I started smoking again. I couldn't say no. It was a weak moment.
Stress, I was stressed.
Tuesday 29 March 2011
Friday 25 March 2011
Tum Di Da
I stayed up late watching YouTube. Tucked up in my bed, with my lap-top on my lap catching up on my English soap, Emerdale. I love the two gay boys.
You gotta luv it, tucked up in bed at night.
So, I took a sickie, you know, as you do. Sometimes you've just got to, it's called mental health. We should all be encouraged to take our sick leave, I'm sure we'd be a far less sick society if we did.
Oh, life is so meant to be enjoyed. My accounting firm could do without me for a day. The workers should not feel guilty taking their sick leave, otherwise you are just contributing towards the partners new Mercedes. Instead of doing journals, I did lunch instead.
Lovely.
You gotta luv it, tucked up in bed at night.
So, I took a sickie, you know, as you do. Sometimes you've just got to, it's called mental health. We should all be encouraged to take our sick leave, I'm sure we'd be a far less sick society if we did.
Oh, life is so meant to be enjoyed. My accounting firm could do without me for a day. The workers should not feel guilty taking their sick leave, otherwise you are just contributing towards the partners new Mercedes. Instead of doing journals, I did lunch instead.
Lovely.
Wednesday 23 March 2011
I Gave Up Smoking
I gave up smoking, it was a struggle this time. I dithered and dallied, but now it is done. He says confidently.
Friday 18 March 2011
The Black Car
It had been raining for the last few days, but it had just stopped for a short time. It was a momentary relief, for it seemed to have been raining continuously, forever. And, indeed, it nearly had. There had been just constant rain and it seemed to dull the senses, and tire the spirit making one feel dizzy with the damp and less keen on life, because of it.
The memo said, ‘If you happened to have been parked in the Flinder’s Lane car park last Friday, at around 7am and you saw a black sedan with the license plate quite possibly JM 0 something, or JN 0 something, or possibly YJM something... could you please call the number supplied. You may be able to assist with an enquiry regarding a woman who allegedly parked in the car park at around the same time.’
Amy was taken back a little, as she had seen the car in question. Jeremy Marshall, 30 years old. Her Jeremy, his BMW JM 030. She had parked behind it, as she had on other occasions. Amy's car had been parked in the underground car park from 6am on the morning in question. Amy had been one of the first people to arrive, but she hadn't seen anyone else in the car park as she exited through the back stairwell. The back stairwell was the closest to her office and it gave her a reason to walk the five flights of stairs, rather than being lazy and taking the lift. Of course, she could take the lift and just go back to the gym. Or suspend her membership, at the very least. But, using the stairs gave her a sense of, actually, doing something healthy, you know. Gym membership, or not. No further action required.
Had she seen anyone that morning? She didn't think so, she couldn't quite remember now, as she really hadn't take that much notice, as she struggled with her two bags and her leather coat – it’s all very well having a briefcase with wheels, but the stairs? Was she talking on her phone and therefore distracted, as she was so often as she arrived at the office? Yes, Jeremy had called her to discuss the two of them, she thought as she gazed at the number plate.
Would anyone else remember the two door car? She only remembered because the car meant something to her. Of course, the car isn’t a sedan at all, as it said in the email, it is a coupe. She felt relieved and then wondered straight after that thought why she should feel relieved at all.
In hindsight, that was the tactical phone call to sure up the proposal, later that night. She was a bit hung over from the night before, she remembered she was concentrating that morning, more than usual, her head ached, and she didn't want to forget anything. She must have looked a wreck. She laughed, at the thought, more of a defence mechanism than because she thought it was humorous. Lucky there isn’t any security footage attached to this email. She wasn't hung over on alcohol. She'd realised lately that she couldn't smoke anything, if she wanted a clear head. Although she hadn't stopped, it was Jeremy’s influence, so it was vagueness she was battling.
I don’t want to call anyone, she thought. I don’t want to get involved. What did she care, Jeremy had asked her to marry him, just out of the blue? Well, clearly not just out of the blue for Jeremy. Amy’s head spun with every bridle picture she’d ever seen, as she found herself saying yes. She deleted the memo and then emptied the trash.
She wondered if she should call Jeremy.
What enquiry could this be assisting with, she also thought?
If Jeremy was on the phone to her? What time was that? What could he have to do with another person? Woman?
She decided to call him.
“Jeremy, there is an email circulating around our office about anyone seeing a black car with the number plate something like your number plate last Friday morning in my parking lot?”
“Really,” said Jeremy. “Funny hey? But… but… I didn’t park in the parking lot, last Friday. I was at a clients all morning.”
Amy hadn’t really thought that the memo was referring to Jeremy’s car at all, she suspected that she was being a drama queen, open to salacious gossip as we all are now a days, that was until Jeremy had just obviously lied to her.
Still, he probably wouldn’t be stupid enough to park in the car park in the immediate future, whether he has, actually, done anything or not.
She felt relieved, of sorts. Her mother’s words came into her head.
“Stop mothering that boy, he’s more, um, worldly than you give him credit for. He’s more…” Her mother shook her head.
Tim, Amy’s PA, was dutifully at his desk.
“Morning,” he said, as he did every morning. “When do you want to go through your schedule?”
“Oh, give me a moment,” replied Amy. “I’ll let you know when I am ready.”
She closed the door to her office and sat at her desk and switched on her computer, hoping that work would replace the troubled feeling she had.
She couldn’t get Jeremy out of her head.
She decided to go and make coffee.
“I’m just going to make a coffee.”
“I could go down stairs and get you a real one,” said Tim.
“No, it’s okay, I’m in the mood for instant.
Tim looked perplexed.
In the kitchen they are discussing the email and the rumour of what it all might have been about.
“What’s it about?” asked Amy.
“Oh, some girl got her bag snatched by some whack job,” said Dave from IT. “Apparently, the whack job took off in a black Holden. That’s why they are asking for witnesses, to collaborate the story.”
“A Commodore,” you say?”
“I said Holden,” said Dave. “But yes, I believe it was a Commodore.”
“Oh, a Commodore.”
“Yes.”
That let Jeremy off the hook, thought Amy. But why did he lie? Why would a man lie to his girlfriend, she thought?
She couldn't stop thinking about it all afternoon. By 3pm, she told Tim she was leaving for the day. She headed to the local gadget shop and purchased a GPS. It was the magnetic type. The nice sales boy said she could just attach it under Jeremy's mudguard on his car. Once she had done that, it was simple to track where Jeremy had been.
She wasn't really sure why, but she wanted to know why he'd told her a lie.
Jeremy's BMW was still in the car park when she got down to the basement carpark. Amy felt a chill run up her spine as she looked at the black car. She walked to the back of the coupe. She looked up and down the driveways, they were clear. She opened her bag and slid her hand in. She stopped. Hesitated. Looked up and down the driveway again. She slipped her hand out of her bag, clicked it shut and turned and walked back down the driveway to where her car was parked.
The memo said, ‘If you happened to have been parked in the Flinder’s Lane car park last Friday, at around 7am and you saw a black sedan with the license plate quite possibly JM 0 something, or JN 0 something, or possibly YJM something... could you please call the number supplied. You may be able to assist with an enquiry regarding a woman who allegedly parked in the car park at around the same time.’
Amy was taken back a little, as she had seen the car in question. Jeremy Marshall, 30 years old. Her Jeremy, his BMW JM 030. She had parked behind it, as she had on other occasions. Amy's car had been parked in the underground car park from 6am on the morning in question. Amy had been one of the first people to arrive, but she hadn't seen anyone else in the car park as she exited through the back stairwell. The back stairwell was the closest to her office and it gave her a reason to walk the five flights of stairs, rather than being lazy and taking the lift. Of course, she could take the lift and just go back to the gym. Or suspend her membership, at the very least. But, using the stairs gave her a sense of, actually, doing something healthy, you know. Gym membership, or not. No further action required.
Had she seen anyone that morning? She didn't think so, she couldn't quite remember now, as she really hadn't take that much notice, as she struggled with her two bags and her leather coat – it’s all very well having a briefcase with wheels, but the stairs? Was she talking on her phone and therefore distracted, as she was so often as she arrived at the office? Yes, Jeremy had called her to discuss the two of them, she thought as she gazed at the number plate.
Would anyone else remember the two door car? She only remembered because the car meant something to her. Of course, the car isn’t a sedan at all, as it said in the email, it is a coupe. She felt relieved and then wondered straight after that thought why she should feel relieved at all.
In hindsight, that was the tactical phone call to sure up the proposal, later that night. She was a bit hung over from the night before, she remembered she was concentrating that morning, more than usual, her head ached, and she didn't want to forget anything. She must have looked a wreck. She laughed, at the thought, more of a defence mechanism than because she thought it was humorous. Lucky there isn’t any security footage attached to this email. She wasn't hung over on alcohol. She'd realised lately that she couldn't smoke anything, if she wanted a clear head. Although she hadn't stopped, it was Jeremy’s influence, so it was vagueness she was battling.
I don’t want to call anyone, she thought. I don’t want to get involved. What did she care, Jeremy had asked her to marry him, just out of the blue? Well, clearly not just out of the blue for Jeremy. Amy’s head spun with every bridle picture she’d ever seen, as she found herself saying yes. She deleted the memo and then emptied the trash.
She wondered if she should call Jeremy.
What enquiry could this be assisting with, she also thought?
If Jeremy was on the phone to her? What time was that? What could he have to do with another person? Woman?
She decided to call him.
“Jeremy, there is an email circulating around our office about anyone seeing a black car with the number plate something like your number plate last Friday morning in my parking lot?”
“Really,” said Jeremy. “Funny hey? But… but… I didn’t park in the parking lot, last Friday. I was at a clients all morning.”
Amy hadn’t really thought that the memo was referring to Jeremy’s car at all, she suspected that she was being a drama queen, open to salacious gossip as we all are now a days, that was until Jeremy had just obviously lied to her.
Still, he probably wouldn’t be stupid enough to park in the car park in the immediate future, whether he has, actually, done anything or not.
She felt relieved, of sorts. Her mother’s words came into her head.
“Stop mothering that boy, he’s more, um, worldly than you give him credit for. He’s more…” Her mother shook her head.
Tim, Amy’s PA, was dutifully at his desk.
“Morning,” he said, as he did every morning. “When do you want to go through your schedule?”
“Oh, give me a moment,” replied Amy. “I’ll let you know when I am ready.”
She closed the door to her office and sat at her desk and switched on her computer, hoping that work would replace the troubled feeling she had.
She couldn’t get Jeremy out of her head.
She decided to go and make coffee.
“I’m just going to make a coffee.”
“I could go down stairs and get you a real one,” said Tim.
“No, it’s okay, I’m in the mood for instant.
Tim looked perplexed.
In the kitchen they are discussing the email and the rumour of what it all might have been about.
“What’s it about?” asked Amy.
“Oh, some girl got her bag snatched by some whack job,” said Dave from IT. “Apparently, the whack job took off in a black Holden. That’s why they are asking for witnesses, to collaborate the story.”
“A Commodore,” you say?”
“I said Holden,” said Dave. “But yes, I believe it was a Commodore.”
“Oh, a Commodore.”
“Yes.”
That let Jeremy off the hook, thought Amy. But why did he lie? Why would a man lie to his girlfriend, she thought?
She couldn't stop thinking about it all afternoon. By 3pm, she told Tim she was leaving for the day. She headed to the local gadget shop and purchased a GPS. It was the magnetic type. The nice sales boy said she could just attach it under Jeremy's mudguard on his car. Once she had done that, it was simple to track where Jeremy had been.
She wasn't really sure why, but she wanted to know why he'd told her a lie.
Jeremy's BMW was still in the car park when she got down to the basement carpark. Amy felt a chill run up her spine as she looked at the black car. She walked to the back of the coupe. She looked up and down the driveways, they were clear. She opened her bag and slid her hand in. She stopped. Hesitated. Looked up and down the driveway again. She slipped her hand out of her bag, clicked it shut and turned and walked back down the driveway to where her car was parked.
She walked directly to the back of the car. She looked around for a final time and then reached in under the rear mudguard and attached the tracking device. Then she just casually walked away. Her stomach was in a knot, belieing the whole scene.
Wednesday 9 March 2011
I Thought This Was a Family Site
I thought this was a family site, commented one of the punters.
WTF?
What on this earth made him think that?... other than wishful thinking.
It's funny how just because the government uses the "family" platform and just because marketers use the "family" platform to increase their respective market shares, with, or without, actually giving a damn about families, the general public, hoodwinked as usual, thinks that the world is family orientated. It almost borders on arrogance. No, really.
Let me give you the heads up, nearly the same number of people in society don't have kids as do and those who don't have different ideas to child friendly family values.
If you choose to have kids, great, that is your choice, but don't expect the rest of the world to be responsible for your choices.
The rest of us have different values.
WTF?
What on this earth made him think that?... other than wishful thinking.
It's funny how just because the government uses the "family" platform and just because marketers use the "family" platform to increase their respective market shares, with, or without, actually giving a damn about families, the general public, hoodwinked as usual, thinks that the world is family orientated. It almost borders on arrogance. No, really.
Let me give you the heads up, nearly the same number of people in society don't have kids as do and those who don't have different ideas to child friendly family values.
If you choose to have kids, great, that is your choice, but don't expect the rest of the world to be responsible for your choices.
The rest of us have different values.
Tuesday 8 March 2011
The Only Time
The only time we are truly relaxed is when we are sitting on the toilet. That is when you can just let it all go without fear. Any other time there is always a part of you hanging onto something, be it only a small part.
People like Madge Vickers-Waffle perhaps hang on tighter and longer than most people. People like her, the scared people, who can’t truly let go because they have Jesus setting the rules.
Most religious activists, whether they admit it to the world, or not, or if they spread the word by stealth, which is so often the case now a days, just need to sit on the dunny and pull their huge cork of self righteousness out of their puckered arses.
I tell you, they'd feel much better.
Monday 7 March 2011
Abortion
I've been reading stuff about abortion lately, none of which really made sense to me. It was all about the trauma and the unhappiness, but I never saw that amongst my friends who'd had abortions.
I've had a number of girlfriends who have had abortions, in fact, I think the majority, so I thought I'd ask them how they felt about it now.
Unanimously, they all said that it was the pregnancy that was the problem and not the abortion.
One said, she couldn't imagine being tied to the father of the child for the rest of her life because they'd had a baby together? She said that would have been the true nightmare. Now she is married to a partner she loves with who she has had children and life couldn't be better.
One said, she wasn't ready at the time, and a termination made so much sense. It would have been such a trial to complete uni and live her early twenties with a child. She so wasn't ready when she was found herself pregnant.
Now she has a beautiful son and she doesn't ever think about that first time. She has never had any regrets.
Another friend said, she never thought about it. She never wanted children. It was easier than having her appendix removed, she said. Quicker recovery time.
Another friend said, a problem? No. Why do you ask? It's not exactly like human beings are in short supply on this planet, now are they.
I've been reading about the pain an abortion creates, I told her.
No, it was the smartest thing for me to do, at that time. I never think about it now. It wasn't a problem. In and out in no time. She laughed. I think I was out dancing the next night.
Another girlfriend said, maybe if she'd already had children? Maybe? It may have played on her mind, picturing if they'd turn out like the others. But, she had her kids quite a few years after that and she never really connect the two. It was just something she didn't want at the time.
All of them said it wasn't a huge drama. They decided to go ahead with it and they did. All of them said the drama was the unplanned pregnancy, not the unplanned abortion.
They all said they were very pleased that they had that option.
You just fix it and move on, said J. It is as simple as that.
Sunday 6 March 2011
My Computer
My computer is a distraction from the real world.
Stare at the screen. Ever thing else is a dream. Me and 'you', is the only thing that is real. This is my world, and I love it so. It’s what loves me too. Loves me back, when I get it down.
My best friend,
in the world.
Dependable.
My rock.
(It just needs a cock)
To be the perfect distraction,
there you go.
It’s a ho,
with only eyes for mo.
It is love as I caress,
with my fingertips.
I finger it all day,
and it never says stop,
that’s enough,
do it to me for as long as you like.
I call him Mike.
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