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.

Cold Sunday

It's cold. It's cleaning day. Otto and I are lounging on the couch lazily. Sam has already done his cleaning chores. My cleaning chores are still hanging over me. I so don't feel like it, but Sam won't except any excuses. Haha.

11am. Charlie just got up.

I don't feel like doing anything on this grey day. I just want to stay on the couch with my dog. BooHoo.

I'm cold, I just don't seem to feel warm.

Sam reckons its colder this winter than last winter. I don't know about that. Winter is winter, I think, they are all cold.

Sam goes to the city for a haircut. Otto and I walk with him to the halfway point. That's when the clouds got really dark, black and the temperature drops to its coldest. Sam keeps going. Otto and I turn back. I don't want to be walking back in the rain with no shelter. Otto starts walking faster as he always does when he thinks we are heading home.

We walk to our front gate. I intended to walk Otto all the way down our street and back, so we are within a short distance of the verandas of the main road, just in case the rain does come down, but once we are at our front gate, Otto makes it clear that he doesn't want to walk anywhere else, so we go inside.

I throw more wood on the fire. I start to feel warm for the first time today. Otto cuddles up next to me on the couch.