What Does A Balanced Budget Mean?

The worst Australian government in Australian history, the Morrison government, yaps on about the budget being in surplus. The fact that it is the current account they are referring to, like who cares. The fact that the economy is tanking isn't mentioned. And they are calling it balanced when, in fact, it is in the smallest of deficits.

But my point is, people nod and say, "Look at that, the Libs have balanced the budget, finally."

But how many of those people nodding sagely actually know what it means?

They only think it is a good thing because the conservative politicians continually tell them it is a good thing. But that is just conservative political ideology (translation – the wants and desires of the very rich who give the Liberal Party money), nothing much to do with the good of the country. You know unless you are rich and successful the Liberal Party doesn’t give a shit about you, actually, the Liberal party despises you. And some of those people they despise continue to vote for them.

A surplus budget, by its very definition, has to take services away from the people, or fails to supply new services to the public, because the Liberal Government, driven by ideology, has refuse to spend the surplus money on the needs of the people for who it is, allegedly, working.

What is the true ideology of the Liberal party, to reduce government spending more and more, more and more surplus budgets, so that the govt departments can be closed down and given to their rich mates to run instead. The power companies are a good example here. Or, govt spending is reduced to such an extent, the govt business isn’t a competitor for the Liberal Parties rich mates, the NBN being a prime example.

On The Couch

This is Buddy, but you get the picture

I lay on the couch all day and watched Elite, the Spanish Netflix series about the rich school kids. Has there ever been a more beautiful cast? I don't think so. OMG. Every one of them. Fuck me up the arse, Jesus…! And a number of the boys aren’t backward in giving it to each other. Woof.

Brun has the sniffles too. Told you we were simpatico! I googled what to do about him, as I did not feel like going out to the vet and google didn't seem to be too hysterical about him having a snotty nose. Keep him warm and quiet and let him rest. Don't do any exercise. See your vet if symptoms persist.

Define 'persist', I thought.

It seemed to be the same course of action for both of us. Lie on the couch with your owner and keep your nose moist.

I lay on the couch covered in my jade green blanket, and Brun lay cuddled up between my legs. That is how we spent the day. He snores for most of it. I may have drifted off to sleep and joined him in the snoring stakes, maybe. I can’t remember.

Apart from the unwell feeling, I quite like that drained feeling, if all you have to do is lie on the couch, it is all comforting, oddly.

Still Sick

I still feel sick. I have a shitty cough.

I took Brun to the dog park to chase ball, the sun was shining and you have to leave house sometime when you are sick, it is just good for you. (As much as leaving the house and mixing with the stupid people is ever good for you)

I toss the ball across the park as soon as we get there, and Brun is right on it, of he hares across the green grass. Just a little bull obsessed is my little guy. (No so little any more)

I throw the ball as soon as Brun drops it, and he is off again, charging across the green,

Third throw, same story.

Forth throw, as fast as his short red legs would carry him.

Then there was a look, after he dropped the ball. Then another look.

“Er!”

“What’s up little guy?”

“Er!”

“You okay?”

Brun vomited up his breakfast after that. There was his soften chow laid out in a phlegm mouse. He looked up at me, sad face. But, not to worry, Coco rushed in and ate his sick right up again, so don't worry, num, num, num.

Oh, I'm guessing it was too soon after breakfast for him, actually, but I'll take it as a simpatico move. You unwell, I’m unwell. I’m sick just at the thought of you being sick.

Paw-5.

Now, if I could just stop dry coughing.

Home Sick

I was home from work today. Brun and I lay on the couch and watched Netflix. Buddy stayed in his kennel, as Buddy does. I didn’t feel like doing anything else.

Funny, how there is always a bit of guilt staying home sick, there is some anxiety. I shouldn't be doing this, just a feeling, somewhere in the back of one's mind. I find it weird, there is always that slight feeling and when I think about it, it is like trying to see things in my peripheral vision, it just slips out of reach every time. (12th Oct – OMG! What bullshit. I don’t feel guilty about taking a sick day. I’m like a pig rolling in shit on a day home from work… I think what I am trying to say is that I only take sick days when I am sick, so I am always feeling poorly when I am home sick)

I struggled with Netflix. I always struggle with Netflix. Too many choices. There is so much to choose from it takes me forever to think I have made the best choice. And then I can't settle on anything as I am always thinking I want to watch something else. FOMO to be sure. Too many choices always seem to morph into indecision. FOMO is a 21-century illness, and I am not immune. 

I'm Sick

I'm home sick. I thought I was teflon coated, as everyone was getting sick around me, and I never came down with it. I walked through with wings of steal. But alas…

You see, Sam had it last week, and it was he who bought it into the house, and now I have it, thank you Sam. It is hard to avoid it when you are sleeping with it.

Grrrrrr!

I woke up last night a couple of times with the thought, I feel like I am getting a cold. Fucking hell, what a bitch!

I went to work, but it was no good. The feeling of getting a sore throat persisted. The feeling of an imminent cold rang through me.

Then the loss of energy started, you know that kind of tiredness, and I thought I should go home and stop giving it to other people. (Do you like that, sounds good, huh?) The truth is, even though I don’t take may sick days, I’m just a slut for a sick day the moment I feel sick.

I left at 11.11am. I timed that deliberately. Skid marks on the carpet where I took off out the door.

Still, it is lovely to be walking home at midday when the sun is shining. You know, look for the bright side. That lovely sunny midday feeling, it is the very definition of relaxed.

Chuckle

Spring

The first day of spring, lovely. It is always a glorious day of the year. In the best month of the year, what’s more, better than any other month. The sun shone, and late in the afternoon the rain fell, such spring weather, you've got to love it. Heat, moisture. Sunshine, rain. But mostly the sun shone and the sky was blue.

The changing of the seasons. The changing of the guard. Old Man Winter shleps off as Lovely Mr Spring dances into view.

“Sashay away,” Lovely Mr Spring says to Old Man Winter.

I love the difference, it is great to feel the change.

Alive!

Nothing much in this modern world is designed to make us feel alive, in fact most things are designed to make us fearful. A happy society never did any political party any good, nobody to save from evil. (the fact that most politicians around the world are “the evil” is the irony here) So, when the sky turns blue and the sun shines down crisp and clean, take a moment to feel alive.

Such a gorgeous sunrise

Pink Woman

 

Red Ferrari

 

Religious Discrimination Laws, and Other Fabricated Problems

In the Dog Park

It was a glorious morning, day off number 2 for the week. I don't even want to work the 3 days that I do, but I can do my job with my eyes closed now a days, so it seems stupid to give it up. Of course, being able to do your job with your eyes closed could be argued to be a good reason to get a new job, however... I now have the easiest job in the world and still I don't want to do it, what is wrong with me?

Oh, working seems so last century, don’t you think? Certainly working 9 to 5, 5 days a week. Oh, work if it gives you a sense of purpose, by all means, but surely there is a better way.

We should all be perusing artistic pursuits with the same gusto that fuels the fear of losing our jobs.

Don’t you think? The world would be a much nicer place, certainly. Sure, it would. It would have to.

Anyway,

Off to the dog park just after breakfast. Brun and I threw ball in the sun, with the other dogs. Buddy slept on the couch with the sun coming through the window. Buddy’s, shall we say, idiosyncrasies won’t allow him to leave the house unless his full pack is present, which, of course, includes Sam, so in Brun it is nice to have a dog now that I can walk.

We threw ball for about an hour. The sun shone. It was a glorious winter's day. The other owners threw balls for their dogs. They all sniff and play and jump about, as if they are friends. I guess they are friends. Who knows what dogs think.

I like the chick with the Boston Terrier called Nola, we chat naturally, she is easy to talk to. She seems cool.

The Vizsla that normally comes with the woman in the evenings is there with her cute son in track pants. I return his dog’s ball to him several times and smile sweetly at him. Only I know the basis of the sweet smile. Oh, come on, he’s pretty. And it is just a smile, nothing more.

I have great sympathy for the woman who can’t catch one of her two dogs. I can see it is really frustrating when that happens. Her dog has another dog’s ball and doesn’t to give it back so he doesn’t want to be caught. Its owner is really frustrated and leaves the park with her other dog but the recalcitrant dog doesn’t really fall for it and the owner is still unable to catch it. Eventually, the dog sits close to Nola’s owner, who just casually bends down and grabs him.

We walk home after about an hour, when Brun looks like he has had enough of chasing the ball, you know, when I throw it and he looks in the direction the ball went and then looks back at me, and I have to be enthusiastic about him going to get it so he goes and gets it, so I don’t have to walk all the way across the park to get it. The sun shines, a gentle breeze blows, lovely Friday.

Then the two of us have a snooze on the couch. That’s what days off are for, after all.

Brun Chasing Ball

First day off of the week. The sun shone. (It is all sweetness and light when I don’t have to go to the salt mines) Brun and I headed to the dog park and threw ball. Brun is ball obsessed at the moment, very keen is he. Lots of people are amazed to see an English Bulldog run. Brun and I think that is exceedingly rude. They laugh and think it is the funniest thing, which kind of compounds their rudeness. Brun and I roll our eyes when they aren't looking. English Bulldogs can run... when they want to.

Brun was making friends with a couple of rescue dogs who were only just venturing out with their new owners for the first time. Everybody was having a lovely time. The new owners were very pleased that one of the rescues let me pat him.

Then the park nemesis, Cain, a little wiry terrier, turned up. Suddenly there he was right in the middle of everything.

"Oh, Mr Cain," I said. I could see he owner Mr Chatty approaching. I was thinking I haven't seen Cain for ages. I was thinking is Cain going to behave himself. I was thinking should I grab Brun and tell the rescue dog owners to beware? Buddy and Cain get on okay, Buddy ignores Cain and Cain leaves Buddy alone. But Buddy is a big, mature bulldog for who turning the other cheek is quite easy. I was thinking all of this when Cain, true to form, attacked Brun.

Mr Chatty had go to us by then and he put Cain on his lead and said, "That's unusual for Cain to do that?"

What? I thought.

He meant attack Buddy. "This is Brun," I said. I don't think Mr Chatty really understood that Brun wasn't Buddy. I don't think he really understood that I had a different dog. I have never been completely convinced of Mr Chatty's mental capacity, shall we say. Vietnam Vet, conservative voter, not that I asked, thinks everyone on the dole is a dole bludger, again, not that I asked, can talk until ones ears bleed.

“It’s been a while,” he said.

At that point, Brun and I left. "Time to go," I said.

"Good to see you," said Mr Chatty.

"Um... er... yes," I said. I couldn't manage anything other than that.

Mr Chatty is in complete denial about Cain. He has upset many people at the dog park with Cain's bad behaviour. As Brun and I walked away, I glanced back and saw he had taken Cain off his lead again. Complete denial, I thought.

I felt bad for the rescue dog owners, who were at the edge of the park by now by the drinking fountain, so I gave them a run down on Cain. I could see that as I was chatting to them about Cain and Mr Chatty that as I looked over at them, Mr Chatty was looking at us. I wonder if his ears were burning?

Lovely Day

It was a beautiful spring day. Winter is on its way out. The mornings are brighter and lighter, that makes them feel busier, even if they aren't. I think we all blossom when the light is plentiful, when the dark lifts. The sun shone today and the sky was blue. I wore a t-shirt for the first time in weeks. Light and the sun makes us happier. Smile. Let the light in.

Cancer

My best friend left me, does that say he wasn't a best friend at all? Because, surely, a best friend would never leave you, they'd be by your side until the end. That must be true? That is what clarifies the 'best' in best friend, surely. A best friend would never leave you.

I feel let down. I now have to go through life without a best friend. I have to head towards old age without the guy who understood me the best, standing next to me, supporting me when I am right, telling me quietly when I am wrong, carrying his share of our collective history with him, as I carry my share. I now have to go it alone.

Nobody to say to, remember when we did whatever, or so and so did that, or whoever failed at that?

Remember when?

I remember too?

It went like this.

No, it went like that.

Really, like that?

Yes, yes, just like that.

You know, I think you are right.

What happened when?

This is what happened.

Oh, yes, so it did.

Now that is all gone. He carried more than half of our collected history, so more than half has gone, because our shared memories bought us to life. Our shared memories are more than the sum of their parts, they bought life, and pizzazz, and brightness, and truth to the memories being remembered.

You left me before you joined Facebook, funny to think now that there was a life before Facebook, but that was where you left me, before you joined up. And you would have loved Facebook, it was designed just with you in mind. All that time on your hands, to chat and put your opinions out there for everyone to see, you would have loved it. And you just missed it. Is that what they mean by sliding doors moments? Is that what they mean?

You were so strong and vital and unique, you would have owned social media, but you didn't make it, blinking out just as social media blinked into life. Blink, blink. Lights, action. Silence.

We could have had such fun, so much more fun, but no, it wasn't to be, your blood turned against you. And you didn't hold up your side of this bargain we call life. You were supposed to be here still, but you are not. You and me. Not.

I'd love to see you again, even just once, to explain everything that has happened. I'd love to see the look on your face, and hear your take on it all.

“Donald trump is president.”

“What the fuck.”

The smartest man I ever knew.


The smartest men I’ve ever known? One is dead, one is insane, and one moved far, far away. I’m getting short on smart friends. And you were possibly the smartest.

We laughed, we played, we partied, we schemed, we gossiped, we played tricks, we were mean just to amuse each other. We dreamed. We were going to write our lives together. We had fun, more fun than most people were ever allowed to have, we always thought. So much fun.

Gone. Like the nights I went to the Camberwell library with my dad. Gone. Like holidays at the sea water skiing. Gone. Like happy school days. Gone, gone, gone. Like Oscar my dog. Gone. Like our youth. Gone.

You went and left me. I found a new love, Sam, you would like him. You never met him. I never got to see you and Sam. Sam would like you, would have liked you. Never to meet, even if Sam and I live until we are 100 years old. 120. 130. You are never coming back. You two are never going to meet.

I miss you every day.

Global Warming

I just got our first load of fire wood delivered for the year. Usually, by now, we'd be having our second ton of fire wood delivered for the winter.

Sure, we had some left over from last year, but that was only the back of a hatchback's worth. There was a shortage at the end of last year and we couldn't get the usual delivery, so I bought $50 worth from Thomastown, and we had a small pile left over from that. We still have some of that left now, we are not completely out, in fact, we'd probably had enough to get through to the end of this winter.

But now we have a full delivery setting us up for next winter, which will have dried out nicely by then. In fact, judging by this year, the delivery we got today may last us for a couple of years, if global warming keeps up its cracking pace. (cross your fingers)

We'd normally be having a fire every night, Melbourne winter's being what they are, but we haven't had that. We haven't even burnt through what we had left over from last year, as I said. There have been many fireless nights around the teli.

We haven't had a fire every night of winter, which is the norm, and that is a first for us, unheard of for Melbourne. Ask someone from Sydney? (Whining fucken Sydneysiders) So, this winter is the warmest we've had, I don't have to wait for the inevitable post mortem to be released to know that.

And kudos to the wood guys. It was pouring with rain at the time they were meant to be delivering, and they called and said they’d be arriving in 10 minutes with the wood. I mean, it was belting down. It had stopped raining by the time he got here, as it turned out.

A new blonde boy was the driver, I hadn’t seen him before. A big solid 20 something year old. Cute, beard, a bit of a snowflake on the quiet. My next door neighbour cracked a joke as he was backing up the ute. He wanted to be offended, thought it was a quip about his driving. (You know that equates to dick size, or something) I assured him it was not something with which to get offended, and he relaxed. He had a sweet laugh. He seemed like a nice guy. I don’t know what the angst was all about.

But I digress. Not even a full delivery of fire wood burnt this year. It is unheard of.

Death

That concept of never seeing someone ever again after they die is a really hard idea to grasp. Gone. Forever. It is like visualising infinity. Or understanding the distance to Pluto.

Gone.

Forever.

As long as you may live.

Time keeps ticking. Days keep passing. Years keep ending. Decades keep disappearing. Centuries roll over. Millenia change. The earth keeps spinning silently in space.

No wonder people invented supernatural beings and myths and legends and gods and monsters, to fill in the gaps in their understanding, to explain truths to huge to grasp.

It has to be something super natural, because it is beyond our comprehension.

And 2000 years ago, one could understand why we did that, especially. We were all illiterate and ignorant back then, grappling with concepts even the most learned can’t process now.

It is mind boggling, sure.

However, how do people still choose illiterate cave dwelling ignorance over fact and science by which to live their lives today.

The last state in Australia is in the middle of legalising abortion, and the usual religious nutjobs have oozed out of the wood work to try and stop the process by any means, lie, with whatever they can. (Their delusion is powerful)

The concept is very simple, if you don't believe in abortion don't have one. It really is that simple. But what makes these people believe they can impose their beliefs on everyone else. Yeah, I don’ know. I’m guessing that they have such a tenuous hold on their (what are nonsensical, after all) religious beliefs, that they need to make others, at least appear to, believe their nonsense to bolster their own beliefs.

It's not 2CE any more people. You don't need your gods any more, let them go, they are redundant. And those people who may seek an abortion in the future don't care what you think. Not a wit. You are just making a nuisance of yourselves, like eczema, or blowflies.

Newspaper headline, Annie Called Police 19 Times Before She Stabbed Her Husband, Now She Is Facing Jail

Annie stands by the telephone table, receiver between her head and her shoulder. She jabs at the buttons on the phone with her finger as she dials the number.

There is a moaning sound.

(Pan back.) There is a man hog tied in front of the couch.

"Okay, okay, I'm up to number 18," says Annie. She jabs at the buttons with her chubby fingers again. “There, number er 19. Still no answer." She shrugs. She can feel her eyes open really wide. She exhales so seriously it nearly hurts.

She grabs a 30 centimetre knife from the couch.

"Number 19," she says. "Number 19, you know what that means," she repeats. The man starts to moan more loudly, more desperately. “There is nothing left to do.” She moves closer to the tied body. “It is beyond my control.” He moans more loudly. Annie brings the knife back level with her shoulder. “I’ve got to do it.” Annie plunges the knife through the man's back. He stops moaning instantly, there is a rushing sound of air. “I had to do it.” He makes a faint gurgling sound, momentarily. Then there is silence.

Annie lets go of the knife.

Strawberry Jam

My snack de jour is toast with strawberry jam, and coffee, of course. Everything is better with coffee, that goes without saying.

I've had a liking for strawberry jam ever since cute French Leo stayed with us. He made great strawberry jam, half fruit and half sugar and whatever else boiled up in a big pot. He made so much that he let me eat some of it for breakfast, or lunch which is when I tend to eat jam toast. His strawberry jam was sweet and tart and flavoursome. It had a lovely stiff texture, I mean, thick texture.

I'm still talking about, actual, strawberry jam, you understand, I have not strayed in to euphemism.

Although, I am sure Leo would have had sweet, sweet jam. Actually, I have never liked the taste of it, to tell you the truth, so I don't think sexy Leo would have had sweet... no, I’m not talking about strawberry jam any longer…

Can you imagine if men… came strawberry jam? Imagine how that would be transformative... well, it would have been for me. It would have help greatly as I grew up gay. Imagine all the knobs with which I'd want to have seen it through to the end. Imagine gobbling up that? You know, instead of spitting it at them and calling them pigs.

Chuckle. Oh… I have done that. Pfffff! “You dirty pig!”

He takes another bite of his toast and he sips his coffee.

But I digress, thick wholemeal bread, lashings of butter and that smooth, smooth strawberry jam, with just the right amount of tart to make the coffee wash done sublime after every bite. It is my very favourite thing, de jour.

Love

 

Government House

We went to the open day at Government House. Sam read about it and we both said that was the sort of thing you think you should do, but never do.

Well, anyway, the day comes and Sam is right on it. "Let's go look at Government House?"

So, we walked into town and ate lunch, then we walked out St Kilda Road to the Botanical Gardens.

There was a guy just behind us at the gate with a bulldog and to my surprise they let him in. I didn't see them in the house, though.

We were in the ballroom, which was the biggest in the commonwealth, at some stage, or still is, I should know this, and there was a chair up on a kind of stage roped off. Sam joked about sitting in it while I take a photo.

"Just run up there and get in it, we could get the photo before security tells you to get out," I say.

We both laugh.

Then Sam looks passed me and says,

“Ask her if you can sit in the chair.”

“Ask her if you can sit in the chair?” I repeat, as I turn around to see who Sam is talking about, and I am suddenly saying it to the Governor of Victoria herself.

“And the answer is no,” Linda Dessau answers. We all laughed. "But we can take a photo together in front of it." 

I spluttered, "Sure," I was a bit embarrassed, as you can understand. 

Vainglorious

So Fast

Dying is the easy part, it is living that is the hard bit. Who said that?

Both my parents are dead, my beautiful mother and my handsome father, gone. People say that is okay because they had good lives. And they did have good lives. They lived good lives.

Here I am four years passed my last parent dying and sometimes I just stop and look into the distance, literally, not figuratively and think, how did I get here? Here I am. Mum, it is four years after you died, can you imagine that? Dad, it is now 2019 did you ever think about that?

Everything they ever did, thought, said, achieved, loved, saw, felt, enjoyed, wondered at, travelled to, all gone.

I am essentially on my own. An orphan. Oh, of course, I have Sam and my brother and my sister and friends, but I no longer have the two people who loved me unconditionally. Nobody else loves you unconditionally, without reserve, or fear.... my dog, Brun, chose that moment to curl up between my legs, I am sitting on the floor, and put his head on my thigh, I kid you not. Okay, you do... my champions are gone, and I am on my own. 

And you know, that is okay, I am an adult, that is supposed to happen. But, it all went so fast, so quick, blink, and here I am.  Fuck me, I am closer to retirement than graduation. But I remember when...

Sometimes, it just catches me off guard. Oh, yes, that is where I am at. I forget sometimes. Well, not so much forget, but it slips to the back of my mind with all the other things that I am doing. I've got to that place. I want to ask mum... I want to know what dad thinks about... Never again. It's like thinking about infinity.

I have no one to answer to any more.

Paradise

What does a Muslim suicide bomber get when he gets to heaven?

72 surgeons.

Liza With a Z

I listened to Liza with a Z during my walk home, I'd never listened to it before. OMG! I was doing jazz hands all the way up Collins Street. Subtly doing them at the lights. I was high kicking through the Fitzroy Gardens to Ring Them Bells.

My Sore Back

And suddenly my back seems to be better today, after being sore for a week. Good thing too.

I realised just now that it isn't sore. Funny how you can suddenly realise something isn't happening. Oh, how about that. Feels good. You don't want to miss the fact that something is good.

I've made banana cake, early, for Sam for breakfast. I've walked the dogs. I've come home and made muesli. Then I realised my back was no longer sore. Lovely it is too. Yay. 

The sun is even shining.

Buddy Goes To The Vet

I had to take Buddy to the eye doctor for a check up.

Bud is such a great boy, he walks from the car to inside the vet's waiting room, just next to me. He says hello to everyone, the receptionists one by one. He goes over to the dogs waiting and sniffs them hello. (good thing they are all friendly) He says hello to the owners waiting too. Then he sits next to me and waits.

When we are called in, Bud just stands up and walks into the consulting room. I lift him onto the table where he sits happily letting the vet do what she has to do, seemingly with his big smile all the time.

He pretty much gets the all-clear, even if we have to continue monitoring him to guard against a relapse, and he will need to see the vet one more time.

Then we head back out into the waiting room, where Bud says hello to the new comers. He then sits next to me at the reception counter. He says good bye to the three receptionists personally. They tell him he is adorable. Then he trots back out to the car next to me and hops into the back seat ready to go home.

He's a lovely boy, my Buddy.

Small Joys

Darling, I’m sitting here at 7am with a sore back. Thank god (do you like my ironic use of the word god, darling?) for days off. But yesterday, darling, at work, darling, do you know how utterly annoying the people are when you are in pain? I was telling, read complaining, Sam about some plebeian who pissed me off, you know, for their very existence, but when my lovely one’s response came back, “She should be killed,” I realised, perhaps, I’d been a bad influence on that boy. But it did make me laugh, darling, cheered me up no end, let me tell you. When the thought of someone's death makes your day, darling, it can’t be all bad, that’s what I say. Ha ha. Small joys, darling, that’s what life is all about. Small joys.

 

Dreams

I was awake at 5.00am, I’d been having dreams.

I was watching teev with somebody, I think it was Sam, when young Norbert came in to check the cricket scores. (Young straight guy, a son character)

“You don’t mind if I turn it round, do you?” His attitude was that I would just agree, it was the cricket after all.

“Actually,” I said. “I’m watching this.”

“Oh… I see, well there is no need to be like that.”

“Like what?”

“Get all 'thing' about it.”

“All 'thing'?”

“Get all pissed off.”

“I’m not pissed off.”

“I was only asking.”

“I know you were… only… asking.” He was clearly pissed off about it.

He took out his phone and dialled. The other end answered. He started a conversation. He was talking loudly.

“Hey, Norbert,” I said. “Could you take that in the other room?”

He looked over his shoulder as if he’d made an attempt to find another room, and that was that, he kept talking.

“Hey, Norbert…”

“I’m on the phone,” he said angrily.

“Okay, okay.” I stopped. Spoilt, white, male not used to not getting his way. I looked back at the TV, as Norbert carried on a loud conversation, seemingly louder than it really needed to be, we all got that. I had a quiet laugh to myself, being careful not to let it show. I had no idea what the TV program I was watching was all about.

The Pub

 

I Hurt My Back

I hurt my back. I rarely have back problems, it is not something from which I normally suffer, but I do right now. It was the way I was laying on the couch last night, I know that. There was a cushion in the wrong place kind of under me rather than behind me and I could feel my back wasn't straight. I remember thinking it didn't feel right, and then I fell asleep.

This morning it was sore. Oh damn it, I am not used to this, I think. It kind of went away as I got moving for the day.

We took the dogs for a walk. After we'd got home, I stood up from the couch and headed into the kitchen to make coffee, and my back just spasmed into terrible pain. Oh, it was excruciating, I wondered if I'd make it to work tomorrow, my first day back after the EOFY? You know that pain that no matter what position you put yourself in it just doesn't help. Sam made me lie down on the lounge room floor so he could rub anti-inflammatory gel into my skin, which was hard to do in itself. After some time of bearing the pain, which made no sign of abating, I remembered pain killers and I took several and it has been kind of manageable since.

I Blame Conservative Politics

We were walking Buddy and Brun out for their nightly walk. Brun was on his lead, as he is still a pup and unpredictable, and Buddy was off his lead, because he walks better off his lead.

We came to a corner and coming down the road perpendicular to the road we were on was a man with his large, black Cavoodle. I’d grab Bud if I thought the other dog maybe unfriendly, but Cavoodles are usually good natured. Buddy ran over to say hello, as he does and the Cavoodle growled and then jumped on top Buddy very agresively.

"Buddy, come here Bud," I called. And Buddy came to me, not caring at all.

"Buddy?" the other owner said. "Not much of a Buddy."

"Huh?" I said.

We were turning to keep walking.

"Buddy's don't attack..."

I had already turned to walk away and I kept walking. What are you talking about? Buddy didn't attack your dog, your dog attacked Buddy, in front of all of us.

That's what Trump does. That is what conservative politicians do. Deny, deny, deny, even with eye witness’. This is the true trickle down effect.

Untitled

 

Cats

If we thought Milo (the cat) was scared of Brun, (the cat chasing puppy... going on 6 months old) we’d be wrong. Brun was lying with his head in my lap on the couch this morning when Milo jumped up onto the arm of the couch, gazed down like a big African cat, then stepped down onto my thigh and literally sat on Brun’s face.

Chairs for Plants

The alarm at 6am wakes me up. I’m thinking about the other discarded chair in our street? Sure, it is in a bad state, but all I really need is the metal frame, the rest can be discarded. The back could be hacksawed off and a flat wooden top could be attached to the metal frame, making it a stool. In fact, once I pull all the padding off, there could be a wooden seat underneath it already.

I set off down our street to get the other chair early, it is still darkish. Our next door neighbour is out the front with some tradies. I didn’t really want to be seen in my Steptoe moment, however, what can you do? Smile and try not to look guilty, not that there is anything to be guilty about.

Brun is being difficult to walk, you know, like a bulldog, seemingly in a go slow, tra la la kind of mode. I drag him halfway down our street, wondering why I bought him at all. Of course, he is my cover. I’m not going to collect junk in the street, I’m just walking the dog. Stupid really.

7.57am. Sam calls me, just as I want to kill Brun. “What are you doing?” Sam asks.

“Getting that chair?”

“Really, that terrible old chair?”

After that, Brun just seems to decide to walk, maybe it was Sam’s voice, and he is fine after that. Who knows why?

I meet the girl with the Basenji, I forget its name. Damn! You don’t want to run into people when you are picking up junk in the street like a hoarder.

As I get to the chair, there are people at the café and people in the front yard of the next door house to the one that put the chair out the front. Bugger it! Don’t crumble now, just pick it up as confident as you like and carry it away, which is what I did. Would the bulldog decide to be uncooperative at my moment of get away? No, he isn’t, he cooperates.

I run into the chick with the basenji again on my way back up our street, but I just kept walking. Look straight ahead like a Galleon, Joyce Grenfell. (I just googled that quote, it looks like it is as stately as a galleon) Whatever. Look straight ahead and proceed forth, is my interpretation.

9am. We have ginger soup with sesame balls and that white sea weed stuff.

11am. Coffee. Sam has investigated why the TV cable isn’t working. The TV reception has been terrible these last weeks.

I have pulled the padded seat off the chair, and I have cut off the back. It just needs to dry now, since it was out in the rain for the last few days. Then I’ll sand and lacquer the wooden base of the seat and I’ll get some new leg end rubbers.

And when Brun is all grown up, I can put it back out in the street.

Modern Technology Will Make Life Easier

Modern technology will make life easier. It will spread knowledge to the people and the more informed the people are, the easier life will become.

Isn't that what they say?

So, where are we as we quickly approach the year 2020. What do we have? What has all of this knowledge and  technology given us?

The flat earthers

The antivaxxers

The climate change deniers

The right wing racists 

Anti immigrationists separatists... despite record numbers of refugees

Half the world living in poverty

The other half suffering an obesity epidemic 

Litigious individuals, just for the money

Legislating to the base level, so as to cover our collective liability

Business now being built on lies

Politics now built on lies

The media now built on lies

Advertising now built on lies

Trigger warnings… so precious, even at higher learning institutions

A woman is most likely to be killed by the man who loves her

Men are most likely to die at their own hands 

All while the planet is dying...

How did we get so fucked up?

Does anyone else think as a race we are de-evolving?

It reminds me of that old joke, about the sound of Mozart music being played backwards. They hunted around until they found the music was coming from a grave and it was Mozart's grave. They dug it up to find Mozart decomposing.

That is the metaphor I often think about for the world we live in today.

"But Voolfy, it was all so farbulous vunce."

Looking For Stools With Brun

Brun and I head down to the shops. Primarily this is a dog walk, you know, training the little beast, before he is an uncooperative big beast. But it is also a bit of window shop, and a hunt for some cheap, but stylish, stools, so I can bring my plants back inside, which have been taken out due to Brun’s arrival. We have to get them out of reach of the little guy and his big chewing gob, so he doesn’t get sick again.

He’s is not the easiest dog to walk, well, he is a bulldog, and bulldogs are stubborn. Although he is a great improvement over Buddy, in as much as he will actually walk with just one of us, he still walks like a bulldog, you know, the way he wants to.

We head up Smith Street. I sniff around the shops, doing my usual rounds. We say hello to the nice Cash Converters lady. The guy in the opshop gives Brun a treat and a pat. I buy a Billy Joel CD.

We walk down to Johnston Street and look in the antique furniture shops for stools, or tables, on which to put some plants. (I can’t live without plants until the 6th month old is a 2 year old) They are all pretty expensive $135, $199, just for stools, that are, essentially, temporary. I guess, I need to go to Ikea and not trendy Fitzroy furniture shops.

We walked to Bohemio Furniture and I buy a $40 stool, on sale from $100. Pretty good, I think. But, they only have one left at that price.

As we walk home, I see a couple of discarded chairs in our street. That’s what I need, I think, something I can just get rid of again once bugalugs grows up. I look down at him, he gazes sweetly up at me.

I meet my lesbian neighbour walking her dog further along our Street. She suggests Supply & Demand in Smith Street.

“They have all of those kinds of things cheap.”

I tell her about Buddy. It starts to rain so we say our goodbyes.

I upload the Billy Joel CD onto my laptop and then my phone.

2pm. I go to Supply & Demand to see if they have any cheap stools, they don’t. They have something really ugly for about $40, otherwise everything, even in their cheap corner, is $100 to $200.


My two days off go so quickly. Why can’t it be Thursday and Friday every day? Well, it could be, if I chose it to be, I think. Damn it! Am I being sensible staying at work, or fearful? Should I just give it up and worry about the consequences later? Oh, I don’t know. And, I guess, as long as I don’t know, I should stay at work.

I’m just not how sure Sam would cope if I gave up work?


We walk the dogs in the afternoon. The after work walk.

4.45pm. We’re at Officeworks me, Sam, Buddy and Brun. Sam is buying an SD card, whatever that is. I mean, I know what it is. What Sam wants it for, I don’t know?

On the way home, I grab one of the two discarded chairs in our street that I saw this morning. A paint-stained white plastic number, I would see later is from Ikea, with silver legs. I can paint it, I think. Spray it. (You’ve got to learn something from watching Cherie Barber’s renovation segments on teev) The other chair is too awful, it was once padded but has been left out in the rain and is now in a bad state. Sam isn’t keen for me to take either of them.

“Isn’t it nice to have a clean, uncluttered house?” says Sam.

“No,” I say. “I’m not living without plants for 2 years while Brun grows up.”

I want to bring plants back into the house and the only way to do that is by putting them on stools out of his reach.

We ate leftover cream zucchini pasta for dinner.

Eventually, I fall asleep on the couch and wake up at 10.30pm when it is time to go to bed.

Buddy's Okay, Brun Vomits

I stop off in Thornbury at the pet shop with Buddy, after I have taken him to the eye specialist to get the all okay, to buy some things.

I get a new bed for Brun now that he is big enough not to sleep in his play pen every night.

I set the new bed down in the lounge room and Brun crawls in and is asleep in it almost immediately. Then Buddy climbs into the bed with Brun. They sleep like that for most of the afternoon.

Just as I am gazing at the two of them thinking how cute they look together, Brun suddenly wakes up and starts heaving. 

"Ooba, ooba, oooba, ba, ba, ba..." I pick him up and unceremoniously dump him down on the concert outside. "Blur...aaaaaaaah! Blur... ah! Blur...ah!"

He’d eaten the Fiddle Leaf fig I’d bought back inside, Sam tells me when I tell him Brun had been sick. It turns out Fiddle Leaf Figs are toxic and can make your puppy sick. Not deadly, thankfully, but can make them sick, as it did to Brun.

We now have to get the Fiddle Leaf Fig off the floor and out of the chewing machines reach. After thinking a few options through, we get a large empty pot from the garden and sit it down upside down and put the Fiddle Leaf Fig on top of it. Problem solved. The little guy can't reach the leaves now.

Migrant Kids

I saw the boy who played with Brun, who gave Brun his yellow ball in the dog park. He was taking his young brother and sister somewhere, holding his younger sister and brother’s hands tight as they crossed the road. That’s good example of successful migrant kids, the oldest becomes the parent because the parents can't speak English, says Sam. I could see their lives completely as they crossed the road in front of me. It made me smile on the inside. 

That could have been me, says Sam.

Down Like A Bag of Shit

Leaving work late, 4.45pm, there was a guy smoking a cigarette on the street, as I walked out. He was just relaxing into the deep inhales, enjoying each puff. As I passed him, and headed up Collins Street, what looked like his boyfriend came rushing down the Collins Street hill, seemingly very excited to see his boyfriend at the end of the day. As he got close to his guy, he jumped at his boyfriends back seemingly attempting a surprise hug, but it had been raining ☔️ all afternoon and his foot slipped on the wet pavement and they both went down with that sickening thick thud of flesh hitting something hard. Bang! Down on the ground like two sacks of proverbial potatoes. 

That’s got to hurt, I thought. 

That probably scared the shit out of his boyfriend, was my next thought. 

They could have both been really hurt. I chuckled just a bit. Can you imagine, just standing there enjoying a cigarette on your own and out of nowhere... BAM! 

Yeah, thanks honey.

Early Morning

7.25am. I'm 10 minutes from my CBD office. The 109 is packed with people. I’m sitting right up the front in the priority seats, so if some old cunt gets on I have to give my seat up, I must move when I can, so I don’t have to do that. If they can get on a tram, they can stand like the rest of us, surely? Of course, if they are struggling that is a different story. I guess. But seriously, how many people seriously struggle to get on the tram? Really, it is just a nonsense that makes us feel as though we have done something good. It’s an extension of the patriarchal society, you will give up your position from somebody superior, wrapped up in Judeo Christian ideas of good.

There seems to be a lot of sados going to work early. (Sad, in the sense, they would give their, probably uncaring employer, work hours for free) Who goes to work this early? The conscientious? The desperate not to lose their jobs. The pathetic who are inept and can’t get their work done in the time allotted. The ambitious, I guess. I have no idea. I only go to work this early so I can leave work early and be home before the madness happens in the afternoon. I get to work this early and I am home again at 3.20pm'ish, it seems like a fair trade off to me. How many of my fellow tram travellers this morning can make such a claim?

You've Got to Feel

I don't mind being cold. Well, of course, there are levels of cold one doesn't want to cross, but a bit cold, I think it is, if anything, good for you. Well, even if it's not good for you, it's not bad for you. I think it is good to feel. Tingle. Feel alive. Feel the different temperatures, I like feeling the different temperatures.

Do you think that is what's wrong with the world today, why it seems like it is full of unfeeling people, because we insulate ourselves from the cold and we control our environment so we never sweat, or feel different, or feel... We don’t feel anything now a days, we are kept on the temperature equivalent of beige, so we are unfeeling? Do you think?

Do we feel? Anything? Other than ourselves?

David

David called from the Betty Ford Clinic. He's not actually in the actual name Betty Ford clinic', but something similar. It's just our joke. He is doing better this week. It has been difficult, he says. It has been a journey.

"Well, of course it has," I say. "Are you doing okay?"

"Yes, but ask me last week and it was a different matter," he says.

He’s been difficult. It has been difficult.

He was going to leave early a week, or so, ago, but he has decided to stay and complete his 3 months, which is over at the end of June.

"Why would you leave early?"

"I just want to come home."

"It is only another month."

"I know," he says.

“Stay and do your time,” I say.

“Easy for you to say.”

He just had his birthday. "How was it?"

"50 and in rehab, now there is a sentence I never thought I'd say."

What is it, 35 grand for a three month stay. Drug counselling. Trauma counselling. AA meetings. Group therapy. New people every week. But, locked away, cut off from the world for the most part. He seems to get one day when he can communicate with the outside world in a very limited way.

Most people are there for meth addiction. David is there for prescription medicine abuse, with a little recreational crystal meth use thrown in for good measure. His doctor just gave him anything he wanted, any scripts. I always questioned it? David joked for the longest time that he took the Heath Ledger mix nightly to get to sleep. It just seemed to be this year, well, the last 12 months where it got out of control.

“Anyway, nearly over,” I say.

He always sounds happy when he calls. "Oh yeah, you should have heard me last week," is his reply when I tell him that.

“What would I have heard?”

“Oh, you know, blood curdling screaming, the full cliché.”

“Lovely.”

“It was a difficult week.”

Good News For Buddy

Fortunately, when Sam bought Buddy down first thing in the morning his eye sight seemed to have returned. Good news.

8.30am. I called the eye doctor, they could see Buddy at 9.30am.

We left immediately, it was one of the outer eastern suburbs. We took Brun he cuddled up to Buddy in the back of the car as if he was comforting Buddy. Buddy cuddled up to him too.

9.30am. The doggie eye vet was lovely, she reminded me of Jacinta Ardern. All the tests seemed to indicate Buddy was pretty healthy. He didn’t seem to have much wrong with him. No glaucoma, no detached retina. We already knew he didn’t have high blood pressure. We could have done tests for neurological problems, but, she found signs of infection in the back of his eyes, which is a good thing, in a sense, as infection can be treated.

She wasn’t a fan of the raw food diet. She said the thing they don’t really tell you is that if you are going to feed your dog raw food, it has to be human grade raw meat.

It seemed to be good news. A course of steroids and a course of antibiotics and it is thought Buddy will make a full recovery.

We can’t be sure what caused the infection, but it could be the raw meat we have been feeding him, which carries the risk of some kind of toxosis, especially kangaroo which we did give him from time to time as it is thought to be lower in fat. We may have done it to him.

Buddy Goes Blind

As I left work, Sam called me to say there was some wrong with Buddy, that he seemed to be blind and we had to take him to the vet.

I rushed home as much as you can rush when you are walking.

Buddy was in a bad way when I got home. He was freaking out, his tongue was hanging from his mouth and he was dribbling a river of drool.

The vet said they were booked out but just to bring him and wait. It rained all the way to Fawkner. The windscreen continually fogged up. Buddy was freaking out all the way there in the back with Sam holding him. It seemed to take forever.

The lovely handsome Indian vet attended to Buddy. There is such a thing as sudden blindness in dogs, which most of the time is permanent. It is caused by a number of things, detached retina, glaucoma, high blood pressure, or something neurological, just to mention a couple. It looked like this had happened to Buddy.

The vet took blood and gave Buddy valium in a hope to relax him. And he gave Buddy steroids just in case it was an infection. He took Buddy’s blood pressure and his temperature. He sent away for test to be done.

Buddy seemed to have suffered a catastrophic health event and he may well have gone permanently blind. He may have suffered retina failure. It could be an infection too.

We had to take him to an eye specialist tomorrow.

Even when we got him home, Buddy couldn’t see. He was still highly stressed out by it all. He couldn’t settle. His behaviour was odd and distressing to see. I thought our voices would calm him down, but they didn’t seem to. He even seemed to have trouble lying down.

What were we going to do with a blind dog?

Puppy Love

It's nice having a puppy asleep in your lap when it is cold in the morning. Snoring away, well, if you are lucky enough to have a bulldog. That little face, eyes closed, totally trusting. Man's best baby friend.