Aye currumba - these new people - darn them - they leave no signs. No checklists with insultingly large ticks. No leaving the grill door open so you know they've been. Nothing. Nada. I have to wait (and anticipate) a letter containing disheartening comments. Probably they will say something about my old fridge which is currently residing in my carport until such time as I can find someone to take it away. Maybe they will insist it be gone in two weeks and come back and inspect. Who knows? I could care less. I am sick. I care for nothing. Lord please kill me now, so that I do not have to suffer this cold further.
There are no obvious coughs or running red nose to garner sympathy with. I just feel really really bad. I live on in vain hope that Glenn Richards will magically release his solo album over the weekend and I can at least die happy. (I have fingers crossed it will be out by the end of the year).
I am an embarrassement of a fangirl *sigh* I acknowledge my failings. When working the election hotline I mentioned him and Augie March whenever Shepparton cropped up or some other town mentioned in one of his songs. Even Melbourne airport was a trigger, cause the only reason I knew how to spell it was because of The night is a blackbird.
Having spent the last month answering questions about early voting, whether or not somebody is on the electoral roll and attempting to reassure panicing little old ladies about fines, I am afraid I am a little over the election.
I am still considering watching the coverage this evening, which will make this only the second election I have ever done that for.