57 Days: Cricket's Drivel Meme

I've just done my first online interview. I think I present better face to face. I'm not putting that down as an experience I want to repeat.

Nevertheless, a new job will come soon, regardless of the outcome of this interview. We will see what happens. There are great things out there - just have to find them.

Off to see a movie in  bit - let's see how much of this I can get done before this.

Questions, as always, from Bev at Sunday Stealing.


1. When was the last time you went to the doctor? Do you like your doctor?

I went about three months ago as I needed to sort out my blood pressure medications. I like my doctor. She's about my age, she listens to me and she's funny. We giggle a lot together. A doctor that listens is a good thing.

2. My back is itching, will you scratch it for me?

Of course. Or if I'm short on time I'll show you to a door jamb or find you a spaghetti strainer (I thought these were back scratchers until a few years ago).

3. Do you have nice handwriting?

No. I have doctor's handwriting. Always have had terrible writing. I prefer to type.

4. We are sending you to either New Zealand or Canada, which one do you choose?

I've been to New Zealand many times - I can get there in three hours. So send me to Canada as it looks awesome. I'd happily live in either of those countries as they are both a lot like Australia, and better on the social welfare front. Both countries are far more socially progressive than Australia and I see this as a good thing.

5. Do you sing in the shower?

Sometimes. And badly.

6. Have you ever been streaking? If so, how far did you streak and did anyone see you?

No. I've skinny dipped, but not streaked. It's illegal to do this at public events anyway. (Oh, I used to work with the son of the Twickenham Streaker (the first  streaker recorded in England)



7. How soon is too soon for Christmas decorations and music playing in the stores?

September. October. November. I think Christmas decorations should come out about 1 December. That seems right to me. Bah humbug.

8. If you celebrated Halloween as a kid what was the costume you wore at 5?

I'm Australian. We don't do Halloween. That's an American Hallmark thing.

9. How many cavities have you had in your life?

I think about 5. I've been lucky. One  a decade. Thank goodness Adelaide had flouride in the water.

10.  Is there anyone you regret meeting.

Nope. There are a few people I'm glad are no longer in my life, but I have learned from them.


Yay. Done. Off to my movie.



Today's Song:

58 Days: The Float

I've been having a float about once a month for a while now. Tonight was float night.

There is something very healing about being immersed in a tank of water held at room temperature in relative silence and total darkness for an hour.

For me, this is think time. Time to work out a lot of things that I don't necessarily have the time to think about. Without fail, I come out of the tank rested, rejuvenated and clearer of thought.

Tonight's float was necessary - it's been a big week, and a long week. By the end of the float, I was more at peace.

So, what goes through my mind while I'm floating away in the darkness, other than working out that occassionally, a foot or hand will gently bump into  the edge of the tank.

Well, here are the things I put to peace in the tank:

• Am I doing enough to look for a new job? (Yes)
• When will I do the preliminary digital interview? (Tomorrow)
• Did I feel slightly scared about the eye tests I had this morning? (Yes, but all fine - they're keeping an eye on it, but the visual field test is freaky)
• Should I have gone to the gym today? (Yes)
• Have I got an inroad into my dystopian novel (yes)
• Did I say the right thing to a friend who suffered a miscarriage this week (What can you say? I don't think I put my foot in my mouth)
• What am I going to do for my birthday?(Other than Bali, start looking for a party location)
• Can I move on with my film script? (Yes)
• What do I want to do with my life? (Write, amongst other things)
• Will the cat and I get on okay? (Of course)
• How is the axe wound feeling? (Okay - I'm at the anger / frustration stage)
• What did I think about the play I saw last night? (Jury is still out - otherwise pretty good)
• Will I see a film tomorrow (Yes)
• Should I have done my blog earlier? (Absolutely)

Not much of a blog today - I'm a bit zonked from the float. But I found a couple of choice songs while I was laying there too. 

Today's Song:

59 Days: A Night on the Couch

Following the hottie disaster the night before leaving my bed like a child's paddling pool, it was to be that I'd be spending the night on the couch. When I got home last night, the mattress was still damp  - not as bad as it was that morning - there was no way I as going to sleep on it.

Last evening was spent dousing the mattress with bicarb soda, hoovering the stuff up and applying heat from my hairdryer liberally and often to the offending piece of furniture until about midnight. By then, although a lot of the moisture had subsided, but I gave up I gave up my efforts for the night.

So I spent the night on the couch.

On the good side of things, I bought a new couch late last year. It's big. It's leather. It is very comfortable. A six foot adult and lie down on it happily and still have feet room. Although it's a bit narrow, this was not the worst thing in the world to sleep on.

However, on waking this morning, I truly felt like I had slept the night on the couch. It's not the same as being tucked into my lovely comfy bed. The support isn't the same.

But it's better than sleeping in a puddle.

So the day didn't got off to a great start. I ran ten minutes late to let a tradie into the temple thanks to the sluggish feeling that comes from a mediocre night's sleep. He was forgiving - he's been late in me in the past, so we're even.

I was at work by nine, but it's been hard to get stuck into anything today.

Having a week left of this contract, it's quite hard to focus on much. I think the term is checked out. There are a few of us in the same boat. The work is getting done, but some of the enthusiasm has gone.

It was my monthly engineer's lunch today. That's been a bright spot. After work, I'm having a spot of dinner with Jay before we go to see a play - The House of Bernarda Alba at the Melbourne Theatre Company. I also need to find 15 minutes to do an online interview.

It's hard getting any enthusiasm for anything today.

I put it down to an average sleep which was had on the couch.

The bed should be dry enough to sleep in later tonight.

Nevertheless, I will persist.

Onwards.



Today's Song:

60 Days: The Hottie

It started out as a normal night. We went to bed together as we normally do.

But, my hottie split in the middle of the night. It was an extremely inconsiderate and bastard act. I don't think I'm very upset about this. What can you do? Hotties split. Good hotties are hard to find. I'm not sure that I want to go through the process of finding another.

Up until this time, I have loved my hottie through thick and thin. He's been there for me for years. He had his uses. He was good for soothing tired muscles and and keeping me warm well into the night. He was a comforting presence. Never obtrusive. Never needy.  He was always been the silent type. Good for coming out just before bed time, just as you need him to warm up the bed - just as all good hotties should.

Despite his outwardly daggy appearance and the knowledge that he's of a product of a bygone era, he's been my sleeping companion over winter for many years. Being of a certain age, I have little use for him in the warmer months and he was relegated to other parts of the flat during these times, only coming out if the need presents itself. He was great after the gym. Forgiving and understanding. My hottie had many and varied uses.

So last night, of all nights, my hottie splits, erupting in the most violent way possible, leaving me to sleep in a Pacific-sized wet patch, the likes I haven't seen since my twenties, back in the days when you sort of accepted that the price of a hottie was that you would inevitably get the wet patch on which you're expected to sleep.

Now, my hottie is gone. It was so sudden.

At first, I wasn't sure what was happening. The bed was cold and wet. And damp.

How dare he!

His mess extended through the bed linen and one two of my pillows.

This was so wrong! After years of sharing a bed with me, he goes and does this.

This is not the right way to break up with somebody. Where is his dignity? What sort of hottie does he think he is?

I managed to navigate to the edge of the bed, away from the mess that he left. Years of sleeping with a cat has meant I can take the 10% of the mattress on the edge and sleep quite soundly. I would deal with his explosive emissions in the morning. I was more peeved that my sleep had been disrupted.

A few hours later, I rose, bereft, angry and hurt that my hottie could leave me in such a fashion.

The bed was stripped of the damp linen. The pillows were placed near the heater to dry. The hairdryer was applied to the sodden mattress.

Like how do people manage with teenage sons? Seriously.

So my hottie is no more.

I've been told to replace him with a wheat bag, but I'm not quite there with that. I liked the texture of my old hottie. The smell of rubber is quite soothing. Besides, I had a wheat bag once. A mouse ate it.
I'm not sure a wheat bag can replace a hottie. They're not the same thing.

My hottie has gone.

I supposed I will find another. Hopefully he will be a bit more reliable and not leave me in the lurch like this.

And until the mattress dries, I'll be sleeping on the couch.

Oh, you did realise I was talking about my hot water bottle, didn't you?


Today's Song:

61 Days: Today's Earworm

I'm concentrating on happy memories today.

And I got an ear worm out of it.

See, my friend Glen Waverley is a most generous man. We've been friends for many years and although he now lives in the suburbs and we don't see each other as much, it is always lovely to catch up with him.

Glen Waverley is my old work husband from a company we worked at ten years ago. (I might have to dedicate another blog to the concept of work husbands. I collect them like other people collect takeaway menus in the third drawer down in the kitchen)

I should also say, Glen Waverley is happily married. His wife and I get on very well. Glen Waverley likes cats and he collects old Porsches, which he does up in his garage on weekends. And he used to have a sports car - and MX-5. He used to borrow my more sensible hatch back when it was time to take his cats to the vet.

One weekend, he took me for a drive in the MX-5 down the Great Ocean Road. I'd never been at the time and travelling the Great Ocean Road in a convertible is a great, if not rather cold way of doing this.

It was a lovely day. He wouldn't let me drive - mainly because I drive like a Nana and he drives like a lunatic. Well, he thinks I drive like a Nana. I think he drives like he stole the vehicle involved, but I don't feel unsafe. All of my Dutch friends appear to drive like this, Maybe they should stick to bicycles.

So on our lovely day, we drove out of Melbourne before dawn. We stopped for coffee and to put the car roof down at Torquay, then made our way to Apollo Bay for lunch.

Glen Waverley likes to make an entrance.

As we drove into this sleepy town centre, this song came on the stereo.

Glen Waverley, being Glen Waverley, and having something of a sense of humour, turned the stereo up to eleven, so this glorious melody was blaring out of the car at 100 decibels.

People stared at us.

I've not forgiven him - though we still laugh about it.

To get him back, I found him a leopard print snuggie.

Such is the extent of this friendship.

It's an awful song. The lyrics are worse.

But it makes me smile.


Today's Song:

62 Days: Brave

I'm trying to be brave. For the most part, I succeed.

Bravery is something I do. It's a matter of getting on with things, not thinking about things and putting one step in front of the other. I'm a good ex-Methodist. We do denial really well.

My type of bravery is minor. I look at there being many sorts of courage out there in the world. I think of my niece who battled leukaemia a few years ago - a fight she did not, could not win. I think about my sister, brother-in-law and niece who now live without her. I can't comprehend that sort of guts.

I'm watching as a school friend mourns the loss of her husband of 50 years. I can't comprehend what she's going through.

Another friend, for the first time in her working life, has been made redundant. She's finding new stores of courage as she navigate the joys of being redundant. It's a minefield.

I have to admit, I don't need too much courage to go out and find a job. Yes, I'm a bit crotchety, and I like to be left alone at this time  - as somebody found out at a meeting. "Please let me get on with the tasks at hand - this is way down on my list of priorities." This person didn't like this answer, but there you go. I'm looking after me first for the moment.

Work will sort itself out. It's a numbers and timing issue. It won't take too long.

I'm being brave about another matter.  I'm working with the axe wound. It's a matter of time.

Once again, one foot in front of the other. I have no control over the matter - just have to get on with things and let it run its course. I'm obfuscating for a reason. I don't know how this situation will play out, other than continue to play on my mind. I'm trying hard not to think about it all - though it's the first thing I think of when I wake in the morning and last thing I think about at night. But as I have no control over what is going to happen.

All I have is a feeling of inevitability. And no idea what will happen when the preordained occurs. When it occurs. If it occurs.

Who am I kidding. I'm not brave. It's a facade. I'm trying - that's all.

And I leave you with today's song. A gem from James Blunt (who knew). He sings about real bravery and courage.

I think I need some chocolate.


Today's Song:

63 Days: Things You Never Knew

I found out something on the weekend.

If you are offered a wheelchair access room in a hotel, DON'T take it unless you really need it.

Why?  There are a few reasons. In wheelchair access rooms, there is no glass. This is not a bad thing, but your bathroom will look like one found in a mental institution. A basin, but no area to put your washbag. A shower head. A plain toilet. Lots of bars around the place. None of this is a problem, but it feel a bit weird if you don't need it for the reason it was designed for.

More than likely, there won't be beside tables in the room either. Again, not a deal breaker, but where do you put your phone and your gin and tonic?

When I was told I was being given a wheelchair access room I thought nothing of it. Sure. If nobody with access requirements needed it, then no drama.

But the thing I never knew. In these wheelchair access rooms  - the water temperature an pressure. The water pressure is half that in a normal room - and the hottest the water will go is about 45 degrees. I'm just glad my hair didn't need washing yesterday.

I mentioned both of these features to the girl at the desk on the way out - the water pressure and the temperature. This low pressure, low temperature water feature was the law.

Who knew?

It took a bit of the fun out of staying in a hotel. Hey ho.

I was rather grateful that it wasn't that cold in Sydney on the weekend - and that my hot water service pumps out steaming hot water without fail.

Today's Song: