Oh dear

I've been a bad person
*bottom lip quivers in regret*
bad
bad person

I will go shower and meditate upon my faulty sense of humour

Singing

For the past three days, I've not been able to get "Asleep in Perfection" by Augie March out of my head. I've been singing it on my scooter ride to work, at work, after work, in the shower. It's a testament to how lovely a song is when you can have it stuck in your head for three days and not hate it at the end of that :) (and to no useful end - they haven't sung it so far - doesn't matter anyway - something beautiful doesn't need to be useful, hey?)


But this evening, it is pushed out by "The Butterfly Ball".

It such a beautiful song. I remember always being ... stilled ... whenever it would come on television (not to mention the racket I probably made singing it). I think I remember somebody asking, or perhaps it being mentioned in an interview?, the idea of GAR covering it. And he said it was already perfectly rendered - why would you cover it - or something along those lines anyway. And that "The Mothball" was already an sort of rendition of it.

It is perfectly possible that my memory is faulty. I drink too much :)

ARGH

if I get any more bored
i may die
and then i would miss the Augie March show
which would be heinous
and i would cry
but i would be dead
so my corpse would be soggy
and perhaps when they are trying to shift it
from the wheelie office chair
it will splat on the carpet
and leave a red tinted blotch
and they'd have to think of some lie
to tell the lady who normally does the job
when she comes back from her operation
so that she isn't uncomfortable rolling her new office chair about
on my corpse stain on the carpet
somebody had a freak accident
they might explain
with a red ink pad and a glass of water
that co-incidentally left a body shape on the carpet
and perhaps she will be of a religious persuasion?
and she will think it is the shape of the virgin mary or something
and call the newspapers
and the square of carpet
with the redish stain left by my tear soaked corpse
will be bought for thousands of dollars on ebay
and worshiped by gullible religious types
who think it can heal them of cancer
but then it doesn't
and they die
and the sect collapses
and my tear soaked corpse stain on the carpet will be burnt
surrounded by disillusioned grieving relatives
condemning it as satanic
and then there will be nothing of me left

Thursday in Pictures

I couldn't find a hair brush this morning.
Kitten has climbed all the way up the carpted wall and onto the fridge for the first time. But didn't seem impressed with the view. Told her I'd brush my hair at work.Work was quiet. Prepping for notice board display for Health Week. Was cutting out letters on coloured paper, gluing it to more coloured paper and then cutting them out again. Don't know what people thought then they came in. At least I'd found a hairbrush by then.

I remembered I had my camera with me and took some photos on my way to my scooter in the afternoon.Kitten stepped back into poop again this evening. She defeated me in the bathroom basion, but I won with the shower. She was not impressed with me.
That'll learn her not to make faces at my hair, hey?

I don't remember drinking my coffee

Wake!
Calls the phone with its trilling thrilling ring
Leave off your glazed unseeing gazing
Out window, wall or where ever
Day broke ages ago
Afternoon is inevitable

Kitten Update

Kitten is still in climbing mode. The goal is no longer to get to the lap. She likes to hang from one paw from my trouser leg and bat at things and chew the power cord of the laptop. Am not going to make the mistake of walking around in pajama shorts with the cord dangling again. That was a little painful.

lol

This is hilarious

Unfinished? Unmade

Writ and loosed the words drifted. Bereft of proper punctuation they shifted. Like continents and long distant relationships, though with less of the frustration caused by one or implied inching destruction of the other. Neither one or the other. Or anything. Just a quick writ poem slowly disintegrating.

You just said a cotton picking mouthful

Is it Tuesday already?

I am scattered.

Bits and pieces of me cropping up everywhere - in the oddest places - in the kitchen, lounge, bath and bedroom. I don't know where I've put myself?

I should tidy up.

I am going to get all moldy and dusty if I'm not careful.

*yawn*
maybe later, heh?

Monday Evening

No doubt there are rolled eyes when I mention my favouritest band, and slurs of easy listen cast, but how can one read this and not be enslaved- sigh - and besides Gareth Liddard is playing support with Lucious - how much better could it get? I take back chewbacca slurs. Glenn sounds good husky too. He has my permission to keep smoking and even gargle whiskey if he so chooses.

I've just been imagining myself waiflike and dying from cancer for the past hour, just because I caught a bit of a story on a girl with terminal cancer. Judith was very good to me on my imagined trip to Melbourne, though she was getting cranky with me, when I'd tell people I wasn't well at the moment, but would then say it would be over soon.

I am in obscenely good health and my imagined cold was probably due to eating cheese.

Cheese makes me mucusy.

However, I cannot but think wistfully of my sticklike legs from the daydream encased in dark stockings, short skirt and boots. It looked bitching. Probably I should go buy that purple pushbike I saw at cash converters for only $60.

Pointless babble

Sometimes I just sit and wonder why am I still alive? Is it luck or design? Or something else? Am I an incidental thing? Background in someone else’s story? One likes to think there is a story. Narrative imperative driving life to an ineffable conclusion.

Why do I love the idea of an end? Closure seems such a luring thing. Every cry and kiss one step closer … is it only tempting because it implies reason? Like the end of a cosy detective novel, when all the players are gathered for the final denunciation -“It was him wot did it!” and characters are left slotted into their proper place. Obsessive compulsive to my core? Why do I want to be put in my place? Do I equate it with not having to think anymore? Not having to decide over and over again every day, what kind of person I am with every decision made and word uttered?

Truly, sometimes I am surprised I am not paying prostitutes to walk over me in stilettos.

Or in a cult.

Or still living with my mother, which is probably not that dissimilar to living in a cult.

Parent was trying to persuade me into having my wages paid into her account, so that she could look after it for me, and give me pocket money. In all fairness, it must be said - mum is a great deal better at handling money than I am. I’d probably own a couple of houses by now if I had agreed.

Of course, I’d probably also be mental and muttering to myself like whatshisface in Lord of the Rings with his precious.

I wonder if I would have achieved impassive meekness by now? Like the poor relative living as a companion to the crotchety old rich relation in Regency Novels. I’ve always kind of admired people who could do that. Or perhaps marvelled is the more suitable word. I get too cross and fall prey to the need to break something. As I grow older I find I am more inclined to break myself. As if I fault myself for reacting.

Pfft - it's been a slow morning and nobody has said the accidental photograph of a bee was cool.

*pouts*

I am sure something is going to go wrong

He's going to sound like a frog, isn't he?

It won't matter me being sick. Coolangatta Thursday; Joes whatever Friday; HiFi Saturday AND he (glenn richards/vox Augie March) has a cold ...

The only Augie March show I can get to in the last (possibly) tour and it will probably be like being serenaded by chewbacca.

Aye currumba

It's a good thing they are pretty.

Saturday Afternoon

My two young male cats have been desexed, but the two girls are yet to visit the vets (due to money etc though really it should have been the first thing I did when I got a temp job, but then getting time off to take them to the vets is an issue when you are temping as a receptionist and also lack an enclosed vehicle, but anyway ...), both girls are on heat at the moment.

My stop home this morning has proved educational.

Peaseblossom seems to still be able to .. um .. perform to .. um .. Mote's satisfaction. I didn't think that was possible once they had been desexed. Good to know one isn't necessarily totally ruining their fun, but ...

And when they are not writhing round on the floor in a shockingly carnal fashion, or chasing the boys about, or constraining me to either break them up or avert my eyes, the ladies wonder about moooooooooooooaning in a terribly loud and blatant manner.

Mustard Seed: mmmmeowwwooooooooooooooooooooowwwwwww
translation: coooommmmmmme fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck meeeeeee

Crying out for attention she slowly makes her way from one end of the house to the other.

And also disconcerting is the effect that a casual pat seems to have. If she was calm when I started, she is not after a couple of strokes and the whole writhing about and moaning starts again.

This is no atmosphere for a celibate aging spinster, getting a cold, to be in. It's a hotbed of licentious behaviour and incestuous sex.

And in front of the kitten too!

Aye Currumba.

Saturday

Whilst attempting to photograph my broken tooth (which is rapidly turning brown) for posterity as I fully intend to gird my loins and ring up a dentist sometime in the next month ...
I noticed in one of the photos that a bee flew past just as the camera clicked. Cool, hey? A swarm has taken up residence in the deserted, boarded up house next door - along with the pigeons and various cats of the neighbourhood.

I've been out to breakfast, but thought I hadn't taken my camera with me - but actually, when I got home, I realised that in fact I did have it with me and that I am just an idiot.

I went to a place on Palmer Street this morning. It seemed to be peopled with footballers and V8 people. Townsville is playing host to V8 racing sometime in the near future. That's about all I know about it. I have no idea who the footballers were. Logically one would think they were perhaps Cowboys, but I really don't know. I found myself a seat in the sun and was reading a book as is my wont and was sunblind for most of breakfast.I scootered to Lincraft and unwisely splurged on knitting yarn. Cat's were a little bemused at the wealth of potential toys that appeared within their midst upon my return home.
I know you can't actually tell, but this is the wombat kitten sitting on my shoulder whilst I am typing away on my computer. Though usually she sits at the back of my neck and snoozes.

The other cats have been teaching her bad habits. They worked out quite early on that if they knocked the dry food container over the lid frequently popped open. Kitten can manage it on her own now. She has to climb on top and jump off, to knock the container over, cause she is too little, but that gives her an advantage once it's down..Off to deck my hammock now :)

Does anybody want a scarf?