It's the afternoon. I'm at my computer. The flat is untidy, but at least I can see the lounge room floor and it's been hoovered to remove the last remnants of the squeeky cat that came to stay over Easter. My bed has been made. The dishes are done.
There is something to be said about not working. The house looks a bit better than it normally does.
The benefits of temporary unemployment are good, so I'm finding. There's been a few hiccoughs with this new contract coming through - I'm waiting on emails and phone calls, but with any luck I'll be working from next Monday. But for the moment, I'm enjoying not working.
I'm really enjoying not working.
Silly thing is, I feel as busy as when I'm employed. I also make a to do list and I try and stick with it. Contrary to hard set thought, I've only slept in past 8 a.m once.
The two constants on the daily list are go for a run and write. Both are getting done regularly.
On running, I finally put in my entry for the Great Ocean Road Half Marathon, so I have to get every kilometre that I can into my legs. Tomorrow, being what looks like a nice day, will see me do a loop of the Tan - 10 kms. Friday, I'm allegedly running with the boys from Bastard Bank early in he morning. It's all working well the running lark.
The writing is going well too. I finished my never ending Greek travel article job - thank goodness, though with the Greek economy as it is, heaven knows when or if I'll get paid for it. I've also started the novel - and at 2000 words in, I'm good with that -2000 words that I know will be slashed, cut, revised and reviled over time, but at least it's a start.
Time off means getting some of the jobs that I've been putting off done. First one off the ranks was what I will politely call the two yearly girly maintenance check. This is a horrible, but necessary doctor's appointment. Much worse than going to the dentist - but thankfully not as tortured or drawn out. Necessary, needed, not overly comfortable, but not painful either and thankfully paid for by the government, but it's still revolting. Thankfully my doctor is 1) a woman, 2) gentle and 3) quick. Over in two minutes. And it will stop the stroppy letters coming saying I'm overdue for this test. I didn't mean not to have the test in the allotted time - I've just been waiting for a bit of time off to get it done (and for the memories of endless gynaecological tests of two years ago to subside).
Besides, I'm still traumatised from the time I went for one of these girly maintenance checks and the nurse told me to imagine that the speculum was my boyfriend's tongue.
I've also booked a dentist's appointment.
I'm having a massage on a week day for a change.
We had book group the other night - Breakfast at Tiffany's - small group, great conversation, even better parma.
I go to the gym during the day.
Most mornings I visit my favorite barista, Phoung, who makes me a mug of skinny cappuccino and draws a picture in the foam for me - just to get me out of the flat.
I'm meeting people for coffee and lunch around the place.
I have on the list to start doing some work on the books for the Co-Masonic Property Association - start to get the books in order. Fun. A really wet and rainy day is needed for that.
Today was lovely in that I went out to see Blarney and the Units and we went down to the feral shed. As a childless woman, the feral shed, also known as kid's play centre, is modelled on Dante's fourth level of hell, where everybody pushes round stuff with their chests and wails about their lost possessions. Chance and Lance are fed a baby-chino here too -which sounds fancy, but it's a buck a throw for some milk froth with a bit of chocolate sprinkled on top which normally ends up down their respective t-shirts. And the little heathens chuck the marshmallow.Blarney and I are learning to pinch them before they get their grimy hands on them. The boys are two. I suppose they can be forgiven for the lack of table manners.
The feral shed is noisy and filled with children and their harangued parents. In all honesty, the place should be used as a contraceptive. Painted above the door should be the words, "Abandon all hope, Ye who entered here." (Or possibly more apt, "You went through seven years of university - look where you ended up...")
I make the place sound worse than it is - but I last an hour there if there are more than ten kids there, and with peak hour looming, I bade my farewells .
The lovely bit about going round to Blarney's, other than seeing her and the boys, is the reception I get from the cat. Walked in today, and he followed me round the house until he was picked up and given a cuddle. After an hour at the feral shed, I walked back to Blarney's to get my car. A window had been left open so Maow Maow could get in and out. I spied him sitting in a sunny spot inside. I tap on the window. He comes galumphing out for another cuddle.
Love that cat.
The last thing on my list is filling me with a little trepidation. A few months back I took up an offer on a group buying website. The offer was for something I've wanted to try for a long time, but have not had the funds or the courage. The appointment for tomorrow afternoon. My mind boggles as to whether I will be blogging about the joys of colonic irrigation or not. As I said, it's something I've been curious about... as an alternative therapist you have to give other alternative therapies - over the years I've tried ear candling, rolfing, past-life regression, hypnotherapy, crystal healing, theta healing... why not give colonics a go? Why not?
Ask me about it tomorrow night - I'm curious about the whole deal.