Ready to go back to work now

Dear Universe, 

I'm ready to go back to work now. I'm getting tired of dodging potholes and rabbit holes. 

The potholes are everywhere. Seriously, how are you supposed to maintain your car's suspension with these mother fornicating holes all over the place. They're everywhere. I know the Big Build was needed, but can't you take care of the small stuff? The potholes are awful. DO SOMETHING. 

Rabbit holes are something I should have better control over - yet they are everywhere. I'm trying to keep my doomscrolling to a minimum. I'm reading the news headlines but not reading things in depth - it's all too depressing. 

Social media has its joys and delusions. 

Today I watched as an acquaintance went full Dave Hughes live on Facebook. I wanted to reach through the screen, give him a gentle shake, tell him to get off the psychedelics and maybe take up with that counsellor the court was suggesting. I won't contact him. I doubt if he would remember me - but he seems to have fallen down a rabbit hole of his own. I gall at the entitlement. I would unfriend him, but the downfall is spectacular, like watching David Attenborough show lemmings jumping off a cliff. 

I'm doing a lot of cleaning. Today's job was the kitchen table. Amazingly, after removing everything, giving the table a wash, throwing out a heap of stuff and restacking the table, it looks empty.

The kettle which has been sitting on said table is being sent over to JB Hifi for recycling tomorrow. 

My crochet projects are coming along well. Blarney will get her blanket for Christmas. I'm not sure where the other one will be going. 

By the end of the month I'll have read 10 books. 

I'm writing too. 

In all, I've enjoyed these few weeks off. But it's becoming time to go back to work.

I've got an interview at 9.30 tomorrow morning. You never know - it may not be too long until this holiday lark is over. Wish me luck.

Today's song:

And so it goes...

In Slaughterhouse Five, Kurt Vonnegut marks every death in to book with the words,"So it goes."

Words of acceptance. Words of completion. Words of futility. Words suggesting there is more to this.

I'm glad Gloria and I went to the funeral together. It was a good chance the catch up and not get too caught up in various thoughts of mortality. Gloria is good company, and besides, her car is in need of some work. The drive out to Springvale around midday wasn't too arduous, a coffee was bought at the McDonalds drive through to help us get there quicker. 

Gloria also pointed out that our friend in the box at the front was the same age as her - they were born a fortnight apart. I can see why this would make you feel a little unsettled. 

Me, I was in attendance for my friend, his wife. Speaking to her the days before, she intimated that he was ready to go, that he as at peace. After 18 years living with prostate cancer, the last few years were not good. In the last few months, he barely left hospital and was looking to transfer to hospice care when he died. As I said, he was ready. 

So it goes. 

It's still sad. 

It was a celebration he would have enjoyed. We could feel him in the chapel, the coffin draped in his much-favoured tie-dyed fabric and his Aston Villa scarf, with lots of pictures of him as a younger man, with his family in Britain, and his time in Australia. I man that was hard to recognise, as I'd only known him for the last 20 years when his hair was grey. The only thing the same was the smile. He appeared to like changing his hairstyle and facial hair. He also liked wearing shorts, much to the snickers of the chapel. 

His family spoke of him as a kind man, generous with is time, slow to judge, wise and spiritual. He could, and would, talk to anybody. He had a big heart and a yearning for spiritual knowledge. You can't ask for much more than that. 

Talking to his wife afterwards, we spoke of the love at the funeral. He had got a say in the day, choosing the songs they played, nothing dirge-like. It was at his suggesting the coffin be covered with the tye-dyed cloth and football scarf. I'm thankful he had said something of his wishes in his final weeks. His wife had threatened him with a full Greek Orthodox service if he said nothing, being the religion he had converted to marry her all those years ago.

It did the trick. He spoke up. 

After a cup of tea, some sandwiches and a sausage roll, a chat with others from the meditation group we are all a part of, Gloria and I made our way back to the city, pleased we had seen our friend off and supporting our friend in the process. 

"The worst thing is the older you get, the more of these you go to," said Gloria. 

"It seems to be the case."

"They captured him well."

"He was in the chapel, I could feel him," I mentioned. 

"He's keeping an eye on her."

"Indeed."

A little later, I asked Gloria, "Have you though what you might like for your funeral?"

"Oh yes," she replied, "Something witchy. Lots of chanting and candles and incense to piss off the neighbours."

"And you in a wicker coffin, strewn with bright flowers and your mates dancing around you to sacred rhythms, with the bodhran beating and tambourine rattling. I can see it!"

"I might have to put that in the instructions. Death is so sanitised."

"It is. But I wonder how many times a coffin has been draped with tye-dyed material at the crematorium."

We giggled. It was so him. 

So it goes. 

What else can you do?

Today's song: 

Pick a card

I'm writing this on Monday morning as last night, the inspiration was low. 

Now, I'm procrastinating as I'm off to a funeral in a bit, and facing one's mortality is never fun. It will be a celebration for a friend - somebody I can't say I knew particularly well, but I am going to show support for his wife, who I know a lot better. My mate Gloria is coming around in about an hour and we will drive out to Springvale together. Although a sad occasion, he is now at peace after years of illness. 

Anyway, I pulled a card last night from the journalling deck which reads "What do people say you can't do?"

Hmm. 

This is a loaded question.

I say I can do anything. 

The internet tries to tell me that I can buy anything. 

I'm not sure if anybody cares what I do or don't do. 

If you asked me to touch my toes without bending my knees, I can't. Give me six months of flexibility training and that will turn into a maybe.  

Could I get into medical school? Probably not, but I give it a red hot go. That's more an age thing. 

I'm often told that I can't say this or that. I have a very selective filter. I'm also known for not doing what I'm told to do. It's part of my make up. 

Ask me what I say I won't do - an easier question to answer. 

Here are ten things I won't do:

1. Drive drunk.
2. Travel to the United States of America in the current political climate. 
3. Be cruel to animals (rubbing Lucifer's belly excepted, but that is just rage baiting)
4. Illicit intravenous drugs.
5. Subscribe to Murdoch media. 
6. Vote Liberal or One Nation. 
7. Burpees - under any conditions.
8. Climb to the top of Salisbury Cathedral to change the aircraft warning lights (I watched a video yesterday - absolutely NO WAY would I do that)     
9. Have children (that ship has passed). 
10. Tell you what you can't do - that's not in my makeup. I might suggest you not do something, but you're responsible for your own decisions. 

Today's song:

..............

Sunday Stealing is for Adults Only

 This set of question isn't really that adult - more like having to do adult things, which are more boring and necessary than fun. 

I'm just back from the blood bank, where I donated plasma. It was my 25th donation today - which means I got a pin and a block of chocolate. It's a nice thing to do on a cloudy day. 

Let's get on with the questions, which have been sourced by Sunday Stealing, as always. 

1. Do you have a college degree?

I have two. A Bachelor of Arts in Classics and English, which was done far too long ago. I also completed a Master of Arts in Writing around ten years ago. I have been lucky enough to use both of these degrees in my career. 

2. What was the amount of your last electric bill?

My last electricity bill was $77 in credit. I recently changed suppliers, and part of the deal with the government rebate was put towards your first bill. This bill is normally around $100 a month on average. The hot water and gas bills are normally around $50 a quarter - and these have gone up recently, only because prices have gone up (hence changing suppliers). 

3. Do you have life insurance?

Yes. Those sorts of insurances are attached to my superannuation .(I think the Brits call this your voluntary pension, the US calls it an IRA or 401K). This means I don't have to think about it much. 

4. Do you check your cholesterol on (at least) an annual basis?

Yes. My doctor runs my bloods around once a year. Thankfully I'm stupidly healthy. 

5. Have you ever attended a high school reunion?

Yes. Just one. That's enough. 

6. Do you have a will or estate plan?

Yes. I have a will registered with a lawyer. My affairs are simple, thank goodness, but it's been done and it's all above board. 

7. Do you remember when MTV played music videos?

Very much so. I remember when MTV started. Mind you, in Australia we had our own, home-grown music show, Countdown (like the Brits had Top of the Pops). I used to love it. It drove my mother mad. 

8. Is there a bottle of wine in your refrigerator?

Yes. I have a bottle of French champagne in the fridge - Piper Heidsieck - there for a special occasion. It's been there for years - I've had nothing to celebrate. I must change that. 

9. Have you been divorced? 

No. Never been married either. 

10. When you were 16, did you play music on vinyl, cassette, or CDs? 

Way back when God was a boy, I played music on cassettes. DVDs didn't come out into mass use until the later 80s. I do miss a good mixed tape. 

Today's song:

Movie Review: Digger

Movie Number 40 of 2026

The Movie: Digger

The Cinema: Palace Cinemas, Kino

Runtime: Two hours Eight minutes

Stars: 4.5

This film isn't going to be for everybody. It's weird. It's freaky. It's in your face. It's a rollercoaster. I loved it, despite it tanking at the box office. 

Here's the thing. Tom Cruise is polarising. I'm not a fan of his mainstream stuff. However, Tom Cruise in movies like A Few Good Men, Magnolia, Jerry Maguire and Rainman - roles where he's not playing the action hero - he can be good. Even great. 

Tom Cruise is great in this. No silly running. No overacting. This is a real, character-driven role on a number of levels.

The other reason people aren't going to gel with this is that the film is strange - until you get into it. It's very meta. It also has one of the coolest endings I've ever seen. 

The writer/director, Alejandro G. Inarritu, who's responsible for movies like Birdman, The Revenant and Babel, is know for strange and thought-provoking films. In many ways, Digger is some of his more accessible work. A dark comedy, highly satirical, barking mad but thought provoking. The script and cinematography are fantastic. 

As is the cast. Some of England and America's best and brightest pepper the cast - along with Cruise, John Goodman, Jesse Plemons, Sandra Huller, Emma Darcy, Riz Ahmed among others help make this very good. The animatronic cat also steals the show (even more so when you work out what's going on.)

Not to give anything away, imdb.com describes the plot as "The most powerful man in the world embarks on a frantic mission to prove he is humanity's savior before the disaster, he's unleashed destroys everything." To say any more would ruin it. 

This isn't going to be for everybody, but for me, it's going to be another one in the top ten movies of the year - but I like well-crafted bonkers films. File it under arthouse and give it a go. 

Today's song:

Notes from today

 It's 10 p.m. It's been a really busy day:

So far, I've:

• Walked 15,000 steps (including going on a walk with an old colleague along the river)
• Read a few chapters of my book
• Gone to the gym for a session with Chuck
• Released the COVID weights to another poor sucker for Cleo to torture her with
• Talked to an agency.
• Revamped my CV for a role that I don't think I want and they probably aren't going to want me, but, hey, that's what AI is for and you have to let the universe know you're looking. (I'm not sure I want to work in Moorabbin...)
• Talked to my shrink. 
• Talked to my shrink without melting down too badly - a couple of tears, but that's okay - expected. 
• Done some crochet.
• Did a mini food shop
• Started work on a proposal document for a job I interviewed for two weeks ago. 
• Accepted a HR call with another company for tomorrow. 
• Didn't whinge about the heat.
• Thought about cleaning the kitchen table
• Had two showers.

This being between jobs thing is busy. 

Of the blessings I'm counting:

• I am getting calls and emails about jobs. 
• I'm out of the bank I was working at - their press at the moment is awful.
• I've happily cut my Ritalin down to one a day unless I really have to focus in the afternoon - just enjoy the fizzy brain in the afternoon. 
• Some writing has been done.
• And all the exercise I'm doing is making me feel great. 
• Oh, and I got a big cuddle from the cat, who likes sitting under the airconditioner, looking like a very large cockroach when he's all splayed out. 

I told my shrink about the job hunting, and how the RSD (Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria) doesn't really come into it because, to be frank, I really don't care. I'll know the right job when it comes. It's not far away (touch wood) and I'm enjoying this stay in Windowsill Bay. It's coming

The cat showed his displeasure at my speaking with the shrink by hopping up on the table and showing her is butt. 

You gotta love them. 

Me, I've done 15,000 steps today and I think I need my bed. I've got to be up early to finish off this proposal document. It should come easily once it's percolated overnight. 

Today's song:

#amwriting

I prefer the back entrance, the one down La Trobe Street, opposite the gothic splendor of the RMIT buildings, just down from the Old Melbourne Gaol, where the ghosts of prisoners past reverberate down Russell Street. I prefer the back entrance as it's close to the loos, which are clean and little used. I prefer the back entrance as it's the easiest way to get into the Redmond Barry Reading Room, my preferred writing room, preferably upstairs in one of the corrals. 

Unfortunately, October is exam time, and the State Library is full to the brim with students gathering points and stomach ulcers for their ATARs by hitting the books. Finding an upstairs corral was impossible. Finding a seat in the downstairs area was nearly as bad, but I'd spotted a couple of perches and was able to snag one. From last week's experience, the main reading room with the impressive dome is filled with the pheromones of stressed-out students - and I don't need to be around that. The Redmond Barry Reading Room is more my jam. It reminds me of my favourite possie in the Adelaide University's Barr Smith Library, in a corral, next to a window with Samuel Pepys for company. 

The laptop fired up and plugged into the socket. The wireless mouse is turned on - spare batteries are in the pencil case with the other leads. My notebook is placed next to the laptop, the Yeti half filled with water, no longer cold, but the sign on the desk says no food or drink other than water, and the Coke Zero in my bag will have to stay there. I've always been too obedient.

I'm writing. There's 15000 words in this document. I'm second drafting. Trying to tame my words into something cohesive. I'm back with the dystopian novel. I've discovered formatting. adding, subtracting, smoothing the words, slashing paragraphs, noting ideas. 

Having the time to write is a privilege and an opportunity I can't waste. I want this for myself. 

Just as the job will come, and come soon, I need to take this time do to what I love. 

For the next week or so, however, I might have to find another library. Maybe Richmond, or Kew. Maybe go to the city library near the market (although that is dangerous for all the food) or the one near Degraves Street. Quiet writing possies are a necessity. Between cats and Fleischman is in Trouble, there are too many distractions at home. 

I'm going to get a great job and it's going to be great - but for the moment, I'm a writer of novels. 

Today's song: