The Body Count Is Growing

Seems to me that I am ditching friends like I peel off soiled jocks and discard them, there now seems to be a trail of them across the bedroom floor of my life. I really do have the ability to turn my back and walk away without ever glancing back, I know that about myself.

Mark seems to be the latest. I think that makes all my ex's estranged now. He hasn't contacted me since we had our falling out, a week ago. Nothing. No messages. No emails. No phone calls. I'm guessing this is serious then. I did send him a terrible message telling him exactly what I thought about the situation, which I now feel was regrettable. I so wanted to send him another message telling him how sorry I was for the previous message, but as you can tell from the last sentence, there has been too many messages and I decided that it was time just to keep silent, so I have. (My judgement isn’t always sound, of course)

I still haven't told Sam. I haven't told anybody.

I'm no longer friends with any of my ex's where I used to be friends with all of them. Like ducks in a shooting gallery, bang, bang, bang. I'm wondering what is going wrong? We've been friends for so long and then bam, bam, bam, not friends any more. I can tell it is serious with Mark this time, I can feel it.

My sister and brother last year. They pissed me off with the winding up of all my mother's stuff. They just didn't seem to care about anybody but themselves. Get rid of everything, like it was a poisonous rag needing to be disposed of quickly.

Perry. You know, and I shouldn't say this, (I’m not exactly sure why I shouldn’t say anything on my blog, but there you go) but Perry was always just too much of a country hick for me. We persisted for 20 years, yep, 20 years, but really his simplistic look-at-me antics really are just nauseating, if I am truthful. His goofy attitude is why so many people like him, but, for the most part, it just made me groan.

Sebastian, well, maybe not Sebastian, not yet, he hangs on to our friendship by a thread. We'll have to see how that one pans out, when Shane gets back from OS. I do feel sorry for Sebastian really, but not sorry enough to call him up and say let’s do coffee. He fell out with David (another friend I've still got) when David fell out with Tully, which meant David fell out with Shane, because Sebastian can't keep his mouth shut and he reported back to Shane and Tully what David had been saying, or something like that. I never really did follow it in the first place, but I digress. Sebastian has lived with James Wang ever since I have known them, 25 years, and Sebastian and James were a part of our group when we were younger and drug taking party queens, 20 years ago, back in the days when it was all more clandestine, and way more fun than it is now, I can only assume, as I don't do it now. Well, James was one of the ones who didn't make it out of that period unscathed. There were a couple, James, my ex Anthony and Fergus who died. (almost an ex, Robert Gamble, although he is still around, but damaged. Sexy Robert Gordon… and beautiful Anthony Orrontello, both dead) Collateral damage to lives lived large. Well, anyway, James has been in mental decline ever since, for years and Sebastian has really looked after him for all this time. Well, apparently, Sebastian has finally had enough and wants out. Poor Sebastian.

Dante. Except Dante isn't going to be around for much loner, did I tell you, he got busted for dealing ice? And with the current mood, the alleged ice epidemic, that ain't gonna go well for him, I am thinking. Dante lost his business, and pretty much everything else, in the GFC. And while he had a job for a short time after that, more recently, he has not been able to get a job. Long term unemployment led to dealing, you know, as it does. (I don't really mean that, but that is what has happened for Dante.) We had a misunderstanding, more recently, so I headed over there on my bike to sort it out, one sunny morning. The last time I saw him, actually. Perry came to get a deal and Dante pulled out this box from a lower section of his coffee table, which had rocks of, I guess it is called, crystal. I was a bit surprised at the time, I remember thinking, I'm guessing that is an awful lot. I don't know, I don't know what a lot of that stuff is, I've only ever seen it like salt in a small plastic bag. So, if he had that much when the pigs kicked in his door, I'm guessing he'd better be getting a really good lawyer. (I’m guessing Perry’s friend Pug, the lawyer in Sydney, who defends all the gay boys who get caught has been wheeled into action)

Adrianna told me (there's a friend I still have) about Dante, she'd had lunch with Sebastian who told her in the strictest confidence, and she told me and Sam. "Don't tell anybody, will you?" said Adrianna.

That is one thing I have always been good with, if you tell me not to tell anybody, my mouth is like the Bank of England (I walked passed it earlier this year, it is still like a fort) I won't tell a soul.

Which is quite a shame, as it is the goss of the year and I can’t tell David. Oh well. (David is in Italy with Italian Sebastian) Earlier this year I told David, straight-faced. “Dante is dead. Drug overdose.” And David was so shocked. Then I said, “Ha ha, kidding, you should have seen the look on your face.” And we both laughed heartily. And now I have the real goss and I can’t say anything. Grrr! 

I so wish Tom was here, he’d have a lot to say about Dante. He’d call Dante up without any hesitation. “Sister, what’s going on with you?” he’d say. I so miss Tom. (I tear up when I think about him)

And then there is Josh and Manny and Jude and shit! So many ex-friends. There are some I have probably forgotten too. (You must know that you never really counted as a friend, if I forget you when I am compiling a list of friends I have lost?)

Me and Sam and Buddy and a bag of pot. Pffffff, what else do I need? Except, Sam won't let me have the bag of pot.

"You are too boring for words when you are stoned," says Sam. “I know you think you are delightful, but in reality, you are incoherent.”

Now, if I could just make him a pot-head, he'd be the perfect boyfriend, but alas, he won't be turned. Damn him!

So, the thing is, in a long-winded round about way, I'm good on my own. I am good with my own company. As fat Rod Scampton said about me in high school, "Christian is a loner." I was a little shocked as a 17 year old to hear that, but ever since I have taken it as a bitter way of saying that I am very happy with my own company and so therefore don't specifically need the person who uttered such words in my life. Rod and I are no longer friends, but that isn't a recent thing. And, I am guessing, that this is the reason I can walk away from friendships. My friendships tend to be long term, but that seems to be no guarantee that they will survive “forever” as they say. I read somewhere recently that if you are friends with somebody for over 7 years that friendship will last a life time. Leah, Perry, Dante, and now Mark, all friendships that have lasted many, many years passed 7 that seem to be failing now. (Good thing he has lots of friends to lose, good thing he made lots of friends in his social butterfly twenties, he says nervously)

And it is probably me, you know. My levels of empathy are not really high. I don't have sympathy for the usual things for which people seem to have sympathy. I have sometimes wondered if I could get myself tested. I read psychological profiles of psychopaths and sociopaths with trepidation, I tell you. I have never really matched up with any, but I do wonder sometimes which... path I might be. But then again, that is also why people love me in the first place, because I come from a different place, so people tell me. (I choose to take that as a compliment.) You know how your best quality is also often your worst quality. Yep, bingo!

Facebook

I think Facebook is probably a huge time waster. Well, a distraction. An efficient passer of hours, days when you add them up. It is the electronic equivalent of a stocking filler in the great celebration of living. We're glued to it when we should be doing other things. It has just really occurred to me that I have been distracted by it. It doesn't really do anything for me. It connects me to friends, who I should probably be calling, or going and meeting face to face anyway.

I have been on Facebook, every morning, every day, looking for likes, I guess. And that, if it is anything at all, is kind of sad.

I just suddenly found myself mindlessly looking at my feed, at memes, or funny dog videos, or barn find cars on the other side of the world, or some petition, ban Adani, ban the right wing bigot, ban people who say unpleasant things, or looking at some news about America, guns and violence, or racial unrest, or bigotry, or old priests filling with young boys, or, or, and, and, in other words nothing that really directly affects my life, just distractions. Time wasters. I'd be better off jerking off, at least that is meant to be healthy for me. 

I just had a what-am-I-doing moment? You know those small moments of clarity where suddenly you can feel every cell in your body and you can see the world outside in full detail, and you can hear the noises of everything beyond your walls and you think what am I, actually, doing in all of this, right now, here, at this very moment?

I should be writing something, even if it is bad, better than continually hitting the like button on stuff.

What positive things is Facebook contributing to my life? When I really give it some thought, the answer is, very few. Facebook is not really contributing to my life in any meaningful way. 

So, I am going to start concentrating on my blog again. That is what I am going to do. More writing. More poetry. I've got poetry for the whole year that I haven't published, I must get on to doing that.

I Walk

10am. I went for a walk. If sitting is the new smoking, I am heading for a premature death. So, that hour long walk every morning, must be doing me some good. Mustn’t it?

I listened to Willie Nelson. Stardust, of course.

I am still feeling very upset about Mark. Upset with myself, as much as I am upset with Mark. My response to him was terrible. I got that wrong. I didn't keep my cool. What to do now? It is moments like this that my yellow streak glows in all its saffron glory. I’m basically a coward, I know that. It is something with which I have always struggled.

I could say I was lost in my thoughts, I could say that, and while it is somewhat true, it is not true enough to say it… I ignored the construction worker’s instructions to use the opposite footpath at the corner of Queensberry and Lygon Streets, where they are re-developing the building on the corner. I had headphones in, but I could still hear her repeating the instruction over and over again, as if she expected me to comply. I don’t have the time, or the inclination, to cross the road to use the other footpath, I know it is probably your job, but sorry luv. I walked down the bike lane on the edge of the car lane coming towards me, closest to the closed footpath, thinking to myself, I can look after myself, luv. I don’t think she was happy, even if I didn’t look back.

And then there was another construction worker further down closer to Bouverie Street, where the construction finished. She took down the tape and said, “Would you like to use this footpath?”

“Yes, thank you,” I said.

Then she explained that the footpath would be blocked for the rest of the week and that if I was going to be walking through again, she suggested alternatives to what I’d just done. “There is a laneway just along Lygon Street a bit…”

“Oh yes, I know it.” And I will use that laneway tomorrow, or the next day, or whenever.

She will go far. She will be in charge one day. She did and said exactly the right thing to me… me, who, I admit, was probably appearing to be difficult, but really, I don’t want to put in all the effort to cross the street, and she handled it with charm and grace.

I felt a certain rekindled love for humanity after she and I had spoken. I did, I am not exaggerating. The sun was shining and I felt a certain spring in my step from her kindness.

11.11am. I got home.

I listen to Steely Dan, Aja.

Finances 101

A lesson in finances 101. No matter how friendly you think you are with your ex, no matter if you consider yourselves to be soul mates continuing long after you have finished your relationship, complete the finances, get everything sign, sealed and delivered, as they say. 

We had everything in both our names long after we were in relationships with other people. Mark had access to our mortgage that I had taken over as a part of our break up. He got one house. I got the other house and the mortgage. (We both already owned a house each when we met) He had access to, what was now, my mortgage and he used it as finance when he needed to. Both houses remained in both our names.

"It will be fine, Mark and relationship will never sour," I said to my friend Jill, which used to infuriate her.

"Don't leave anything to chance," Jill used to say. "Better to be safe than sorry."

"We're not leaving anything to chance," I'd reply. "You just don't understand what Mark and I have."

So for the longest time, my ex and I thought it would all be wonderful until the day we were old men staring at our final sunset. Eventually, at least 10 years after we'd split up, Mark got his finances straightened out because he has a kid, well, actually, the kid came of age and got it all straightened out for him. Mark always thought things would be cool between the two of us, as I did.

But, you know, as the kid straightened out all of Mark's finances, my still small voice said to me, as a gentle whisper, "time for you to do the same." I kept hearing this. "time for you to do the same." Yes, yes, I thought, I know you are right. "time for you to do the same." Okay, okay, already. 

And eventually, five years after that, I called our old Jewish solicitor, (we used the same solicitor, always did) Myron Swartz, whose first words to me were, "You know somethink, Christian, I have been vorried about jou for zee longest time."

"How so?" I replied.

"Well, Mark's daughter gave me quite precise instructions of vhat to do for Mark, but vhen I asked about you, she told me to do nothink. Nothink?  said Myron. "Zis vas crazy stuff! But, I hadn't heard from you, my boy, vhat could I do?"

"She told you to do nothing?"

"Yes, nothink," said Myron. "I thought it vas very strange. But vhat could I do?" 

I think Mark and I were Myron Swartz's first gay couple. And I think he kind of liked it, somehow. I don't know why, but I just got that impression. He always seems to take a shine to both of us. Mark always said he took a shine to me. "You know he wants you," Mark would say jokingly.

"There's a Mrs Swartz of 35 years standing." Myron used to tell me, my vife of 35 years. 

"Why do you think he always told you that?" said Mark.

"Don't be ridiculous."

Anyway, we straightened it all out, it took a little time, but then it was done.

Anyway, now it would appear, all these years later, that Mark and my relationship is souring. Mark has a few money issues. Mark is the Hare and I am the tortoise. He spends all of his money as soon as he gets it, and fortunately, he has always had a great talent for business, but, as I said, he never saves any money, never has any in reserve, which usually always works for him. And as I said, he is clever and he gets things done, up and running, in the time it takes other people to grasp the ideas of what they should do. It is, of course, a part of his makeup, a part of who he is, a part of his feelings of success about himself.

Me, on the other hand, I'm the tortoise. Steady and sure as I go. I always have savings, I always have money in the bank. I am very cautious with what I spend and in what I invest. I don't splash the cash around. I don't feel the need to pay for everyone. I don't ever want to spend all of my money. That just isn't something that gives me pleasure. I sleep soundly at night knowing no matter what happens tomorrow, I have the reserves to see my way through even the very worst scenario.

So, as it turns out, we have come to a point in our lives, when Mark is skint, and I am flush. Oh, before you feel too sorry for him, he has assets, just no ready cash. He has a large debt, that he is having trouble paying and he thinks I should have offered to pay it.

And I have said no.


And he is really shitty about it. He has always thought I did better out of our breakup, but again, I save my money, I don’t spend it. Apparently, we have always looked out for one another, (my interpretation of that is that I have always looked after him… and, perhaps, on one of my bad days, I might say Mark has always looked after Mark) and I have now betrayed the trust we have always shown each other.

I say, me paying his bills is not sustainable. He needs to take action to fix his spiralling expenses, me continually picking up the tab, when I no longer work, will only drain my finances as quick as it is draining his.

And besides, I am not his partner any longer, I haven't been his partner for 15 years. I have been with Sam going 8 years.

So, I am now very thankful that I did straighten out my finances and that they are separate to Mark's. Oh yes, I am very thankful. (Laugh) I'm not going to tell Jill that she was right, she would enjoy that just a little too much.

I kind of miss those days, with our Jewish Lawyer, Myron Swartz, and our Jewish Accountant, Asher Leibowitz. "Clayton to Caulfield," the two of them used to say. "Ve got it covered." What those two couldn’t come up with? I tell you. The laid back, well dressed, Myron and the fat, gravel voiced, chain smoking, always with his shirt tail hanging out, Asher.

Asher just smoked in his office, fuck OH&S rules.

“Can I smoke?” I asked questioningly when I first saw him in his office. It stunk like an ashtray.

“If you smoke, smoke. You wanna smoke, smoke. Smoke. I smoke. You smoke. We all smoke. You can smoke.”

“Okay then.”

“Here, let me get you an ash tray.” He’d dig under the piles of papers covering his desk for one. Mark hated Asher because he never stopped talking. Never… stopped… talking.

Myron had a neat desk, with only the applicable paperwork out on it. I’m sure he had vanilla candles burning somewhere.

Asher went to Guido to get his pot supplies. Naturally. I’m sure, Mark hooked the two of them up. Asher was a quite a head. Guido said he was one of his best customers. We were all devastated when Asher lost everything in the GFC and consequently killed himself. We were all upset, each, possibly, for different reasons. Best accountant I ever had. A huge number of pills and a plastic bag over his head, was his method of choice. Is that even a thing? I thought.

“Are you sure that it legal?” I’d ask Asher.

“What’s legal?” he’d say. “Who looks at it? Who decides? We all come up with different interpretations. It is all just a matter of how you look at it.”

I’d look uncomfortable with the explanation.

“Perception?” he’d say. “You just have to look at it the right way, to get the right answer.”

"I... see?"

“The department is too underfunded and too understaffed to investigate anything off its own bat,” Asher would say. “Economic rationalisation, the best financial friend we’ll ever have,” he’d say. He’d laugh his throaty laugh, and lower his voice as if the truth deserved its own reverence. “Everything I do is legal, babe. It is called tax minimisation, not tax avoidance. Use the rules, they are your best fucken friend.” He’d laugh again. “I’m not driving my business into the wall to get some punk a few extra dollars, pay the right amount, but don’t pay a cent above what you have to.” He’d slide another white filtered Kent into his mouth. He was always sliding a white filtered cigarette into his mouth. “Cigarette?” He’d hold open his wooden cigarette box in midair, holding it by the lid.

Myron retired a few years ago. (I kind of think Myron put the accent on, but that is neither here, nor there)

End of an era.

So many eras ending.

It seems like a different lifetime.

Love affairs, friendships, professional relationships, they all end, one way or another. You've got to be ready for it, be smart, or wise, and look ahead, see what's coming. (Shrug, hands raised up) Be prepared.

Blue days, sunny haze, come what mays, upward we gaze

Lime Marmalade

Lime Marmalade. I found an unopened bottle of lime marmalade in the back of the fridge, the other day when I was rummaging about back there. I don’t know if it just us, but we seem to have a mysterious collection of bottles inhabiting the top shelf of our fridge. I don’t know if that is usual, but we do? I make attempts to clean them out from time to time, but who knows when you are going to want that Indian curry paste, or that Hoi Sin Sauce, or those imported capers, or, indeed, that mint jelly.

If you had asked me, I'd never have said that I'd like lime marmalade, but I do. It is yum. My god, it is good. Go get yourself a bottle, I recommend it. Woolworths Select, was my, Lime Marmalade, of choice, it is glorious. A couple of slices of sour dough wholemeal encrusted with sesame seeds, your Woolworths Select lime marmalade and a freshly brewed coffee somewhere in the middle of the afternoon, heaven.

Where it came from, I have no idea. Sam is not a jam boy, I am, but I am sure I didn’t buy it. It is a mystery. The goddess Laima, the goddess of fate, whose sacred tree is the lime, (Do you get the dual reference?) was smiling down favourably, perhaps. Maybe it was sent from God. Marmalade from heaven. The Miracle of the Limes, we shall refer to it from now on. People may come from far and wide to see it? Oh god, let’s hope not. People are annoying, so I can’t imagine what people driven with the fever of miraculous contemplation might be like? Hideous. If I cook some toast and the image of Jesus with a lime in his mouth (his head in a baking dish post crucifixion) appears, I won’t be surprise.

But, I do recommend lime marmalade for your toast. Lovely.

Golden Boy

Golden Boy, lives in a golden house, during the day he lives like a mouse, because he doesn't want to be seen, but at night he comes alive and dances like a queen

Golden Boy knows he has all the moves, Golden Boy’s body just naturally loves all the grooves, Golden Boy dances all night long, Golden Boy dances to every song, Golden Boy takes Sexy Boy home in the end for everything that soothes.

Give way To Pedestrians

Hands up those people who, when they are behind the wheel of their car, don't know they have to give way to pedestrians?

No, come on, there are more of you than that that don't know drivers must give way to pedestrians.

I do a lot of walking and it seems to be most of you who do not know this road rule. All ages. All types. Blithely driving through intersections, even when good sense would have told them that it was dangerous, narrowly avoiding pedestrians.

Who doesn't know that when they come to an intersection and there are pedestrians crossing, no matter from which direction you come, you must give way to pedestrians. I've had people tell me that when pedestrians are approaching them from the left and the driver is turning left, the driver doesn't have to give way to pedestrians.

A couple of times, just lately, when I have nearly been run down, I have banged on the sides of the cars with my fist and called out, "Hey, give way to pedestrians." I tell you, it gets the driver's attention. Some have even stopped to justify their ignorance. I simply reply to them, "Learn your road rules," and walk away.

Is This What SnowFlake Means?

I went to make a purchase. The items I wanted were $1.25 each, or 10 for $10. 

As the girl rang the items up, she said, "Have you checked them?"

No, I hadn't, but I did. And, as it turned out, one of the items was faulty.

"I'll just have the 9 then," I said.

"That will be $11.25," she said.

"Oh, couldn't I just have 9 for $10?" I was in a hurry and it was a charity shop and the money was going to a cause I believed in anyway.

"Um, no," she said. She looked quizzical. "Because 9 come to $11.25." 

"Really?" I said.

"Yes," she said.

"Okay... then, I'll get another one then."

She shrugged.

I went and selected another item and came back and put it on the counter. "That seems to be a bit silly," I said.

"How so?" she said.

"10 for $10," I said. "But I was willing to take 9 for $10."

"Oh, is it 10 for $10," she said. "Sorry, it is my first day here."

She turned to the fat queen who was serving on the other register. "Is it 10 for $10," she asked.

"Yes," he said. He looked at my items. "Oh... no... sorry," he dithered, "they are not 10 for $10, they are $1.25 each."

"No," I said. "They are 10 for $10."

"No, I'm sorry but they are not," said the queen.

"They have always been 10 for $10," I said. "I buy them often."

The queen started to open his mouth, but I spoke over him.

"Would either of you like to go and get somebody who knows what is going on?" I looked from one to the other. "I'll wait."

Well, they took offence. Apparently, I was being rude and hard to deal with.

I've Learnt How to Write My Points

I've learnt, as a direct result of having arguments/discussions via the written word, via some social media platform, or messaging, how to put my point forward without being aggressive, using bad language, or swearing. It is just as effective to state your case plainly and simply. I'm smart, I can construct an argument. If you swear, or call them the dickheads they clearly are, it just gives them a distraction and an effective "out".  Sticking to your own points and not getting distracted by what the other person is saying, is important too. 

I guess a university education does help a little. I've never given it much credit, I can't really remember it, nor did I enjoy it, but when I see how some people write so unintelligibly, I guess I have to give my education some kudos.

I used to come across as really aggressive, as some of my friends told me, now I employ an ask questions style, rather than a bombardment of what I think attitude. And it works. 😀

We're learning all the time, I guess. My mother always said get an education. My grandmother said never stop learning geography, which in practical terms meant travelling. Be nice, society tells us all now a days. 

My mother was nice, although not a pushover, she could speak up for herself.

My Grandmother was driven, although always nice to me. She always operated from her POV.

I want to be satisfied. Fulfilled, even, creating my own POV artistically.

I Walked In The Rain

It got muggy and it rained. I went for a walk. I walked in the rain, it was warm and nice. I like the rain, when it falls gently from the sky, when it sprinkles like fairy dust, at worst putting crystals in people's hair. It was a bit humid, but not too much though, enough to keep me warm in my short sleeves. I had Lenny Kravitz on my headphones, his voice suited the day, just enough soul. I walked to Abbotsford and back again. The sky was grey. The colours were washed warm with a covering of raindrops. I like walking in the rain.

Gotta Luv the Light

The sun shone down beautifully all day, the light sparkled, and it was hot. The hottest day all year, well, you know since winter. Lovely. I wore shorts for the first time this year, well, you know since winter. The dark is over, the cold has receded, the days are getting longer, and the warmth is on its way. I shivered with anticipation of summer, the first time I have done that since winter.

Actually, I quite like winter, and I hate the extreme heat of mid summer, never the less, I love the light and the longer days of summer, despite the heat. The warm, minty breath of summer floated through the house all day, that fresh air that feels as though it has never been sullied, never been anything but new and fresh.

I washed Buddy late morning, he gets a rash in spring, it is some kind of allergy, the vet thinks. I'm going to have to wash him fortnightly with medicated shampoo, maybe that will help. He comes upstairs and plods into the bathroom and climbs into the shower without a complaint. We sat together on the floor of the shower while we let the shampoo sit on his skin for 10 minutes. he just looks at me with his big, brown eyes. I'm sure if he could shrug and say, "And? What now?" He would. He did.

Sam came home and cooked chicken schnitzels and salad for lunch.  Yum, yum, yum. You'd think, me being home, I'd cook the schnitzels, but I didn't. Sam, of course, says I should, in those moments when he is fishing for relationship points, but he likes doing things his way, and he'd always cook, we both know that.

I trimmed the creeper on the side wall in the afternoon. The wretched creeper on the sidewall? The creeping fig that has turned into a monster, with its small heart shaped leaves now as big as hands. I listened to the latest Mick Jagger tracks, Gotta Get a Grip and England Lost. The day disappeared. 

Hungry All The Time

I seem to be hungry all the time, just lately, which is unusual for me. Sam and I had tuna pasta for lunch, then after Sam had gone I made bread and honey. There is something so prefect about fresh bread, butter and honey. Yum.

Am I hungry all the time because I am sitting on my fat arse? I think maybe that has something to do with it, if I have plenty of time on my hands, I have plenty of time to eat. But really, I think it is from quitting smoking recently. I quit again two weeks ago. I think smoking takes away your hunger, straight tobacco, that is. Not pot, I'm not talking about pot. And when you quit, your appetite comes back. I think it is a temporary thing, an adjustment period.

Speaking of sitting on my fat arse, if I sit at the coffee table with my laptop, it leads to inactivity. I'm tied to the small space to which my laptop projects.  But, of course, I can get the internet on the TV. I've just realised - how fucken slow am I - if I put Youtbe stuff on the TV, I can write on my laptop, but more to the point, I can wander around and do things at the same time, as the TV projects to a much wider space. Lovely.

It is a sunny day today, gorgeous really. Now I'm going to get onto some more plant maintenance.

I was going to work on my poetry? Nyr.

A Sublime Spring Day

It is the most perfect day in Melbourne today, sparkling and lightly scented with the breezes of spring. Fresh as a mountain brook, as warm as a puppy's fur. I am lying on the couch reading. I am eating mandarins pretending they are donuts. Sam sent me a link for home delivered donuts, from which he said I am not allowed to order. (What does that say about Sam?) Ah, the flavour of those small, orange coloured citrus fruits, a taste almost as perfect as the sublime, spring day. Ive got an orange thumb nail from peeling multiple mandarins. I have the French doors propped open with ornate Edwardian bricks, I keep just for that purpose. Buddy is in his kennel. A fly buzzes in and then buzzes out again.

Stop Adani. Coal is yesterday's fuel, the only thing a huge mine digging the stuff up will do is increase the pollution in the world

Addicted to Mandarins

I bought naval oranges and blood oranges, with their flesh that is almost black and I bought mandarins, my currently addiction. Mandarin pith gathers around the edges of my fingernails. Lovely, hey?

I bought Gippsland Dairy Blood orange yogurt, the one with the great blobs of fruitiness.

I think this summer will be orange. I think the world already is. The new black.

Recycling Phones

I can't wait for the iPhone 10 to come out. Not for me, well, not directly. Sam will get the new iPhone and I will get his old iPhone, and his sister gets my old phone, that is how it works.

Well, that is how it normally works, but not quite this time. When Sam got an iPhone6, he got a 6plus, the large size phone, and I hated it, it was just too big.

I gave the 6plus to Sam's sister and she gave me back my old iPhone5, which I was very happy about. The only problem being, that my iPhone5 has a small capacity and I have been battling capacity issues, pretty much, ever since I got it back.

So, now, I'll get Sam's iPhone7 and my capacity issues will be a thing of the past. Yay. Not long now, a couple of weeks and I can have my entire music collection back on my phone, as well as as many photos as I wish. Yay again.