Green House Folly?

Why, exactly, is the Rudd government going so full on into carbon emission prevention, when the three biggest polluters of the world's atmosphere, China, India and America have no interest, what so ever, in doing the same?

Australia's carbon emissions are 1.5% of the worlds emissions and any change we make, even if we stopped emitting carbon all together, it would have no impact on the world's climate.

Mr Rudd please don't lose sight of reality, for all the shit politics is. I have absolutely no interest in paying more for everything just so you guys can look like you are doing a good job.

Why does this just suddenly feel like a whole bunch of new taxes?

Time off

Okay, I've got six months off, they jumped at it, said they were very pleased I wasn't leaving. Yeah, right. Pleased not to have the recruitment costs, more likely. I have to work for a month for my boss, in November. I got back, if I go back at all, on April 1st, I thought it was, kind of, fitting.

It's not nearly as adrenaline pumping as quitting and walking out, but I can always do that in six months. No, it wouldn't be quite the same, I grant you, although it would, ultimately, have the same effect.
Okay, this is the soft option. Safe. Yes, safe. I took the soft option. I know, I rail against safe. Call me a marshmallow, see if I care. Stick you hands in your armpits and wave your elbows about whilst clucking, it, actually, becomes you.
What do I care, in a few weeks I'll be able to do anything I want. Get up? Sleep in? Breakfast in the Fitzroy Gardens? I already have a growing pile of books I want to read.
Bye, bye salt mines!

Cold Wednesday

Only one seat vacant, I spy, as I turn away from the ticket machine, freshly minted ticket in hand. Boy in a beanie. Cute. Ipod. Handsome, from what I can see. I head straight for him. He's encroaching a little onto my seat. That's okay, I like that in a boy. Warm leg, I love it, I don't miss an opportunity. Mine fitted nicely into the concave of his thigh - you know, on the side, just behind his knee. I pushed it right against his, as I sat down. I held it there. He didn't flinch, didn't move. He was nice and warm. Strong. Comforting. It reminded me of having a boyfriend, what I miss. I was tempted to rub his leg with mine, but I resisted.

Do you know that people thank the tram driver, as they get off. It's a funny, old fashioned notion, now isn't it. "Thank you driver." I suspect it's all the Christians trying to worm their way into heaven, indiscriminate acts of kindness, making up for the non-Christian lives they, actually, lead. Or is it the obsessive compulsives marking off their mental check lists. The terminally disliked desperately attempting to shore up some favour. The sexually addicted trying to get a cheap, morning thrill? Even a suggestion. Titillation - the sexually addicted come cheap.

I grunt, if that, like all good commuters should. Yeah. Cheers. Thanks a lot. There's a job well done. Good onya mate.

I feel good walking down Bourke Street - cars hungrily taking up as much room as they can on the road. CBW is nearly finished, so soon I won't have to walk down the middle of the road because the footpath is blocked off to pedestrians because of the continuing construction work. I wonder how they get away with such a safety breach.

It's the first time, in a number of years, that I haven't felt miserable in this proximity to work. I've felt happy ever since I resigned. I'm getting a hint of freedom and I want to taste more. Today, I've decided to go for the 6 months Leave of Absence option. Against my better judgement, really. Then I'm not changing my life, just having a break. (My still small voice thinks I have wimped out, but I'm ignoring it) Maybe, aim for another 6 months off, once the first 6 months is up. Maybe never return, at all. But first, I am going to convert the resignation to a L.O.A.

There is a whistle on my lips and a skip in my step, as I saunter down Bourke Street.

you tarzan

Wet Tuesday

David appears at the study door, this morning, with a zoosh sound effect and a hand flurry, just as I'm turning my computer off. He says that is the sound of Siberia, it is so cold.

I'm heading along Gertrude Street and it is freezing. I call David, to confirm with him that it is, indeed, Siberia outside.

"The wind is like razor blades cutting through my clothes."

He laughs. "I told you."

"It really is Siberia, out here," I said. "You won't want to leave the house."

"I don't intend to."

8.33am. A tram is on its way up Gertrude Street, from Smith. Is it the empty one, I think. Is it the empty one? I always aim for the empty one, without so much luck. It glides in next to me and I see, pretty quickly, that it is, clearly, not the empty tram – there is a tram around 8.30 that will appear empty amongst the busy trams. Don't know why, it is a phenomenon. The 8.30 tram syndrome – must be something to do with coming between the tail-end of the early people and the beginnings of the late people. The empty tram must be the eye of the storm.

This should have been the empty one, I think, the time is about right. I would have got on. May be it was the tram before? I look back down Gertrude Street. I remain on the footpath, slack-jawed, but not moving toward the open tram-car's doors. They are in there like sardines. Jesus! I'll walk instead of fighting with the morning punters. 8.35am, what do I care if I am late. It makes no never mind, any more.

How many more sleeps?

I catch the tram at Spring Street. As I turn the corner into Bourke, I could run for the 86 sitting at the stop, ready to go, but decide not to be hypocritical. I'm often critical of the morning punters who just keep running for trams at tram stops; eventually they have to think of the other people, whose rides they are slowing down, just so they can be the one-more-person squeezed on. I steady myself and wait for the next tram.

The next tram is one of the very new yellow, borrowed from the French, trams and I'm secretly pleased about that. I purve at the hairy chest on the pretty boy in a suit with no tie, standing by me, until a seat becomes vacant and I forget all about Tarzan's chest... stubble. A seat that wouldn't be a seat at all, in the other new trams. Standing space only. So, I'm secretly pleased about that, too, getting to sit in a completely new seat on a Bourke Street tram. You don't get to do that every day.

The Gay Agenda

A conscious vote on gay reproduction? A political debate on gay adoption rights. The federal government said they would veto any move by the ACT to introduce gay marriage.

Who do our, predominantly Christian, politicians think they are?

Like our future is dependant on their whim? Belief system?

I say...

Fuck their husbands. Suck their brothers. Kiss their fathers. Wank their sons. Until we get what we want - we'll settle for equal rights, thanks. But, whatever it takes. The end justifies the means, as they say.

I love the way they say the "gay agenda" as though we want something special.

We already have the power to recruit your straight boys, with the tried and true method of a couple of pots too many down the pub. By the time we're finished, they'll be lucky if we don't make it compulsory.

Hello HR

OMG! At 16.27, 6 days after I resigned, Tinkerbell from HR finally came and did what HR are meant to do.

Tinkerbell, an HR manager finally came to see me, today. She said I was absolutely a valued employee. She said that I would be terribly missed and asked why I was leaving. She then said, Why don’t you take 6 months off without pay. I had thought of it. I could still resign after 6 months.

The problems with that are, there is no real psychological break, where it is all over and I have to think about what I want to do in the future. Leave without pay is just an extended holiday, when it all comes down to it. I would be in real danger of ending up 6 months in a pot bag – after all, I’m not really unemployed, just on a break.

But, you know, what’s actually wrong with that? (if it really came to that. I hope not, but I've worked hard for the last five years.

But also, if this does turn out to be a hissy fit, it wouldn’t turn out to be a complete loss, I could just head back to work, come February.

Is a leave of absence wimping out and not making a decision?

Weekend Football

Kiss me, you mad, impetuous boy!

So You Think You Can Dance

We went out to Rod Laver Arena, to see, So you think you can dance, stage performance. David organised it. I told you he was addicted; addicted to the show like a teenager. It was once crystal meth, his addiction of choice. But, now it's spirituality, yoga, and his original love, dance. It's spirituality cards and dance programs and everything to do with So you think you can dance. So we all tagged along.

Not that we hadn't watched the show. We all have.

David and the guy he has been, seems to be sneaking in quietly, seeing, Charlie. Me and Mark. Shane and Matt. All us boys went. Mark and I, Shane and Matt walked. David met us there with Charlie. We left half an hour to walk it, which got us to our seats just as the show was starting. Literally. (I like to catch aeroplanes the same way, just for the record) David looked over at us, just as the lights were going down and smiled broadly and clapped his hands.

The show was good, all our favourite performances were recreated. Mark cried at his favourites, I think David did, too.

I want to lick Henry, marry Jack and slide a well lubed finger up Graham's arse.

The place was full of girls, lots of girls. Gaggles of girls. All hair product and make up. Lots of peroxide. Then there were girls and their boyfriends, in the next most popular demographic. Some cute boy friends too. They looked like they were enjoying it too; Y gen.

I forget what looks a group of gay boys get in a, predominantly, straight audience. Warm smiles, really. And laughs, apparently, when Shane said, "Well, it was all worth just to have seen Henry's arse." You know, just like you do, as you are heading out.

Big arena. Lofty ceiling. Bright lights. We all herded squinty-eyed out into the night.

“Let’s go home for joints,” I told David. “I broke down and bought some pot.”

David grabbed me by the shoulder, concerned. “But that’s the beginning of the end,” he said. "We all know that, if you are giving up work."

David and Charlie drove - there's no secret to why those two are the fattest. We walked home in the shiny black night. The MCG was lit up like a space ship, rising up over the elms. The shadows broke across the footpath through the gardens, soft under the moon's white light.

The morning. Oh, my aching head. Whose idea was the pot? Idiot.

There is a bird sitting on top of my bedroom roof that is repeating the same call over and over and OMG! over again. I was just fantasising about how it would be if I was a rock star.

"Sweetie, sweetie. There is a bird on my bedroom roof. Annoying!" I would whisper into my mobile phone to my PA. from under my doona. "Far too out of it this end to do anything about it. Can you take care of it? Please?"

The thing is driving me nuts! It's like hooty-Owl. Seriously, about now, I'd like a Blackhawk Helicopter to descend and take it out with a machine gun. Remind me to kick Missy when I see her fat arse skulking around the kitchen next.

Stations of the Cross

My boys, said Jesus. You came to save me.

It was an honour, said Branco. My lover...

My honour too, said Nico.

My friend Nico, your touch fills me with , love... as always.

Branco found you, said Nico. He drew in breath. Branco is big, and strong.

We'll be together soon, said Banco. It's not far, now. We can lay down with you... lick your wounds.

They both laughed, deep, manly laughs, as Nico began to lift Jesus' robe. We know how to sooth you, master.

You make me hard at the thought, said Jesus. Nico, Branco. My strong, faithful men.

Jesus shivered with pleasure, as Nico's hand touched him, soothingly.

Good Marketing

Time for a saint, it's good marketing. To keep the faithful with us, when their numbers are in decline.

Sickie Friday

I took the day off sick. May be, not such a great thing to do when you are into your notice period. But, I really did have a sore throat, have had one for a week and I thought I should seek medical advice and go have it checked out. Get some pills, or some potion, or something to remedy it with.

Then I spoke to Mark, who said stop being a fucking hypochondriac and don't blow your fifty dollars on a doctors appointment. It's winter, he said. Sore throats happen. For fucks sake.

So, I didn't go to the doc and I didn't go to work. And my throat is, actually, feeling better.

Diflam, it's good stuff. The bitch chemist gave it to me, the one who always says I should go to the doctor. I think I'll miss her.

I was home on my own. There is only so much masturbating you can do. No, really. I got despondent, in the afternoon, got a little housebound. Could I really spend my time at home writing? Have I really made a mistake, work wise?

I decided to go to Bolago, around 3pm. I called Mark, but he wasn’t answering. Decided I just couldn’t run up to Bolago, every time I got blue. Besides, he had guests.

I went for a walk, when I didn’t hear back from Mark. I walked down Gore to Johnson, along Johnson to Young. I went north down Young to look at some interesting apartments that seemed to be covered in graffiti. Along Kerr, over Brunswick, south up Nicholson, over Elgin and then directly right into Carlton. I forgot my camera, I meant to take it to shoot a pictorial, of my walk. The light was on full winter’s glow, colours on deep and smudgy. Time for high-collared coats wrapped tightly around you. Sometimes you just have to walk your troubles off. I think it is the steady rhythm of your feet that help steady your thoughts.

I walked along Barclay, up Faraday. I co so move to Carlton; nice wide streets, lined with trees. Left into Rathdowne, up to the Carlton Gardens. I walked along the gardens path with an old couple with multiple King Charles Spaniels, the type my Rottweiler ate, to the museum. I sat on the bench outside the Imax and contemplated The Dark Knight, it’s just been released, yesterday. There was a 5.50pm session, it was 5.10pm. I couldn't make the decision to wait forty minutes, it seemed like an eternity in the half dusk light.

I was walking back down Gertrude from Nicholson when Mark called and said, yes come up the guests had gone. I’m working in the cottage – putting in a new bathroom – you can watch TV and keep me company. I was at Brunswick Street. I quickened my step and powered home. My stuff was already packed from 3pm.

I got my computer, my camera, my phone charger, unfortunately not my toothbrush, fed the cat and left. It was 5.38pm, as I turned left into Johnson.

There was a sea of red lights in front of me, up Royal Parade and onto the freeway. As far as the eye could see, under the glow of the street lights on a shiny, black night. But it all moved surprisingly well, and I was in the country without delay.

I watched Rome and smoked pot, as Mark concreted the walls and added wood trim.

I was falling asleep, by the time Mark said, time for bed it’s 1.30am.

Delirious

I have no idea what changes are within, said Rachel. The external is just a prompt. Window dressing. Change your job, change your car, change your mind. Do you feel changed yet, at your end?

After changes it all becomes much clearer. But, I guess, that is always the case, huh? Clearer and dearer and down right amazing, too, I said. Changes make changing everything easy and everything brighter and everything cleaner and everything nicer, and greener, and peachier and lemoner and iceier-clean, don't you think? Don't you reckon? Don't you just have to say yes? Yes, is the word. Yes, it is. Indeedie do. Much more alive at the zoo. Much happier and much more lively and much more impressive, with your face in a sieve. But no use in straining, no use in complaining, no use in looking down, like squint-eye lepers do. Upward and outward and changed, as you can see.

Is that the lyrics to a song? Otherwise I might start to worry you've lost your mind, but I did laugh at the thought of trying to sieve my face, ha ha ha ha ha, said Rachel. What's for lunch?? Can't decide myself. Might have prawn Spaghetinin with extra chilli & lemon... I need a night of good sex...tired as I am, its always invigorating, comforting & comfy... unless its with my husband, of course...

No, not lyrics. Maybe I'm just delirious. Can you see faces pushed through colanders coming out in cubes, I said. For lunch? I had tuna pasta and a chick pea salad. Oh yes, and a few (cold) roast potatoes, just for my waist. I think I need a night of rumpy pumpy and not with my husband either. I made vague promises about seeing Jill's renovations, but I might blow her of for a boy I can... um... well... do the same thing to.

Blow him off for me too, said Rach.

Morning Milk Run

I Match You, and I Raise You x

The CFO said that he was willing to go back and look at the figures surrounding my ranking and my payrise. He wasn't involved in them initially, but he'd be happy to go back and look at them more favourably, if that's what it would take.

(As Shane said, willing to go back and look at, is a very different statement to, here's another twenty thousand dollars to stay)

I said, that the fact that they now had the threat of recruitment costs to replace me hanging over their heads enticing them to do a more favourable review didn't make me feel any warmer about my potentially revised ranking.

So is there nothing I can do to persuade me to stay?

I think that the company had that chance and I think that the company blew it.

He said he was very disappointed.

As I am, I said. I'd held the problems in the department together for a number of years, which was being repaid by the classification of an effective worker and not an outstanding worker.

He said he understood what I was saying.

Day 7

That's a whole week off the fags and feeling fine. So, what's that, 140 cigarettes not smoked. I think it gets easier every time I try. That's $70 not spent. You just have to get it into your head that you can stop smoking, and then you can.

There is one quit add that sticks in my head.

The patient says, I can't quit.

The doctor turns back from the xrays and says, I can't operate.

Don't know why that has stuck in my head, but it has. I guess it is simple. I guess it is succinct. I guess it's to the point. I guess, I never want to hear a doctor saying that to me.

David laughed tonight and said, Do you think you would have quit your job if it hadn't been the first week of quitting smoking?

I laughed.

He said, No, seriously. I don't think you would have.

I laughed, again. Don't cross a queen when he's come off the fags, hey?

I think it's absolutely true, chimed in Shane.

 

That Winter Feeling

I QUIT!

I didn't get the ranking or the incentive bonus that I felt I deserved, this year. I was okay with it, as I was under the impression that all rankings and incentive bonus' had been cut because profits were down. Stupid me. Filthy rich law firm. What was I thinking?

Anyway, I was looking through financial reports today and I saw just how many people got high rankings and bonus'... the usual suspects. The pets. The favourites. HR and marketing, look after their own. It's not what you know, after all, now is it.

With all the politics being what it's been, (see entry 26th June) I thought, What do I have to do to get a higher ranking? I concluded, nothing, because I'm already doing it. I'm holding two badly matched departments together, capturing all the mistakes made by bitch HR managers who just don't give a shit. I'm holding together flawed software - yes, we will replace it, we will replace it - that only I, actually, know how to use.

I am performing functions, very well, even if I do say so myself, that only I know how to perform.

Fuck you guys, I thought. And, I cracked the shits and resigned.

It's being referred to the C.O.O. who I will no doubt have to see tomorrow, something to look forward to, huh. My boss thinks I'm having a hissy fit and I'll change my mind, as, no doubt, the C.O.O. does too. But I'm not going to. The firm had their chance to rank me according to importance to the company and achievements and I feel they blew it. It’s a principle thing. They will be shocked, no doubt, when I tell them tomorrow that I'm not changing my mind.

But sometimes, enough is actually enough!

Wish me luck.

But truthfully, all I can think now is, one month off, or two? They'll never get me to reconsider, I'm like a shark who has smelt blood in the water, except it's freedom on the sweet winds of time.