Peanut butter

Sam hates it when I am making Vegemite toast for breakfast and I take the knife and scoop a chunk of peanut butter out of the peanut butter jar and eat it.

I hadn't scooped the peanut buter since Sam has been away, don't really know why, so this morning I did, and I felt quite safe, except as I did it, Charlie appeared athe kitchen door just as I did, as if sent as the spirit of Sam.

It made me laugh. It was the exact timing, with me confident I was getting away with something, with the knife going into my mouth as Chrlie appeared in the doorway.

Of course, Charlie didn't give a shit, he just saw me standing at the toaster laughing inexplicably.

Ha, ha, it made me laugh. It reminds me that you don't, really, get away with anything in this life, hey?

What Attracts Them?

I keep wondering what attracts voters to far right candidates? I always try to get to the bottom of what it is they are attracted to with these conservative Polies. And I don’t know, I keep coming back to the thing that they all have in common, which is racism. Is that why the dumb people are attracted to these far right people, is that the racist element in our society that is voting for politicians that will do something about all the people ‘who aren’t like them’?

I have to wonder if this is why all the 'anti' political commentary is so effective with conservative voters, because they see politicians who are gonna do something about all those people ‘who aren’t like them’.

I never really understand why there are people in society who don’t want people around them ‘who aren’t like them’. I love it. I love all sorts of different people around me, with different ideas, and different cultures, and different beliefs. I think it’s what makes life interesting.

So, is it just the dumb, poor, uneducated people who don’t want people around them, 'who aren’t like them' because they don’t have the skills to deal with that sort of thing? I don’t know, that sounds too simplistic, but the people who vote for the Great Orange Turd, the redheaded bitch from Queensland, and the Lizard Farage, I can’t see another reason that unite them

The one thing these voters do seem to agree on is that that preferred candidate says it like it is? But do they, actually, listen to what these candidates say? I can’t help but think that is just code for racism.

Of course, the other thing that unities them is that they’re only interested in themselves, which seems to be the prevailing thoughts of society today. So, they don’t care about anyone 'who isn’t like them', in fact, anyone 'who isn’t like them', I presume, makes them fearful.

The thing that the politicians these right wing voters are voting for having in common is that they all lie. The redhead a bitch from Queensland lies through a back teeth. The Great Orange Turd never tells the truth, ever. And the most surprising one was the Lizard Farage, he lied all about Brexit and yet the dumb people still voted him in. That’s why I called them the dumb people. The redhaired bitch  from Queensland has been in politics for 30 years and she’s never done one single thing, other than ingratiate herself. And the Lizard Farage is slipperier than a bucket of eels.

Max, the temp, calls, during the our initial general chit chat, she says she occasionally looks at ABC and SBS, but not for their politics, never for their politics.

A bit later in the conversation, we're talking about what we watch on YouTube, I said I watch American Political news on YouTube – she said she did too – because I can’t quite believe Donald Trump is in power.

“Oh no, I have no problem with him in power. I have no problem with that.”

Oh? 

I always find it interesting that the ‘conservatives’ voting for far right politicians are very strident in their belief in far right polies.

She had to state definitely that she wasn’t into the politics of ABC and SBS. 

Really? I didn’t ask.

What is the politics of ABC and SBS? (you know, other than the propaganda the Murdoch minions spread so their exalted leader can get rid of it and take the market share)

Is it because they are trying to convince themselves?

(or is it because they are stupid and somehow have managed to latch onto the only politician that supports their racist ideas? I don't really know)

And she has absolutely no problem with Donald Trump being in power.

You know, I wanted to ask what it was that she liked about him? But I didn’t.

It crossed my mind to ask her if she was going to vote for Pauline Hanson? But I didn’t. (I think I know the answer)

I’m always fascinated to ask what it is they like about the worst people in the world in power they are supporting. I never seem to get a straight answer.

*I'm not interested in changing anyones political ideas, I'm not, who wants that angst, but I am interested in conservatives telling me why they like conservative candidates.

TV Tuesday

I had a post kind of half written, but...

I ate my squid ink pasta and my white chocolate and raspberry ice cream and settled in and watched the English Shameless with Otto, instead.

I loved the US version of Shameless, and Mickey Milkovich in the US version is one of my very favourite gay TV characters, so I have always been keen to watch the UK version of the show.

In the English version, we got to see James McAvoy's arse, and who wouldn't want to lick that.

Not In The Office

I didn't go into the office today, on my 'go into the office' day.

"My knee is still sore, and yesterday I over compensated and hurt my back."

Which is all true. My knee isn't completely better, and my back is sore, probably because of my knee.

Now, if they are sore at the level that would stop me getting to the office, we could debate that, probably.

Fuck, remind me again the reason why should I go to the office when I can do everything from home, exactly the same.

(you know, other than executives with small weiners, or tiny gashes)

In the words of the Chubby Little Loser, I don't care.

(anyone who pronounces David Bowie's name incorrectly is a loser in my book, quite apart from his latest questionable comedy)

Temp Max sent back a thumbs up.

Sunday On The Couch

I lay on the couch all day with Otto and caught up on all the car renovation shows I have missed on YouTube.

I was cold all morning with a blanket over me on the couch. Midday, I took Otto out for a piss and saw that it was lovely and sunny outside, warmed outside than inside.

So, I took Otto for a walk.

After which, it was straight back to the couch and YouTube and the shows I wanted to catch up on.

Sam called and said to me that it was Sunday so I should get onto the cleaning of the house.

"Oh, yes, honey, I'll get straight on to it." 😀

Good Morning, Christian

I put wrinkle paste on Otto's dry nose mistakenly instead of nose balm, late yesterday. The wrinkle paste tube said not to be ingested. I googled it, and google said, if he has licked some off his nose, rather than eaten the whole tube, he should be fine, possibly with no side effects, perhaps a mild upset stomach, at worst.

I got up at 5am and had a piss. On my way back into the bedroom, I closed the door and drank the water, which is on Sam's side of the bed by the door.  As I stood there drinking the water, I thought, Otto must have been farting up a storm as it sure smells like shit in here. I didn't think any more than that, I was half asleep and heading back to bed, which is on the other side of the bed. I took four, or five steps, and I felt the shit squish between my toes on both feet.

Now, I am standing in the middle of a pitch black room, as far away from any light switch that I could be, with shit all over both feet, in my undies, feeling the cold of 5am.

Yay! The floor is a combination of floorboards and rugs, so I didn't want to step on the rugs.

I wonder if the wrinkle paste upset his stomach? Otto is housetrained and has never crapped, or pissed in the house previously. 

Oh, except for that one time, when he was virtually still a puppy, perhaps one year old, when I rolled over in the middle of the night and woke him up, and he stood up in the middle of the bed and pissed @3am and boy did that wake us up. But, other than that one time, no, never.

Good morning, Christian, I thought.

So, I stood up on my heels, and walked very painfully to the shower, which, thankfully, is next to my bedroom, and washed my feet.

After which, I was able switch on the bed room light and survey the damage.

The 24th Day

I didn't do much all day, but at least the rain has stopped.

I watched YouTube all morning.

I took Otto for a walk, once I'd shaken YouTube. It was a warm, grey day. I saw one of my dog neighbours who I hadn't seen for the longest time, to the point that I was wondering if she was okay. She was okay. She hadn't been sick, or away, or any such thing. 

She laughed, and said, "I still walk my dog past your place everyday."

We walked our dogs together and I told her about Brun.

I put the wrong cream on Otto's nose and he wasn't happy. I used wrinkle paste, totally without thinking, which is meant for his folds, rather than nose balm which is meant for his nose.

Sam messaged me and told me to wipe it off his nose. "Don't let him lick it." Of course, Otto had licked most of it off.

As I was reading 'for external use only' on the wrinkle paste tube, Sam made one of his many Facetime calls that he made today, asking me if I had got it all off him.

Then there was a frantic search of the internet to see if I, had poisoned my dog, but the worst that could happen, if he'd only licked some off his nose, and not eaten the whole tube, was perhaps an upset stomach, but most likely nothing at all.

I ate spaghetti Bolognese for dinner.

I watched The 24th Day, with the gorgeous James Marsden and the gorgeous Scott Speedman. It wasn't so much a gay film, as a psychological drama. I liked it. I probably would have preferred James and Scott to do more gay stuff, as 'they' say, these two lads would have beautiful children together, but you can't have everything, hey.

Like Torch Song Trilogy, you can see the stage play genesis of The 24th Day. I kind of like that about films that are based on plays, you can actually see the stage production bleed through into the film, at times. I find it exciting when that happens.

I watched Before Night Falls. The story of a gay Cuban writer, I'd never heard of, Reinaldo Arenas, who struggled in Cuba with his writing and the authoritarian regime, eventually escaping Cuba. He died of AIDS in exile in NYC. You know that famous statistic, he was 45 when he died in 1990.

I generally don't watch gay movies that involve the death of the main character through AIDS, any longer. I generally look for gay films with 'other' themes, with diferent gay stories, because we're not just a one story group of people.

Day Off Thursday

Oh, I don't know. I'm sitting on the couch watching movies with Otto. Gay movie, Weekend. One of the characters, Russell, has great hair, pity the character always seems to wear a cap.

A week and a half until Sam gets home.

I watched We Don't Live Here Anymore. Strong cast, but it didn't really make complete sense in the end.

I watched an old favourite I haven't seen for years, Torch Song Trilogy.

I'm Good

I’m okay. Yesterday I was a bit sick, wow, just excess.

But today, I’m good, a little bit of struggle in the background, but pulling it all together and getting it all done.

Do we go and buy some more tomorrow?

I lost a couple of days. I think Otto missed out on two meals, and I can't tell you how many walks. Don’t tell Sam.

Who'd Have Thought

Who'd have thought that my words, I don't want to hear blah, blah, blah about my abominable behaviour, actually worked in me not getting blah, blah, blah about my abominable behavoiur?

Sam has been very quiet about what I have been up to. Er, he's home with his family for the first time in 4 yerars, I guess it isn't that surprising.

Feed Me

Sam orders me a mango desert from where he is. There was some modest refusal initially, something about me having too much fun, but then he placed the order. 

No News, Is Good News

I told my husband, when he called and I didn't pick up. When I messaged him back. I don't want any blah, blah about my abominable behaviour, and I didn't get any. Nothing though. (It is very hard to write with a continually scratching bulldog next to you on the couch) Nothing about his trip. Nothing.

Oh yes, the silent treatment is generally when he is furious. traditionally. He is expert at the silent treatment.

This is not silent treatment, he is messaging. He's still in his father's village. He's still got to do the 2 hour scooter ride back, yet. Father, bonding moment. Ugh. Just tell me when you have done it.

There Will Be Blah, Blah, Blah...

Sam called three, or four times. Trouble was, he face timed me, he never picked it, though. Thought I'd got away with it. Then he Facetimed me back again, and he was on to me. The accusations came thick and fast. It was late then, I was listening to music. I wasn't trying to hide it, or anything, not really. So, I told him I was going to bed. And I went to bed.

Last, I've heard.

Mr Perfect will be Mr Cranky.

Rainy Day In Fitzroy

It rained all day, constant rain

I got through work. I think unscathed. Who'd have thought that. All things considered.

You Were Expecting What?

I start early.

I seem to deal with work OCD cases all morning, who want their i's dotted, and their t's crossed, just for the sake of it.

I find myself trolling HR. To make the time pass.

Fuck it! I think late morning.

11:45am. I’m driving to Guidos

You seriously didn’t think, did you? 

12:10pm. I’m home.

I finish all my work. The focus is great, harness whenever you can. Hone in, Consentrate. Just get it done. You have to get it done.

I have several chats with Max.

Rolling Stones Undercover.

2:15 pm. Signs out of work. What the hell, everything was done. I sent all my work to Max, so she has it all

I light a fire.

It fixed my sore knee. I knew it would. See, purely medicinal.

3pm. Throw up in the kitchen sink like a fucken amateur. That was a surprise. 

 3:15pm. smashed on the couch, with Otto.

3:30pm. This was a huge mistake. He giggles nervously to himself.

3:45pm. Goat’s Head Soup

Angie is a masterpiece 

The killing of Georgie is a masterpiece.

That One Direction guy's song. Sign of the Times

Someone Saved My Life tonight

Life on Mars

Major Tom

Joni Mitchell Blue album.

Lucy Jordan.

Killer Queen

The late afternoon sun shines in the French Doors so beautifully, rich like honey.

I'm as comfy as a lamb.

Tenement Funster

Sam's going to be cross. I've fielded three, or four calls with him, I even answered one in the car stopped at the lights without giving it away, he's tired, he's going to bed.

The news

Monday in the Office

My day in the office, even with my sore knee, like a corporate whore, like all the other corporate whores selling their souls to the highest bidder, I don't want to be one of those corporate whores*, but here I am.

I could pull the sore knee excuse, because my knee is still incredibly sore. 2 panadols, and 2 ibrophen seem to be doing the trick, but it is slow to get better. But, Boris is home in Lapland, and Max, the temp, is in the office first day on her own, so, I guess, I have to head in to support her. She seems nice. She came with a great resume, but somehow, I feel, there has been some, now what would I say, er, padding.

Not to worry, it isn't really my concern.

But, Sam goes overseas tonight and I plan to take the next few Monday office days off, one way, or another, to look after Otto home on his own for the first time ever really n his 3 years of life.

Oh, I mean work from home, not pull sickies, but as I keep saying to Sam I have in excess of 50 sick days accrued, so if it requires a sickie, I won't be backward in taking one.

* Have I ever told you about my life as a whore? When I first came out, when I was very new to everything? I was in The Prince of Wales on Sunday night, and there was this older guy - when I say older guy, he was probably 30 years old, 35 years old - and I sucked him off in the toilets, it was very exciting, first time I had ever done anything like that. He had a nice dick. Afterwards, he put $50 in my hand. I have no idea why he put $50 in my hand, but he did. So, that’s my life as a whore.

Max, the temp, whispers behind her hand to me, “Do you find nearly all HR women are bitches?”

So, you see, I like her already.

The boys too, I want to add, but I don’t, actually, say it.

I Miss You Mate

It's Sunday, and after I have been editing my old blogs, adding, and changing images, all morning, I get out the proper Dyson vacuum, so I don't have to deal with the truely awful LG handheld vacuum, ready to do a big vacuum.

I vacuum the study first.

Then I get the large box down from the top of the study bookshelf in which we keep the hard floor vacuum head. Also in that box, for no apparent reason, are Brun's two park basketballs. I don't know how, but he would know instantly when I got that box down from the top of the bookshelf and he would be in the study and would have one, or both, of those basketballs out of that box and would be chasing it/them around the house amusing himself for the whole time I’d do the vacuuming.

Today, both those basketballs lay dormant in their box untouched. It was a sad sight.

When I vacuum, Buddy used to be the immovable object. I could vacuum right up to him, even nudge him with the vacuum head and he wouldn't move.

Brun would walk right up to the vacuum and stand in front of it, I'm not really sure if he wanted to play, or was saying, You Can't Go Here. Whichever way, I'd have to move him out of the way.

Otto is scared of the vacuum and he runs to the furthest point away from it, which is usually right up against the back door, waiting for me to open it so he can hide in Buddy's old kennel until the vacuum monster was put away again.

The sun shines outside.

Sunday is cleaning day, of course.

After that, I think we are going for haircuts and lunch.

My knee still hurts.

Sam goes overseas tomorrow.

Cold Saturday

It was 2 degrees this morning. Cold, cold, cold. In fact the coldest morning of the year.

Okay, I'm cold. I'm really fucken cold.  It's cold. My feet are like ice all morning. It's cold. The sun comes out mid morning. It's still bloody cold. I don't warm up, not at all.

We have a cooked lunch, it doesn't help.

It's not until we take Otto for a walk early afternoon that I even feel the warmth of the sun.

1:50pm. we take Otto for a walk

The sun is shining, it’s nice to feel the warmth of the sun on my skin. It is the first time I have felt warm all day.

2pm. We cross Brunswick Street. There’s an Ed Sheeran look alike coming from the other direction. I swear he looked just like him. I wanted to take a photo

We go to the Carlton Gardens and walk around the park once, right around the perimeter.

2:30pm. We’re in chemist warehouse in Brunswick Street Sam stocks up on nonsense medicine for his cousin’s overseas which he will take them next week. 

Suddenly, I felt weak and had to go and sit down. I think it’s my stupid low blood sugar thing, damn it’s annoying. I didn't eat much lunch, I wasn't that hungry, I just had to have something, no big deal really.

I get a protein drink on the way out that is so heavily sweetened with artificial sweetener that it’s kind of revolting. 100% sugar-free, but 100% Aspartame.

3pm. We’re home.

Susanto goes to the supermarket. He comes home with cheese cake and oranges. I have an orange, possibly my favourite fruit, while I make tea.

We drink tea and eat cheese cake.

I watch YouTube.

I fall asleep on the couch.

I wake up at dusk and light an open fire.

The misery news hour comes on.

Friday In Front Of The Fire

Sam heads to the office early.

I light a fire immediately Sam has gone.

Just me and you today, I say to Otto.

Cough, cough, I hear.

Yes, you too, Milo.

I sit with my back to the fire. Otto slides in between my legs and lies down. Not really a sustainable position, but cute for now

I sit on the couch and re-write my old blog posts with Otto curled up on the couch next to me on one side, and Milo curled up on the couch on the other side. First time really that has ever happened. Brun could be a little bitch to Milo never letting him relax in the lounge room with us, and now Milo can. Otto is much more relaxed about him.

Funny really, as Brun was the most chilled out, laid back dog you'd ever meet, but not where Milo was concerned.

Cold Thursday

I generated AI images for my old blog posts all day. It takes alot of time to get them all done, so I stick at it. Otto and I shared the couch. He slept next to me all day, until we headed out for a walk in the late afternoon.

I was cold all day.

I didn't go to the gym as my knee isn't getting better. Well, it is better than it was, but it hasn't actually got completely better, which is really annoying. I want to go to the gym. I don't want to lose the momentum of going 3 times a week, but my knee is still fucked up.

I don't know what I am going to do about it? I guess go to the doctor. Osteopath? Maybe. I guess.

Vile HR Slappers

The hideous little bitches that are now in our Sydney HR department are the worst we have ever had.

They are just vile little cunts. No, seriously, they are. Vile little cunts.

I don't know if they are just the generation that have grown up with foulness, which has made them foul.

Or, if they are just so into their own careers, that nobody, and nothing, else matters in any way.

Maybe, they aren't getting any, that the men in their lives don't like them? As much as I am loathed to say women are defined by the men in their lives, which they are not, in these cases the guy's dicks would shrivel up and fall off if exposed to these awful, duplicitous slappers.

Where do they get them from? The bosses? Bitches are Us?

I've had run-ins with all of them today. I wanted to say to Boris, just keep these vile little snot-rags away from me. Sadly, you can't do that. I developed a strategy of just avoiding them, and some how these disgusting wenches went to the CEO. What the fuck? Just putrid.

The problem is that Fish Face and The Giant Ponytail will only listen to these harping seal cubs and act on what these lying little mingers tell them.

So, big breath, Christian.

But they are slowly, but surely, ringing the last skerrick of enjoyment I had in my job right out of it.

I should put their names in the freezer?

Oh, yes, I should, it would amuse me, if nothing else.

Tuesday Just Me and Otto

I was making coffee this morning. I'd put the coffee shots in the cups and I was frothing the milk when my coffee machine began to make the most horrendous noise I had never heard it make before.

It was making a kind of grinding noise, and a clack, clack, clack noise at the same time.

I turned the frother on and off. I turned the machine off and on. I varied the speed of milk frothing, oh, I know, as if that is possible. I turned it off and on again, still the awful noise, I turned it off and on, once more. Is that the definition of insanity?

I thought I was going to finish with the milk frothing. It was clearly dying. What the fuck was I going to do?

This would require an emergency trip to the appliance shop should the worst be happening. Sam would blame me, of course.

"Of course," Sam would say.

Then I noticed out the corner of my eye it was out of water.

I filled up the water container. I patted it and told it I loved it, which I do, it's my favourite machine in the world, I couldn't bare the thought that I had damaged it in some way. 

Full of water, I switched it back on. The grinding noise stopped. The clack, clack, clack noise stopped. I breathed a sigh of relief. 
I wondered if I had done any damage to it.

Sam left at 8.15am.

Charlie left at 8.30am.

Just Otto and me for the day again.

I should get the wank out of the way straight up. Ha, ha. Isn't that what guys do when they have the house to themselves?

Home On My Own

Home on my own all day, just Otto and me. Sam had to go to his office, so I gave the excuse to my work that I had hurt my knee and that I couldn't come in, because someone has to be home to look after Otto, and today it was me.

Ha ha, so what if my knee is almost better, I'm a creative lad, I can pretend that is only happened yesterday, remember, I am an excellent liar.

Cosy Sunday

We cleaned the house, of course we did, it is Sunday and Sunday morning is cleaning day, sam is a stickler for that.

We ate lunch out in Carlton, on the tables on the street. It wasn't so warm, but it is winter in Melbourne, what do you expect, hey.

I ordered sweet corn soup and sweet tofu. I wasn't that hungry. Sam ordered fried chicken.

The first thing that happened was sweet tofu was delivered to the fat guy sitting next to us. I looked at Sam and then the fat boy, Sam looked at the fat boy, then raised his eye brows and looked at me.

Otto growled at the Panda guys, as he always does with guys on bikes wearng hiviz. That boy?

Then it was a leisurely walk back through the Carlton Gardens then home and closing the door on the worl.

Open fire. And screens, for us. I ate a packet of chips because I didn't eat much at lunch. And that was Sunday done.

We've binge watched Ride or Die.

Sore Knee

I hurt my knee, on Thursday. 

Otto and I had been on the couch all day, happy, contented, letting the day slip by unnoticed, while Sam was in the office. Sam sent a message late in the day saying get ready, he'd be home soon.

So, I got off the couch and went upstairs to change my clothes. I meant to take my wallet with me, but I forgot until I came back downstairs again and saw it still sitting on the coffee table.

"Duh!"

I snatched the wallet up off the coffee table and raced back upstairs to put it in the desk draw in our room.

Then I was coming back down the stairs two steps at a time, tra la la, as happy as you like, to get Otto ready so we were ready to go for a walk when Sam got home. It was getting late, after all, and I wanted to get the walk done.

Half way down the stairs, I landed down two steps on my left foot, and my left knee went twang, and, I think, kind of burned. I saw stars, and it took me all my energy not to just collapse down the rest of the stairs. Then I couldn't put any weight on it. I couldn't walk. It hurt. It fucken hurt. I hobbled back to the lounge room. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Sam got home not long after, by which time, I realised if I walked on the flat, you know, normal walking, it was okay, it was only when I went up steps, or down steps, that it really hurt and threatened to give way altogether.

So, we took Otto for a walk.

Yesterday, we took Otto for a long walk, after which Sam massaged Tiger balm into my knee, finding the sore spot, which almost sent me through the roof, a la any cartoon you have ever seen.

After that, I found I could only walk sideways, backwards and forwards motion was no longer available pain free.

It was painful right up to going to bed, which me wondering what a knee reconstruction was really like, even if I have heard some experts saying knee reconstructions were generally a waste of tme.

Today, it is significantly better, but I have taken pain killers, as advised by that pill popping prescription pill addict, David. And presently, I am feeling no pian.

It is my gym day, but I am assuming that is probably a bad idea. I, actually, want to go, you  know, keep up the momentum of going 3 times a week, but I guess I have to be sensible.

I am using it as an excuse not to go into the office on Monday, which may, or may not, piss Boris off, with her training the temp who is going to do her job when she is away, in a week, or so. Whatever, it can't be helped.

"Sorry, I can't walk." Which was certainly true, yesterday.

Anyway, that's me.

Rich & Poor

In the colder weather, the block of butter won't stick to the base of the butter dish making it increasingly difficult for me to butter my toast in the morning.

That is my immediate problem for today.

There are people on planet earth who have to repeatedly pummel mud to get their drinking water for the day.

This is essentially why I believe that wealthier people/nations should pay a higher rate of tax, because through luck in circumstances, more than anything else, they were born lucky, and we should spread that luck/wealth around so people of the world have some what of a fairer life than they otherwise would have had.

If you earn good money, or enjoy good wealth, stop whining about your life.

Almost Sunny Thursday

Sam leaves for the office at 8.20am.

Otto barks at a delivery guy in the street as we say good bye to Sam at the gate.

I come back inside and take up my position on the couch with my laptop.

Otto hops up on the couch next to me and rests his head on my knee with a big sigh, as if to say, well here we are, best we get comfortable for the day.

This is going to be my day, our day.

Home alone. Well, not exactly, Charlie is home still, but he hasn't got any thing on for the day, he doesn't generally wake up until late morning/midday, staying in bed doing what all 22 year males do.

I have to get my arse to the gym at some stage, but I will, I'll get that done too.

The sun is beginning to shine outside. The birds are singing.

10.30am. I head to the gym. Avoiding the disappointment I feel in myself for not going is a great always a great motivator.

Slack Wednesday

I'm working from home, it's just me and Otto. Sam is upstairs, of course. It is the last day of my working week, you have to love that.

I was up early. I signed into work at 6am. I had everything I had to do done by 9am, effectively. Just about.

And now I have had the rest of the day to myself.

Boris is busy with the temp, no doubt, cramming all she needs to know in before Boris FO OS.

You've gotta love working from home.

Truthfully, on balance, they get more hours out of me, not fewer. But, because I get up early and start really early, I can plan out my days better. It's good. The company wins, not loses.

Some days, you just get it easy. It happens in the office too, but at least at home, I don't have to pretend to be busy. I can re-write my blog freely. Ha ha.

In the afternoon, I took Otto for a walk.

Home On My Own

My day home on my own, my preferred state of being. I don't include Sam in that, of course, but it is his day in his office. I'm good on my own. Working away... on my blog as much as the work I am employed to do.

Charlie left early for parts unknown.

I went to the gym at 8.30am, and I am pretty sure I got my workout completed before Boris even signed in, as she is not an early starter.

Since then, its been just me and Otto, sleeping soundly on the couch next to me in my study. Lovely Otto.

I'm playing a bit of Nancy Wilson, up loud. (I chuckle to myself, at the thought of Nancy Wilson's Naturally album being played at my funeral really loudly, no speeches, no speaking, everyone being directed to leave once it has finish playing, like my old mate Collin Butter's funeral, which had loud music)

I grabbed my wallet and went to the bakery and got food for lunch. A Camembert cheese and turkey roll and a banana muffin. 

The key disappeared out of my wallet inexplicably in the last few days. It is somewhere in the house, as I let myself in the last time I used it, I just don't know what I did with it. As I headed out to the bakery, I pull the door shut behind me, it had done the first click on the lock when I remember the missing key and I instantly push back on my front door and miraculously it opened again. It must have been the closest it can possibly get before locking when I pushed it open again.

That helpless feeling of being locked out of the house instantly sent chills up my spine.

If I had locked myself out of the house at 11.30am, with Sam in the city in his office and Charlie in parts unknown, it would have been a disaster.

The day is progressing very nicely, from there though. Yes, it just drifted away, thank you very much.

Monday In The Office

My day in the office, so I leave early, so I have to spend less time with everyone else, you know, as you do.

I get to the office at 6:30am when it is still dark beyond the windows.

So, I have to deal with the annoying people for far fewer hours.

Win!

The temp came in who is doing Boris' job while she goes home to LapLand. She seems nice.

I left the office just before 3pm.

Sam made us walk to Richmond to get a hard drive for work. I was sick of walking by the time we got home. Still, that was Otto's walk for the day.

Sunny Sunday

4.44am. I was up. (Well, I did fall asleep on the couch in front of the TV last night for three hours)

4.49am. Milo comes and cuddles up, first time in days since he got beaten up, I can only assume, by a new cat in the neighbourhood. Hopefully, whoever owns it will start keeping it inside at night so Milo can roam free without fear of violence perpetrated against him. Ha ha.

I generate AI images for my 2008 blog

5am. I go out and dump all the boxes Sam cleaned out of the cupboards yesterday afternoon into three street bins in the dark. I got rid of everything. His major collection of white Apple packing boxes, I never thought I’d see the day that he’d get rid of them, but his hall cupboard is literally packed to the roof.

He was looking for a suitcase as he is heading overseas in a few weeks to visit his family.

I empty the dishwasher.

I make coffee.

I continue generating AI images for my 2008 blog

8.20am. Sam is up.

8.25am. Otto was up.

Magpies sing outside.  I love the magpies singing in the morning. It is my one beautiful memory of being sent to the country to my mad auntie Olive Joan and uncles farm, the wide open spaces in the morning and the magpie’s song.

I make Vegemite toast.

It was cleaning day, of course. So, we cleaned the house after breakfast, well, my breakfast, as Sam doesn’t eat breakfast.

12:35 pm. We take Otto for a walk.

12:52 pm. We’re at Rathdowne Street. The Sun is shining. The sky is blue. The gaggle stumbles across the lights on the green man. Last week, I was walking across this same crossing, typing my journal into my phone as I walked, and the first car waiting to turn left started to toot me, and when I looked up I think he was pointing at the lights and his watch, and when I laughed at him, he started to gesticulate even more wildly.

12:57pm. We’re in Lygon street eating Malaysian, 118 Lygon Street. It’s actually hot sitting in the sun. Excuse me while I take off my blue hoodie to show off my lilac t-shirt, unusual for me not to be wearing a black t-shirt. I just kind of grabbed it by mistake this morning and though, Oh, why not?

There are crowds of people, there’s a number of very cute boys (20 year olds, don’t get me wrong) amongst them, whose jocks you'd just peel down over their arses like chocolate wrappers and lick them out, just saying. Did I say that out loud? They are all sorts of noisy, it’s a circus.

1:04pm. There seems to be more people not fewer, the circus isn’t moving on, I guess, the sun brings them out. Sam tells me he thinks they are church people. You can usually tell church people by the dumb, deluded looks on their faces, I say. You know, the dumb smiles because they think they’ve got life sorted. All I see is dead eyes looking back at me. I guess I wouldn’t be licking their son’s arses then, well, not with their approval. Maybe, in a dark, secluded car park somewhere on the fringes, that what religious belief gives gay sons.

I ate Hainanese chicken rice, Sam ate Beef Rendang. 

The authentic Malaysian restaurant was too mean to give us a take away container to give Otto water, so he had to make do with a small paper cup refilled continually.

Otto growled at the Pandas arriving to collect their food deliveries.

1:31pm. We’re walking home in the glorious sunshine. It’s actually a beautiful day the weather is just perfect spring. 

It is a lovely day to meander through the gardens.

I continued generating AI images for my 2008 blog. Somehow, I got lost in generating images of sexy male angels in tights, that seemed to consume me for some time.

We started watching Young Sherlock again. Sam gives Otto his ball again, shutting off the fire with the screen. I’m disappointed how screwed up my imusic is again, now that Sam has given me his iPhone 16. He’ll give my iPhone 15 to his sister when he goes home. And he’ll buy a new iPhone later in the year when the new one is released, using his work iphone until then. That coupled with Otto incessantly pushing his ball into me, and my waning interest in Young Sherlock, I feel I got a bit crabby. 

David calls me and tells me in conjunction with Chat GPT his major birthday in Switzerland email from a few days ago is just the beginning of his birthday festival, there will be teasers and updates each month, I assume until next June. Something, or other, will happen next month, then the month after that the theme will be announced, A Splash of Blue, In September the official invitation will be sent out, complete with booklet. Then I think after that there will be instructions, and recommendations and updates, I think, every month for a year.

I’d really lost interest after the mention of the first update.

I fell asleep on the couch.

11pm. Sam woke me to go to bed.

Saturday Morning Gym

I'm going to the gym. It is really difficult to get motivated to put on shorts and go out into the cold, on htese cold mornings. Winter is not really the greatest for getting out and being physical.

But, I am making myself. Go, Christian, go! (Sam is telling me too)

I think feeling bad about myself for not going is the major motivation, though. Better than naything else.

Not Happy

Sam talked about his tax bill for 7 hours straight today, yesterday, I'm not exaggerating, until my ears were, literally, bleeding. 

It is fair to say he was upset about it.

I got nothing done on my day off, after lunch. Nothing. He kept at me to calculate figures for him. But I want to waste my time doing meaningless, things that interest me and keep me from thinking about my awful job that I want to quit.

He says he is quitting work if all he does is work to pay tax. I'm all for someone quitting their job and doing something else. But what is that something else?

And you don't want to make yourself poor in the process, either.

I just wanted to play around with my blog, you know, the waste of time olympics. That's what I wanted to do. I'm nearly done adding AI images to my blog posts.

I contemplated kissing him and having sex with him to shut him up, but I didn't.

But, you know, you have to listen and take interest in your partner if they have a concern, now don't you. Oh, yes you do, that is apart of the boyfriend agreement. 

So I listened, I calculated figures - Jasus, anyone would think I was an accou, an accou, no, I can't say it - right up until we started back onto it again later in the evening, then I had to say, Sam, enough. I felt awfully disloyal doing it, but it was getting towards a case of self-preservation by then. Chuckle.

Thursday Day Off

I'm sitting on the couch with Otto cuddled up to my right leg, enjoying generating AI image for my old blog posts, it is currently my favourite thing to do. Oh, you never know, some producer might discover it one day and turn it into the new Tales of The City. Ha ha, I could die alone too.

I'm wondering how rude I was to those Sydney HR scrags yesterday? I  don't think I was, no, not at all, but they hold some sort of strange gypsy curse over the finance team managers who never seem to be able to stand up to them, always crumbling under any duress sprayed at us from that team of mingers. It is very strange. Even the Big Pooh seems to cave into to the Horrible Reprobates.

Anyway, as I've said, I don't care.

First day off, and my gym day. I have to put it in my head some hours before I go, so as to will myself up off the couch and into shorts and out the door. That percolation of will has about another hour to bubble away inside me before the requisite pressure has built up in me to propel me out the door.

So, until then, lets see how many other AI images I can generate?

10.45am. I go to the gym.

Which reminds me, Tuesday I went to the gym. I was talking to Boris just before I left 10.30am'ish and I mentioned to her that I was up to date and that I was going to the gym for an hour.

She laughed like me going to the gym was incredulous. 

Bitch, I thought.

She's also not coping with everything at the moment and maybe she laughed because she thought it was too much for me to go to the gym during work hours when she was feeling like she is going under.

That could also be it.

But, girl, that's why I stopped doing the manager's job as soon as I could afford to do so, years ago.

Be the manager, it's your choice.

From Where Do They Get These DipShits?

We've got this new problem in Sydney HR named, we'll call her Lassie. I really think she suffers from OCD. I can't be sure, she might just be an anally fucked up retentive monster, but, with my history with Manny, the feeling is OCD that I get.

She asks me to confirm every singe interaction that we have, that recently I said that I wouldn't.

"I'll deal with it, Lassie," you loser, I think, "You don't need to be involved any longer."

Then she asked me to relay whatever conversation I have when dealing with the matter, so she could make notes.

Again, I said no.

She is so pathetic that when I was trying to have an email conversation with her about some figures, the other day, she kept cc'ing in The Midget to the email.

WTF!

All I could think was, what are you doing, you pathetic cow, can't you deal with something on your own merits, without clinging to those above you.

Recently, she asked me to confirm something completely useless, just like her, and I thought, Oh, piss off you moron, and I didn't confirm it.

She sent an email to the head of HR and The Midget telling them how I failed to confirm something for her.

Boris is getting kicked by The Midget and is now prefacing what she has to say with, I-can't-deal-with-this-any-more, blah, blah, blah.

The problem is, ever since Brun died, someone as sweet and real, and lovely as Brun, suddenly dying, I don't really care any more. If someone as good and pure as Brun can be taken from us, you know, pointlessly, what is the fucking point to anything, really.

I don't know if that makes sense, but it makes sense to me.

So, I don't care. I'm dangerous - desperately trying to think up a better expression - oh, so fucken dangerous, listen to me, when I don't care. Jasus!

Anyway, whatever, you know this means war. Well, you know, quiet, immovable, uncooperative, war. I'm done with her.

Where do they get these pint sized Hitlers from? I think it must be a prerequisite to work in HR. Or is that having half your brain removed? Yeah, I'm not sure which.

Home On My Own

I worked at home all day on my own, which I like. I'm happy on my own. I never understand why people aren't.

Sam had to go to the office. Charlie disappeared early too. It was just me and Otto and The Rolling Stones all day.

Charlie had left a bag of BreadTop pastries in the kitchen, so, you know, I like that too. Anything with the word pasty in its' title is alright with me.

In The Office

 

My day to go into the office. I'm up early, had breakfast and coffee and ready to go by 6am.

Go to the office, I think as I sling my bag over my shoulder. Go to the office, er? Stupid company making me go to the office. Grrrr!

It’s raining outside so, as you can imagine, I’m less impressed than I was before. Seriously, can we have another pandemic?

It’s raining all the way to the tram stop, not heavy rain, but rain enough to make me wet by the time I get to the corner, and that is mostly under awnings.

6am. I make it to the tram shelter cnr Brunswick Street and Gertrude Street. The young Asian chick already standing under the shelter looks momentarily scared at my intrusion. Er, sorry, I want to say, but of course, I don’t. Another chick in a camel coat joins us, taking one of the cold, metal seats.

I start Foreign Tongues in my headphones and the scared chick and the camel coat fade from my consciousness.

6:05am. The tram comes.

The three of us get on out of the rain.

The tram is relatively sparsely populated.

Spring Street and I am legal. Ha ha.

Swanston Street. A gaggle of tradie boys get on in hiviz. A whole work team of them, and suddenly the tram is full. Lots of blokes. As far as I can see. It's the beginning of a porn movie.

6:17am. I'm off the tram. There’s some idiot with a leaf blower halfway down Collins Street. Get a broom and sweep them up, you dope, I think. I don’t really care though, I’m just making my way to my office in the dark.

6:20am. I’m in the lift.

First thing, I make coffee.

I get everything done by the time everyone else comes in. Then I do absolutely everything I have to do by lunch.

I stumble across a video of Buddy and Brun down by the Yarra and Brun looks so happy. It comes up on my phone.

Makes me think life is a process of diminishing returns, it really is. In the end you lose everything and you get less and less and less.

I get a salad and a muffin for lunch.

I think Boris is shitty with me about her holiday relief? Oh well, what can you do.

I’m bored after lunch. Everything is done, I’m up to date and scratching around for things to do, which I really hate. Apparently, Boris is snowed under, well, if you’d been nicer, I might have offered to help. Nyr? Whatever.

I listen to the Rolling Stones all day.

I can’t shake off feeling sad after seeing Brun so happy walking along the path next to the Yarra. What’s the point, I can’t help thinking, when something, someone, as good and as lovely as Brun dies. 

We’re inching towards home time, come on hours pass quickly.