Foreign Tongues

It's freezing this morning, bloody cold. It is winter though, so we're expecting what else? Otto and I are cuddled up on the couch keeping each other warm, he is like a heater plugged in next to me.

The new Rolling Stones CD is out today, I suddenly realised half way through the morning. Don't know why I thought it was tomorrow? I've been trying to find it, who has it in stock. None of the city shops have received their stock yet. Just Glen Waverley and Werribee, according to JB online guy, all just a bit too far to drive to really, for someone who is loathed to leave the inner suburbs. I contemplated driving to Glen Waverley, half an hour, or so, but no, I'm not going to.

The city shops are supposed to be getting their stock today, but they haven't yet. The nice guy I spoke to on the phone, in the city shop, said he was getting in quite a lot of stock when it comes in. Grrrr! But it could be Monday, if not today.

I said I'd check back later in the day. he said okay.

We ate chicken curry for lunch.

The sun has come out, finally. So there is finally some warmth in the day. It now looks bright outside. It was even warm to go out and stand in it.

I checked online to see if the city shops came up with stock, early afternoon, but no. But it mentioned something about Brunswick. So, I called Brunswick and they had stock. And yes they would put it aside for me. Lovely.

So much for the online guys telling me to go to Glen Waverley, or Werribee. They must be like Sam, is all I could think, and they don't drive.

Of course, then Sam wanted me to go via Northland to get games for him. So, I called Northland and asked them if they had The Rolling Stones CD so I could get both things at once, two birds, one stone, and cancel Brunswick, but they didn't have it.

So, I went to Brunswick and got it. Sam said not to go to Northland to get his games. I said that I still would, but he said no. I don't know why he said no, but he was definite?

It's good too. The CD, Actually, first listen, I think it is really good.

That's what I did today.

I rewrote old blog posts too, from 2006, in bewteen all that carry on. One day someone might discover my old blog posts. Maybe. 

Dragging My Arse To The Gym

Today its freezing. I'm freezing. Fuck me, it's winter.

Charlie came rushing out to put his ebike on charge. He must be going to use it later, and forgot about charging it. 

He came out in his longJohns, that cling to him, at the best of times. Did he not realise he had a hardon? Surely he must have? It was like he didn't think, just thinking about getting that ebike on charge. Anyway, Good onya Charlie. I don't look at Charlie that way, I don't, but it was hard not to notice. No gay guy is going to complain about a 24 year old with a fat, let me just say.

I've been on the couch all morning, under a blanket, a couple of blankets, re-writing my blogs. Up early, of course. Trying to keep warm.

I have to take Otto for a walk. I should just take him, it would warm me up.

I have to go to the gym, but the thought of putting on shorts and a singlet in this weather makes me shiver just thinking about it.

Brrrrrrr.

I didn't go to the gym on Tuesday, bad Christian. The bitches were at me at work.

I should go to the gym. No, I really should go. I'm going to go. Yes, I am. I am going. I'm shaking with the cold just thinking about it. But I'm going. Going now. Yes, I am. Here I go.

And I went. I did.

Just A Day

It was just a work day, nothing special. Wednesday. Is there anything good that can be said about Wednesday? It was cold, winter cold. I kept stoking the open fire up with wood all day to heat up the lounge room, even though I wasn't in there. It was freezing all day.

And, yes, I think Boris is shitty with me about her holidays, she's been kind of different, can't put my finger on it, but short, and not really very friendly, friendly enough, but kind of pulled back. Not sure if that makes sense. And today she said she was far too busy to help me with something, and she has never said that before.

I can understand, really. I did say yes, and then say no, sure I did. She didn't kind of ask me, though, she just said when she was taking holidays and assumed I'd fill in for her. And I kind of didn't think quick enough what that really ment under the current circumstances. When I really thought about it, on the next weekend, I realised it would be a nightmare and that I really didn't want to do it, and I told her.

Shrug. Last day of the week for me. WooHoo! (There's something good that can be said about Wednesday)

And I don't have to work full time any time in my future. Let's have a cheer for that.

Ha ha.

Go on, bugger off to Lapland. Have a nice time. (not until next month, of course)

Dead On A Grey Afternoon

I'm pretty sure I saw a dead body yesterday.

I was leaving the office just before 3pm. I was running up Collins Street to William Street. I like to run when I leave the office on my days in there. You know, get the hell out of there. Ha ha.

It's not just symbolic, it's the time I remember to run. When was the last time you ran? Do you even remember? I think it must be good for us to run sometimes, to feel the heaving, and that hard breathing, get you lungs working. I like it. It makes me feel alive.

Half way up Collins Street, there was a woman on a street bench with two police officers standing around her, and weirdly, two teenage boys taking photos. To tell you the truth, it was the police officers and the teenage boys who really caught my attention, as they were doing something.

I didn't really look at the woman, except to notice she was sitting on a very uncomfortable angle. And I saw her hands, as I ran past, which were definitely not the right colour, they were kind of grey/blue. They were really not a healthy colour.

A good day to die? By yourself, on a street bench. I guess, it's as good a place as any, in your woollen winter coat and your best hat.

It was a cold, grey afternoon. I guess it was the kind of day that death would come calling.

As I sat on the tram, I heard sirens coming from far away.

First Day With Boris After I Said No

Okay, today is the first day I see Boris face to face after I reneged on doing her nightmare holiday relief. I wonder how it will go?

It still seems far to easy an 'out' on my part, let me tell you, but I guess I will find out this morning, hey?

I have a 10am meeting with Boris and The Midget, so I wonder what they will say?

"I'm very happy with my decision, thank you very much and no, I don't want to reconsider," is all I have to remember.

Over the last year the thing Boris has said more than anything else is that our work life is almost unbearable with the partners, and out of control HR, and The Midget's micromanagement, it was just a shame I didn't think of all that when I first said yes I would do her holiday relief. It is just a shame that it took me a week to change my mind.

What happens if they say that can't get a temp manager to fill the role?

Fuck it, my answer is still no. Boris can swan around Lapland when she can get a temp manager to replace her.

Anyway, I'd better get my arse moving.

A little later…

The first message I read is from The Midget, she wants to chat to me first thing.

Some time later...

Boris seemed a little pissed off today. Was it with me? I don't know. Maybe she was.

How Sundays Should Be

We took Otto for a walk, around midday, once around the gardens in the warm winter sun shine, and then home again. Sam headed off to the supermarket, as we got near home, to get food for lunch, and Otto wanted to know why, as he always does, constantly looking back for a short time. He never likes to split the pack up. Buddy was the same.

We cleaned too, of course, before we went out, it was Sunday after all, and my boyfriend is a stickler for that kind of routine. One of my favourite expressions is, a mind is a terrible thing to waste on house work, however...

Then it was a day on the couches doing screens.

We watched Project Hail Mary, er, um, nyr. Sam's pick. I wanted to watch Clarkson's Farm. Right there is the different tastes in our movie/TV watching, what is it they say, in a nutshell.

We ate lamb shanks and roast vegetables.

I fell asleep on the couch in front of Last One Laughing.

Out To The Burbs

Sam had games to pick up he'd ordered online. So, like the good boyfriend of the non-driving boyfriend type, I had to drive him. So we had to drive to a couple of suburban shopping centres to pick the games up. Joy. These were games on special that were only available at the retail outlets. 

Ah, Northland, how I loath thee. These high rise shopping meccas are there places that are more awful than them? Shopping places? They are awful, really they are. The Great Unwashed converging, fighting for car space just to have the privilege of shopping there.

I took Otto, so he and I waited outside, so I didn't have to go in. No dogs allowed. You have to be suspicious of anywhere that has a no dogs allowed policy, I reckon. No dogs allowed, I don't want to go there either.

(did you know in some parts of Italy, you can take your dogs into the supermarket)

Otto and I went to the Chemistwarehouse. I can take him into the Collingwood, or Fitzroy Chemistwarehouses, how about Northland? I don't know, I didn't ask. We just went in. I wasn't sure if I was getting looks, or not, but the checkout boy didn't say anything, so I can only assume it was okay. I thought it was okay, so we were okay. Every thing was okay.

The last time I was in Chemistwarehouse, in Fitzroy, there was me and my dogs, and a woman with an Airedale. There was another woman standing in the middle of the entrance foyer having an absolute meltdown to who, I assume, is the chief pharmacist about dogs in the shop. She was borderline hysterical, as I walked past, at which point she turned from him to me and beseeched me not to bring my dogs into the space, to which I replied with, “Go get some therapy, luv.”

So, it makes you a little wary,

So, after our expedition to the suburban swell, we came home via Carlton and bought fish burgers & chips for lunch. Lovely. The Rathdowne fish & chippery makes the best chips.

The rest of the day was a breeze, pissing around at home.

Dinner. And fall asleep on the couch for a few hours. Lovely.

Milo's face

It's not quite that bad, but you get the picture

I'm up early. I make coffee and I sit on the couch.

Milo jumps up and cuddles up like he does every morning, getting in cuddles before the bulldog gets up and wrecks it.

He looks at me, and I look at him. The side of his face is swollen. Oh, really?  I say. Haven't we had enough of vets for this year?

Milo has twenty four legs when it comes to putting him in the cat box for a vet visit. It is just about impossible to get him in, so that will be a joy, I think, to come, very shortly by the look of his face.

First up, I need to make an appointment.

When I had a cat that used to fight all the time, the vet taught me just to find the scab abd pull it off, and that will usually allow the abscess to drain which is usually as good as any vet visit.

I got pretty good at it with my other cat. You just can't think too much about it, just find it and pull. It worked like a charm.

I feel around the side of Milo's face for a scab, much to his catty annoyance, but I can't find a scab.

Grrrr!

He jumps off the couch and heads for parts unknown.

No reply from Josh.

Well, That Was Easy

Boris replied to my getting out of me doing her job email while she is away with, Okay, thanks for telling me. No phone call, just the email.

It seemed like a completely unsatisfactory answer to what I felt was a major issue, all at the same time being the best response I could possibly wish for.

I wondered momentarily, if she'd misunderstood my email, due to the complete calmness of her reply.

I dunno. I guess we will see. Ha?

I spoke to her a number of time during the day and she never bought it up.

It was a busy day sorting stuff out for the new year and we had lots of interaction despite me being at home and her being, well, I'm not 100% if she was in the office, or at home, wherever she never bought it up once.

So, that is good. Job done.

No reply from Josh.

Snatching Victory from the Jaws Of Defeat

I woke up worrying about the decision I made to fill in for Boris while she goes away for her annual 6 weeks holiday back to LapLand every year.

I think she goes beginning of August.

Okay, yeah, sure, I said I would do it.

What was I thinking?

Monday we had to have a meeting with the Big Poo and The Midget because HR's FishFace in Sydney escalated an issue to the both of them relaying her serious concerns, about a practise that we have always done.

Now, I'm not saying FishFace is a problem often forgetting procedures, or long standing practises that we have, no I'm not saying that.

(She is a fucking problem, that is what I am saying, let's be clear)

Anyway, that bought into sharp focus how I so don't want to work any more than I am doing now.

The PonyTail in Melbourne is also a problem.

You can add that to the fact that in the last 12 months HR has replaced existing staff with know-all millennial, straight out of uni not-actually-knowing-anything types who are all about promoting their own careers in the process of their day to day work, who will push every issue to the nth degree to get the answer they want, even if the answer they want is wrong. Couple this with The Midget's personality altering promotion in the last year where she micromanages us all now to an unbearable degree. Add to that we are now expected to turn up to the office 3 days a week if we are working full time. 

Boris and I say to each other regularly now that working for our company has almost become unbearable. The work/life/enjoyment has seriously deteriorated in the last 12 months, or so.

And I am beating myself up for the terrible mistake I made agreeing to work full time and take on her responsibilities, juggling HR/Finance/the Partners in a deteriorating environment for 6 weeks.

I sat in my lounge room at 4am (yesterday afternoon when the realisation hit me, I lay on the couch with Otto and dosed off in front of the open fire. Sam woke me at 5pm when he came home. I stayed awake long enough to eat dinner, but then went back to sleep until 11pm when Sam woke me to go to bed. So I had slept a lot) this morning writing out my resignation letter.

There is another minor issue too. They don't pay me a higher pay rate when I do holiday relief for Boris, my boss, which I don't care about, I get paid well. But, this year, I also didn't get a pay rise, or a bonus, either. The Big Poo called me and apologised personally for that, something about he pushed for it, but HR knocked it back. Really? Straight out of the mouth of the CFO of the Southern hemisphere. Really.

There I am working my 3 days, going to the office one day, not needing, or wanting to, do any more than that, being happy enough with my lot (despite the whinging) as it stood.

WHAT THE FUCK WAS I THINKING?

You idiot! You idiot! You idiot! You idiot!

So, letting Boris down because I said I would work, withstanding, at 6am, I wrote out an email saying that I had changed my mind and that I no longer want to do her holiday relief, rather than resigning all together.

She's got 4 to 6 weeks to sort out an alternative.

And although I feel bad about my lousy timing, I'm sorry, but it came down to me, or Boris in the end.

Weirdly, I won. 😐

She is going to be pissed off, sure. Oh why didn't I just say no 2 weeks ago. Stupid me. 

Wet Tuesday

Sam went to his office early. Charlie dressed up in his Nija outfit and rode off on his bike to parts unknown. So, I was home by myself for the day.

Lovely. I don't hate that.

Mid morning I went to the bakery and got a muffin.

Just after I'd finished the muffin, Tattslotto sent me a message about a 40 million dollar draw. Stop sending me this shit, I thought. I'm not wasting any more money.

The rain fell all day, kind of dribbly non-stop depressing wet and grey really.

Late morning, I went to the Tattslotto shop and bought a ticket in the big draw, as advised. I so want to give up work and put my feet up. You know, I actually win enough so as not to make it a total loss.

I walked to the shop in the rain. I don't mind walking in the rain. I can hardly say it was romantic when I am doing it on my own. Hey?

It's my end of month, as much as I have an end of month, so I got that out of the way and clocked off at 2.15 with a heated up chicken curry for lunch.

I lit the open fire and Otto and I are on the couch together. The rest of the afternoon on the couch, you have to love that.

puffing up some pillows as I type.

The rain is still falling.

I should go to the gym, it is my gym day. The rain falling outside is hardly enticing. Nah, I'm not going, I'm too comfortable.

No response from Josh, but that isn't surprising. Apart from the fact that he may have hated me, it was an old hotmail email address. Does anyone have hotmail email adresses any more?

In The Office Monday

Monday, in the office day. BooHoo. I'm up early as per usual, getting ready in the day. Otto has developed this funny habit of suddenly getting all excited when I am up getting dressed to go to the office, as though, you know, I have just come home, or something. Suddenly, 35 kilos of dog is wiggling at me in the dark

I'm making breakfast and, of course, the rain starts to fall. Jasus! I momentarily consider pulling the 'its raining, I'm working from home' trick, but it is just a fleeting thought.

And I don't stay home. 

The rain stopped.

And I went to the office. It is still dark when I leave the house.

Er. Kill me now.

Totally pointless. I do exactly the same things, but I have to leave the house and spend time getting there to do the exact same things.

There are lots of beefy blokes in hiviz on the tram early in the morning.

Josh

Reading back over my old blog posts not only have I reacquainted myself with my old mate Tom, I have also read back over old writing from my old mate Josh.

Josh and I had a falling out 15 years ago and we haven't spoken since. It was kind of dumb, the falling out. I thought he used me... three times. He may, or may not, have been in genuine need when I felt he tried to use me for a fourth time, and I refused to help him. He may have felt I betrayed him. Oh, you know, something along those lines.

Neither one of us has contacted the other since.

We used to write each other wordy emails, which we thought were clever, we both thought the other one was clever.

I did try to contact him through Facebook a number of years ago, but nothing came of it.

I might be able to remember his old email address, I might, would he still even have the same address. He now lives in Berlin.

I wrote the below email. I'm going to send it to what I think was his email address.

It took me all of 5 minutes to write, so I have really nothing to lose.

Let's see what happens.

Hello.

Say hello.

I just said hello.

Hello is always a good way to start.

I did.

And?

And what?

What happened?

Well, nothing. 

Nothing happened?

Nothing happened.

No?

No.

Well, that is hardly ideal.

No, not ideal at all. 

No, not at all?

No

Well, say hello again.

Hello. 

Not to me.

Oh.

A-ha.

Hello.

Still nothing?

Still nothing.

Well, do you think you are getting through?

I don’t know.

You don’t know.

No. 

No?

No.

Well, did you ask for someone intelligent.

Not yet.

Is there intelligent life?

I don’t know.

You don’t know?

No. 

No?

Who knows.

Well, again, not ideal. 

Well, why don’t you do it. 

No, you do it.

I am doing it.

Not very successfully.

No, I know that.

Well, as long as you know that.

What would you suggest? 

Oh, tell him this may well be the last transmission.

The last transmission?

Yes, the last transmission.

Oh, okay. 

What else would you call it?

An apology.

Oh, no, I don’t think I’d call it that.

Wouldn’t you?

No.

No?

Never eulogise or apologise.

Never what?

Eulogise…

Eulogise? 

Or apologise.

What? 

The Queen mum.

The Queen mum?

The Queen mum.

The old dear with a gin? 

That’s the one.

You mean complain, or explain. 

Oh… yes.

Well, I think a certain amount of explanation may well be in order.

Really?

Yes 

Really? 

Oh?

Tell him you are dying.

Dying? 

That always makes people get a wriggle on.

I’ll just say we are the last people alive and…

Alpha Centauri to the mother land.

This is all we can manage now.

All we can manage

The years go slow, but times passes quickly. 

Never the less.

Never the less.

He clicks his fingers.

Transmission ends.

Cold Saturday Morning

It's really cold in Fitzroy this morning. For our readers who live in cold climates that is 5 degrees C.

It doesn't really inspire thoughts of going out and getting into it, I can tell you, for us Aussies.

I had to go to the supermarket because Sam forgot to buy butter for my morning toast when he was at the supermarket yesterday.

I hate going to the supermarket in the morning to get butter because by the time I get to the front door Sam has added 20 kilos of rice and 20 kilos of dog meat and can I go to the deli department, and, oh yes, we might need some potatoes and pumpkin. 

It is cold outside, misty, foggy, grey and overcast and the cold bites at me. It is now 7 degrees.

I put Guy Sebastian on my headphones. I sing along to Before I Go as I walk down my street. There is no one else around.

The streets are quiet, I guess, it is still early on Saturday morning.

And then Sam usually calls me when I am in the supermarket telling me all the specials he has just seen that I should pick up while I am there.

But, I only want fucking butter for my bread and I am hungry because I haven't had breakfast because there is no butter.

Oh, I don't know, perhaps the cold weather makes me grumpy.

When I’m checking out, a cute guy in black shorts and a black singlet comes in with the best arse on him, which just makes you want to lick out his arse crack out right there and then. Well, not actually in the supermarket, you understand.

As I head out of the supermarket there is another message from Sam to pick up... but, I am now crossing the street and it would not be untrue to say I felt nothing but relief at missing that message.

When I get home, I cut my bread and go to put it in the toaster quickly because I am getting hangry, but the toaster elements are red and it is already cooking toast, and I grumble, yes, I did grumble.

"I'm just cooking myself some," says Sam.

Charlie has a habit of buying super processed white sliced bread and it turns out Sam has a penchant for super processed white sliced bread too, and he is cooking himself some toast, which is unusual for him as he doesn't normally eat breakfast. 

His toast pops and he is taking it out but it is still white, not toasted at all.

"That isn't even toasted," I say.

Sam visibly shakes and says, "I'm too scared to leave it in any longer."

He holds my gaze.

I laugh.

And he laughs.

I say I'm sorry.

I put my bread in the toaster.

I kiss Sam. He hands me the coffee he has made for me.

I smile at him. 

He smiles at me.

He puts Nutella on his white toast.

Friday Off

We took Otto to a new vet yesterday, one recommended by a fellow bulldog owner. It was a bit further away, and Sam booked a 4.45pm appointment. Some days it is painfully obvious that Sam doesn't drive.

Our nervous little pooch really lost his shit as the vet tried to put a stethoscope up to his chest, it was sad to see.

The vet called for a nurse to help, who was slow to appear, then said we'd put Otto up on the table so he had less space in which to move around.

That was when I stepped in and picked him up in my arms and held him reassuringly on the table so the vet could listen to his chest and examine his front leg on which he intermittently limps.

We bought kebabs somewhere out in the boondocks of Melbourne on our way home. Sam and I sat there in the caravan annex type cafe and ate ours, with Otto parking his arse firmly down looking up at us once we'd givin him the first piece of lamb.

I still think Otto seems a bit sad, but I may well be projecting onto him, I don't know.

Today, I really have nothing to do, so Otto and I are on the couch together while he, I am sure, gets over yesterday's ordeal, haha, not really, he is asleep the way dogs spend most days, and I am pissing around with my old blogs, generating AI images for them and re-write whole sections. 

Am I wasting my time, quite frankly in the larger scheme of life, quite possible, but for my own peace of mind, and sense of accomplishment, no way.

Anyway. That's all.

Stepping Back Into Life

Okay, back to the gym today. Sam has been nagging reminding and I guess the time has come to shake off my malaise about Brun dying and get back into life.

I so don't want to, I can assure you, but that is how I always feel when I am getting back to it after having time off.

None of us want to go to the gym, not really. But none of us want to be fat and to drop dead early, now do we, so we do what we do.

Anyway, I'm getting up and going. No, I am. I am. Watch me. I'm going now.

Once I get back into it, it isn't nearly so bad, I mean, fuck me, there are even days when I enjoy it.

Sorry Brun, I can't stay in morning for you forever, my lovely, sweet, teddy bear of a pooch, who I miss with every fibre of my being every second of the day. I love you snuffly, and I will never forget you. Oh, Jasus! Tears in my eyes again.

A Good Little Liar

Thinking about the story I spun to Boris so easily yesterday, it got me reminiscing.

I'm a good liar, what can I say. I am excellent at it. It is a skill I realised I had from an early teen age.

They just flow out of me on demand, convincing and strong with a straight face.

I used to tell them with gay abandon, if you will excuse the expression.

But, mid teens, it all came crashing down with a series of well execute lies coming unravelled like the ball of wool to grandma's knitting getting caught on the spooked fleeing dog's hind leg.

Neil Kirkham's and my criminal enterprise of shop lifting the things we wanted got busted wide open.

I, of course, was deemed to have fallen in with 'the wrong crowd', and this was all just an aberration on my part, which suited me, the ring leader, completely.

But, it was at that point, lucky for me, that I realised that, in actual fact, lies did me no real good at all, and my very best skill was packed away not to be used again, unless in case of emergency.

So, before I turned 18, I pretty much learned that complete honesty was a much more useful tool for one's growth and well being.

Oh yes, there was, of course, that one last hoorah just for old times sake, just after I turned 18, which went spectacularly wrong where I ended up in court with the shop detective speaking up for me saying, I just wasn't the type of kid she saw normally and that I didn't belong there, and she gave me detailed instructions on how to beat the 'wrap' which I did... er... well, just to set me finally on the correct path definitely and forever.

Lottie said, much later, (she never found out about it at the time) it was because I was clearly struggling with my gayness, yeah, sure, whatever mum. Oh, that could, in fact, be true, you know, maybe.

But that was the last dishonest thing I did.

Of course, complete and direct honesty in a corporate setting hasn't always gone down well, in fact, on my latest PDR The Big Poo noted that on occasion Christian is too blunt.

Nyr! Who gives a rat's arse about those corporate slags. Prostitutes to the corporate $.

I've always had the good fortune to be a good little saver, too, just naturally, without effort on my part, which has always done me well too. (It has also led me to be baffled by other peoples inability to save) It has always allowed me to tell corporate types to go shove it when the going got too excruciating, or more to the case, the times I have been sacked/retrenched, let's face it, it is the same thing, (3 times, if you must know) I have been able to take my time finding a new salt mine in which to work.

Good to Know I've Still Got It, I Guess

I was going to take another sickie today. I got up early and sat up until Sam got up, when he told me to get to work and stop being silly.

So, I signed into work.

Boris calls me late morning about another issue, when she asks me if I am alright.

I'm a good little actor, I tell you, I always have been. The key is preparation, be prepared, know your lines.

I fake illness explained.

Boris was telling me that I was strong, and I'd get through it, and if there was anything she could do to help, please don't hesitate to ask.

Good to know I've still got it.

Contemplating Life

I took a sickie. I have 40 days of accrued unused sick leave, and you know what, I'm going to take it. Well, some of it anyway.

Reading back over my blogs, as my friend Rachel says, "Tell the world to go fuck itself, sometimes it is good for you."

I really want to quit my job, but I am too gutless.

Reading back over my blogs, as my friend Aby said, "Promise me you won't get stuck in some pointless financial job making money for people who don't care about you, you are way better than that."

Sam's worried about losing his job because of AI.

Reading back over my blogs, as my great mate Tom said, "You have to do what makes you happy, just look at me, I'm getting half a life,  don't waste any of yours."

Really, Sam having a job, or not having a job, is not dependant on me having a job. Not really.

Reading back over my blogs, as Mark says, "We are all responsible for our own lives, no one else is."

Would I be okay, if I gave up my job and wrote? Oh god (ironic use) I'm guessing you are sick of me asking that question?

Reading back over my blogs, as my gorgeous, funny, intelligent mother said, "I was happily married for 50 years, and all I could think when your father died was, all I want is another 50 years. Life goes so fast, Christian, it really is over before you even know it."

I guess there is a certain danger to go back and read everyone's truths, you know. Or enlightening? I'm still deciding which. Trying not to hate myself.

Walk Into Town Sunday

We walk into town, so I have a haircut in the city. Some how Sam and my haircuts have got out of sync, can't remember how that happened. So it was just me getting a haircut today. That's kind of the pressing problem for the day, how to sync up our haircuts again, so, I guess, life is pretty good.

The sun is shining. The sky is blue.

It’s a nice walk into town.

Midday. I get to the salon. Nobody is waiting, which is good, but no hairdresser available either.

Mindless dance music is playing.

10 minutes later. A woman walks in. "I don’t have an appointment but I was wondering if I could get a haircut." She sounded kind French. You've got to love hearing a French accent. 

My haircut never takes long.

Fifteen minutes later. We’re at David King of Sichuan Stock Pot in Russell Street having soup for lunch. I have tomato based soup. Sam has pork soup base.

It’s not exactly the warmest day sitting in the shade.

Otto eats leaves.

1.11pm. We’re walking home.

The sun is still shining in a wintry kind of way.

We tell the nice girl in Bailey Nelson about Brun dying. She’s lovely. She is very sympathetic.

1:32pm. We’re home.

We spent the rest of the day on our screens on our couches.

That was it. That was the day done. Another Sunday over.

Telling People

Rachel called, we chatted for over an hour. We haven't talked in some time.

She has rented a house in Adelaide and is going to look after her ailing mother now that her father has died.

I told her about Brun. She sympathised, of course. She and Jill looked after him as a puppy when Sam and I went to Japan.

Sam was showing relatives around Melbourne all day, so it was just me and Otto on the couch together.

Later on, when Sam came home, we took Otto for a walk and Jill called. Rachel had told her.

She got her youngest Corgi when Brun was a puppy, and they were puppies together when Jill looked after them. We chatted for an hour.

I cried talking to both of them.

Later, Rachel's daughter sent me a message saying how sorry she was to hear about Brun. She sent me a photo of when they looked after him.

Everyone was shocked to hear about Brun's death.

I worked on my old blogs all day, until Sam came home.

Otto is still kind of quiet, I think he is coming around, but not fully yet.

He's become a bit whiney, he now makes noises like a Wookie.

Pauline Hanson

She hates migrants

She hates Muslims

She hates young people

She doesn’t like woman’s rights, so she mustn’t like women very much.

She doesn’t like workers, she thinks they are lazy. She doesn’t want them to get a pay rise.

She doesn’t like indigenous people.

She doesn’t like indigenous people getting access to healthcare and educational services.

Clearly, she doesn’t like journalists. Too many questions.

She doesn’t like trans people, despite them being only 0.5 % of the population.

She doesn’t like childcare.

She doesn’t like paid parental leave.

She doesn’t like our wonderful environment.

She hates multiculturalism.

She seems to hate all the things that make Australia great.

We are a society built on the idea of fairness, and justice and looking after our mates and giving everyone a fair go.

She seems to hate all of it.

We are a multicultural society with the oldest living culture on earth.

And she hates it.

Brun

This morning, I was reading about Pauline Hanson and the shit and lies that fall out of her ugly mouth so easily,

and a photo of Brun came up on my wall paper on my laptop, 

with that gorgeous face making eye contact as he always did,

like he was saying, don't bother with trash like her, there are still good things in the world,

and I just couldn't believe the self-serving ugliness that is Pauline Hanson can continue in the world,

when something as pure and good and sweet as Brun has left it,

and I started to cry all over again for what I have lost.

I still can't quite believe my beautiful boy is dead.

The wind blew outside.

Hey Tom

I've been back reading my old blog posts from 2004. I've been reading emails from my beloved mate, Tom. I could hear his voice as clear as day, it was like he was still here and, you know, I think I forgot just for a moment that he isn't.

I guess, I am just feeling sad at the moment, and kind of vulnerable, fragile, death makes you fragile, but Tom it was nice to spend some time with you buddy. I wish with every fibre of my being that you were still here. My smart, funny, irreverent mate with the same black sense of humour.

Tears in my eyes now, I have to stop.

I'm pretty sure I have a lot more Tom emails, that I can pull together. We used to write emails to each other every day. I reckon I'm just going to do exactly that. We were going to write about the adventures that we got up to, but he died before we did, and without him...

Tom and Brun, I miss you both.

Never see them again, you know, that's the hard bit to accept.

And generating AI images of Tom, I know this sounds dumb, but it kind of brings him back, just a little.

Morons

someone from HR

I can't stand morons. I have so little patience for them. I just can't make allowances for them, I just can't. I'm eventually, not kind to them, well, I ignore them. I eventually treat them badly, as if they are not there, it is true. I know I should be a better person, but I'm just not. They should just be... well, chuckle, ah, smile, I don't know. Kept away from me, I guess, is the best I can say.

New Work Mantra

My new work mantra, (keep your mouth shut, keep it to yourself) fuck it, who cares.

 

When Otto Was A Puppy

 

Look at that beautiful face. I can't believe he is dead.

Whats The Point?

4am. I wake up and I can't get back to sleep.

I get up, because I can't just lie in bed.

Oh, what's the fucken point? I think, as I think about what to do.

You have things that you love, which is the point of life, and they die, that's the reality of life.

My beautiful boy.

Brun

 

Some 10 hours after my last post, where my two bulldogs were keeping me company as I worked like it was just going to be another normal day, my perfectly healthy bulldog, Brun,  became sick, unexpectedly. 

At 1am we took him to the dog hospital.

1.10am. The vet asked us to give permission to do CPR. Brun's heart had stopped.

1.20am. They stopped CPR.

1.30am. We were saying good bye to him.

Our lovely, smart, sweet, chilled, beautiful boy was 7 years old.

He knew how to communicate with us, he had no trouble telling us what he wanted, we used to say he understood English. He was the only one of the bulldogs who knew how to push doors open to get places.

Presently, we ache. It doesn't feel real.

Everything feels just a bit pointless right at the moment.

Last Day Of My Week

Sam went to Brisbane for a meeting, and a catch up meal with his colleagues.

I worked at home all day, nothing much to tell. You know, just a day.

I ate all the mandarins, Sam will be pleased. He calls me the mandarin fiend.

Above is how the guys kept me company. All day. That's right next to my home office desk. Good thing I like the snoring, it keeps me company.

Charlie was home too, but who the hell knows what Charlie does all day. Other than eat instant noodles and play with his doodle, no doubt. He's twenty two.

2.30pm. I reckon I could just about sign out of work and no one would even notice. I'll see.

It's Gonna Be A Good Day

Fuck everything is annoying. Why is everything annoying? Just by the way this day has started, I can tell it is going to be one of those days. I've written a couple of emails telling people what I think, and then I have deleted them. That gets it out of my system.

And after watching 4Corners piece on AI, I’m not sure any of this is even worth it. I reckon the smart people will be chucking everything in and doing things that please them in the time we have left as a species.

Dr Richard Scolyer

 

Dr Richard Scolyer dies aged 59. I felt genuinely sad by the news.

Go read about him, he was a good guy.

AI

What do I think about AI?

The governments are passing on safety concerns, leaving it up to Big Tech to self regulate.

We're all going to die.

Lying On The Couch.

It rained. It was sunny. It rained again. It was wet. We spent the morning on couches with blankets. And when I was encouraged (by the outlook for the day) to build a fire mid morning, Sam reminded me it was a gym day, so I went to the gym instead. It rained on my walk there, it rained on my walk home. Sam was ordering charcoal chicken when I got back, to be delivered because we couldn't go walking in the rain to find lunch, now could we? Then not long after I was home the rain stopped, but the cold continued, so I took advantage of the clear skies and went out and cut up kindling, and the funny thing about cutting up kindling, is that by the time you are finished with all that physical work, you are warmed up and you are no longer cold. The sun was shining by the time the Panda delivered our lunch, and Sam said if we'd only waited, still, that wasn't the case. So, then when we'd finished eating, we walked to the supermarket to get groceries for dinner, and dog food, and we were something like half way there and the rain started to fall again, of course it did. We'd only just made it to the shop and were under shelter again when the rain really started to pour down, and Brun, Otto and I were standing there under the shop veranda watching it pour down. Yay, I thought, as Sam shopped. I don't hate the rain, I have to say. A woman with a black poodle, and a husband, told me how her neighbours had bulldogs which they bred, which they didn't look after particularly well. "A contrast to yours," she said. I wondered if I should tell her I beat them. Ha ha, that's just my sense of humour. See her face. There were lots of people out and about shopping, and eating in cafes, and drinking coffee under shelter on the footpath, and walking their dogs, and walking under umbrellas. Note to people walking with umbrellas, when you are back under shop verandas put your umbrella down. Pet hate. There was an attractive 30 something couple, seemingly, window shopping, competing with the rain, being out for a leisurely morning, and I hear him say to her, as they get to me, "Shall we just go back to my place?" and she says, "yes." A Saturday morning Tinder date, I wondered. I would have said yes to him too, she was cute also, I am sure all the straight boys would agree. But then the rain stopped just before Sam reappeared and we were able to head home again, no problem. And the rain started to fall again, when we got home, but it still can't be that cold as I still haven't built that fire. I'm on the big couch under the large pink blanket with one dog against my shoulder, head on my pillow, and one dog lying over my bent right leg using the fold of the back of my knee as the place he is resting his head, both snoring, with the leg lying dog twitching as well, must be dreaming, keeping me toasty and warm at the same time. I am typing this with my left hand, as I need my right hand to hold on to my laptop as I type one handed. Still, when I fart, neither of them care, not one bit. I still have the kindling, and I might just build that fire yet. We're going to have dips and flat bread for dinner.

Pauline Hanson Is Not The Answer

The current support for Pauline Hanson is baffling.

Here is someone who opposes multiculturalism in the most successful multicultural country in the world. (That in itself should disqualify her from power)

She is someone who denigrates people from other countries, particularly ones that don't look like her, specifically Asians and Muslims.

She is someone who claims immigration is a problem in a country that doesn't have an immigration problem.

She is someone who continually calls climate change a hoax.

She supports fossil fuels.

She is someone who thinks Donald Trump is the answer to the worlds problems, and not the cause.

She (her party) is someone who now supports the repeal of abortion laws.

As I say her support is baffling.

What is it that makes people want to vote for her?

She has nothing to offer modern Australia.

Winter Is Here, And Boy Did it Rain

Mid afternoon, we got caught in the rain. It had rained for most of the day, and we probably shouldn't have risked it, but what is the worst that can happen? 

And the rain poured down, the gutters in the streets were raging rivers to be crossed. What is the term, fording, in some places. The gutters full of autumn leaves made me want to grab sticks and poke at the drains.

We took shelter twice in doorways. People scuttled past with umbrellas. Everyone looked damp. During a couple of lulls we had to make a run for it, with varying degrees of success. We were kind of wet by the time we made it back, running between the rain drops, as if that is even possible.

It poured even more after we got home.

I made a fire.

Sam went back to work.

I imagine there was flooding in some parts of town, the rain was so hard. We'll hear all about it when the misery hour news comes on later.

Sometimes

Sometimes, I come away from talking to shop keepers who i see regularly, wondering did anything I just say make sense.

You know, your a bit socially awkward, and you talk in incomplete sentences, and usually it is all a bit rushed.

It happened today, when I went to the bakery and got blueberry pie. Did I make sense? Perhaps I should have thought about eating lunch, before I came over here to get something sweet, then I might not have need something sweet, yap, yap, yap. Is it just me, or does everyone feel that way, sometimes?

I dunno.

Shrug.

Oh, don't get me wrong, it is really just a fleeting thought, as I look both ways and cross back over the street, not some great confidence trick, but a thought none the less, as fleeting as it may be.

A revision, if you like, of what was said and my part in it. Does everyone feel that way?

I still don't know.