Jobs, Movies and Coffee

Sam was rubbing my face and staring down at me and kissing me. He looked handsome in his dark blue striped shirt with his dark complexion.

He said he didn’t sleep very well, not until about 2am. He lay awake. He had been chatty where I’d drifted off. Twice he woke me as I entered nod, which was unusual and usually the other way around. I was the one who usually wanted to chat and it was he telling me to shut up.

It was before 8am when he kissed me good bye.

I woke again at 9.30.

I wanted to finish my journal and catch up my blog, as it was lagging behind by about four days.

I made coffee and muesli and got distracted by news on line, of course.

I caught up on my blogs, Friday, Saturday and Sunday. I rewrote Thursday too. It, pretty much, took all day.

There seemed to be the sound of a bobcat somewhere outside. I headed up to the third floors to see if it was work they were doing in the beer garden next door. They weren’t.

I looked down at the atrium roof and saw the gutters were quite blocked. I could see damn Yucca fronds blocking it all. It was from yesterday and that storm we had. It deluged with rain.

I headed down and unblocked the gutters. Then I thought, fuck it! This thing has to go. It had grown huge too, why hadn’t I noticed that? It now towered over the houses.

I could see inside next door and there was nobody there. So, I went and got my poison and stood on my atrium roof and sprayed the fucker. I sprayed and spray, using a whole bottle of poison on it.

When I came back inside, I looked up killing Yuccas on the internet. Sadly, to my dismay, killing the fucking things is, apparently, quite an issue. They are near impossible to kill. Poison, chopping them down, ring barking them, nothing seems to work.

The only glimmer of hope was rock salt watered in at the base. I laughed to myself. Would I be game to pour rock salt at the base? And if I was how would I water it in?

Just before 5pm (old temp company) called. The lovely C – truthfully she sounds like a 20 year old straight out of uni – had been on annual leave and she had only just got my phone message.

The upshot is that they have started to train people on (the new system) in exchange for a commitment to work for three months after that for them.

I don’t think it is well paid, but, at least, it is an option and movement forward.

Is it possible that I could still be pissing around in 3 months without a job?

Adi arrived sometime around 5.30. We headed to the Nova. As we looked for a carpark, in the streets of Carlton, Adriana repeated a chant that Loli, apparently, says when she is looking for a car space. Loli’s mother said it before her.

“Mother Mary full of grace thank you for my parking space.”

I didn’t have time to respond really at all, when a car put on it’s indicator and pulled out of a centre of the road car space.

We were going to see The Decendants, we’d get the tickets first and then head off for something to eat. As we walked up to the box office, The Decendants was on at 6.45 and Tinker, Taylor, Soldier, Spy was on at 7pm, but The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo was on at 6.30. Adriana said she wouldn’t mind see that one day and I’d heard so much about it that I wouldn’t have minded seeing it too. So, right at the box office counter we changed movies.

We ate hamburgers at Grilled. We sat outside and drank Agrum while we ate. It was nice.

It was good, I liked it. At first I found it hard to follow, but I soon forgot that. The cinematography was wonderful, as was the style of the film, very chic, very modern urban, which is funny as most of it is set on a remote island. It kind of got wrapped up too quickly in the end, and I think I can see from that perspective how the book would be superior.

We ate tiramisu ice creams, laughing at the fact that we both had white shirts on and how it was most likely that we’d be leaving the cinema with chocolate all down our fronts. We didn’t.

We had coffee at Brunettis in the balmy night air afterwards. Adriana got us a seat in the two deep and twenty across tables of punters outside, which we marvelled at being a Monday night. There was a fine sprinkling of cute wog boys, it has to be noted. I headed in to get the drinks. My, my, my, I’ve walked past Brunettis many times recently but I haven’t been in and I haven’t noticed how big the place has got. Both Adriana and I said we remembered it as a shop front at one end. I even said that to the nice girl working behind one of the many counters and she looked left and then she looked right and said, “Oh that must have been years ago.”

“It probably was,” I said. More than I care to remember, as they say.

Now Brunettis is very chic and very slick and very big, it seemed to extend in every direction I looked.

Adriana are old friends who never see enough of each other. Old friends of twenty years, who need to have a present so we don’t keep reminiscing about the past when we see each other.

We had such a nice time we should do it again. “What do you think? Once a month?” 

Friends, Drunk Housemates and Queer Movies

I was awake at 9am. I looked sideways at Sam’s handsome face asleep on the pillow next to me. He looks so lovely. I rolled over and tried to sleep. I rolled over again and tried to sleep even more. I was relaxed and comfortable, but I was awake. I wasn’t going back to sleep I could feel it. You just know that, you know. You can feel being awake, you know when it is on you, the “awakeness” has come for you. You know when sleep is coming, you know when it isn’t. I knew I wasn’t going back to sleep, I could feel it. I might as well stop trying and get up, I thought. I rolled over and gazed at Sam’s sleeping, peaceful, serene handsome face once more.

I slipped out of bed, trying to be like mercury sliding away, that fluid ooze over what was between me and an upright position. The floor boards creaked, the mattress moved, the doona pulled on my leg and pulled tight across him. He grumbled and then moaned and then twitched and shifted about, half awake, a quarter awake, vaguely awake.

“What are you doing?” said his hoarse voice.

“Nothing. Getting up. You stay there, stay asleep. Don't worry.”

"Oh... okay." Groan. Twitch. Roll over. Adorable.

I pulled on track pants and a T-shirt and grabbed my phone and my Pro and, of course, my car keys tinkled as I moved my lap top and my glasses, perched precariously on my desk, fell to the floor with a clack.

Groan, groan, roll, roll. Move legs. Move legs again.

The floorboards creaked as I stepped towards the door. And the hinges squeaked as I pulled the door open. I’d never noticed the hinges squeak before. Shrug.

He twitched again, as I became still and held my breath, but his eyes didn’t open.



I opened my laptop, after I’d made coffee. The lounge was quiet, as I sat at the coffee table. Missy came in with a meow and purred as she rubbed against me. I wrote my journal and she lay on the carpet next to me, her paws pushing against my leg.

Sam appeared at the door about an hour later, after I had drunk my first coffee.

“So, where’s my coffee?” were his first words. He scratched his head and looked bleary-eyed, one eye still closed.


Then it was muesli for me, peanut butter toast for him, coffee for each, my laptop and his iPad and the morning was “eased into” just nicely.

I got to texting Jill. I sent her the number of the electrician, yesterday, so he could check some cables for her. She can just worry about nothing, so I rather cheekily asked her if she had any evidence to back up that there was a problem, or was it just girlie fear? She answered that the potential fault involved Gordon, her elderly father. I wanted to ask her what the problem was then, but I didn’t. (People don’t like that, no matter what the reality would be) She responded by calling and asking if I wanted to go to Cosco.

I was quite comfortable sitting on the floor with my guy and, really, didn’t want to be disturbed, you know.

Shopping is a modern day evil. I’m sure it is a modern day political tool to keep us all under control. It is entertainment for a lot of people. Entertainment? I suspect it is the main source of entertainment for a lot of people, which is really just sad. That really just makes people pathetic and contributes towards the destruction of the world. It does, it is true. If the pokies are just a stupidity tax, shopping is a stupidity charge.

Read – shopping other than my shopping.

Still, I guess, it gives fat, dumb chicks something to do instead of alcohol.

When I said no to Cosco (at the risk of contradicting myself, have you ever been to Cosco? It is quite amazing!) she wanted to know if I wanted to go chandelier shopping in Bridge Road. (Apparently they are in now, chandeliers, not Bridge Road) I felt bad about saying no, declining. I should say yes to things, I shouldn’t say no… and we’d be needing lunch, anyway. So I agreed to light shopping, followed by lunch at 11.30. I said 12, she said 11, we agreed on 11.30.


We met Jill at 11.30am at Reflection’s the light shop. As I crossed Bridge Road at 11.38, I started to text Jill to say we were there and to ask where she was. I had just finished the message and was about to send it when we pushed the door of Reflections open and Jill was already inside. Amazing… for a woman who will be late for her own funeral.

It was hot, thirty five degrees.

So we moseyed around the lighting shop, with Sam pointing out clocks for me to buy. He hates the clock on my mantle piece and is always trying to find a replacement. We headed to the Tasmanian furniture shop, for a set of draws for Jill’s bedroom.

Then it was lunch at Omceo, or something like that, where I made them sit outside, because it was a hot day and inside was full of people who echoed because of the hard floors, in a steamy atmosphere. The trouble was that the wind had picked up by this stage and we got buffeted about on the footpath. I love the wind, though, it makes me feel alive and vibrant. Sam and I were fine, as we have short hair, but Jill’s hair took a battering, which she didn’t fail to point out.

“I guess mine looks like a wreck?”

“No, it looks fine.”

I lied. It looked terrible, but I so didn’t want to go inside.

Jill had chicken livers. Sam had kebab. I had duck risotto.

Then we headed over the road to the funky furniture shop for a replacement TV cabinet for Jill, which looked remarkably like the one she already has. Then into Adairs, with it’s tacky playboy bunny display. Really? Yuk? Then Urban something where Jill bought a vase in her “you know this is my favourite blue” and a dish in the same colour, neither of which she could tell where in her house they were going to go. Then the pet shop to buy the umpteenth kitty litter tray just because she liked the matching pooh scoop, I finally got her to admit, as we stood there contemplating it. Then to small Harvey Norman and then big Harvey Norman.

Then I’d had enough.

It had been hot all day until we were driving home from Richmond, when there was quite a dramatic cool change, as we waited at Hoddle Street to cross. It was one of those moments when a cool breeze gusts through and the temperature droops by ten degrees in a matter of moments. I love it when that happens, the power of nature, so magnificent.


Sam has wanted me to show him the nude scenes in Oz ever since I had told him about the amount of nudity in the show. I have told him he needs to watch the whole show and that I wasn’t about to attempt to go through to cherry pick nude scenes. He bought the dvds down and we started watching them from the beginning.

I love OZ, it is/was one of my favourite shows.

It poured with rain. Deluged. You’ve got to love Melbourne weather, love how it changes, love how there is always a cool change after the heat.


I had a Skype call with Adriana about the movies tomorrow night when Shane and Sebastian came home from Pride. So the next thing I had Shane and Sebastian on either side of me commandeering the phone call talking to Adriana like she had called them. Then I had Shane drunk and yelling in my right ear… being what he thinks is fabulous. Fuck off! The two of you. Fucken drunks.

Me me me me me me me me me me me me me, is their desperate attitude and sadly they don’t even get it.

Adriana didn’t ask Sam to go tomorrow night despite him lying on the couch behind me. I can only say it is because she is used to, or likes to, do things separately to her partner Charlie.

Oh, we’re old friends catching up and, of course, we don’t have to include our partners in everything we do. No we don’t.

Except, I kind of liked the idea of Sam going too.

Sam and I went to see a gay movie called Weekend at the Nova. We had hummed and hared about going, but, just quietly, I was kind of keen if drunk Shane and drunk Sebastian were coming back. We needed to go to Sam’s place afterwards, so walking was out of the question and we would need to be drive.

It was still raining as we left. I got flustered as it was getting late when we left, so I suggested we park in Carlton and walk up. It is hard to park around the Nova complex a lot of the time. When we got to Carlton it was raining hard, but I got flustered and parked a block away still, when we should have just parked in the under ground car park, if we couldn't find a post outside. So we ran in the rain. I didn’t think, it was Sunday at 17.30 and there were car parks close by, and me with my “close by park space” ju ju. Stupid me. There was a park just out the back as if to highlight the point.

I liked the film about two gay guys getting to know each other after, what was meant to be, a one night stand.

Sam thought it was rubbish.

We ate Malaysian afterwards in Lygon Street. I had that Malaysian dish, the name of which I can’t remember now, that, when I had it the first time, I remember thinking was something I had never tasted before, with it’s dried fish and herbs and peanuts and rice.

We drove to Sam’s house to get his work suit. It was nice slipping through the now cool early evening air. It made such a lovely change to what it was like earlier in the evening.

We sat up in bed, Sam watching OZ and me writing my journal. Sam agreed to sit up for an hour without him saying, “switch it off.” Otherwise, I was sending him to bed alone and I was going to sit up in the lounge on my own.

“Okay, I’ll watch OZ.”

I held him to it when he says he is getting tired.

“Okay another episode.”

He gave me that look, out of the corner of his eye. I love that look. It says I am on to you and I love you and you are being very cheeky, all at the same time.

Food and Shopping, Shopping and Food

We were awake early, 7am. We both woke up, bing eyes open. It was cool at that hour, the breeze blew through the open balcony doors. Lovely. We chatted quietly and as sparsely as the hours of the morning. I love that gentle, relaxed, intimate almost whispering, certainly croaky, first words of the morning. It is almost conspiratorial... just the two of us, with the vast world out there somewhere. Those small moments give life its colour, its depth, its meaning. It’s not money, it’s not wealth, it’s not what people think of you. It’s your lover’s breath on your cheek when the day is still new.

I held Sam in my arms, he felt good. He felt nice. He smelt good. I adore him when he is half asleep... not that I don’t adore him when he is fully awake, I do. So we kissed and cuddled, there in the early hours of the morning as the cool breeze blew, instead of going back to zzzzzz, drifting off. He protested a little to start off with, saying something about it being okay for me, being able to sleep in any day of the week I chose. Every morning is the same, or is different, it didn’t matter to me. He only got two mornings to sleep in. But, I soon convinced him… otherwise. Big smile.

Then he was telling me in the shower not to wash my hair, that we were only washing the sweat off and then we were crawling back into bed, but I didn’t listen, I didn’t understand what he was saying, as I luxuriously let my hair slip under the warm water, as he was still speaking in his sweet dulcet tones, the melody that is his. And then I could tell by the somewhat sternified… (do you like that I just made it up)… becoming stern, smile slipping from, look upon his face. There was clearly something I had missed. So, I slid my head from under the warm water.

“What?”

“I see.” He smiled. “You are going back to bed with wet hair?”

Is that really a question, I thought? “No. No, I am not.”

“I wanted you to come back to bed.”

“Oh.” I smiled. I was awake now and besides, I can sleep in any day. “I didn’t hear you, my head was under the water.” I smiled again.

We walked into the city. We were heading to Carlton for our favourite Japanese, but as we were going to the city anyway, we changed course and headed to the CBD instead and had lunch, brunch, in China Town.

We went shopping for a kettle and we looked at headphones, which all seemed to be on special. Where else but Sam’s favourite shop, Harvey Norman. We looked at headphones for ages, trying three different types, one after the other, then repeat and then all of them again and then again and again. We swapped from the shops ipod to Sam’s iPhone and then back again. One was heavy, one was light, but didn’t have any controls, and the other was stylish but considerably more in price. The heaviest one was the cheapest, but the sound wasn’t as clear and it was very basey. The clearest sound had the mid price of the three, but no controls. The most expensive had controls, but the sound wasn’t quite so clear.

We looked at phones, a retro styled dial look phone for $18 took my fancy. I wanted it, but Sam said it was too heavy… and, as I have found before, being tied to a corded phone now a days can be a pain in the arse. We are so spoilt now… cords, or lack there of and weight are important. I wondered what “they” would have thought of that one hundred years ago when “they” cranked the handle and asked the operator to connect them?

We looked at kettles for just as long, as we pissed around with the headphones. We headed down to Big W to make our choice, who’d have thought there was such a variety in kettles. It is the good and the bad about modern day consumerism – all we really need is a tin kettle to sit on the stove, but we all love choice, now don’t we. Flat bottoms, bottoms where you could see the element. Spout filters, no spout filters. Water indication levels on one side, or both. Black, white, stainless steel. Lids that open smoothly. Spouts that you can fill through without opening the lid. Centre electricity connection, rear electricity connection. Switches on the base, or on the handle. Different temperatures for the different types of beverages you may want to make. $7.95, or $175?

I ended up buying the new version of the kettle I already had, which cost $40.

We went shopping in the Asian grocer in Russell Street for our dinner, just a short stroll down from QV. Chicken wings, salted fish and bok choy.

We walked home from Russell Street in the bright sunshine and the heat, drinking a mandarin slurpee.

It was hot.

Sam marinated the chicken wings, in curry powder, vegi stock powder, honey and a little soy. They smelt good.

We did the last of the gardening in the front yard, as the chicken wings marinated… me sweeping and pulling out the unwanted plants and Sam sitting on the front step giving me moral support.

I made orange jelly and green jelly with orange jackfruit inside. We ate the orange one, while we waited for the curried chicken wings to cook, on the couch with one spoon between us. I just wanted a taste because I was hungry but Sam said, “Bring it to the couch then.” And we devoured it, as we watched reruns of Frazier and Two and Half Men and Big Bang Theory.

Jobs and Gardens

I sat on my balcony and gazed at the morning. It was hot. The sun was shining down brightly, hot, crisp and bright. I spent the longest time just sitting there still trying to convince myself that today was the day to start job hunting in earnest, despite it being Friday.

Nobody calls job agencies on Friday, I could hear Anthony saying to me down the phone. For goodness sakes pour yourself a wine and relax.

I chuckled to myself and thought that if I rang him that is exactly what he would say.

Still, as amusing as it sounded, it wasn’t, actually, helping me any.

LouLou had organised for me to call her brother in-law, Martin, who is an employment agent, quite high up in the company, Managing Director or some such thing, which I didn’t really need to know, and he had asked for me to call on Tuesday or Thursday, as he was busy on Wednesday.

So, I guessed, that I had to call. I might think that I can just call when it suits me, give or take six months, but, apparently, others don’t quite feel the same way. So, best I get on to it.

So, I called Martin. I felt nervous, lack of belief in myself. Just get over it. Think positively. Believe in yourself. Have “front”, put yourself forward, don’t be shy. It’s the people who put themselves forward who move forward and demand to be noticed who always get somewhere.

He didn’t answer, so I left a message. I wondered if he’d call back.

I called (Employment agency B), finally, speak to B, to see if the jobs using SYSTEM S necessarily required prior SYSTEM S experience, even if they didn’t say so. Apparently, they did require it.

E answered the phone. “Send me your resume and I’ll give it a look over and see if we have a position for you.”

“Okay, that would be great.”

“Would you accept a contract role.”

“Yes, sure, a full time contract role.”

“Yes.”

I’d actually prefer a contract role at this stage, but I didn’t tell her that.

Then it was trawling through all the Seek adverts to see what was on offer.

I applied for a SYSTEM S job in the western suburbs. Learn SYSTEM S without any previous experience. The job was a week, or so, old. Why hadn’t I been looking more regularly? Maybe they have trouble filling western suburbs jobs, the employment adverts seemed to indicate that. It seems to be the western suburbs adverts, which are in for the longest.

Then I was sick of jobs and job ads and job applications, but mostly I was sick of the feeling of nervousness it all gives me, so I grabbed my broom and secateurs and headed out to the front garden.

I pulled lots of stuff out of the garden. The fishbone ferns that have infiltrated and taken over like a weed, I have cleared them out altogether.

Martin rang me back, LouLou’s brother in law. He said he could help find me a job. I am to call him next Friday, if he hasn’t called me before then.

(Employment agency B) called me back to tell me my resume was wrong. OMG! And it was wrong too. E didn’t seem so concerned about it, but all I could think was, So do I think she is going to give me a job now? I can’t even get my resume right. Oh fuck it. I am sooooooooooooo slack. I updated it quickly a few months ago for the first job I applied for, and I meant to go back and give it a thorough going over, but of course I haven’t and then I forgot with this latest round of job applications.

Idiot!

The problem being, that the SYSTEM S job I wanted in “the western” suburbs also got the incorrect resume. Piss!

LouLou’s brother in law Martin also got the wrong resume. What must they think?

Oh fuck it! Fuck it! Fuck it! All the jobs I wanted got the incorrect resume. Shit! Shit! Shit! I am such rubbish!

I called the electrician to see if he knew a tiler, he did. So I called the tiler and he is coming nest week to fix the tiles in the kitchen, another job off my five year plan. Well, you see, it just dawned on me, limited money withstanding, that if I go back to full time work any time soon, I won’t be able to take time off easily to be here for tradesmen to come and fix stuff. I kind of have to get it done now, before I go back to work.

I got my silicone and got up on the atrium, finally, and re-siliconed the glass roof. It was getting late in the day and I knew that I would still be up there when Sam got here. I’d be in my disposable gloves and I’d be covered in silicone and sweat, so I took my singular key up with me. I’d hear to doorbell and would be able to scamper up the kitchen roof and call over the parapet. He’d hear me from the front door, come around into the lane, I can see the smile on his face now, and I could throw the key down. Easy… and I wouldn’t have to come down.

It was hot and it was awkward. I had to perch on the top of the wall on the boundary between me and the next-door neighbour. The glass roof comes down to that boundary wall.

It didn’t take that long, certainly not long in relation to the amount of time I have spent talking about, stressing, about it, pissing around in relation to it. I did three quarters of the roof, in an hour, of a little more, which was when the cartridge of silicone was used up.

We went to our favourite Thai place in Smith Street for dinner.

The waiter seemed to be a transitioning sex change. She/he was new, neither of us could tell if he/she was a boy or girl. I think he was a boy. But then again, fat is hard to differentiate.

We ordered too much food, as we were hungry when we got there. We had to take the pork belly and greens home with us.

We did a half walk turning down Nicholson Street, because we felt fat. Sam must have been pleased, as he is always trying to cut through one of the cross streets, Nicholson, Rathdown, Lygon, before we get to Swanston and today was the first time I agreed. I’m not really sure why, it must have been a weak moment. We wandered home aimlessly through the streets of Fitzroy laughing and chatting the two of us. The two of us. I like it being the two of us. Him and me against the world, it’s nice. So very nice. We chat and laugh easily.

It was a Lovely Day

A bit of sun baking in the park

Awake Early

I was dreaming about D and a large red brick house where I had ended up with a car and a secret booty of some kind, which I was trying to sneak out of the house, in a cul der sac into the car in the middle of the night to get it away from… someone, I don’t know who... now... something. It wasn't so much fear as a sense of urgency to get it all done and to get away...

And then I was awake and the light was just beginning to seep into the room from outside, gentle and soft and early morning wishy washy. And I was like WTF? You know, trying to keep every last detail of the dream in my head so I could analyse it and work out what the hidden meaning was so I could understand what it was that I was really thinking. And um... er... ah? Going... going... don't you hate the way dreams fade so quickly. So vivid and real and then drifting away like so much mist. It's like trying to grab hold of steam.

I was awake just after 6am. I went to have a piss and Missy was at the door meowing. She came back in with me and got up onto the bed and curled up next to me. I stroked her fur with my finger tips and she purred.

I couldn’t sleep, because I can’t get rid of this feeling of impending doom, and the feeling that I have really mucked things up, and the feeling that I’m not going to get a job…

So, at 6.30 I gave in and switched on my laptop, actually, it was still on because I fell asleep in bed last night sometime in the wee small hours and I just closed it. Missy gave me a look like, Aren't we comfortable? You know, like cats do, which roughly translates as, I’m comfortable stop moving. Which would be a whine if it was coming from a human, but coming from a cat it would be a statement of incredulousness.

I read all about Tucker cars, the big failure of the fifties. My first entry on my list of Facebook “new posts.” Of course, it could be because GM, Ford and Chrysler ganged up on innovative and technologically advanced Tucker. Really, you say, that is unheard of. The latest example of one of the 51 cars in existence sold for nearly 3 million dollars. They would have made a great investment, as just a short number of years ago they sold for a couple of hundred thousand dollars.

At 7am I went and made coffee and muesli as I was getting a wee peckish and came back to bed.

I read more about Tucker cars. 51 cars made, 4 destroyed, only one car unaccounted for of the four destroyed. Not bad really. How many car companies can say that 92% of their entire product sill exists some 60 years later. Francis Ford Coppola owns two, he’s a lucky boy, but of course he made the movie Tucker: The Man and his Dream. And there is one in Melbourne. I presume, maybe, probably, could belong to Lindsay Fox. I have no idea really, but Lindsay Fox is our most famous car collector. I’d love to go and see it.

I tried to google Lindsay Fox’s car collection website, but it came up with errors and “the cars” section didn’t seem to go anywhere. I’m sure Lindsay Fox would be pleased to hear that, even if it isn’t him who owns the Tucker.

Shane got up at 8am. His stirrings suddenly bought me back to reality. Funny how reality can shift when one wakes three hours earlier than usual. And no, it is not mid morning. Oh yes, of course, it is a school day for some. Maybe, I’m not taking this job search seriously enough.

9am. Shane crunches his car into reverse and leaves for work. He crunches his car into reverse every morning. I don’t get it, if I crunched my car into reverse every morning, I’d try and select the gear slower, or something, to stop it crunching. Or I’d have my car looked at. I wouldn’t just go on crunching with abandon, gay or otherwise.

I think 9.15 is my favourite time of the day. The sun is, usually, just a comforting warm glow the air still smells dewy and sweet, the birds are tweeting and the day is in front of you, not yet spoilt with expectations, or disappointments. There is a lovely simplicity, as the morning eases into the day.

Just laying in bed is a tonic. It's funny when the day light is shining and the sky is blue, nothing seems quite so desperate and I just relax with it all and think job? What job?

Screw it. I'll get a job. I've got enough in the bank for some time yet, it's not desperate. Just relax. Chill. It will work itself out.

I mean, I ask you, how bad can taking seven, or so, months really look to a prospective employer?

I went travelling? Doesn't everybody do that at some stage, or other? Why is that so hard to believe? Yes, of course, okay, I know and you know that it is a lie, but they don’t know. Isn’t that what Australian’s do, they travel?

How hard can it be? They are all idiots, after all, all except you and me, of course.

Talk Talk Talk Talk Talk... It Was A Talkfest Today

I woke early… maybe, my conscience is not so clear any longer? It’s not. I sat up in bed and read stuff on my computer. Puffed pillows. Goose feather doona. Comfy as you like. Cosy. Lush.

I had to take mum to the dentist at midday. I calculated and recalculated my timeframe for the morning, otherwise I leave one step out, usually the “getting ready” and the “leaving” kind of merge as the one time. Dentist at midday. I have to be at the home at 11.30. I have to leave here at 11am. I have to start getting ready, at the latest, by 10.30am. Then the count down began, as I lay in bed with my computer. I have 3 hours… 2 hours… 1 hour… 20 minutes.

I am so worried about mum’s incontinence that it is making me dread taking her anywhere, let alone the dentist. Can you imagine? Oh… Jesus!

Then I had a brain wave. Maybe, some people might say that my brain finally kicked in, finally realised what, actual, help I have available to me. Whatever? I rang the home and told them I would be picking her up at 11.30 and could they take her to the toilet just before that. 

“Yes, no problem.”

I sat on the front step with Missy and ate muesli and drank coffee, the morning sun was warm and gorgeous, the morning air clean and fresh. Missy rubbed against my leg and purred.

I looked up and noticed Shane’s car across the road still parked. I called out to him about going to work, fearing he’d fallen asleep again, he’s capable of it, he said he wasn’t going to work. He had four days off last week from Australia Day to last Sunday. He had taken drugs for the first few days. He said later that he’d been all things to all people and consequently he hadn’t got nearly enough sleep and that he was just tired today and couldn’t face it.

Yes… well… of course that would be it. I wondered if he, actually, believed it?

When I got to the home, mum was already and waiting by the door. On the way to the dentist, she said that she was very pleased that she had teeth problems because it meant that I visited her and that I took her out on an outing.

I felt the sting of my neglect pierce my solar plexus’.

She had her two bottom teeth removed, the one which had broken off due to decay and the one that had detached from her jaw bone, which was wobbling around alarmingly in her gum. We made an appointment for next week to have numerous teeth cavities filled.

“Please don’t take me straight back. Please can we take the long way around?”

I bought some lunch at a deli in Hartwell, Camberwell Road and we headed to Wattle Park. The deli boys were very cute, all four graduating in age; dark hair, good looks, very nice. I imagined them as brothers… dirty smile. Don’t mess with my fantasy. Mum couldn’t eat so soon after the extraction, so she couldn’t have any food. But, she said she didn’t mind, of course.

We sat in the sun at the picnic tables surrounded by gum trees and bush land as far as we could see and shared the blood orange juice, as I ate my roll. It was a lovely, sunny day, not too hot, with a bit of a breeze.

We watched the workmen dismantling the second tram in the distance, the one that had been vandalised and set alight just recently. It seemed such a shame. I still remember those trams from my childhood, so they have been in the park for years, more years than I care to think about. I wondered if it would be replaced? I kind of thought not, as it is not exactly a 21st century kind of amusement... now is it. It really is a relic from children’s playgrounds of an era now past. I thought it was a shame.

We went for a walk on the gravel path under the trees.

The park was lovely, really. It was a perfect day. There seemed to be several young children with, what looked like, their nannies looking after them. Nice for a select few, I guess.

I got mum home by 3pm for afternoon tea. I kind of thought that was a good idea, as she missed lunch.

I wondered if I should have gone in and sat with her for a while, but I wanted to get home before the dreaded “mum run” at the various schools between there and home. The mother’s taxis’ clearly believe they have a god given right to drive, as they like and to park just anywhere because, I am assuming, they are mums. You know, good for them, but I just don’t have to be a part of it.

When I got home, I played on my computer for a while. Shane made a brief appearance, but then seemed to head straight back to bed.

I can’t stop thinking about my work situation. I vacillate between getting a job and renting the spare rooms in the house. I don’t want to work; I don’t want to live with more people. I want to write, I should make this big house pay an income, pay its way. I’m continually trying to work out the figures on it all. Adding and re-adding, trying to make two, not quite preferable, scenarios work. It’s doing my head in.

At 5pm, I went for a walk for an hour. It was a lovely warm afternoon. I took my camera naturally... still with my current theme of taking shots of people without them knowing. Does that sound creepy? It’s not meant to be creepy. No, not in a creepy way. No, not creepy. Just in a natural, unposed way. Pictures of life, rather than picture of individuals.

Just as I was approaching home, my phone rang and it was Dean. Dean loves a chat. He had been talking to Jimmy about the forthcoming birthday weekend, camping in the country, on the side of a hill in Castlemaine. I like the sound of it. I like camping, every now and again. All that nature can be intoxicating. Dean wanted to know if I was going? He may be going with Katarina, his ex-girlfriend, if she can get a house sitter, (I’m not sure why she needs a house sitter?) or on his own if she can’t. Either way he is going to hire a car, as he only has his work truck now, and he would pick Sam and I up and drive us there, if Katarina wasn’t going, if we wanted. I'm not really sure, the jury is still out. If she was, the two of them would go together. We chatted for ages, as Dean and I do when we are on the phone. Dean likes to talk.

Shane was still in bed at this stage… so his presence at home wasn’t really disturbing me. Yay!

Sam cooked me dinner. Cute, huh? So, I was able to disappear to my room soon after I had eaten.

Anthony called to tell me about the near car accident that he had in the shopping centre car park, when some idiot sped through at 100 kilometres an hour and Anthony had to pull up in a hurry, feeling the slip stream from the hoon's car gust through his open car window, it was so close. Wooosshhhh. Ah! He had to come home and put his sling back on as his, newly healed, shoulder as it ached from the jarring of his car screeching to a halt. Fucker!

Anthony asked me, just in passing, you know casually, if Sam was at my place tonight. "Is Sam with you?"

"No... not tonight."

"Oh..." Curious tone. "Where is he then?"

"He's at his place."

"Oh?" Can a tone be more curious... in a nonchalant, non intrusive way?

"I'll see him on Friday night."

"Friday night?"

"Yes, he comes over Friday night and heads off to work from here on Monday morning."

"Oh... well... I see."

Well, that conversation got me to thinking... something that I have thought before, however. I’m a free agent, I have a car, I don’t have to get up and go, well, anywhere in the mornings, why don’t I see more of Sam during the week. He is often home by himself, after all. I don't have to be sooooooo routine driven, surely. Spontaneity is something that alludes me, clearly.

So, when he messaged me a short time after, coincidentally, I spoke to Anthony and said he was cooking noodles and did I want some, I said yes. (Life is full of coincidences, despite David saying there is no such thing)

It was 7.15. “I’ll just need a shower," I still hadn't showered since my walk, "so I probably won't be there until 8pm.”

“Ok.”

“I’m cooking now.”

“Move!!”

He was cleaning his fish tank when I got there. I couldn’t help but comment that he religiously cleans his fish tank to a demanding schedule of fish tank cleaning, but, he has a very high rate of fish attrition. Maybe, he should lighten up and set the fish tank cleaning to “loose” and see how the fish survive? He’s the “gotta have a plan” one in the relationship and I’m the “let it loose” one.

"Maybe I am just a crap fish carer."

"It is a fish death camp." But then, what fish tank isn't.

The noodles were lovely, as per usual. I do so love it when he cooks for me, because he cooks me lovely, lovely food, more so than the fact that I am a lazy arse and don't cook. But, I do cook for him. Hmmm, he might not exactly agree with that statement. I cook for him too, when he puts pressure on to cook. I’m not a, shall we say, naturally enthusiastic cook.

Sam wanted to come to my place after dinner. Oh, I felt bad, when I said no. How could I leave my gorgeous little dumpling (do you like that) when he wanted to come with me? But, it was a school night and he goes to bed really early, 10pm and if he is with me, I have to go to bed at that time, too. And I wanted to head home and write my journal, this here, this rot, I was a day behind, still am, so I said no.

“But honey, it will be switch it off! And go to sleep at 10pm.” (That's what he says to me when he comes to bed and I have the TV on)

“I see,” he said. He didn’t seem too disappointed; I hope he wasn’t.

I felt mean driving home and vacillated between wishing I’d said yes and feeling mean and thinking that it was okay to want to stay up late and write my journal. I am allowed. I don't work. If he has to go to sleep at 10pm... but, his handsome face asleep on the pillow next to me... be still my beating heart.

Shane was watching Notting Hill when I got home. I made tea and lay on the other couch. It seemed like the perfect brainless piece of fluff to wind down to.

However, Shane seemed to be very chatty and wanting to talk, a consequence of him being home on his own all day. He doesn’t like being on his own, remember. I didn’t feel like chatting, part of me was still with Sam back at his place and I just wanted to be still and feel the decision that I had made about coming home on my own, to make it feel like the right decision.

Shane said he’d had the best weekend, but he’d tried being all things to all people and consequently he hadn’t got nearly enough sleep and that he was just tired today and just couldn’t face it, work, today. There was Bruno’s on Sunday night. Sebastian had been at Bruno’s all afternoon cooking. (Of course, there is no show without fucken Sebastian) And where Bruno used to get to the point of eventually boring Shane, in the past, he’d recently renovated his house and he had also travelled extensively over the last year or so and he had now finally grown up and was more interesting to be around. And D is sooooo in love with Ashley and Ashley is soooo in love with D that it is lovely to see... 

...yep, yep, yep...

Will this “back to me” self focus yap ever end, I thought? I just want to lie still and chill and not think about too much. The trouble being that I had been talking with people all day and Shane had been home on his own.

So, despite being really comfortable on the couch, I went to bed fairly soon after... just too much chat. Really. Or, as Sam says, nyp nyp nyp nyp. Am I a terrible person? I ask you? Awful? Really? My tea was still hot and still more than half full… that’s how far I made it. Nervous. Smile. Shrug.

Stressing Out

I woke at 7am and couldn’t get back to sleep. It was much colder today, very cool, so I got up and closed my balcony doors early, at that time, sometime just after 7. Then I couldn’t go back to sleep, I couldn’t drift off, I lay there. I rested, I closed my eyes, but in the end I had to stop trying to sleep.

So I turned on my laptop and fluffed the pillows. I did phase out again, just for a short time, as my eyelids got heavy and my body zzzzzz’d.

I’m stressing about everything, I’m worried just about everything in my life, everything except Sam are in a state of worrying flux. Not the least of which is the fact that I forgot to take my mum to the dentist. She had broken a tooth and the second of her front teeth was loose, last Sunday when Gill and I went to visit. I was supposed to call and take her last Monday, but it slipped my mind. It wasn’t until last night when Jill asked me how mum was?

“Oh fuck, fuck! I can’t believe it, I was supposed to take her to the dentist.”

How could I be so stupid? How can I be so useless? Why am I so useless? Of course, it is true, you know…

So at 9am, I got and called the dentist. I have to take her at midday tomorrow.

OMG! Oh please let it go okay. Please universe let her not shit herself in the process of going to the dentist.

OMG! Oh please let her second tooth be still attached. Please universe let her have as many teeth as possible still in her head.

Oh, is anyone going to employ me? Can I remember anything? Am I going to work again? Ohhhhhhh? Shake! Shiver! I’m shit!

Oh, for goodness sake… shake yourself, slap if need be… just be positive, just be a glass half full, stop being so negative.

I head to the periodontist. I’m there by 11am. It was my initial treatment to fix my gums and save my teeth, with the new guy.

It hurt. Nerve zzzzzz!!!!!!! Varrhh!!!!! Ahhh!!!!! Oh!!!!! That pointy spike thing. I think he was cleaning my jaw bone, at varying times.

“That will be $800 dollars today.”

“Um… oh… I thought it was going to be $250?”

“That’s for maintenance, this is the first treatment, deep clean, so that’s why it is $800,” said the nice dental receptionist. “Didn’t we go through the payment plan.”

“Um… no… I don’t think we did.”

She peered at the screen as though she was looking up my details. “Oh… um… maybe we didn’t,” she said. She took my card. “So is that credit.”

That’s it? No we didn’t go through the payment plan. “Should we look at the payment plan then?”

“Well?” She looked at me blankly. “We’ll see you in four weeks and then it will be $250.” She shrugged and smiled.

Okay? So that is it? Then? Oh my bank balance.

He worked on my teeth for 30 minutes and it cost $800. By my reckoning, that is $1600 an hour. $1600 an hour? Now, I don't know what you think, but when I thought about it, that is outrageous. Oh yes, university training, blah blah blah. Sure, of course that is true. Hygiene, oh yes, of course. But, my cleaner is similarly involved in my hygiene and she earns nothing near that amount.

But, even if I paid him, let's say, $100, that would be $200 an hour, which, in my book, is still very well paid. $150 for 30 minutes, $300 an hour. That is also very well paid.

Outrageous, when you consider that it is always a drama when the lowest paid members of our society ask for a pay rise through the fair work commission and it is always a drama. The commissioners hum and ha over whether is should be increased by $2 or $2.50. How can the lowest paid people always get their cost of living rise cut or modified, or debated and become a part of the national interest when there are people earning $1600 an hour.

Where is the outrage when periodontists raise their hourly rate? I ask you?

I headed to lunch with Beck and Mel. They were waiting out the front. They were chatty, chatting about meeting, about the day, about lunch. I was mute, a little nervous. “Can you talk?”

My hand raised to my mouth. I wasn’t sure. “I’m not sure.” It was kind of the first time I had spoken. I sounded like I had cotton wool in my mouth. “Woob woob woob woob.”

They laughed.

“I think I need zouph.”

“Soup for you,” said Mel. “Soup.”

Both Beck and Mel are good. We went to a café over Collins Street and ordered pasta bake and coffee.

It was a Black Law Firm hate fest, of course. As Beck said, we had a good thing going, we had a good working relationship, we had it all set up and running smoothly and then they wrecked it, they destroyed it and we got thrown out for no good reason. Beck was pushed. I was sacked.

I told the two of them how I still kind of worried that I was shit and that no one would hired me, that I was really no good.

They gave me that sideways look, that look you get when you are telling truths, real truths, real emotional truths, that get people’s attention.

“You’ll get a job,” said Beck. “Don’t worry, you’ll get a job.”

It does concern me that I am crap and that I am a second rate employee who gets the sack.

Beck said that money on my mortgage doesn’t count towards money in the bank for the dole. I think about going on the dole and renting out my two spare rooms. I’ve never been on the dole, I wonder if that would work?

I went to Medibank afterwards and put in claims for $1000 worth of dental work and got refunded $40. Periodontal is not dental, but major dental, it is different, of course, so it is not covered. The new Medibank benefits/regime/payment details do include periodontal, but my payments would increase by $50 per month, or so, if I did that.

“Okay, how about if I delete my extras and just have hospital?”

Well, with the changes in the payment structure, if I reduce my cover to just hospital, my monthly payment would, actually, go up by $5… because I signed up 12 years ago and I have the cheaper payment plan.

“Okay then, we are done here, I guess.”

If I get rid of my cover all together, when and if I take it up again, I will be penalised 2% every year for ten years and then that penalty would stay with me for ten years, something like that, before it is dropped off again.

Do I want to drop my health insurance? And risk that.

And then, of course, there is the tax penalty, which makes it almost impossible to not pay medical benefits, as you get taxed more if you don’t have it. Of course, I don’t work now, however, that, sadly, is not going to last.

Who still believes that Australia has a free medical scheme?

I walked across Elizabeth Street. By now, I was feeling so stressed by “my lot” that I couldn’t think. So, I sat in the mall in the sun and listened to a man play guitar and harmonica wonderfully. Great. Really great.

And I took photos of people, all the people, lots of people, none of which really turned out that well. Ah well. I didn’t have my camera with me, sadly, just my phone, with the crappy HTC camera. Oh well, boo hoo.

I came home and took to my bed. Of course. Lovely. Locking myself away in my room, shutting the world out, depressed? Oh, I don’t know if I am depressed, just less enthusiastic… with life… with it all.

A cool breeze blew, which made a nice change.

Jimmy came to get his brown polyester suit. We sat in the lounge room and chatted for quite some time. He invited me to his 40th birthday on a hill in Castlemaine. Camping, with Sam.

Jimmy tells me there is gaggle of welfare abusers in Castlemaine. I tell him about my ideas of renting rooms and the dole and wonder why this has come up with him? Is the universe trying to tell me something now?

“I used to want to get to the end of my life and want to be able to say that I had never been on the dole,” I said. “But now, fuck it, I’d abuse the system if someone would show me how.”

We both laughed.

I spoke to Anthony and told him about my worry about mum shitting herself in the dentist chair tomorrow.

“Don’t worry, dentists are highly qualified medical professionals. If it happens it happens, don’t worry.” He laughed. “Shit happens.”

Some how it didn’t make me feel better.

He’s been told to take his sling off. His two shoulder blades are better now.
I spoke to Adriana, on Skype. That was after thinking about her for the last few days, week. David would say “nszpitipsssszzzzpppttee. See the universe answers you. There are no coincidences in the world,”

Adi and I are going to Nova on Monday night to watch The Descendants.

Sam called me while I was talking to Adi, that hasn’t happened to me on Skype before. It’s a modern world.

I called him back, we chatted for ages.

He tells me I should rent out my two spare rooms and not think about working. I tell him how Beck said that money on my mortgage doesn’t count towards money in the bank for the dole. That I can rent the two spare rooms, three in total and go on the dole too.

“Do it,” he said.

I don’t know, I can’t see it.

Then again… fuck it!

Where is the Outrage?

I went to the periodontist today. It was my initial treatment to fix my gums and save my teeth.

He worked on my teeth for 30 minutes and it cost $800. By my reckoning, that is $1600 an hour. $1600 an hour? Now, I don't know what you think, but when I thought about it, that is outrageous. Oh yes, university training, blah blah blah. Sure, of course that is true. Hygiene, oh yes, of course. But, my cleaner is similarly involved in my hygiene and she earns nothing near that amount.

But, even if I paid him, let's say, $100, that would be $200 an hour, which, in my book, is still very well paid. $150 for 30 minutes, $300 an hour. That is also very well paid.

Outrageous, when you consider that it is always a drama  when the lowest paid members of our society ask for a pay rise through the fair work commission and it is always a drama. The commissioners hum and ha over whether is should be increased by $2 or $2.50. How can the lowest paid people always get their cost of living rise cut or modified, or debated and become a part of the national interest when there are people earning $1600 an hour.

Where is the outrage when periodontists raise their hourly rate? I ask you?

Cute Isn't He

He's not mine despite the fact that is me holding on to his lead, but I'd like one just like him. I jumped at the chance of holding him for the owner who wanted to head into an open house inspection. What a cutie. Sam and I went home and looked up puppies on the internet. OMG how confusing was that? They ranged from $200 to $3500, how on earth do you sort through those kinds of differences?

So we went for a walk in the lovely afternoon sun, buying ice creams in Carlton before walking back through the park... dogless poofters.

He's home. Yay!

My pumpkin is home. Yay! I picked him up from the airport at 10am. He's still just too gorgeous. I gave him a big hug and kiss. I think we shocked a woman standing near by as I ran up to him and grabbed him. Swung him around and around and around, as the music played. Crescendo’d. The strings soared. Okay, the spinning round and the violins were, quite possibly, only in my head, but they felt good none the less.

Kiss. Hug. Squeeze.

He sniffed out the car window, on the way home. "I so missed the fresh air."

I rested my hand on his leg, I didn’t realise how much I missed that.

He's slow, though, really slow, moving at a glacial pace. He keeps telling me he is exhausted. A six and half hour train ride, an hours aeroplane ride and then an eight hour aeroplane ride to Melbourne... with stop overs of varying time in between each. So he's been travelling for 48 hours on his journey home. So, I guess he has a case.

We ate Japanese in Carlton for lunch. The sun shone down and a cool breeze blew. We slept in the afternoon.

"We can't do this, we have to get you back onto Melbourne time."

Of course, I kissed him first. Licked him, pulled his clothes off. Big smile.

He's missing his maid from home... but he is glad to be back. He keeps clapping his hands to be waited on and then questions why it doesn't work. He's still funny. Of course, that is more a comment on how he expects to be treated here by his honey, who would be me, than anything that happened back home.

He's laying on my couch with his tongue hanging out. “I’m exhausted.” Clap, clap. "Where’s my drink?" Clap, clap. "Where’s my watermelon?" I'm running around getting him things... and I don't mind one little bit.

I cooked him a sausage pasta for dinner. It turned out rather well. I introduced him to Chinotto, which he hated. Too biter. "Oh the after taste is horrible." Cough cough. "Euw! Yuck!"

He feels nice in my arms, just where he is supposed to be. I can rub his hair again and smell him in long slow sniffs.

He's worried that he won't be able to write computer code. I kissed his handsome face. "Don't worry, babe. The salt mines aren't for three days. We still have the weekend."

I like it when he pats my hair and plays with my ear… nonchalantly.

“I’m exhausted,” he says. “Let’s go to bed. Oh… come on! NOW!”

So, you can see, he’s still bossy.