I started to stress in the kitchen about work. I am just nervous. And despite how laid back people may think I am, I do tend to stress. It will be fine, it will all work out, I know. But, with no handover and literally nobody really knowing what it is I have to do, it is not so comforting when you have to work it all out yourself.
To use that jingoistic expression that I so hate, used by uptight HR chicks with bleach blonde hair, cat’s arse mouths and cunts tighter than rusted nuts, hit the ground running. Work it out myself? I am allowed to stress a little, I reckon.
Oh god, maybe I am just the whiny baby that Sam says that I am?
I had no muesli, so we were both having toast. I hadn’t finished the dishes from last night, which I was surprised about. Damn! sigh. I was making coffee and the toast popped. When I tried to hand Sam the cooked bread, he said, “My hands are dirty.” He then proceeded to fluff around blocking my way washing his hands in the kitchen sink.
Tum di dah. Tum di dah. (I'm still not sure if it was deliberate)
Sam said he’d make the Ciabatta toast, but Buddy headed off up to the front of the house, so Sam then went to retrieve him. Sam called and called, but Buddy just kept walking, as bulldogs do. Then Sam was back in the kitchen with Buddy’s squeakers, one in each hand squeaking them, calling Buddy’s name.
“Buddy, Buddy, Buuddy. Buddy, Buddy, Buuddy. Buddy, Buddy, Buuddy.”
Sam was doing the equivalent of a dance with castanets, as Buddy took no notice.
I was already stressing about work. No breakfast was being made. I had to wash dishes, make coffee and make the toast, so it would seem.
“Oh for goodness sake,” I said.
I marched to the stairs, straight up to the bulldog. I scolded him who was just making his way around the curve in the stairs to the second floor and to our bed. I picked him up carried him to the lounge room, put him down, slapping his arse in the process.
I stood in the middle of the lounge, pretending to have a squeaker in each hand, swivelled my hips, twisted on my feet and said,
“Buddy, Buddy, Buddy. What do you think that is going to do?” I rolled my eyes and headed back to the kitchen.
“Make the rest of the toast.”
Sam thought it was very funny and he started to mimic me.
Really? I wanted to break something, not the boyfriend, or the dog, although it was tempting, just something. I needed a punching bag.
Meanwhile, Sam was still laughing and still imitating my dance in the middle of the lounge room.
“Buddy, Buddy, Buddy,” he sang.
He was still laughing when we were in the bathroom together.
He was still laughing when we were getting dressed.
He, apparently, could no longer recognise my filthy look.
Sam and I both had on white shirts and black pants, we looked like waiters, as we left the house.
One laughing waiter. One scowling waiter.
It was a lovely fresh morning this morning, just the kind of morning that I like. The fresh breeze was blowing. Sam said that it was more like winter. I think the thing was that there was no humidity. The air was fresh and clean, not wet and sticky in which you are, I am more likely to sweat.
I flung my office window open as soon as I sat at my desk. And the lovely cold air blew in behind me. I am a bit of a fresh air nut. I love cold, crisp, clean air. I gulp it in in great big lung bucketfulls.
Good morning baby. Don’t forget this Saturday in Melbourne CBD event, White night. Sam
What? Christian
See never pay attention to me :( So sad! It’s the light show, project to the building. Sam
Sometimes, I am a little miffed by Sam’s criticism, even if he is kind of joking. You know with boyfriends, sometimes you have to pull them up...
You know something pumpkin, I think you are the nicest guy in the world, there is nobody who comes even close to you. I love spending all my time with you and if I only had to listen to your voice and what you had to say for the rest of my life I’d be a very happy man. Christian
Lovely. Sam.
I still didn't have much of an idea about the light show he was talking about. :)
The biscuits today were Butternut Snaps and Oreos.
Bevan didn’t even seem to be there today. He is away on study leave. Lovely. Clearly this is a stepping stone to somewhere else for him. Really? Study leave?
I’ve got the whole day to do as I like, fists in the air shaking, which usually means I do all the work I can and then I do as I like. That is what I have done.
It is midday. Oh, I did read the online news just a bit. Ha ha.
I was meeting with one of the new employees at 12.30. But, I was hungry before then so I headed over to the café and bought a ham roll and a chocolate muffin. Yum, yum. I still had no money in my wallet, shake of the head, so I had to pay with my card again. The roll and the muffin came to $9.20.
“Is that enough?”
“I’ll have to put it through as $10,” said the brown uniform. She looked like she should have been a plumber, I decided.
“Oh, okay then… um?” I quickly picked a nut health bar from the counter next to me.
“$12.50. Cheque or savings?”
I could see the nut bar had almonds on it. I was squinting, I didn’t have my glasses on, despite having them in my pocket.
“Pin number and okay.”
“I can’t eat almonds, can I swap this for something else?”
“Sure,” she said. I punched in my pin number.
I chose a yogurt cover health bar, so I wouldn’t buy anything with almonds on it again.
“Is this okay?”
“Oh…um…?
“I really must stop thinking I can see without my glasses on.” I laughed.
She laughed too. “Sure.” Shrug.
“Is there a price difference?”
“Yes, but never mind.”
“How much?”
“50c.”
I looked in my wallet but I only had 20c, which she declined.
I tried to get motivated during the afternoon. I did a few things, but not much. I was bored. I was even bored writing my journal. I kind of need to be under a bit of pressure to get myself up on the aquaplane of hard work. Otherwise, I so easily settle back into the nice, warm water of comfort and tread.
I have never had a great need to prove anything to anybody.
Sister Roz rang during the afternoon to say that the nursing home had called her to say that mum was, in their opinion, going downhill and that, perhaps, we might want to go and see her sooner rather than later. Apparently she is not sleeping, maybe she is in some sort of pain. They have consequently upped her meds. There has been some kind of black substance in her mouth, that may, or may not, indicate the presence of blood.
Poor mum. My smart, stylish, interesting, bold, adventurous, world travelling mum reduced to a sad husk of her former self.
I felt kind of sad.
Thursday, February 20, 2014
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Hot Cold Dry Wet
I’ve lost a kilo. Yay. I haven’t really done anything to accomplish that, except walk to work instead of drive. I was 2 kilos over my maximum weight, now I am ½ a kilo… over. I’m nearly back under my maximum, never to be gone over, weight. Yay for me. Pat, pat. Of course, that is a long way away from my optimum weight, but, pat pat none the less.
I've ridden my bike twice.
I thought about my weight as I sat in my office first thing this morning, with my coffee, today’s biscuit was jam fancy. (we have different biscuits each day) I picked up two.
Bevan walked to his office with a hot young man. Nice, I thought. A new staff member, I assumed. He didn’t come into my office to introduce him, as he introduced him around to the guys in the main office. I was pointed at through the glass wall of my office. I’m not exactly a staff member to be committed to memory, I know that, I didn’t care.
I was starting to twiddle my thumbs. I don’t know if I have missed anything, but I didn’t seem to have much to do.
A little while later, after introductions to the team, I realised what he was all about. Oh, I see, he is a work experience boy, so I guess that means he is young. His name is Travis and he’s quite a strapping lad. Very cute. This office is such a maze of structures and windows and cubicles and partitions, that it is hard to get a good look at anyone. Still, it is probably best, so as not to perve on a 17 year old. He doesn’t look that young, but he could be conceivably 17 and I’d already been gazing at his arse.
Is that legal? I’m sure it is.
“I’m sorry officer, I had no idea.”
Is it wrong to imagine a seventeen year olds jocks stretched tight across his sexy rump?
I sat for most of the morning and wrote my journal. Surely, I should be doing more than this, I thought. What does the regular girl do?
Look around. Shrug. I shouldn’t question it. I think it is one of the few advantages temporary roles, those in charge are just pleased that they have a potential problem sorted, someone filling the seat. They are getting the basics of the work done and they don’t have to think much more about it.
There must be more to life than this?
I’ve just been reading an article about James Lovelock, a crusty old environmental scientist from Cornwall, who says the time to save the human race is over. It is just too late. We were passed the time for action in the early 2000’s when the world first started thinking that it needed to do something to address climate change.
Apparently, all the Liberal voters have got their wish. Let's dump the concerns about the environment because it increases household bills to a level that none of us want.
Yeah, we might as well, because it is now too late.
By 2020 extreme weather will be the norm.
By 2040 much of the world will be unrecognisable, Europe will be a desert and much of England will be under water.
By 2100 most of the environment we know will be destroyed and most of the population will be wiped out.
It is now too late to stop climate change, we pissed around too long, as we are still pissing around.
Enjoy your life, hugs your kids, you have roughly 20 years left before the world really turns to shit.
He says we have roughly 20 years left to enjoy our lives.
Hmm, what to do?
Do I want to be sitting in a pokey uninteresting office doing boring and uninteresting work if we effectively don’t have much time left?
I don’t think so.
Now think about what you had just decided? The decision should still be the same no matter how much time is left. We should all live each day as if it is our last. Life should be your bucket list.
Oh, my head spun! Whir! Too many thoughts!I wrote my journal. I pushed my USB right into my work computer and typed away unashamedly. Fuck it!
I kept doing mental calculations about what I had to do. I kept rechecking those calculations and they came out the same. I could do it all in a day, two days tops and I had a week, more than a week.
Later in the morning, a cute gay boy came into our office. Shiny, groomed, presented “just so”. Smiley, gelled, walking through as though he owned the place. He smiled very gayly to me on the way in. And then on the way out again.
He came back a bit later and repeated the process.
He smiled his “look at me” smile. And off he marched, full of gay confidence. The confidence had nothing to do with me and everything to do with his perception of his own beauty. The fact that I smiled made his narcissism vibrate. Any male looking would have the same effect. Eighteen to eighty years old, I’m sure it would make no difference.
I did nothing all afternoon. Zip. Zilch. Niete. I wrote my journal. I added a lot of those details that sometimes I miss. I headed out into the main office and when I got to the main door I pretended that I had forgotten something and when I turned around I subtly checked that nobody could see my screen through the glass wall, they couldn’t. I went back to my desk and sat down not worrying any longer about the pretext.
I text Rachel later in the afternoon. I wanted to hear what she had to say. She makes me laugh with what she has to say about the drudgery of life.
New assignment, just as bored, I wrote.
I’m at school pick up, it’s a larf I tell ya. So much wasted money.
Don’t worry environmental change will kill them all, that should cheer you up, I replied.
But that means it will kill us too.
Well… yes… there is that.
They are funny. I laugh a lot. Let me describe one to you. Blonde hair in a ponytail. Trout pout lips. Black tank top. Black leather, I kid you not, short, short running pants. Black runners and black leg warmer type things. She has black tennis socks on. Ankles visible. And then these compression (?) things from ankle to knee.
Her son hasn’t worked out she’s a freak yet. He’s in grade 2. He’s on the verge of working it out, I’m sure.
She’s 30 to 35, it is hard to tell. She could be Joan Rivers in disguise.
She’s the black Maserati mum.
She’s got it worked out. Her husband is a lawyer, but is a pom. She can’t find work here. Oooh so sad.It must make you feel better as you work away knowing there are unemployed people driving around in very fast, expensive, Italian cars. I know it does me. It just made the day disappear. Tra la la.
Oh, good for her, so she has to prostitute herself to some old fart lawyer, constantly reinventing herself with more and more invasive plastic surgery until she looks like some grotesque Hollywood diva, fearful that he will trade her in on a new, faster, younger model. She deserves to be compensated for turning herself into a freak.
I wondered if she ever went to school pick up with a bandaged face?
I wondered how many kids got school pick up from a bandaged cadaver behind the steering wheel of the Mercedes.
“Mummy can’t get out of the car today, sweetheart.”
The afternoon slid away. Sam messaged me and said the day had gone dark and it was about to pour with rain. I turned and looked out my window and I was somewhat surprised that it was black outside. The day I remembered had slid completely out of view and was now grey and desolate, the sun shine had been replaced by sheets of water falling splish splash from the sky.
Sam worried about Buddy. I was worried about myself.
I walked to work sweating when I got there, having to stand under the air hand dryer to dry my sweaty back. And… I was going to get wet walking home by rain.
Melbourne weather.
I grabbed my bag and headed out the door at 4.30pm. Sam broke his black, collapsible full sized, umbrella sometime back at a time when I was driving to work, so he took my dark brown, collapsible full sized, umbrella, amid much protesting from me. He eventually replaced it with a regular sized black folding umbrella covered in yellow Pokka Dots.
“Really?” I looked at the umbrella. I looked back at Sam. “This is the best you could do?” I remember holding it like it was something diseased. You know how straight boys look when they are forced to use their girlfriend's floral umbrella, that was how I felt I was going to look.
“It is lovely,” said Sam.
“Give me back my brown umbrella back.”
“No!” He shook his head. “I bought all three umbrellas” – it was true – “so I get to pick which one I want.”
“But…”
He moved his finger in the air from left to right, his mouth pursed, his eyes burned. That’s all. No more correspondence will be entered into.
I popped my itsy bitsy yellow pokka dot umbrella and walked home. I should have swished. The umbrella would have indicated a swish. But, I didn't swish.
I've ridden my bike twice.
I thought about my weight as I sat in my office first thing this morning, with my coffee, today’s biscuit was jam fancy. (we have different biscuits each day) I picked up two.
Bevan walked to his office with a hot young man. Nice, I thought. A new staff member, I assumed. He didn’t come into my office to introduce him, as he introduced him around to the guys in the main office. I was pointed at through the glass wall of my office. I’m not exactly a staff member to be committed to memory, I know that, I didn’t care.
I was starting to twiddle my thumbs. I don’t know if I have missed anything, but I didn’t seem to have much to do.
A little while later, after introductions to the team, I realised what he was all about. Oh, I see, he is a work experience boy, so I guess that means he is young. His name is Travis and he’s quite a strapping lad. Very cute. This office is such a maze of structures and windows and cubicles and partitions, that it is hard to get a good look at anyone. Still, it is probably best, so as not to perve on a 17 year old. He doesn’t look that young, but he could be conceivably 17 and I’d already been gazing at his arse.
Is that legal? I’m sure it is.
“I’m sorry officer, I had no idea.”
Is it wrong to imagine a seventeen year olds jocks stretched tight across his sexy rump?
I sat for most of the morning and wrote my journal. Surely, I should be doing more than this, I thought. What does the regular girl do?
Look around. Shrug. I shouldn’t question it. I think it is one of the few advantages temporary roles, those in charge are just pleased that they have a potential problem sorted, someone filling the seat. They are getting the basics of the work done and they don’t have to think much more about it.
There must be more to life than this?
I’ve just been reading an article about James Lovelock, a crusty old environmental scientist from Cornwall, who says the time to save the human race is over. It is just too late. We were passed the time for action in the early 2000’s when the world first started thinking that it needed to do something to address climate change.
Apparently, all the Liberal voters have got their wish. Let's dump the concerns about the environment because it increases household bills to a level that none of us want.
Yeah, we might as well, because it is now too late.
By 2020 extreme weather will be the norm.
By 2040 much of the world will be unrecognisable, Europe will be a desert and much of England will be under water.
By 2100 most of the environment we know will be destroyed and most of the population will be wiped out.
It is now too late to stop climate change, we pissed around too long, as we are still pissing around.
Enjoy your life, hugs your kids, you have roughly 20 years left before the world really turns to shit.
He says we have roughly 20 years left to enjoy our lives.
Hmm, what to do?
Do I want to be sitting in a pokey uninteresting office doing boring and uninteresting work if we effectively don’t have much time left?
I don’t think so.
Now think about what you had just decided? The decision should still be the same no matter how much time is left. We should all live each day as if it is our last. Life should be your bucket list.
Oh, my head spun! Whir! Too many thoughts!I wrote my journal. I pushed my USB right into my work computer and typed away unashamedly. Fuck it!
I kept doing mental calculations about what I had to do. I kept rechecking those calculations and they came out the same. I could do it all in a day, two days tops and I had a week, more than a week.
Later in the morning, a cute gay boy came into our office. Shiny, groomed, presented “just so”. Smiley, gelled, walking through as though he owned the place. He smiled very gayly to me on the way in. And then on the way out again.
He came back a bit later and repeated the process.
He smiled his “look at me” smile. And off he marched, full of gay confidence. The confidence had nothing to do with me and everything to do with his perception of his own beauty. The fact that I smiled made his narcissism vibrate. Any male looking would have the same effect. Eighteen to eighty years old, I’m sure it would make no difference.
I did nothing all afternoon. Zip. Zilch. Niete. I wrote my journal. I added a lot of those details that sometimes I miss. I headed out into the main office and when I got to the main door I pretended that I had forgotten something and when I turned around I subtly checked that nobody could see my screen through the glass wall, they couldn’t. I went back to my desk and sat down not worrying any longer about the pretext.
I text Rachel later in the afternoon. I wanted to hear what she had to say. She makes me laugh with what she has to say about the drudgery of life.
New assignment, just as bored, I wrote.
I’m at school pick up, it’s a larf I tell ya. So much wasted money.
Don’t worry environmental change will kill them all, that should cheer you up, I replied.
But that means it will kill us too.
Well… yes… there is that.
They are funny. I laugh a lot. Let me describe one to you. Blonde hair in a ponytail. Trout pout lips. Black tank top. Black leather, I kid you not, short, short running pants. Black runners and black leg warmer type things. She has black tennis socks on. Ankles visible. And then these compression (?) things from ankle to knee.
Her son hasn’t worked out she’s a freak yet. He’s in grade 2. He’s on the verge of working it out, I’m sure.
She’s 30 to 35, it is hard to tell. She could be Joan Rivers in disguise.
She’s the black Maserati mum.
She’s got it worked out. Her husband is a lawyer, but is a pom. She can’t find work here. Oooh so sad.It must make you feel better as you work away knowing there are unemployed people driving around in very fast, expensive, Italian cars. I know it does me. It just made the day disappear. Tra la la.
Oh, good for her, so she has to prostitute herself to some old fart lawyer, constantly reinventing herself with more and more invasive plastic surgery until she looks like some grotesque Hollywood diva, fearful that he will trade her in on a new, faster, younger model. She deserves to be compensated for turning herself into a freak.
I wondered if she ever went to school pick up with a bandaged face?
I wondered how many kids got school pick up from a bandaged cadaver behind the steering wheel of the Mercedes.
“Mummy can’t get out of the car today, sweetheart.”
The afternoon slid away. Sam messaged me and said the day had gone dark and it was about to pour with rain. I turned and looked out my window and I was somewhat surprised that it was black outside. The day I remembered had slid completely out of view and was now grey and desolate, the sun shine had been replaced by sheets of water falling splish splash from the sky.
Sam worried about Buddy. I was worried about myself.
I walked to work sweating when I got there, having to stand under the air hand dryer to dry my sweaty back. And… I was going to get wet walking home by rain.
Melbourne weather.
I grabbed my bag and headed out the door at 4.30pm. Sam broke his black, collapsible full sized, umbrella sometime back at a time when I was driving to work, so he took my dark brown, collapsible full sized, umbrella, amid much protesting from me. He eventually replaced it with a regular sized black folding umbrella covered in yellow Pokka Dots.
“Really?” I looked at the umbrella. I looked back at Sam. “This is the best you could do?” I remember holding it like it was something diseased. You know how straight boys look when they are forced to use their girlfriend's floral umbrella, that was how I felt I was going to look.
“It is lovely,” said Sam.
“Give me back my brown umbrella back.”
“No!” He shook his head. “I bought all three umbrellas” – it was true – “so I get to pick which one I want.”
“But…”
He moved his finger in the air from left to right, his mouth pursed, his eyes burned. That’s all. No more correspondence will be entered into.
I popped my itsy bitsy yellow pokka dot umbrella and walked home. I should have swished. The umbrella would have indicated a swish. But, I didn't swish.
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
Ha Ha, Ho, Ho, Is That Weird?
I walked Sam to the Exhibition Gardens where I said bye bye to him. “Good bye honey, I’ll email you.” We still do that look-back-and-wave thing, repeatedly, as his handsome face disappears out of view down the path heading away from me. Shrug. I don’t care what anyone thinks. Smile.
I told him that I couldn’t meet him tonight after work. I’m still not sure what my workload is, I’m still in high anxiety mode. Here is your office, the paperwork should roll in, doesn’t exactly instil a sense of schedule in me.
I got to work at 8.30am. I was lost in my thromping feet and sweating back, as I walked towards the office, and I didn’t notice the time. I seemed to get there in double time.
It was a lovely morning. I was sweating when I got there. This joint has an air hand dryer, though, which is always good for my damp body on a warm morning after walking from home.
I was in the hating mode of this job, it should only last for the first week. I think that is how it goes normally. So, I guess I am on track.
Of course, it is just fear. And some misguided idea that I am anything but a temp, let’s face it. I don’t have to shine, although, of course, that is the aim, I just have to get the job done. Essentially, that is all they expect anyway. I am the stop-gap between the permanent one, they all love, going off and the sight of relief they expel upon her return. I am nothing and I am getting above myself. In a short time, they won’t even remember my name in six months.
Bevan, the boss, is kind of cute, I think. He seemed to be in meetings for most of the day… which proved to be inconvenient when I wanted to suggest leaving at 4.30. They’ve got to be around for you to try it on.
I finally got my (name of software) sign on. It was a good thing, now I could get on with it all. I figured I should go through everything he’s given me again. It’s a good place to start. I set stuff up, I just started doing stuff. I was given no process to follow, so, I guessed, I should just get on with it. Do it sooner than later. I did all I could do.
The Succulent on top of the bookcase looked like it was in its final days. It was sitting on a wad of paper towel because it doesn’t have a saucer under it. Why can’t people buy saucers for their indoor plants? They struggle to look after them without a saucer instead of simply fixing the problem. I’m a sucker for a sad plant.
I decided I was taking it home, sometime during the afternoon. I just kept looking up at it. I’ll nurse it back to health so it is lovely when the sick permanent chick comes back. She’ll be better and so will her plant.
I had a short lunch. Noodles. My own cutlery, Sam made sure it was packed in my carry bag with my lunchbox. I sat at my desk. So I’m not taking any time for lunch. I can see this job is going to be lunch at my desk affair for the duration. Maybe I’ll go for a walk if the weather gets less, um, sweaty. In ten weeks? Probably not.
So therefore, I could leave at 4.30, if I dare to ask. I got in at 8.30, after all. Do I dare to ask. Since I spend the last hour writing my journal, I decided I was leaving at 4.30. There was nothing else for it.
I put the plant in a plastic bag and walked out the door early, which isn’t early at all, as I only get paid 7.5 hours per day, so I walked out right on time.
As soon as I left the office, I realised I’m not really a part of that office, I am a stranger there, after all, and taking the plant could be seen as stealing, quite easily. Stupid me, what was I thinking? Even if it is one half-dead plant that probably nobody would miss, except for Little Miss Extended Leave when she got back. Except I would have returned it by then, looking a million dollars. And if it didn’t recover quite as I was seeing it doing so, I could buy another one and put it in the same pot, so it would look like I’d performed miracles.
Ha ha, ho, ho, is that weird?
I told him that I couldn’t meet him tonight after work. I’m still not sure what my workload is, I’m still in high anxiety mode. Here is your office, the paperwork should roll in, doesn’t exactly instil a sense of schedule in me.
I got to work at 8.30am. I was lost in my thromping feet and sweating back, as I walked towards the office, and I didn’t notice the time. I seemed to get there in double time.
It was a lovely morning. I was sweating when I got there. This joint has an air hand dryer, though, which is always good for my damp body on a warm morning after walking from home.
I was in the hating mode of this job, it should only last for the first week. I think that is how it goes normally. So, I guess I am on track.
Of course, it is just fear. And some misguided idea that I am anything but a temp, let’s face it. I don’t have to shine, although, of course, that is the aim, I just have to get the job done. Essentially, that is all they expect anyway. I am the stop-gap between the permanent one, they all love, going off and the sight of relief they expel upon her return. I am nothing and I am getting above myself. In a short time, they won’t even remember my name in six months.
Bevan, the boss, is kind of cute, I think. He seemed to be in meetings for most of the day… which proved to be inconvenient when I wanted to suggest leaving at 4.30. They’ve got to be around for you to try it on.
I finally got my (name of software) sign on. It was a good thing, now I could get on with it all. I figured I should go through everything he’s given me again. It’s a good place to start. I set stuff up, I just started doing stuff. I was given no process to follow, so, I guessed, I should just get on with it. Do it sooner than later. I did all I could do.
The Succulent on top of the bookcase looked like it was in its final days. It was sitting on a wad of paper towel because it doesn’t have a saucer under it. Why can’t people buy saucers for their indoor plants? They struggle to look after them without a saucer instead of simply fixing the problem. I’m a sucker for a sad plant.
I decided I was taking it home, sometime during the afternoon. I just kept looking up at it. I’ll nurse it back to health so it is lovely when the sick permanent chick comes back. She’ll be better and so will her plant.
I had a short lunch. Noodles. My own cutlery, Sam made sure it was packed in my carry bag with my lunchbox. I sat at my desk. So I’m not taking any time for lunch. I can see this job is going to be lunch at my desk affair for the duration. Maybe I’ll go for a walk if the weather gets less, um, sweaty. In ten weeks? Probably not.
So therefore, I could leave at 4.30, if I dare to ask. I got in at 8.30, after all. Do I dare to ask. Since I spend the last hour writing my journal, I decided I was leaving at 4.30. There was nothing else for it.
I put the plant in a plastic bag and walked out the door early, which isn’t early at all, as I only get paid 7.5 hours per day, so I walked out right on time.
As soon as I left the office, I realised I’m not really a part of that office, I am a stranger there, after all, and taking the plant could be seen as stealing, quite easily. Stupid me, what was I thinking? Even if it is one half-dead plant that probably nobody would miss, except for Little Miss Extended Leave when she got back. Except I would have returned it by then, looking a million dollars. And if it didn’t recover quite as I was seeing it doing so, I could buy another one and put it in the same pot, so it would look like I’d performed miracles.
Ha ha, ho, ho, is that weird?
Monday, February 17, 2014
Something is Broken
Sam and I walked to work together for the first time in what seemed like forever. It was nice. Walking with my honey. I got to my new job twenty five minutes before I was supposed to start, but that is okay, I had to have time to cool down. I still sweat like a bitch even in the moderate heat. I sat in the park opposite and felt the breeze on my back. I took photos.
I hoped with a place of learning that this would be the only day I have to wear the corporate drag. I’m hoping for casual clothes.
Bevan meets me in a suit and tie.
Damn, I thought. Suit and tie.
As Bevan walked me up the stairs he said, “So has Jack given you the run down on the role?’
“No,” I said before I really thought about it. But he hadn’t, I guess I should have said he had.
We had a bit of a chat. Then it was, just get on with it. Familiarise yourself with everything. Settle in. Do what you like, essentially.
I think I have to be busy to feel worthwhile. If I am not flat out, I feel like I am not succeeding. It is a strange idea, I know and I don’t know where it came from. I think it says that I am really insecure.
I wandered off nervously to the kitchen. I always feel a little out of sorts in a new work environment. I don’t think I am getting better at it, no.
Perhaps, I am just a winger.
The kitchen was busy, there were queues for the two microwaves, there were queues for the two toaster whatemies.
I pulled out the draw to find a fork to stir my curry in readiness for my meal. The draw was empty. Completely empty like it was a deserted, unused kitchen. Did you know the thing that is stolen mostly from a work kitchen? The teaspoons.
“There is no cutlery, that’s why I bring my own,” said the nice lady informatively.
I had curry and rice? I couldn’t eat it with my hands. I put it back in the fridge and left the room, full of people with their own cutlery.
If I head to the promenade deck, or the plantation lounge, they might have plastic cutlery there.
I slipped my lunchbox back into the fridge and wandered away. Sad face.
I found the café and bought a ham roll. I had no money when I went to pay, my wallet was bare. WTF? That shouldn’t be? How t f?
“The card minimum is $10, if you get a drink you will make it.” The café chick in the brown A-seamed uniform smiles.
She smiled again like she had more important things to do.
I was staring at my wallet still wondering how I got into that state.
“Oh yes… a drink.” The choices weren’t so great, I picked peach tea.
I took my ham roll and my drink and my laptop and headed out to the quad.
There is an open wi fi network, but no matter how I tried to connect to it, it didn’t happen. It was probably best, I should write not surf. Instead of writing in my office. (Do you think any of my employers will check?)
The network is open though, it is a matter of principal.
I ask at reception if the visitor’s internet that looks as though it is unrestricted, is actually unrestricted. I first have to wait for a student to go away, but she is wide-eyed and troubled with whatever answer she just received. She is standing there as if to will an alternative answer out of the girl behind the desk. No alternative answer is forth coming and Ms Wide-eyed-and-can’t-believe-it-and-I-may-just-drop-dead-from-the-agrivation isn’t moving either. I quietly hope she drops dead. She turns to look at me as though she had heard my thoughts. She hooks her gaze on me and continues hers rotation of disgust. I was nothing, everything was about her. I wanted to say boo! She eventually oozed away.
The wi fi wasn’t exactly open, it seemed as though it was just too complicated to tackle. I said never mind, don’t worry. I turned away to face the empty foyer, defeated.
I headed back to my office. I don’t want to do this any more. The trouble is, I don’t want to do any thing any more.
The office is cramped. My colleagues are slotted away into corrals. When they sit, I can’t see them. When I close my office door, I can’t hear them. The regular chick is away sick. Nobody is really telling me what I have to do, in fact the answer I get most is, “I don’t know.”
I fluffed away the afternoon.
I walked to La Trobe and Swanston Streets to meet Sam. I started moaning to him. He listened dutifully, as we walked up La Trobe Street.
I told him I have 12 weeks of this. He looked at me like he wanted to call me Mr Whiney pants, but he didn’t.
I laughed to him and said, “You have twelve weeks of this, honey.”
I was sweating big time by the time I get home, like a little bitch. I feel Sam’s back, not a drop. I’m a sweater. I sweat easily.
We ate noodles for dinner. Yum, yum, yum, Sam’s lovely noodles.
I hate my new job. I was a misery all night. Pissed off. I don’t want to work at a job where there is no support, where nobody has a clue. Where I don’t know it all and they expect me to know without any of them telling me.
I couldn’t sleep thinking of the crap things I have to do at work. I tossed and turned all night. No instruction. Nobody knows what’s going on. Jack sent me there just because I can use (name of software). Fill the roll.
I can’t do it. I can’t do it.
Okay, some where along the way I became a complainer.
It is a fault in me, I understand and quite possibly the reason why I, perhaps, got the sack from my last full time role. I just don’t seem to be able to convert it to a challenge.
I think I probably need to see a therapist of some kind. Something got broken at my last full time role where I was bullied by the boss and it clearly isn’t fixed yet. Something is lost when you are bullied. Something is broken.
The boss should be removed, but she is still there. She needs help, helping her would help everyone else.
And the truth is that I don’t feel like I fit the role I always did any longer.
The other truth is that these are just my insecurities that I normal get over and, perhaps, I should just stop writing about them.
People's ears are bleeding, Christian.
I hoped with a place of learning that this would be the only day I have to wear the corporate drag. I’m hoping for casual clothes.
Bevan meets me in a suit and tie.
Damn, I thought. Suit and tie.
As Bevan walked me up the stairs he said, “So has Jack given you the run down on the role?’
“No,” I said before I really thought about it. But he hadn’t, I guess I should have said he had.
We had a bit of a chat. Then it was, just get on with it. Familiarise yourself with everything. Settle in. Do what you like, essentially.
I think I have to be busy to feel worthwhile. If I am not flat out, I feel like I am not succeeding. It is a strange idea, I know and I don’t know where it came from. I think it says that I am really insecure.
I wandered off nervously to the kitchen. I always feel a little out of sorts in a new work environment. I don’t think I am getting better at it, no.
Perhaps, I am just a winger.
The kitchen was busy, there were queues for the two microwaves, there were queues for the two toaster whatemies.
I pulled out the draw to find a fork to stir my curry in readiness for my meal. The draw was empty. Completely empty like it was a deserted, unused kitchen. Did you know the thing that is stolen mostly from a work kitchen? The teaspoons.
“There is no cutlery, that’s why I bring my own,” said the nice lady informatively.
I had curry and rice? I couldn’t eat it with my hands. I put it back in the fridge and left the room, full of people with their own cutlery.
If I head to the promenade deck, or the plantation lounge, they might have plastic cutlery there.
I slipped my lunchbox back into the fridge and wandered away. Sad face.
I found the café and bought a ham roll. I had no money when I went to pay, my wallet was bare. WTF? That shouldn’t be? How t f?
“The card minimum is $10, if you get a drink you will make it.” The café chick in the brown A-seamed uniform smiles.
She smiled again like she had more important things to do.
I was staring at my wallet still wondering how I got into that state.
“Oh yes… a drink.” The choices weren’t so great, I picked peach tea.
I took my ham roll and my drink and my laptop and headed out to the quad.
There is an open wi fi network, but no matter how I tried to connect to it, it didn’t happen. It was probably best, I should write not surf. Instead of writing in my office. (Do you think any of my employers will check?)
The network is open though, it is a matter of principal.
I ask at reception if the visitor’s internet that looks as though it is unrestricted, is actually unrestricted. I first have to wait for a student to go away, but she is wide-eyed and troubled with whatever answer she just received. She is standing there as if to will an alternative answer out of the girl behind the desk. No alternative answer is forth coming and Ms Wide-eyed-and-can’t-believe-it-and-I-may-just-drop-dead-from-the-agrivation isn’t moving either. I quietly hope she drops dead. She turns to look at me as though she had heard my thoughts. She hooks her gaze on me and continues hers rotation of disgust. I was nothing, everything was about her. I wanted to say boo! She eventually oozed away.
The wi fi wasn’t exactly open, it seemed as though it was just too complicated to tackle. I said never mind, don’t worry. I turned away to face the empty foyer, defeated.
I headed back to my office. I don’t want to do this any more. The trouble is, I don’t want to do any thing any more.
The office is cramped. My colleagues are slotted away into corrals. When they sit, I can’t see them. When I close my office door, I can’t hear them. The regular chick is away sick. Nobody is really telling me what I have to do, in fact the answer I get most is, “I don’t know.”
I fluffed away the afternoon.
I walked to La Trobe and Swanston Streets to meet Sam. I started moaning to him. He listened dutifully, as we walked up La Trobe Street.
I told him I have 12 weeks of this. He looked at me like he wanted to call me Mr Whiney pants, but he didn’t.
I laughed to him and said, “You have twelve weeks of this, honey.”
I was sweating big time by the time I get home, like a little bitch. I feel Sam’s back, not a drop. I’m a sweater. I sweat easily.
We ate noodles for dinner. Yum, yum, yum, Sam’s lovely noodles.
I hate my new job. I was a misery all night. Pissed off. I don’t want to work at a job where there is no support, where nobody has a clue. Where I don’t know it all and they expect me to know without any of them telling me.
I couldn’t sleep thinking of the crap things I have to do at work. I tossed and turned all night. No instruction. Nobody knows what’s going on. Jack sent me there just because I can use (name of software). Fill the roll.
I can’t do it. I can’t do it.
Okay, some where along the way I became a complainer.
It is a fault in me, I understand and quite possibly the reason why I, perhaps, got the sack from my last full time role. I just don’t seem to be able to convert it to a challenge.
I think I probably need to see a therapist of some kind. Something got broken at my last full time role where I was bullied by the boss and it clearly isn’t fixed yet. Something is lost when you are bullied. Something is broken.
The boss should be removed, but she is still there. She needs help, helping her would help everyone else.
And the truth is that I don’t feel like I fit the role I always did any longer.
The other truth is that these are just my insecurities that I normal get over and, perhaps, I should just stop writing about them.
People's ears are bleeding, Christian.
Saturday, February 15, 2014
Friday, February 14, 2014
My Last Day
Oh! Annoying! There was some truck in the laneway at 7am making lots of truck kinds of noise. Grrrr!
It was busy this morning, lots of cars. As I crossed over Hoddle Street there was a white Commodore on my left. It was the last car in the left lane, I was the last car in the right hand lane. There was a parked car up ahead of him. I was practically next to him when he put his right hand blinker on to come over into my lane.
“Thank you driver,” said the elderly driver when he realised I was in the space that he wanted to occupy.
There was nobody behind me, all he had to do was wait until I passed and then he could do what he wanted, unimpeded.
I wanted him to pull up next to me further up, as we both had our windows open. I wanted him to repeat what he had said, thank you driver.
Die old man, I wanted to respond.
Too much?
But he didn’t pull up next to me.
There were two trucks one behind the other travelling down Victoria Street and as per usual the morons fell in behind them and just acted like Lemmings. A couple of simple moves I was in front of the two trucks and home free whizzing down Victoria Street. An electric blue M3 followed me. Right up behind me. Good work, I thought. I lost him on one of the smaller sets of lights. He got scared. I didn’t have to, but I would just drive through those red lights if they had just changed as they had for him.
It’s Valentines Day. “Happy Val Day Darles,” as a friend’s father once famously said to my friend’s mother.
I liked Shayleen’s Valentines day message to Matt the best – I hate people, but I hate you the least. love S.
Shayleen and I get on really well, I love her, she’s great. We have similar personalities. Shayleen is a Virgo too, even if I run the risk of making Richard Dawkings laugh, or shake his head in disbelief. The two of us think alike.
But, Cat is lovely too. In away, she is more up front and natural with her personal connections. Cat and I are always sending each other instant messages on our work instant messenger.
Cat [8:31 AM]: I feel like you have no cake for me.
I suggested at one point that I would bake a banana cake for my last day and bring it in. I have rotten bananas in the fruit bowl. I completely forgot.
Christian [8:31 AM]: Oh no. You know, I was going to make the banana cake to surprise you and I completely forgot
Cat [8:32 AM]: This is the worst day everrrrrrrrrr
Christian [8:32 AM]: oops
The instant messenger stated that Cat was in a meeting
Christian [8:41 AM]: You are in a meeting?
Cat [8:43 AM]: When I set myself reminders in the calendar it affects my lyncs
Christian [8:48 AM]: Damn thing, should be destroyed
Cat [8:48 AM]: hahah
Christian [8:50 AM]: there should be another “a” at the end
Cat [8:50 AM]: hahaha****
Christian [8:50 AM]: better. :)
Christian [9:20 AM]: Did you get flowers today? or chocolates?
Cat [9:23 AM]: NOTHINGGGGGGGGGG! I might get something tonight
Christian [9:56 AM]: what?
Cat [9:56 AM]: are you busy? I need your connx help.
Some time later, Cat gets up and takes her jacket from the coat rack and raps it around her legs and sits down again. I call her and Shayleen lizards, as they are always cold.
Christian [10:52 AM]: Really? A jacket?
Cat [10:53 AM]: its chilly!!
Christian [10:53 AM]: It's hot in here. I'm sweating
Cat [10:53 AM]: don’t be ridiculous! Maybe it’s all that cheesecake?
We ate strawberry cheesecake yesterday. And at the end of the day there was still three pieces of cheesecake left and I had a second piece. I told Cat I could have eaten all three, she told me that I should, but I didn’t.
Christian [10:53 AM]: I think I need to talk to Christine about putting on the air con
Cat [10:53 AM]: DON, DON'T YOU DARE
Half of us in the office are hot, Aisleen and Cat are cold. Christine is having hot flushes, so she sometimes thinks it is very hot and puts on the air con.
Christian [11:05 AM]: It is soooooo stuffy and hot in here. I can hardly breathe
Cat [11:05 AM]: Go for a walk, (that made me laugh – Christian) anything but turning the aircon on
Christian [11:05 AM]: I'm sure it would help
Cat [11:05 AM]: it's not all about you Christian...what am I chop liver!!
Christian [11:06 AM]: my house mate tells me that all the time. I think it should be about me.
Cat [11:06 AM]: Yeah I love saying it too. hahaha not happening!
Cat [11:15 AM]: I'm trying to think of something nice to write on my valentines card...it's so hard
Christian [11:20 AM]: I liked Shayleen's message the best. That is what I'd write.
Shayleen’s Valentine’s day card message to her boyfriend Matt, I hate all people, but I hate you the least.
Cat [11:21 AM]: haha no I like getting into it. it takes me like a whole day to think of 5 sentences.
Christian [11:23 AM]: Hey Steve, I am so glad you are in my life emotionally and now I am very glad you are back in my life in person. Let's hope this is forever, I think of you as a forever kind of guy. Here’s to a fantastically happy twelve months, until I have to think about something to write on the next bloody Valentine's day card.
Cat [11:24 AM]: hahaha that’s so good!!!
Christian [11:24 AM]: That took a couple of minutes. I think you are over-processing it.
Cat [11:24 AM]: yours actually sounds alot better then mine, which is a worry. I should have asked for your advice earlier.
Christian [11:25 AM]: And I don't even know him
Cat [11:25 AM]: yeah you must be a sweet talker Christian
Christian [11:25 AM]: :)
Cat [11:36 AM]: What have you got for lunch today?
Christian 11:45 AM: Um... err... I can't remember
Cat 11:47 AM: booo. P.s that conversation made me want to puke
Christian 11:48 AM: what conversation?
Cat 11:48 AM: about her flowers
Alice, the only member of the HR team (the only disliked member of the HR team) (the uppity, pretentious, anti social, loner, incompetent, lazy, snappy, unfriendly, moody) (although, I thought she and I always got on okay being, for want of a better expression, the only two upper middle class members of the team) to have flowers sent to her for Valentine’s day, had a rather sickly sweet conversation with Dawn, the CEO’s secretary, about the flowers. Some how it got onto whether Isaac sent them to her and Alice Joked that she knew they weren’t from Isaac because they weren’t the cheap flowers. Alice and Dawn and Isaac all laughed about it.
Christian 11:48 AM: Oh J You know she sent them to herself
Cat 11:49 AM: hahaha you never know
Christian 11:49 AM: There is no one that likes her
Cat 11:50 AM: you raise a valid point
Christian 11:50 AM: Oh, I mean in a partner sense type someone
Cat 11:51 AM: that too
Christian 11:52 AM: I’ve got curry for lunch
Cat 11:52 AM: that sounds yum. I've got the same as yesterday but need to go to coles for beetroot
Christian 11:52 AM: more beetroot?
Cat 11:53 AM: always
Cat is weight obsessed. She is skinny, but wants to lose every ounce of fat she has.
Christian 3:35 PM: Is it time to go home yet?
Cat 3:44 PM: No...I wish
I just spoke to steve and I was thinking he might have secretly been planning something for V day because when I brought it up with him twice yesterday he changed the subject
I just spoke with him and he asked what are we doing tonight
and I was like OMG
so there obviously isnt a surprise
I might eat the chocolates I bought him
Christian 3:46 PM: Or throw them at him
Cat 3:46 PM: No, that way he'll still get to eat them
Christian 3:46 PM: true. Give him the empty box
Cat 3:46 PM: and inside should be a note saying 'you suck'
Christian 3:48 PM: or a note saying, I think you should think about your behaviour. Get back to me when you can explain what I might be talking about.
Cat 3:48 PM: that’s a good one. I’m hoping if he hasn’t got anything I’ll be able to bring on the tears to make him feel bad
Christian 3:50 PM: He hasn’t organised anything, if he is asking you what you are both doing tonight. Why don't you text him with, What do you want to do tonight?
Cat 3:51 PM: because I just spoke with him and he said we can go for dinner and then download a movie and then was like actually its going to be really hard to get a booking and I was like THATS WHY I WANTED TO ORGANISE IT EARLIER NOT ON THE LAST DAY
I hate boys
Unless I organise it it never happens!!!
Christian 3:53 PM: You just have to train him better
Cat 3:53 PM: Hes like one of those dogs you take to puppy school but they are untrainable
Christian 4:08 PM: I'm sleepy: I wont to go home and lie on the couch
Cat 4:10 PM: maybe they will let you go home early on your last day?
What will you eat tonight?
Christian 4:11 PM: I don't know what I am going to eat tonight
Cat 4:12 PM: It's my fav question to ask people
Christian 4:12 PM: I know
Christian 4:14 PM: I should put effort into it so you aren't disappointed
Cat 4:14 PM: I know! You should have provided me with pictures of your dinner every night
Cat [4:36 PM]: delete your conversation history too
Christian [4:37 PM]: I was just doing that
Cat [4:37 PM]: coolio
Christian [4:38 PM]: That's because it was the same girl, Alice
Cat [4:38 PM]: I wish Shay was here she would have loved to hear
Lemmings, voles and muskrats. I googled them today, as I wrote my journal unashamably. They are all very cute, aren’t they. I originally googled Lemmings to see if it was true they would follow each other over the cliff. I had a mental blank spot as the google page came up, momentarily thinking they were birds. I know, how would a bird kill itself by following the others over a cliff. I giggled to myself. Shook my head. Ha ha. Oops. Fail.
Rats, hammsters, mice and gerbils. Do you, like me, always think of Richard Gere’s arse when you hear gerbils mentioned.
Interestingly, I read that Richard Gere acknowledged the rumour with an answer of sorts. It was something like, I don’t have any energy to give to these ridiculous stories.
A guy came down from upstairs today, cute. He’s a bit Anthony Callea looking. Nice suit, a bit tight. Handsome face. As gay as they come. A worked chest. A pert arse. You know, that kind of swishy arse that only gay boys have. It says, stick something in here, stick something in here, with every step he takes. Straight boys don’t have that kind of arse, no, never. They just don’t. I don’t think straight boys are connected to their arses in quite the same way that gay boys are, even top gay boys. I think it must be in the gay gene.
I’d seen him a few times. I asked Cat who he was.
“You know Karen Bush from marketing?”
“Yes.”
“He’s her boyfriend.”
“Her boyfriend?” I said it with a way too incredulous tone before I could stop myself.
Oh really, poor Karen is going to be very disappointed one of these days, I thought. The boy clearly sucks dick… or will one day. Poor Karen.
My last day at (company name). It seemed to take forever and now it is here. I guess it is always like that, hey?
Dawn, the CEO’s secretary, came down and said good bye, I was surprised and pleased.
At the very last moment, while chatting to Cat, I realised that our work instant messenger was saving all of our messages into Outlook. Oops. Some of the things I have said about people, I wouldn’t have written them if I’d known. So I deleted all of those. Not that anyone would go looking for them. And it’s not as though anyone would stumble across them, not really. But now they are gone. I’ve said something’s about Cathy to Cat, which I wouldn’t like Cathy to read, which she could take a certain way, which I didn’t really mean, not really.
Shayleen went to Altona midday. She went to walk out the door, realising as she went. “Oh, Christian. I… um… guess this is good bye.” She’s funny, she is like me. Confident and out going, to a point and then awkward and self conscious. We are olat a like. Again, at the risk of being declared deluded by Richard Dawkins, we are both Virgos.
“Until next time.”
“Yes. Um, until next time.” And then she was gone. She’s really lovely. Strong and fragile all at the same time, just like me. Funny and slightly left of centre.
Christine nearly left without saying good bye too. But, she was on a mission, as Christine often is. “Oh, oops,” she said. “Lovely working with you,” she said. She naturally came around and gave me a good bye kiss. Then she was gone.
Cathy said I was now a part of the furniture. She said if they can get the budget together I’d be back in July. “Shayleen will be very upset on Monday,” Cathy said.
“I’ll miss you all,” I said.
“She said she was going to Altona for the day, so she didn’t have to face the reality of you not being here,” said Isaac. (I don’t think he put it quite as succinctly as that, but that was his meaning)
“You’ll be here in September when I am in Europe,” said Cathy.
“You never know what might happen,” said Isaac. He said he didn’t know what he’d do without me, which I think was more talk than reality. He’s a bit of a talker, our Isaac.
Maybe he will give me the vacant position of HR/Finance/assistant/dog’s body, which he can’t fill. He’s interview a multitude of players over the last month. I think the fact that it is a crossover kind of role that makes it hard to fill. The young HR misses find they don’t want it, it’s not the right trajectory for those hard nosed professionals. The finance grads don’t want it, they never wanted to do the HR side. The personal assistants aren’t qualified for it, as Isaac has found out. I am the rare kind of beast to fill the role, but he wants someone who looks good in a short skirt, don’t be mistaken, boys are boys, even HR Directors. You kid yourself if you think otherwise.
“Good-bye,” said Alice. “Um, your security pass?” Much maligned Alice. I don’t know how she keeps coming into an office where, essentially, nobody likes her. I got on with her fine. She is nice, under that thick shield of insecurity. She and I were probably most alike, having both come from wealthier families than the rest. We both went to private schools. We both sailed as kids. We both had that sensibility. The difference was that Alice talked about hers, where mine is comfortably consigned to history. But, we had things in common because of it.
I turned back at the door, to look at Cathy, Isaac, Cat and Alice looking at me. “See ya.” I wave my hand before I could stop myself. It was 16.50.
We ate Ciabatta toast when we got home. We ate it with our tea. Sam said no but, you know, I don’t always follow his instructions.
I did a long breath out, another chapter over. It is a great pity I don’t have a week off. Never mind. I bit into my Ciabatta toast and sipped my ochre coloured tea.
We ate noodles for dinner. We ate a different kind of noodle that we hadn’t eaten before. They were rice noodles with colourful bits through them, that’s my best description. Sam said they are called rice noodle cake, quickly followed by, “I don’t know what they are called.”
We sat on our arses all night. It was a warm, humid night just made for lazing around.
We watched Valentine’s Day. I remember not loving it the first time I saw it. But, the second time around I found it much more enjoyable.
It was busy this morning, lots of cars. As I crossed over Hoddle Street there was a white Commodore on my left. It was the last car in the left lane, I was the last car in the right hand lane. There was a parked car up ahead of him. I was practically next to him when he put his right hand blinker on to come over into my lane.
“Thank you driver,” said the elderly driver when he realised I was in the space that he wanted to occupy.
There was nobody behind me, all he had to do was wait until I passed and then he could do what he wanted, unimpeded.
I wanted him to pull up next to me further up, as we both had our windows open. I wanted him to repeat what he had said, thank you driver.
Die old man, I wanted to respond.
Too much?
But he didn’t pull up next to me.
There were two trucks one behind the other travelling down Victoria Street and as per usual the morons fell in behind them and just acted like Lemmings. A couple of simple moves I was in front of the two trucks and home free whizzing down Victoria Street. An electric blue M3 followed me. Right up behind me. Good work, I thought. I lost him on one of the smaller sets of lights. He got scared. I didn’t have to, but I would just drive through those red lights if they had just changed as they had for him.
It’s Valentines Day. “Happy Val Day Darles,” as a friend’s father once famously said to my friend’s mother.
I liked Shayleen’s Valentines day message to Matt the best – I hate people, but I hate you the least. love S.
Shayleen and I get on really well, I love her, she’s great. We have similar personalities. Shayleen is a Virgo too, even if I run the risk of making Richard Dawkings laugh, or shake his head in disbelief. The two of us think alike.
But, Cat is lovely too. In away, she is more up front and natural with her personal connections. Cat and I are always sending each other instant messages on our work instant messenger.
Cat [8:31 AM]: I feel like you have no cake for me.
I suggested at one point that I would bake a banana cake for my last day and bring it in. I have rotten bananas in the fruit bowl. I completely forgot.
Christian [8:31 AM]: Oh no. You know, I was going to make the banana cake to surprise you and I completely forgot
Cat [8:32 AM]: This is the worst day everrrrrrrrrr
Christian [8:32 AM]: oops
The instant messenger stated that Cat was in a meeting
Christian [8:41 AM]: You are in a meeting?
Cat [8:43 AM]: When I set myself reminders in the calendar it affects my lyncs
Christian [8:48 AM]: Damn thing, should be destroyed
Cat [8:48 AM]: hahah
Christian [8:50 AM]: there should be another “a” at the end
Cat [8:50 AM]: hahaha****
Christian [8:50 AM]: better. :)
Christian [9:20 AM]: Did you get flowers today? or chocolates?
Cat [9:23 AM]: NOTHINGGGGGGGGGG! I might get something tonight
Christian [9:56 AM]: what?
Cat [9:56 AM]: are you busy? I need your connx help.
Some time later, Cat gets up and takes her jacket from the coat rack and raps it around her legs and sits down again. I call her and Shayleen lizards, as they are always cold.
Christian [10:52 AM]: Really? A jacket?
Cat [10:53 AM]: its chilly!!
Christian [10:53 AM]: It's hot in here. I'm sweating
Cat [10:53 AM]: don’t be ridiculous! Maybe it’s all that cheesecake?
We ate strawberry cheesecake yesterday. And at the end of the day there was still three pieces of cheesecake left and I had a second piece. I told Cat I could have eaten all three, she told me that I should, but I didn’t.
Christian [10:53 AM]: I think I need to talk to Christine about putting on the air con
Cat [10:53 AM]: DON, DON'T YOU DARE
Half of us in the office are hot, Aisleen and Cat are cold. Christine is having hot flushes, so she sometimes thinks it is very hot and puts on the air con.
Christian [11:05 AM]: It is soooooo stuffy and hot in here. I can hardly breathe
Cat [11:05 AM]: Go for a walk, (that made me laugh – Christian) anything but turning the aircon on
Christian [11:05 AM]: I'm sure it would help
Cat [11:05 AM]: it's not all about you Christian...what am I chop liver!!
Christian [11:06 AM]: my house mate tells me that all the time. I think it should be about me.
Cat [11:06 AM]: Yeah I love saying it too. hahaha not happening!
Cat [11:15 AM]: I'm trying to think of something nice to write on my valentines card...it's so hard
Christian [11:20 AM]: I liked Shayleen's message the best. That is what I'd write.
Shayleen’s Valentine’s day card message to her boyfriend Matt, I hate all people, but I hate you the least.
Cat [11:21 AM]: haha no I like getting into it. it takes me like a whole day to think of 5 sentences.
Christian [11:23 AM]: Hey Steve, I am so glad you are in my life emotionally and now I am very glad you are back in my life in person. Let's hope this is forever, I think of you as a forever kind of guy. Here’s to a fantastically happy twelve months, until I have to think about something to write on the next bloody Valentine's day card.
Cat [11:24 AM]: hahaha that’s so good!!!
Christian [11:24 AM]: That took a couple of minutes. I think you are over-processing it.
Cat [11:24 AM]: yours actually sounds alot better then mine, which is a worry. I should have asked for your advice earlier.
Christian [11:25 AM]: And I don't even know him
Cat [11:25 AM]: yeah you must be a sweet talker Christian
Christian [11:25 AM]: :)
Cat [11:36 AM]: What have you got for lunch today?
Christian 11:45 AM: Um... err... I can't remember
Cat 11:47 AM: booo. P.s that conversation made me want to puke
Christian 11:48 AM: what conversation?
Cat 11:48 AM: about her flowers
Alice, the only member of the HR team (the only disliked member of the HR team) (the uppity, pretentious, anti social, loner, incompetent, lazy, snappy, unfriendly, moody) (although, I thought she and I always got on okay being, for want of a better expression, the only two upper middle class members of the team) to have flowers sent to her for Valentine’s day, had a rather sickly sweet conversation with Dawn, the CEO’s secretary, about the flowers. Some how it got onto whether Isaac sent them to her and Alice Joked that she knew they weren’t from Isaac because they weren’t the cheap flowers. Alice and Dawn and Isaac all laughed about it.
Christian 11:48 AM: Oh J You know she sent them to herself
Cat 11:49 AM: hahaha you never know
Christian 11:49 AM: There is no one that likes her
Cat 11:50 AM: you raise a valid point
Christian 11:50 AM: Oh, I mean in a partner sense type someone
Cat 11:51 AM: that too
Christian 11:52 AM: I’ve got curry for lunch
Cat 11:52 AM: that sounds yum. I've got the same as yesterday but need to go to coles for beetroot
Christian 11:52 AM: more beetroot?
Cat 11:53 AM: always
Cat is weight obsessed. She is skinny, but wants to lose every ounce of fat she has.
Christian 3:35 PM: Is it time to go home yet?
Cat 3:44 PM: No...I wish
I just spoke to steve and I was thinking he might have secretly been planning something for V day because when I brought it up with him twice yesterday he changed the subject
I just spoke with him and he asked what are we doing tonight
and I was like OMG
so there obviously isnt a surprise
I might eat the chocolates I bought him
Christian 3:46 PM: Or throw them at him
Cat 3:46 PM: No, that way he'll still get to eat them
Christian 3:46 PM: true. Give him the empty box
Cat 3:46 PM: and inside should be a note saying 'you suck'
Christian 3:48 PM: or a note saying, I think you should think about your behaviour. Get back to me when you can explain what I might be talking about.
Cat 3:48 PM: that’s a good one. I’m hoping if he hasn’t got anything I’ll be able to bring on the tears to make him feel bad
Christian 3:50 PM: He hasn’t organised anything, if he is asking you what you are both doing tonight. Why don't you text him with, What do you want to do tonight?
Cat 3:51 PM: because I just spoke with him and he said we can go for dinner and then download a movie and then was like actually its going to be really hard to get a booking and I was like THATS WHY I WANTED TO ORGANISE IT EARLIER NOT ON THE LAST DAY
I hate boys
Unless I organise it it never happens!!!
Christian 3:53 PM: You just have to train him better
Cat 3:53 PM: Hes like one of those dogs you take to puppy school but they are untrainable
Christian 4:08 PM: I'm sleepy: I wont to go home and lie on the couch
Cat 4:10 PM: maybe they will let you go home early on your last day?
What will you eat tonight?
Christian 4:11 PM: I don't know what I am going to eat tonight
Cat 4:12 PM: It's my fav question to ask people
Christian 4:12 PM: I know
Christian 4:14 PM: I should put effort into it so you aren't disappointed
Cat 4:14 PM: I know! You should have provided me with pictures of your dinner every night
Cat [4:36 PM]: delete your conversation history too
Christian [4:37 PM]: I was just doing that
Cat [4:37 PM]: coolio
Christian [4:38 PM]: That's because it was the same girl, Alice
Cat [4:38 PM]: I wish Shay was here she would have loved to hear
Lemmings, voles and muskrats. I googled them today, as I wrote my journal unashamably. They are all very cute, aren’t they. I originally googled Lemmings to see if it was true they would follow each other over the cliff. I had a mental blank spot as the google page came up, momentarily thinking they were birds. I know, how would a bird kill itself by following the others over a cliff. I giggled to myself. Shook my head. Ha ha. Oops. Fail.
Rats, hammsters, mice and gerbils. Do you, like me, always think of Richard Gere’s arse when you hear gerbils mentioned.
Interestingly, I read that Richard Gere acknowledged the rumour with an answer of sorts. It was something like, I don’t have any energy to give to these ridiculous stories.
A guy came down from upstairs today, cute. He’s a bit Anthony Callea looking. Nice suit, a bit tight. Handsome face. As gay as they come. A worked chest. A pert arse. You know, that kind of swishy arse that only gay boys have. It says, stick something in here, stick something in here, with every step he takes. Straight boys don’t have that kind of arse, no, never. They just don’t. I don’t think straight boys are connected to their arses in quite the same way that gay boys are, even top gay boys. I think it must be in the gay gene.
I’d seen him a few times. I asked Cat who he was.
“You know Karen Bush from marketing?”
“Yes.”
“He’s her boyfriend.”
“Her boyfriend?” I said it with a way too incredulous tone before I could stop myself.
Oh really, poor Karen is going to be very disappointed one of these days, I thought. The boy clearly sucks dick… or will one day. Poor Karen.
My last day at (company name). It seemed to take forever and now it is here. I guess it is always like that, hey?
Dawn, the CEO’s secretary, came down and said good bye, I was surprised and pleased.
At the very last moment, while chatting to Cat, I realised that our work instant messenger was saving all of our messages into Outlook. Oops. Some of the things I have said about people, I wouldn’t have written them if I’d known. So I deleted all of those. Not that anyone would go looking for them. And it’s not as though anyone would stumble across them, not really. But now they are gone. I’ve said something’s about Cathy to Cat, which I wouldn’t like Cathy to read, which she could take a certain way, which I didn’t really mean, not really.
Shayleen went to Altona midday. She went to walk out the door, realising as she went. “Oh, Christian. I… um… guess this is good bye.” She’s funny, she is like me. Confident and out going, to a point and then awkward and self conscious. We are olat a like. Again, at the risk of being declared deluded by Richard Dawkins, we are both Virgos.
“Until next time.”
“Yes. Um, until next time.” And then she was gone. She’s really lovely. Strong and fragile all at the same time, just like me. Funny and slightly left of centre.
Christine nearly left without saying good bye too. But, she was on a mission, as Christine often is. “Oh, oops,” she said. “Lovely working with you,” she said. She naturally came around and gave me a good bye kiss. Then she was gone.
Cathy said I was now a part of the furniture. She said if they can get the budget together I’d be back in July. “Shayleen will be very upset on Monday,” Cathy said.
“I’ll miss you all,” I said.
“She said she was going to Altona for the day, so she didn’t have to face the reality of you not being here,” said Isaac. (I don’t think he put it quite as succinctly as that, but that was his meaning)
“You’ll be here in September when I am in Europe,” said Cathy.
“You never know what might happen,” said Isaac. He said he didn’t know what he’d do without me, which I think was more talk than reality. He’s a bit of a talker, our Isaac.
Maybe he will give me the vacant position of HR/Finance/assistant/dog’s body, which he can’t fill. He’s interview a multitude of players over the last month. I think the fact that it is a crossover kind of role that makes it hard to fill. The young HR misses find they don’t want it, it’s not the right trajectory for those hard nosed professionals. The finance grads don’t want it, they never wanted to do the HR side. The personal assistants aren’t qualified for it, as Isaac has found out. I am the rare kind of beast to fill the role, but he wants someone who looks good in a short skirt, don’t be mistaken, boys are boys, even HR Directors. You kid yourself if you think otherwise.
“Good-bye,” said Alice. “Um, your security pass?” Much maligned Alice. I don’t know how she keeps coming into an office where, essentially, nobody likes her. I got on with her fine. She is nice, under that thick shield of insecurity. She and I were probably most alike, having both come from wealthier families than the rest. We both went to private schools. We both sailed as kids. We both had that sensibility. The difference was that Alice talked about hers, where mine is comfortably consigned to history. But, we had things in common because of it.
I turned back at the door, to look at Cathy, Isaac, Cat and Alice looking at me. “See ya.” I wave my hand before I could stop myself. It was 16.50.
We ate Ciabatta toast when we got home. We ate it with our tea. Sam said no but, you know, I don’t always follow his instructions.
I did a long breath out, another chapter over. It is a great pity I don’t have a week off. Never mind. I bit into my Ciabatta toast and sipped my ochre coloured tea.
We ate noodles for dinner. We ate a different kind of noodle that we hadn’t eaten before. They were rice noodles with colourful bits through them, that’s my best description. Sam said they are called rice noodle cake, quickly followed by, “I don’t know what they are called.”
We sat on our arses all night. It was a warm, humid night just made for lazing around.
We watched Valentine’s Day. I remember not loving it the first time I saw it. But, the second time around I found it much more enjoyable.
Thursday, February 13, 2014
A Coupla Days
It was a normal morning. My second last morning before my world, my working world goes back onto shuffle. Okay the music starts again, everybody up. Off we go again, to the next adventure, thanks Jack. Next!
A coupla days.
The house it still hot when I got out of the shower. I felt sweaty standing in my towel. Sam tells me that my showers are too hot. I’m not sure if that is true, or not. I stood in front of the fan, as I slipped out of my towelling dressing gown – have I mentioned before that I think it is my very favourite item of clothing – and into my business shirt. The cool wind blew all over me and I felt chilled and alive, as the tail of each side of the front of my shirt blew back. I love a good cool breeze, no matter where it comes from.
Then it is a few minutes on the dobber scales, that ones that reports back to Sam’s iPhone.
I drive with both my front windows open, in the morning, I love the fresh air. I notice that I am the exception, as nearly every other driver on the road in the morning has their windows up and, I can only assume, their air conditioning on.
Is that putting pressure on the planet? Actually, I think it is, as it is using more fossil fuel than we need to use. It is also putting chemicals in the air from the air conditioning. I think more people drive with their air conditioning on. It is all heading in the wrong direction for the planet, pretty much on every level.
Do we all, essentially, insulate ourselves, closed behind our own chosen barriers too much now to be a harmonious society any more?
I followed a charcoal grey Honda down Victoria Parade, who was on an, apparent, go slow. There seemed to be no excuse for it but, what can I say, fear. She was probably a conservative voter. She wouldn’t go passed the tram. One of my pet hates. Learn to drive woman. I followed her like I was stalking her, quite literally. I was right behind her waiting for her to make the slightest mistake that I could take advantage of. And, of course, she did. She pulled in behind the tram when it looked as though a parked car was going to block her way, which enabled me to shoot passed her and the tram. Home free. So expansive is the road once you have got passed a slow driver and a tram. I was down Victoria Street and over Church Street and speeding up towards Burnley Street as everyone else, the charcoal Honda included, were waiting at the tram stop just a little further on from where I passed the lot.
The dreaded benchmarking remuneration survey. I found out today firstly that we didn’t contribute last year. A bit later, I found out that we hadn’t contributed since 2010. And even later I found out that we have never contributed.
That meant there would be no existing data available. It meant I would have to reconstruct the whole thing from scratch.
Oh yay! Lucky me. Anything to make it harder, of course. Why do these things happen?
Isaac didn’t dispute any of it. I’m wondering if the all-talk, not so much action, Isaac didn’t complete the part he needed to complete last year, therefore rendering the whole survey void. Maybe that has happened for a few years? (I guess, I believed it was way more likely than maybe)
Cathy said very little. She made big claims to have completed the whole thing last year. (Apparently, not)
Oh, this seemed to be going from bad to impossible.
So there was no previous data to check and use for this year. Isaac said he couldn’t do anything until after lunch. I printed out a list and left it on Isaac’s desk so he could pick the positions he wanted to use. He gave it back to me some time after lunch.
So I headed back to my desk and twiddled my thumbs until Isaac got back to me. Got his shit together. What did I care. Nobody said anything, so I flicked on the internet and read the news. It is the first job where I have ever really done that. I also wrote my journal.
Some time after lunch, Isaac threw the list he’d scrawled on, saying he thought he’d marked off the required positions on which to report. He’d actually marked out 10 too many.
I got it done by the end of the day and it was done. Yay! After all of my whinging in Sam’s ear. I chuckled to myself. It turned out to be pretty easy in the end, actually. I could see the look on Sam’s face when I told him.
We often ate cake. Christine often cooked. Christine was an all-rounder. We had strawberry cheesecake, in the afternoon. It had been in the freezer, since we ate the first half. Christine defrosted it. Or was it Cathy who defrosted it? One of them. We all liked cake day. It was nice with coffee. The strawberry flavour was gorgeous, fresh, real.
Shayleen went to Altona in the afternoon. She loves to eat. She is keen on her food. I thought I should say something to her. Ha, ha, we’re having sweeties, you know, that kind of thing.
Christian [3:35 PM]: We're all eating cheese cake. Yum yum
Shayleen [3:37 PM]: so devo!
Christian [3:40 PM]: Cathy is coughing, although, she didn't have cheesecake so she is not choking on that
Shayleen [3:42 PM]: i was thinking oh she must’ve scoffed a HUGE piece to be choking
Christian [3:42 PM]: lets say she did
Shayleen [3:42 PM]: more interesting
Christian [3:42 PM]: absolutely
It was a warm, humid night. A summer night. We walked to the Shanghai Street Dumpling Shop in La Trobe Street. We couldn’t think of what to cook. Who can, night in and night out? It is impossible. It was a humid night. The restaurant was hot. Singlet’s and shorts were the order of the night. Sam wore thongs. I wore runners.
The place was full of people, as it always is. It was hot too, as it always seems to be.
We ate steamed and fried dumplings. I have to pace myself, otherwise I eat much faster than Sam. We go one for one. One for me, one for you.
Yum, yum, dumplings are fun.
The couple next to us ordered a mountain of food. The boyfriend ate most of it. He shovelled it in, we couldn’t but glance sideways at him.
We went to the Indonesian Supermarket at QV. Laguna. It was empty, as were our heads. Nothing there was inspiring. Sam still wont let me buy choco pies, again. I slipped them into the basket, again. He took them out, again. I’ve never eaten choco pies, he has never let me.
My back was awash with sweat, wet up the middle under my singlet. I was moist and not in the shopping mood. I followed Sam around dragging my feet… almost like a petulant child. Or maybe one that was over tired. I didn’t care. I don’t want to go to the shops, mum.
We went to the Chinese supermarket in Russell Street. It was all light and movement. There were lots of people shopping. We bought noodles and fish sauce, oh, and a few other things I can’t remember now. Sam is in charge of the shopping. I carry the basket, or push the trolley and do as I am told.
We walked home by 9pm. It was a warm night, perfect for walking. We strolled home with our bags, lovely.
Buddy was doing Ewoks at the glass pane in the back door, wanting to be let in. He’s been very enthusiastic when we get home from being out. He’s been very excited these last couple of nights when we come home from being out. I think it is an indication of home much of his time that he spends with us.
Sam went to bed at nana time, 10.40pm. It is amazing how his nana-clock goes off every night at 10.40pm. Like, um, err, clockwork.
I chatted to Mark. He is going to Hanoi on Sunday. I didn’t get a chance to talk to him about (the investment property) as his Skype started to switch off inexplicably. Sam will be cross.
Sam wants us to mortgage ourselves to the eyeballs to buy an investment property. He’s keen. I am not so sure.
A coupla days.
The house it still hot when I got out of the shower. I felt sweaty standing in my towel. Sam tells me that my showers are too hot. I’m not sure if that is true, or not. I stood in front of the fan, as I slipped out of my towelling dressing gown – have I mentioned before that I think it is my very favourite item of clothing – and into my business shirt. The cool wind blew all over me and I felt chilled and alive, as the tail of each side of the front of my shirt blew back. I love a good cool breeze, no matter where it comes from.
Then it is a few minutes on the dobber scales, that ones that reports back to Sam’s iPhone.
I drive with both my front windows open, in the morning, I love the fresh air. I notice that I am the exception, as nearly every other driver on the road in the morning has their windows up and, I can only assume, their air conditioning on.
Is that putting pressure on the planet? Actually, I think it is, as it is using more fossil fuel than we need to use. It is also putting chemicals in the air from the air conditioning. I think more people drive with their air conditioning on. It is all heading in the wrong direction for the planet, pretty much on every level.
Do we all, essentially, insulate ourselves, closed behind our own chosen barriers too much now to be a harmonious society any more?
I followed a charcoal grey Honda down Victoria Parade, who was on an, apparent, go slow. There seemed to be no excuse for it but, what can I say, fear. She was probably a conservative voter. She wouldn’t go passed the tram. One of my pet hates. Learn to drive woman. I followed her like I was stalking her, quite literally. I was right behind her waiting for her to make the slightest mistake that I could take advantage of. And, of course, she did. She pulled in behind the tram when it looked as though a parked car was going to block her way, which enabled me to shoot passed her and the tram. Home free. So expansive is the road once you have got passed a slow driver and a tram. I was down Victoria Street and over Church Street and speeding up towards Burnley Street as everyone else, the charcoal Honda included, were waiting at the tram stop just a little further on from where I passed the lot.
The dreaded benchmarking remuneration survey. I found out today firstly that we didn’t contribute last year. A bit later, I found out that we hadn’t contributed since 2010. And even later I found out that we have never contributed.
That meant there would be no existing data available. It meant I would have to reconstruct the whole thing from scratch.
Oh yay! Lucky me. Anything to make it harder, of course. Why do these things happen?
Isaac didn’t dispute any of it. I’m wondering if the all-talk, not so much action, Isaac didn’t complete the part he needed to complete last year, therefore rendering the whole survey void. Maybe that has happened for a few years? (I guess, I believed it was way more likely than maybe)
Cathy said very little. She made big claims to have completed the whole thing last year. (Apparently, not)
Oh, this seemed to be going from bad to impossible.
So there was no previous data to check and use for this year. Isaac said he couldn’t do anything until after lunch. I printed out a list and left it on Isaac’s desk so he could pick the positions he wanted to use. He gave it back to me some time after lunch.
So I headed back to my desk and twiddled my thumbs until Isaac got back to me. Got his shit together. What did I care. Nobody said anything, so I flicked on the internet and read the news. It is the first job where I have ever really done that. I also wrote my journal.
Some time after lunch, Isaac threw the list he’d scrawled on, saying he thought he’d marked off the required positions on which to report. He’d actually marked out 10 too many.
I got it done by the end of the day and it was done. Yay! After all of my whinging in Sam’s ear. I chuckled to myself. It turned out to be pretty easy in the end, actually. I could see the look on Sam’s face when I told him.
We often ate cake. Christine often cooked. Christine was an all-rounder. We had strawberry cheesecake, in the afternoon. It had been in the freezer, since we ate the first half. Christine defrosted it. Or was it Cathy who defrosted it? One of them. We all liked cake day. It was nice with coffee. The strawberry flavour was gorgeous, fresh, real.
Shayleen went to Altona in the afternoon. She loves to eat. She is keen on her food. I thought I should say something to her. Ha, ha, we’re having sweeties, you know, that kind of thing.
Christian [3:35 PM]: We're all eating cheese cake. Yum yum
Shayleen [3:37 PM]: so devo!
Christian [3:40 PM]: Cathy is coughing, although, she didn't have cheesecake so she is not choking on that
Shayleen [3:42 PM]: i was thinking oh she must’ve scoffed a HUGE piece to be choking
Christian [3:42 PM]: lets say she did
Shayleen [3:42 PM]: more interesting
Christian [3:42 PM]: absolutely
It was a warm, humid night. A summer night. We walked to the Shanghai Street Dumpling Shop in La Trobe Street. We couldn’t think of what to cook. Who can, night in and night out? It is impossible. It was a humid night. The restaurant was hot. Singlet’s and shorts were the order of the night. Sam wore thongs. I wore runners.
The place was full of people, as it always is. It was hot too, as it always seems to be.
We ate steamed and fried dumplings. I have to pace myself, otherwise I eat much faster than Sam. We go one for one. One for me, one for you.
Yum, yum, dumplings are fun.
The couple next to us ordered a mountain of food. The boyfriend ate most of it. He shovelled it in, we couldn’t but glance sideways at him.
We went to the Indonesian Supermarket at QV. Laguna. It was empty, as were our heads. Nothing there was inspiring. Sam still wont let me buy choco pies, again. I slipped them into the basket, again. He took them out, again. I’ve never eaten choco pies, he has never let me.
My back was awash with sweat, wet up the middle under my singlet. I was moist and not in the shopping mood. I followed Sam around dragging my feet… almost like a petulant child. Or maybe one that was over tired. I didn’t care. I don’t want to go to the shops, mum.
We went to the Chinese supermarket in Russell Street. It was all light and movement. There were lots of people shopping. We bought noodles and fish sauce, oh, and a few other things I can’t remember now. Sam is in charge of the shopping. I carry the basket, or push the trolley and do as I am told.
We walked home by 9pm. It was a warm night, perfect for walking. We strolled home with our bags, lovely.
Buddy was doing Ewoks at the glass pane in the back door, wanting to be let in. He’s been very enthusiastic when we get home from being out. He’s been very excited these last couple of nights when we come home from being out. I think it is an indication of home much of his time that he spends with us.
Sam went to bed at nana time, 10.40pm. It is amazing how his nana-clock goes off every night at 10.40pm. Like, um, err, clockwork.
I chatted to Mark. He is going to Hanoi on Sunday. I didn’t get a chance to talk to him about (the investment property) as his Skype started to switch off inexplicably. Sam will be cross.
Sam wants us to mortgage ourselves to the eyeballs to buy an investment property. He’s keen. I am not so sure.
Wednesday, February 12, 2014
Three Days to Go
What can I say about this morning? I dunno. It has been over cast and dull these last few mornings, not that I am complaining. The universe gives us sparkling days and we complain it is too hot, so who am I to denigrate a gentle morning of soft grey.
I followed a slow driver, a charcoal BMW 330d, all the way down Victoria Street to Burnley. He drove like he had all the time in the world. Idiot. It was one of those drivers that just wouldn’t get out of my way. I wanted to stab him. It was as though he were out for a Sunday drive. It was like he was following me from the front position. It had one of those short, claaaasy number plates. C63 Y, or something like it.
There was a very beefy boy jogger in running shorts at the lights waiting to cross near Burnley. He had great thighs and a pair of those very short cut running shorts, where I could see the red sack of his jocks holding his balls. I could see the hairs on his muscular thighs. I could see his fingers adjusting the bits that itched. He had blonde hair and a sleeveless football/hoodie jumper on, with muscular arms and broad shoulders. He was panting, as though he had been running, which he had. He moved from foot to foot, rather than jogged on the spot. What a sexy boy, bulging out the front of his little shorts, his red jocks hanging out the right hand leg sack-like each time his right thigh moved backwards as he moved from one foot to the other.
He was every mother’s perfect nineteen year old son. To be jogging at 8am means you must be keen, or energetic. I pictured him lying in bed, before he set off, busting a nut all over his sheets.
It was a somewhat grey morning, he brightened it up. Now, if only, this idiot BMW would get out of my way.
C63 Y even turned up the last side street I turn up for work. As if purposely to annoy me. The driver had tuned into my biorhythms deliberately as if to exact revenge for all my impatience at other drivers for the entire time I had been coming this way to work. It did a very slow park about halfway down the street. Grrr! Blinker on. Come to an effective full stop, for no apparent reason. Blinker, blinker, blinker… nothing. Then it lurched forward and took a sweeping right hand turn not into the nearest driveway, but a drive way three along. Of course, just to be annoying.
Sam calls me a whinny pants. He tells me that the world doesn’t revolve around Christian Fletcher, that, in fact, I am a part of the wider world community. I usually bristle at such suggestions, saying that it is only the slow and the stupid that I loath, everybody else I am happy to be called the same species.
I laughed at myself and Sam’s words, as the charcoal BMW with the pretentious number plates did an impossibly slow sweeping arch into the drive way of choice, which just happened to be the furthest driveway from where the two of us now sat eagerly waiting for the manoeuvre to be completed. Well, I was eager, I guess I shouldn’t speak for the other idiot.
I released my white knuckles from the steering wheel and I relaxed my neck and back and breathed out back into my car seat, laughing at my own hysteria. I looked at the warehouses lining the street next to us and immediately started redesigning them into modern warehouse living.
Three days to go.
We went to the (the pub) for lunch. I’m thinking it was my farewell lunch, but it was, actually, a meeting with the two now ex staff members who have left to have children, Nell and Liz.
Christine drove. We parked out the back on the ground floor of the high rise car park.
Most of us ate half palmas, as is usually what we eat when we go to (the pub). It is, actually, the reason why we go there. You know, good tucker.
Christine drives a four wheel drive, a Holden, so it is a tighter fit being a bigger car. When we came out, the car parked on the driver’s side of the car was parked very close to the side of Christine’s car.
Cathy got in the back commenting on the car being parked so close that it made it difficult for her to get into Christine’s car. Now, I don’t know if I messed anything, but then Cathy proceeded to denigrate Asian drivers. As far as knew, the car was simply parked there and no driver was in sight. The only acknowledgment of a driver would have to have been an assumption. She said that Asian drivers were the worst on the road and that they had to be avoided.
It is not the first time she has been racist. She has made other derogatory statements aimed at Asians, barely concealed with humour.
I hate this passive racism, unthinking racism, clichéd racism. It is a sign of low intelligence, I can only conclude. I am complicit because I didn’t say anything, I realise that, but how do you have that conversation at work? In a temporary role?
It is decades out of date, if not longer. Even though I am making excuses, at least my mother’s generation had the second world war to hang their racism off. People today do not have even that slim excuse.
I said nothing. What is it they say, bad things happen when good people remain quiet.
Is that it?
I followed a slow driver, a charcoal BMW 330d, all the way down Victoria Street to Burnley. He drove like he had all the time in the world. Idiot. It was one of those drivers that just wouldn’t get out of my way. I wanted to stab him. It was as though he were out for a Sunday drive. It was like he was following me from the front position. It had one of those short, claaaasy number plates. C63 Y, or something like it.
There was a very beefy boy jogger in running shorts at the lights waiting to cross near Burnley. He had great thighs and a pair of those very short cut running shorts, where I could see the red sack of his jocks holding his balls. I could see the hairs on his muscular thighs. I could see his fingers adjusting the bits that itched. He had blonde hair and a sleeveless football/hoodie jumper on, with muscular arms and broad shoulders. He was panting, as though he had been running, which he had. He moved from foot to foot, rather than jogged on the spot. What a sexy boy, bulging out the front of his little shorts, his red jocks hanging out the right hand leg sack-like each time his right thigh moved backwards as he moved from one foot to the other.
He was every mother’s perfect nineteen year old son. To be jogging at 8am means you must be keen, or energetic. I pictured him lying in bed, before he set off, busting a nut all over his sheets.
It was a somewhat grey morning, he brightened it up. Now, if only, this idiot BMW would get out of my way.
C63 Y even turned up the last side street I turn up for work. As if purposely to annoy me. The driver had tuned into my biorhythms deliberately as if to exact revenge for all my impatience at other drivers for the entire time I had been coming this way to work. It did a very slow park about halfway down the street. Grrr! Blinker on. Come to an effective full stop, for no apparent reason. Blinker, blinker, blinker… nothing. Then it lurched forward and took a sweeping right hand turn not into the nearest driveway, but a drive way three along. Of course, just to be annoying.
Sam calls me a whinny pants. He tells me that the world doesn’t revolve around Christian Fletcher, that, in fact, I am a part of the wider world community. I usually bristle at such suggestions, saying that it is only the slow and the stupid that I loath, everybody else I am happy to be called the same species.
I laughed at myself and Sam’s words, as the charcoal BMW with the pretentious number plates did an impossibly slow sweeping arch into the drive way of choice, which just happened to be the furthest driveway from where the two of us now sat eagerly waiting for the manoeuvre to be completed. Well, I was eager, I guess I shouldn’t speak for the other idiot.
I released my white knuckles from the steering wheel and I relaxed my neck and back and breathed out back into my car seat, laughing at my own hysteria. I looked at the warehouses lining the street next to us and immediately started redesigning them into modern warehouse living.
Three days to go.
We went to the (the pub) for lunch. I’m thinking it was my farewell lunch, but it was, actually, a meeting with the two now ex staff members who have left to have children, Nell and Liz.
Christine drove. We parked out the back on the ground floor of the high rise car park.
Most of us ate half palmas, as is usually what we eat when we go to (the pub). It is, actually, the reason why we go there. You know, good tucker.
Christine drives a four wheel drive, a Holden, so it is a tighter fit being a bigger car. When we came out, the car parked on the driver’s side of the car was parked very close to the side of Christine’s car.
Cathy got in the back commenting on the car being parked so close that it made it difficult for her to get into Christine’s car. Now, I don’t know if I messed anything, but then Cathy proceeded to denigrate Asian drivers. As far as knew, the car was simply parked there and no driver was in sight. The only acknowledgment of a driver would have to have been an assumption. She said that Asian drivers were the worst on the road and that they had to be avoided.
It is not the first time she has been racist. She has made other derogatory statements aimed at Asians, barely concealed with humour.
I hate this passive racism, unthinking racism, clichéd racism. It is a sign of low intelligence, I can only conclude. I am complicit because I didn’t say anything, I realise that, but how do you have that conversation at work? In a temporary role?
It is decades out of date, if not longer. Even though I am making excuses, at least my mother’s generation had the second world war to hang their racism off. People today do not have even that slim excuse.
I said nothing. What is it they say, bad things happen when good people remain quiet.
Is that it?
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
One Term Tony
A few weeks ago the government signed what AMWU National President, Andrew Dettmer, called the 'cows for cars' free trade deal with South Korea. We get to export beef to South Korea and they get to make cars for us to import.
Do you understand now why One Term Tony and his cohorts have wiped the Australian car industry off the map - assigning 50 thousand workers to the scrap heap - while at the same time they are paying money to bail out the farmers.
This morning on the ABC a spokesperson for Toyota said one reason they were pulling out of Australia was because of 'current and future free trade agreements'.
Currently under negotiation is the Trans-Pacific Partnership Agreement. As only corporations get to directly input on the secret negotiations it is a fair bet that Toyota management knows more than the rest of us about how these secret negotiations will affect the economy.
Monday, February 10, 2014
Don't Ruin My Week
Stupid (name of the company) gave me a national benchmarking survey to do today, because none of them want to do it. They passed it down the line to me. Like dominos with muggins here the last of the line. Cathy said that she did it last year.
I was pissed off. I whinged to Sam. Moaned. Hissed. Stomped about. Shrug. Isn't that what boyfriends are for? He claimed that the only person who was suffering was him.
The problem is that I don’t know any of the answers, or many of the answers and I will have to continually ask the others to be able to complete the survey.
It just seemed ridiculous. I was dark. Sam said I was making his life miserable with my complaining.
Grrrrrr! Only a week to go. Hands in the air. All I had to do was write a procedure. 5 days. Easy. Don't ruin my fucken week. Not happy.
Sunday, February 09, 2014
We Dunked and Sipped
Eventually, the trees blew about wildly outside beyond the windows, the wind picking up, branches shimmying, green rustling. When we opened the back door we were wafted with a cool breeze and the day adjusted to something perfect.
I vacuumed the house, as a cool breeze blew through the rooms. Sam swept the front yard and the back yard.
Sam went to the shop and bought Scotch Finger biscuits to dunk in our tea. We sat outside in the sublime afternoon and dunked and sipped. They were chocolate covered, the chocolate holding the wet biscuit together.
I made banana cake to take to David's to watch So You Think You Can Dance. David is cooking dinner. I am taking the desert.
Then I made a second banana cake for Sam and I to eat, for breakfast with coffee, for Sam for breakfast with coffee.
The afternoon was brilliant. I should have gone for a bike ride. The day became a glorious thing.
I vacuumed the house, as a cool breeze blew through the rooms. Sam swept the front yard and the back yard.
Sam went to the shop and bought Scotch Finger biscuits to dunk in our tea. We sat outside in the sublime afternoon and dunked and sipped. They were chocolate covered, the chocolate holding the wet biscuit together.
I made banana cake to take to David's to watch So You Think You Can Dance. David is cooking dinner. I am taking the desert.
Then I made a second banana cake for Sam and I to eat, for breakfast with coffee, for Sam for breakfast with coffee.
The afternoon was brilliant. I should have gone for a bike ride. The day became a glorious thing.
It is Still Warm in Melbourne Town
It's hot. Honest, dry heat, making the world sparkle. The shadows are crisp, light and dark. The sky is blue, blue, blue. We're sitting in front of a fan enjoying the waft of cool air blowing over us. It is the good think about living in an old, double brick house, it stays quite cool, well, downstairs anyway.
It is a lazy Sunday. Sure.
Sam, Buddy and I are sitting quietly waiting for the cool change to come. I'm not doing much, reading the online news. Blogs. Facebook.
Sam fell asleep on the couch.
Buddy lay out on the cool tiled kitchen floor cooling his tummy.
Tum di dah. Everything feels just a little sticky.
I haven't got much to say, can you tell?
I hate the summer. I hate the heat. I wouldn't mind if I had a beach in front of me, but there aren't too many of those in Fitzroy.
We need ice cream.
It is a lazy Sunday. Sure.
Sam, Buddy and I are sitting quietly waiting for the cool change to come. I'm not doing much, reading the online news. Blogs. Facebook.
Sam fell asleep on the couch.
Buddy lay out on the cool tiled kitchen floor cooling his tummy.
Tum di dah. Everything feels just a little sticky.
I haven't got much to say, can you tell?
I hate the summer. I hate the heat. I wouldn't mind if I had a beach in front of me, but there aren't too many of those in Fitzroy.
We need ice cream.
Saturday, February 08, 2014
Thursday, February 06, 2014
Relax, Nobody Had to Die
The sun was milky, hazy, soft and diffuse this morning. There were lots of cars on the road, who can say why? Some mornings it can be busy, some mornings it can be empty as far as I can see down the Victoria Parade hill.
Today it was busy. A veil of morning light covered the ski-slope of a road, making the concrete look like mother of pearl, my bonnet, it even covered my windscreen, driving into it made the traffic lights stand out, red, yellow and green, as though through a fog. So many traffic lights now a days, we seem to have gone traffic light mad this last year, or so.
I picked another car to sit behind that had a chick in a habib driving at 2 kph behind the wheel. Oh Jesus! (Or is that Oh Allah!) Fuck it! I roared around her.
Once I was ahead of the pack, The narrower street stretched out in front of me empty all the way to the river. I nudged the speed over 40 kph. Oh, who am I kidding, I nudged it over 60 kph. There was nobody and no one on the street at all. And while I have embraced the slower speed limits more recently, I guess, deep down I still don’t think the way to save recalcitrant pedestrians is to slow down the automobiles. The answer is to educate he pedestrians but, as we all know, that is the more difficult option, and difficult options are, um, er, too difficult for the modern politician. Good god, the more difficult option may well impinge on a modern politicians three year plan, er, term.
It is true, I have embraced driving slow because this nana state, namby pamby, bunch of wet behind the ears scardy cat excuses for current day human beings seem to need it that way and our blame-somebody-else mentality isn’t going to change any time soon. So I am now embracing the slow lane, but… some days you just have to say fuck it!I’m bored, so bored. I don’t have anything to do and nobody seems to care. I have a week to go and in that time I have to teach somebody about the work I have been doing. I don’t really know where it is to go from here, as the HR director doesn’t seem to know what he wants. I feel like I am going to escape out of (name of the company) by the skin of my teeth.
“Where did we get to with the org charts?”
It is a question I should know the answer to. Should care enough to be able to answer? I admire people like Shayleen who can be interested in this stuff. In work stuff, like it actually means something. In HR. Good for her, she is a star. No, she is. I mean it. She will go right to the top.
But, I am working for you guys and I need some instruction on what you want and just lately that has no been forth coming.
Apparently, my boss, the HR Director blames everybody who has left the company for the mess he has to deal with. So, I and resolved to that being my fate. And I only have to hang on for another week.
Yay! I’m done.
It is a hot summer day. You know, comfortably hot, 32, 33, nice. Not ridiculously hot.I walked to Victoria Gardens to get lunch. Sam is in Tamworth, so he is not here cooking and consequently no lunch is being prepared for me. Sad face. I wanted something different for lunch. Subway? No. Pies? No. What? Schnitzel? Pork dumplings? I don’t know. A muffin from muffin break? Why not? No. I got sushi, as per usual. I got tooth paste. Sam took the toothpaste and he told me to buy a new tube. So, shrug, I did.
When I got back I was sweating. I sweat easily. I’m a sweater. My sugar levels were dropping too and I was starting to shake. The two cute Asian boys were in my seat again in the kitchen, again. Fuck them! I went back to my desk. Fuck them! I didn’t want to spend lunch at my desk.
My head spun. Grrrr!
My shirt was sticking to me and I needed to cool down from the walk to the shops. It seemed too hot out side, but I had no choice. I headed out to the table with the umbrella over it.
The two girls who talked incessantly the last time I sat outside arrived at the outside tables at the same time I did. Am I to be spared nothing? I shrugged. God? What moron ever thought there was a god. The belief in god will be a psychological condition in one hundred years, I have no doubt about it. These yabbing bitches and the idea of a loving god are incompatible. I contemplated going back inside, but to where? I was really hungry! I gritted my teeth and shook. Then I felt the fresh breeze blow, and I sat down defeated. Just relax. I decided just to relax and just sit outside with the gasbaggers. Maybe, they won’t so bad. I looked over at them, their mouths flapped as I held that thought. They were the embodiment of ordinary, nothing-going-for-them girls. I was sure they talked shit. I took my shoes off… and breathed out.
It was okay. I was not forced to kill them. I didn’t have to take my chop stick and shove it through one of their eyes to make a point.
They muttered their nonsense and I could barely hear it. They sounded like an annoying fly buzzing around me somewhere in the distance.
I laughed. I removed the cover from my sushi. Clearly, I grimaced, I was the one who was being hard to get along with. I split my chop sticks. Everybody else was clearly quite content in their worlds.
Don’t you hate that?
Today it was busy. A veil of morning light covered the ski-slope of a road, making the concrete look like mother of pearl, my bonnet, it even covered my windscreen, driving into it made the traffic lights stand out, red, yellow and green, as though through a fog. So many traffic lights now a days, we seem to have gone traffic light mad this last year, or so.
I picked another car to sit behind that had a chick in a habib driving at 2 kph behind the wheel. Oh Jesus! (Or is that Oh Allah!) Fuck it! I roared around her.
Once I was ahead of the pack, The narrower street stretched out in front of me empty all the way to the river. I nudged the speed over 40 kph. Oh, who am I kidding, I nudged it over 60 kph. There was nobody and no one on the street at all. And while I have embraced the slower speed limits more recently, I guess, deep down I still don’t think the way to save recalcitrant pedestrians is to slow down the automobiles. The answer is to educate he pedestrians but, as we all know, that is the more difficult option, and difficult options are, um, er, too difficult for the modern politician. Good god, the more difficult option may well impinge on a modern politicians three year plan, er, term.
It is true, I have embraced driving slow because this nana state, namby pamby, bunch of wet behind the ears scardy cat excuses for current day human beings seem to need it that way and our blame-somebody-else mentality isn’t going to change any time soon. So I am now embracing the slow lane, but… some days you just have to say fuck it!I’m bored, so bored. I don’t have anything to do and nobody seems to care. I have a week to go and in that time I have to teach somebody about the work I have been doing. I don’t really know where it is to go from here, as the HR director doesn’t seem to know what he wants. I feel like I am going to escape out of (name of the company) by the skin of my teeth.
“Where did we get to with the org charts?”
It is a question I should know the answer to. Should care enough to be able to answer? I admire people like Shayleen who can be interested in this stuff. In work stuff, like it actually means something. In HR. Good for her, she is a star. No, she is. I mean it. She will go right to the top.
But, I am working for you guys and I need some instruction on what you want and just lately that has no been forth coming.
Apparently, my boss, the HR Director blames everybody who has left the company for the mess he has to deal with. So, I and resolved to that being my fate. And I only have to hang on for another week.
Yay! I’m done.
It is a hot summer day. You know, comfortably hot, 32, 33, nice. Not ridiculously hot.I walked to Victoria Gardens to get lunch. Sam is in Tamworth, so he is not here cooking and consequently no lunch is being prepared for me. Sad face. I wanted something different for lunch. Subway? No. Pies? No. What? Schnitzel? Pork dumplings? I don’t know. A muffin from muffin break? Why not? No. I got sushi, as per usual. I got tooth paste. Sam took the toothpaste and he told me to buy a new tube. So, shrug, I did.
When I got back I was sweating. I sweat easily. I’m a sweater. My sugar levels were dropping too and I was starting to shake. The two cute Asian boys were in my seat again in the kitchen, again. Fuck them! I went back to my desk. Fuck them! I didn’t want to spend lunch at my desk.
My head spun. Grrrr!
My shirt was sticking to me and I needed to cool down from the walk to the shops. It seemed too hot out side, but I had no choice. I headed out to the table with the umbrella over it.
The two girls who talked incessantly the last time I sat outside arrived at the outside tables at the same time I did. Am I to be spared nothing? I shrugged. God? What moron ever thought there was a god. The belief in god will be a psychological condition in one hundred years, I have no doubt about it. These yabbing bitches and the idea of a loving god are incompatible. I contemplated going back inside, but to where? I was really hungry! I gritted my teeth and shook. Then I felt the fresh breeze blow, and I sat down defeated. Just relax. I decided just to relax and just sit outside with the gasbaggers. Maybe, they won’t so bad. I looked over at them, their mouths flapped as I held that thought. They were the embodiment of ordinary, nothing-going-for-them girls. I was sure they talked shit. I took my shoes off… and breathed out.
It was okay. I was not forced to kill them. I didn’t have to take my chop stick and shove it through one of their eyes to make a point.
They muttered their nonsense and I could barely hear it. They sounded like an annoying fly buzzing around me somewhere in the distance.
I laughed. I removed the cover from my sushi. Clearly, I grimaced, I was the one who was being hard to get along with. I split my chop sticks. Everybody else was clearly quite content in their worlds.
Don’t you hate that?
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