re home.

We ate pasta for dinner. Really nice pasta, I might add.

I couldn’t generate any more AI images for my 2019 blog, as I suspected that I was just wasting my time, anyway, so I plumped up the pillow on the big couch, Brun jumped up onto the couch behind me like the hot water bottle that he is, and I drifted off the sleep.

Mano a pata.

What a fuck up, was all I could think.

And it all stopped.

Pimple

I finally squeezed that damn pipmple right under my jawline. Just now.

I can't tell you what a relief that is.

Once my fingers had found it, they haven't been able to keep themselves away from it, and it has been painful. The fiddling. It's just annoying how your hands practially turn into white blood cells and go to the problem on their own relentlessly. Grrrr. I was contemplating  mittens.

(Do you want to hear my only clean joke? What happened when the cat had sex [stay with me] with the ball of wool? It had mittens. I love that stupid joke)

It's been a blind pimple for the last few days, but this morning, my fingernail just managed to kind of absentmindedly scrape the top off it and it went pop and the relief was instant.

To the depth of my soul, "Yeeeeeeeesssssssssss."

David

David suffers from Fibromyalgia. Not exactly sure what it is, but it causes him debilitating pain when he has a flare up.

He's had it for the last few days.

We just watched the police and an ambulance take a woman from the drive way of the place over the road, yelling the whole way that she didn’t have to go. 

It made me think of David? So I messaged him and told him.

He messaged back that it was the first time he'd laughed in days.

Christian:

💖 We just watched the police and an ambulance take a woman from the drive way of the place over the road, yelling the whole way that she didn’t have to go. It made me think of you? How are you feeling today?

Darling

David:

You’re the only one who makes me laugh

It’s been 3 days of hell … 

Christian:

Are you feeling any better?

No ambulance?

Screaming?

Biting?

Scratching?

David:

No … not really 

    I need a shower … but don’t even have the energy for that 

Christian:

Darling

🤣 I thought I could smell something

Work Mistakes

It was really busy work wise. I uncharacteristically made a few stuff ups. Some how, Boris was saying it was a systems/computer error. That may, or may not have come from me. 😀

The Midget was on to me. She dramatically demanded that Boris did a full investigation. So Boris did.

I know how to cover my tracks, though. I mean, I sorted them all out, fixing everyone of them. It was only when I had fixed them all that The Midget became aware of them at all.

Boris found nothing, but, you know, I was a little, you know, er, what would you say, nervous, er, kind of. I'm not really that worried, but I'd like to get off teflon free, rather than not, if you understand. I hate stuffing things up.

I've since found another mistake I have made. I don't know what the hell was wrong with me this week, but I'm gonna fix the latest cock up (don't you love that expression? Reminds me of all my old boyfriends) on the down low.

Always fix stuff. Never cover stuff up. The cover up is worse than the mistake. But by the same token, I don't have to telegraph my mistakes.

They'll see the correction. Er! Big deal. 

If I make a mistake, and I have found the mistake, and I have fixed the mistake, before any of the drama queens (not Boris, she's not a drama queen) I work with know about it, did the mistake really happen at all.