A quick on tonight as I've spent far too long staring at a screen today.
But here are some modern-day conundrums.
1. How can the dentist charge nearly $200 for a checkup and clean that takes approximately 15-minutes? And yes, I do get that rent, insurance, hiring a dental nurse, equipment... but still. Thankfully, my health insurance extras covered a lot of it - but still...
Lucky he's been my dentist for nearly 20 years, and I've sent him some new regulars over the years.
2. Why does a day of what I call fiddly admin feel rewarding? A colleague and I had to send out nearly 200 emails between us today. A long story. Lots of manipulating spreadsheets and other stuff. But it felt good to do something mindless.
3. Why do I want to be able to do pushups on my toes?
4. Is it wrong to want to give your Uber driver 3 or 4 stars for no other reason other than they have B.O.? Due to tight timings, I caught an Uber back from the dentist. The driver was very nice. The car very clean. But he ponged. I gave him 5 stars regardless, but...
5. Is it law that when your cat crosses your keyboard you have to give him a kiss?
6. Is it okay to take blue cheese to a friend's place?
7. Should I let the book group know that so far, we don't have any Australian content on the list. This is not a good thing. I'm not trying to massage the list.
8.Why do I always have a split lip when I go to the dentist. Is this Sod's Law?
9. Why do I have the urge to clean out the cupboard in the spare room? Is this a sane idea?
10. How can I talk myself into doing my hip rehab exercises. Why is it so hard to get down on the floor?
11. Why do I still have the desire to fly off to Bali and do a sound healing accreditation?
After years of whining, I've done it! I've got a writing group! Yay!
It's been years in the making. I came out of the Faber Academy hoping that I'd get a writing group out of that, but what can I say - COVID - messed up everything.
Then last year, I approached a couple of friends hoping to get a writing group going, but then Darwin happened.
I know - excuses, excuses.
It took another try, after the Darwin contract was over, to get this happening.
Attending a friend's book launch and knowing that she was in a writing group with an acquaintance - a brilliant writer in her own right, that got me on track again.
Then, I ran into a mutual friend, somebody I know from the retreat. I mentioned that I was wanting to get a group going - for accountability, fellowship, to bounce ideas against... and probably to whine about my cat. She was open to it, especially as some of her works were getting published.
The friends that were contacted late last year got a message. A date was set. Then somebody else joined us. The new recruit was found at a writer's festival by one of the others.
Five is a good number. We could do with one more - but that is about it.
The date was set. The First Monday of the month. Timing is paramount as there are kids and animals and commutes home to work into things. We agreed on 8.30 p.m. AEST, 8.00 p.m. ACST (Adelaide time) and 5.30 p.m. AWST (Perth time)
Thankfully, we meet on Zoom.
And we're an unlikely group. An IT project manager, a lawyer, a doctor, a book editor and me.
Four of us have started projects. Interesting, engaging projects.
We've set down some rules. You don't have to share, but if you want to, keep it to under 3000 words for a thematic or structure review. (e.g. If you're sending work out, you give an idea of what you want to review - for me, I asked to have a look and see what they thought of the structure.). If you want a close edit - maximum 1000 words.)
But really, we're here for support and fellowship. Writing can be such an isolating activity, it's good to know that there are others out there who can be in the trench with you.
I'm feeling hopeful that the group which we've given the name the Happy Mondays, how much mischief can we, as a group of middle-aged women writers, get into?
"We've just heard from down the street. Bruce is no more. He died yesterday. His family are dealing with it the best they can."
My reaction was, "NOOOOOOO, not Bruce!"
Bruce was my mate.
We didn't see each other very often, but we had meaningful interactions when we did catch up. He could be flighty. He could be stroppy. He could be aloof. But he was my mate, Bruce.
I should also say that Bruce was a fat, black cat who lived around the corner would bale you up for a pat on the way to the tram stop or on the way home.
This afternoon, I went down the street to where Bruce lived. Sure enough, his dad had attached a sign to the mailbox notifying the neighbourhood of his demise.
So sad.
Bruce liked to be of a man of mystery. You'd not see him for ages, then you'd run into him regularly. Thinking about it, not going into the office as much meant that we didn't get to see each other.
Thinking about it, he'd have to be well into his dotage - he had to be at least 15-years-old.
But over the years, I've looked forward to walking home from the tram only to meet this chubby, black terrorist of a cat, demanding a pat before letting me through.
He was a friend to many, but if he didn't like you, he'd let you know.
He was a unique personality - then again, all cats have their own personality. It's just this one has been patrolling the street around the corner for many years.
So, vale, Bruce. We know you're up there sucking up to one and all, tormenting your new slave, like you tormented the last one. (He was very good at having his dad buy him new wet food, only to dismiss it after he brought in a pallet of the stuff.) You certainly made the streets of Richmond feel a little more welcoming. You were loved by many and won't be forgotten.
