It was a nice day, the temperature was up, which was great, so we could open the back of the house up and the smell of tea tree oil dissipated pretty well. It floated away on the fresh spring breeze.
Yay! Thank the universe.
In fact, the house smells quite nice now, now that the toxic rush of tea-tree is over.
I wrote poetry all day.
It was my day off.
We are just settling in to watch TV, when Sam goes to the kitchen to put some teatree oil on a scratch, or a pimple, or a blemish and he drops the brand new bottle on the kitchen floor and it, of course, shatters.
That was a palaver in itself, his cursing dropping a full bottle and the clean up that ensued.
Once he had finished mopping up, and wiping up, and cleaning up, we try to continue watching TV.
"It's pretty minty," says Sam.
Pretty fucken minty alright!
Pretty soon I can taste it on my lips. Not long after that, if I said my eyes were burning, it would be overstating it, but not by much. And pretty soon I could feel a head ache coming on, OMG! It was overwhelming. We were driven out of the ground floor and upstairs to bed.
Even upstairs with the bed room door closed, I could still taste it on my lips and feel it in my eyes, it was that strong.
We headed up to the hills, out into the Dandenongs for the day. We did a 3 kilometre walk in nature, me, Sam and Brun. Just a gentle Sunday walk. It was nice. It was really busy. Where it was once our quiet, tranquil place to walk in the hills, it has now become really popular and much more crowded with people. We've never had to fight for a car park before. People ruin everything, now don't they.
How's this little beauty in a clothes warehouse near home. There was a classic Camaro, a black 911 and a Ferrari, in red, of course, but this was my choice a highly modified 356.
We walked Brun. The sun shone. We bought gelato. I asked for one scoop, I got much more, not that I am complaining. We met a friend when we were nearly home, who looked at Brun after which she casually asked where Buddy was with a smile. She teared up when we told her. Everybody loved Bud. We had to comfort her, as she comforted us.
Sad Face. I miss him, the way he'd gently lay his head on my thigh, the way he'd crawl into my lap when I'm sitting on the floor at the coffee table, the way he'd tap me with his paw if he wanted my attention, oh, so many ways. I feel like there is a physical piece of me missing, not sure if that makes any sense?
We have a friend with a couple of French Bulldogs that have always been aggressive and have bitten, or attempted to bite, Buddy and Brun on many occasions.
I call them Jekyll & Hyde.
Buddy was the master of turning away always with the oh-for-goodness-sake look on his face. He could manage to turn his whole body away from them and just walk away. (I so miss Bud)
Brun is pretty laid back more, or less, like Buddy.
We have met up with the French Bull dogs twice since Buddy died, and on both occasions Brun has turned into the Tasmanian Devil, growling and trying to get to the two of them as if to say, "I hate you guys! I hate you guys!" Turning into a bundle of anger at my feet.
It is really strange and so out of character for Brun. I really don't know why? Is it because he no longer has Buddy by his side and he feels he has to defend himself from these devil dogs? It almost like he is saying, I have really had it with you two!
Of course, for years we have all just ignored the French Bulldogs aggression. I worry that Brun might now be thought of as the aggressive one.
It's an odd change. I don't know if Brun feels more vulnerable now that Bud is gone? I don't know.
He only does it with the two French Bulldogs, but then, the two French Bulldogs are the only ones that have treated him with aggression.
Later in the day...
We got a good park, 4 hours whats more on Beaconsfield Parade. We walked along the foreshore, with all the other people waking along the foreshore. The sun shone, the sky was blue. It wasn't, actually, that hot, 20 degrees, but warm enough when you were in the sun, but the day sparkled none the less. Ah Spring
There was lots of people with dogs, no other English Bulldogs, however, plenty of Frenchies. (none of which Brun had a problem with, just his normal happy disposition, it is only Jekyll & Hyde that gets him going)
Ah, the bike riders, yelling and cursing and ringing their bells at people wandering onto the bike track, next to the walking track, the only thing the bike riders never seem to think to do is slow down.
We ate dumplings in Fitzroy Street. The adjacent table had a very smiley Rottweiler. Two hot boys were his handlers for the day.
We walked back along the sand, with our shoes off and in our hands. The ball obsessed Brun found a ball as soon as we hit the beach, so he was very happy all the way back to the car, as we continually threw the ball up ahead for him. The magic of the sea enveloped us with the blue stretching out to the horizon, the fine white sand glinted in the afternoon sun, like crystals. Oh crystals is such a tired analogy, the sun glinted under the sun's rays
We were home late afternoon.
National day of mourning, hey? Good onya, Liz, you were a good stick.
And then what? The day before the Grand Final public holiday on Friday.
Two public holidays in a row. I don't work Thursdays and Fridays anyway so it doesn't make much a of difference to my life.
But Sam has the two days off, of course.
We can't just sit here on our arses, though, time to get out and enjoy the world.
The sun is shining, the sky is blue, it is a beautiful day. We're off to St Kilda Beach to run on the sand with Brun. Dogs are allowed off lead on all the beaches until Sept 30th, best we get going.
Must be time for a spot of lunch too, of course.
We had some last minute changes that had to be done. Unforeseen. Sure, they were big dollars. So, I got to and made the changes first thing.
I sent them off to one of the desk jockeys higher up the food chain to me with an explanatory note in email form of what I had done.
The last line I wrote was, "other than that [the qualifier in the previous sentence] everything should be good" then I just couldn't help myself and I put, "cross your fingers, smiley face emoji."
Chief Financial Accountants do not have a sense of humour, I know that, really, I do, what was I thinking? Sheesh!
Back came a questioning email, along the lines, either it was all now correct, or did I need some more time to go through it all again to double check?
No dickwad, it is called humour. I know it was early in the day, but seriously learn a joke, watch something funny, lighten up. *
* actually, that didn't happen at all, not letting the truth get in the way of a good story and all that. I imagined it to be true, and it is true of the awful black law firm for which I used to work and the she-bitch psychopath chief financial accountant who used to, and from all accounts, still does, haunt that firm like a poltergeist, or some tormented demon.
Truthfully, the guys I work with now find my funny asides endearing.
What, you ask? What are you on about? I had the distinct déjà vu shudder as I was rushing to get all of this corrected and complete, of my previous psycho financial controller breathing down my neck, the truly awful red-haired Belinda CuntFace. It cast my mind back when I worked under her and what she would say to a bit of humour being thrown into a push-for-time issue. So, I just let my imagination run with that. So that is what you got. Oh, it was just me thinking back.
I have handsome, young, blond Mitch working with me for a day. I don’t know what he is, I guess, you might call him an intern. Truthfully, I think he is the son of one of the partners who is in the final stages of his degree who is getting some experience in the real world. Why they put him with me, I don’t know, not a clue, but I do like sending him on errands, just so I can watch him walk away.
I want to tell him, Run, run, run young Mitchel run and be free. Go overseas, see the world, travel the seas, take drugs, screw the girls, screw the boys, have fun live and be free, don’t just leave uni and get an office job, but I am guessing that is not what dad wants me to do.
They want us back in the office, Boris told me the other day.
"They want to go back to how it was before the pandemic," said Boris.
We want to go back that far, I think?
"Really?"
"Yes."
But, what about the discoveries we have made? What about the preferable way to work that we have learned? They want to wipe that away? Seriously? That was significant.
But I don't want to go back to the office, I have been given a whole new way to work and I love it. I don't want to go back. I never want to go back. It is a waste of time.
I get up at 6am, just because I do now a days, have a shower, iron a shirt (is that the most boring, fucking thing in the world, I ask you?), eat my breakfast, walk to the office, - I cannot fathom the people who live an hour, or more, commute wanting to head back to the office - and I am in the office by about 7.30am. By the time I stop crying (well, I will be if this is my future), and get coffee, it is 7.45... I can do a huge amount of work in that time at home.
I don't care you are providing breakfast and coffee, big deal. I can make my own at home at my leisure whenever I feel like it.
No. That is a firm no from me.
(Of course, I am getting an arse like the fat girl next door from the lack of exercise, but surely, I'll be able to counteract that at some point in the future with a pill, or something) *
So, I'm ignoring it, for long as I can. What can they do? I'm not a manager, I'm not in charge of anybody, what does it matter where I work? Shake of the head. No.
I wonder how long I can get away with it? (I'm planning to get away with it indefinitely)
Sam is going to visit his family for most of October, and I'm planning a boys smoking month, so I don't want to be back in the office for that.
And, apparently, I have to look after Charlie, so I can't possibly go back to the office because of that, I'll have dependants. I'll practically be a working mother. And it is so difficult, they grow up so fast. Yeah, sure he's 19 and at uni but they still need guidance at any age.
No, I am just not going back. I ask you again, what can they do? In this era of staff shortages?
I had a cooked lunch at 1pm. I had a shower at 1.30pm, just to brighten up the afternoon, I can't do any of that in the office.
* of course, young Travis lives next door now, and seriously, if I had an arse like his, I'd be a happy man.
Oh, I'd forgotten what a palaver getting a new phone, actually, is. All that stuff that needs to be installed and updated. Grrr.
How to ruin a good Sunday.
(Ha ha, I am being somewhat disingenuous, can you tell, as I have my very own resident computer programmer in Sam to take care of all the hard questions)
Still.
"Now I have to do what?"
"Didn't I just do that?"
"Don't look at me like that and just answer the question?"
"Oh, haven't I already done that?"
"Yes, yes, you were right."
"Again, I have to do that again?"
"Oh, can't you do that."
"Yes, I understand you can't do my facial recognition for me."
"Oh, come on, don't be like that."
"No, I don't think I am stupid."
"Oh, isn't it done yet?"
It's new iPhone day today. iPhone 14. Yay. Love a new iPhone day. Sam gets the new phone, because he loves technology, and I don't really give a toss, and I get Sam's old phone, iPhone 11.
He skipped 13 and 14 which is really unusual for him, and maybe my influence. Or was it because the changes were so minimal, maybe. But maybe it was me. "Seriously, you don't need to be quite such a slave to this stuff."
But, then contradictorily, I'm getting a new phone. Yay! (We are nothing is we aren't contradictory, us humans) Well, I can be excited about getting a new phone guilt free, because it is second hand it isn't, actually, using up any of the worlds resources, and it isn't, actually, contributing to the destruction of the planet, as it did all of that when Sam bought it, and I get it completely free of all of that, because it is just a transfer.
Do you like that?
Ha ha, I do.
I sit on the floor at my coffee table and eat my vegemite toast and drink my coffee (we all sit on the floor around my coffee table, it's a big coffee table) and Brun curls up between my legs and sleeps. I'm pretty sure he does it for the warmth, bulldogs love a bit of warmth. It is something he has been doing more so since Buddy died. But, you know, Brun weighs 27 kilos, so he's not exactly a chihuahua. It gets to feeling like, what I think it must feel like, those people who have their hips in plaster, you know, with the bar from one knee to another. He just grunts contentedly if I try to reposition him.
I don't mind the Royal Family. I'd say I quite like them, but that would make me sound something more than ambivalent. And while I wouldn't exactly say I am ambivalent, I find them quite interesting, I read about them, I take an interest in what they are doing, I wouldn't exactly call myself a fan, what is that expression everyone likes to use now a days, per se.
I found myself feeling a little sad about the Queen dying, which surprised me a little. Well, it was universally agreed that she was a good egg - is that in maintaining the elitist status quo, where nothing really changes for anyone less than blessed by birth, nyr, I'm guessing that is a conversation for another day.
I don't really think anything about the Australian system being changed, as I don't think it would, actually, change anything, well, nothing worthwhile exactly. You know, worst case scenario, we could end up with a political system like America, and, surely, nobody wants that.
Having said all of that, and, I guess, rather contradictorily, I find it hard to listen to people who mount arguments in favour of the Royal Family. I can't take people seriously who give those arguments. Their passion is misplaced, even kind of weird. They seem to be strange conservative types, and we all know conservative types are pretty much against any kind of change at all.
Really, if any argument should be given it should be for us being a republic. It is obvious that's what we should do, if we were going to do anything.
Having said that, I don't care if we ever change. I don't. I'm happy for the system to stay the same.
I guess what I am saying is that both positions can coexist.
We should be a republic, but I don't care if it never happens.
Brun and I head out for a walk. It is a grey day, threatening to rain throughout the whole walk, although it never did.
Just me and Brun, just the two of us.
I'm listening to Janis Joplin. I've been listening to all her albums right through the last few days, and I finish Kozmic Blues and start with Pearl.
The punters are lining up outside the cafes two and three deep and we have to push through. My friend Jill loves to send me articles on how Fitzroy is trendy, the latest how Gertrude Street has been voted the 2nd coolest street in the world, or some such shit. It is a joy to be so popular, I think, as I push through the tourists standing gormlessly about.
We head into the grey Carlton Gardens below the grey sky and Janis sings Cry Baby. It seems kind of fitting.
The park is melancholy under the heavy grey sky. I try to take some moody photos but Brun is not cooperating and he continually pulls me away as I line up the shot.
We pass a woman walking a staffy.
We head passed the tennis courts and the pop, pop, pop of the ball being hit, and we head down to the corner to get pooh bags. Brun, of course, wants to go over to the courts to find tennis balls, his favourite thing, but with a little persuasion he sees it my way and trots along next to me.
We head up to the Rubick’s Cube and get 10 more pooh bags from the dispenser there. We're getting low and the rolls were full.
The woman and the staffy reappear heading towards us again. She is not keen for her staffy to say hello to Brun and she pulls him away as we meet.
We walk back through the piazza between the museum and the Exhibition Buildings.
I try to walk diagonally across the square in front of a prep school group all dressed the same who were filing in five parallel lines in single file to their buses. We were just slipping across in front of them when Brun stops as we got to the last line instead of continuing to walk and that line of children were on us quickly. And moments later we had the handsome teacher and many small hands patting Brun.
“What a gorgeous creature,” says the handsome young teacher. “He must be popular around these parts.”
“Yes, he is,” I say.
“I bet,” says the handsome teacher.
Brun laps up all the attention. I wish I'd had a camera. Well, of course I do have a camera, but it is all too quick for that.
We turn for home.
Mandarins are my thing, I love them. I eat them all the time. They are the perfect thing to eat. I eat so many of them, there is a high chance I might turn into one, one day. I could think of worse things. Oh, except for the short life span, of course. There is that.
Every day, is Mandarin Day, as far as I'm concerned. I think it is my favourite flavour.
Let’s hope I don’t turn orange, as that hasn’t worked for anyone recently, now has it. Ha ha.
Sam's house has a mandarin tree in the front yard, which is prolific with mandarins. Sam rents the house out to friends. They used to offer us bags of mandarins when it was mandarin season, but then they lost their jobs and they started not to pay their rent and the relationship soured somewhat and they don't offer us mandarins any longer. 😦
I was all for kicking them out and installing mandarin friendly tenants, ha ha, which is funny, as it is usually Sam making such suggestions with me saying, "You can't do that."
You know, I don't mind crying, I am not ashamed of it. There is the logistical problem of crying and talking at the same time, of course, but other than that, I never try to stop it, and I really don't care in front of whom I cry, generally. It is good to let it out. And, I always feel better afterwards, well, generally I do.
But, probably not with your boss, it is an awkward relationship into which to introduce crying, certainly not on too many occasions, that would be sure.
A melancholy cry can almost be a pleasure.
I've cried a lot over Buddy. So much so, I have a cyst on my eye lid - corner of my eye - which I am having removed next month, which has never irritated me, but it has over the last few days.
When I was looking after my mum when she was failing, I used to cry at the traffic lights driving home. Sometimes I'd look sideways to see someone looking at me. Oh, what must they have thought.
Mark is a big crier and cries more than me. Sam cries less than me, but he has cried a lot in the last few days.
I find men crying adorable, to tell you the truth.
Brun was really sad and really not himself until Sunday, and then today he came good, like he'd moved on, and he was back to his old self. Animals are funny.
Where today I just lost it with Boris, my boss.
I got Buddy when he was 1 year old. On Sunday night I messaged his original owner to tell him Buddy had died. Yesterday, I was just reading his lovely response when Boris called me to let me know about a continuing problem with HR, which I had fixed, which was really their problem in the first place, kind of, and I... just... let loose down the phone about what I thought about the problem. And once my profanity laden tirade "Let HR call me and I'll fucken tell them what for, I'm not putting up with any of their shit today," had dissolved into sobbing tears about Buddy - seriously, she lost it - Boris replied, quietly, "Please don't answer the phone today."
You know, I hope it doesn't ever sound like I complain about Boris, I think sometimes it might, but the bottom line is Boris is one of the good ones and I wouldn't swap her for anyone.
David laughed when I told him later. "Please don't answer the phone today, that is hysterical."
"I know."
"Well good for her," said David. "As I know what you are like, oh so even tempered until you are not, and then... well, good for her for understanding."
"Oh, I let it all out."
"I've seen it," said David. "Could you have bought uglier flowers." (I was pissed off once when David and I lived together. I came into the house furious, David was with a girlfriend, there were purple orchids on the kitchen bench. I said, "Could you have bought uglier flowers." David's friend had bought the flowers for him. She dissolved into tears and fled the house)
"I felt better... after." I laughed. "But maybe I won't choose my boss next time."
David laughed again.
