friday morning

7.00am : Alarm on stereo turns the radio on.

7.00.02am: Hand snakes out from under duvet and stabs the alarm off.

7.06am: Cat jumps up onto bed and purrs loudly in face. Settles dirty, filthy cat self on pillow.

7.10am: Mr. T’s mobile phone alarm begins. Fumbled for and stopped.

7.15am, 7.20am, 7.27am, 7.30am: Alarms continue their beeping, chirping cacaphony, for approximately 3 seconds each time.

7.35am: Sudden uprush from bed as both realise we have left the minimum possible timeframe to get out of the house on time. Cat gets up also and commences yowling hopefully for food. Dogs stay asleep in bedroom.

7.36am: Put in contacts, get in shower. Calculate time required to wash and dry hair. Resolve to pull hair back into messy, um, ‘artful’ ponytail.

7.42am: Dry self, add deoderant and moisturiser to self. Look critically at self in mirror. Realise hair looks two shades darker than it should, due to dirtiness. Pull hair back into artful, um, ‘messy’ ponytail. Cat comes into bathroom and yowls in a heartfelt manner. Promise cat that it will be fed, just like every other morning.

7.44am: Add makeup. Clean teeth. Sing ‘I am evil Homer’ in a muffled manner and rock the ‘stirring giant pot’ type dance movement. Be mocked by Mr. T for the dancing. Flick toothbrush off front teeth to spray Mr. T lightly with foam. Yelp. Rub foot.

7.48am: Dogs get up and go down to kitchen where Mr. T is rattling their bowls as he makes them breakfast. Listen to cat yowling madly at Mr. T in the kitchen.

7.52am: Go back to bedroom to look for clothes. Find some black pants. Go into spare room, look through clean washing (which is drying on the airing rack) for clean underwear. Find Grumpy underwear (part of a 7-pack Seven Dwarfs set). Go into bedroom, realise have no clean shirts. Go into spare room, find clean shirt on airing rack, unironed. Debate ironing shirt. Discard shirt. Find black fine-knit cotton T-shirt which does not need ironing. Go into bedroom, tripping over yowling cat on the way. Realise black pants and black shirt is a little more gothic than required for work. Discard black pants. Find black and white striped skirt. Realise underwear must be G-string not bikini to wear under skirt. Go into spare room for more clean underwear. Find some. Realise have been walking to and fro for five minutes unclothed with all curtains open. Smile brightly and wave in direction of neighbours. Assemble clothing and dress.

8.00am: Mr. T departs, after feeding dogs. Go out to kitchen, where dogs have gobbled Weetbix and milk and are now hungry again. Dump dog bowls in sink and fill with hot water. Take dogs outside and encourage toileting in a bright and cheery manner. Wait interminably as dogs sniff every corner of the garden. Bring dogs inside and give them a biscuit each. Refill their water bowl. Try to feed cat, whose yowls have reached fever pitch and are now outside the range of human hearing. Realise cat bowl already contains fresh biscuits. Add one more biscuit. Cat commences eating. Curse at cat.

8.08am: Take dogs out the front to go to the toilet again. Put dogs back in. Collect bag, diary, phone and keys. Lock up house. Tell dogs to be good.

8.13am: Depart.

confessions

I am slowly making my way through my shiny new book pile, including Wolves of the Calla, which is Book V of the VII part Dark Tower series. I have already discussed my need to buy all available books in a series, which is why it pains me to have to say this. Deep breath. OK. I have heroically restrained myself from buying the last two Dark Tower books (don’t tell me what happens don’t don’t don’t) because … and this will give you a small clue as to my personality … they are in the large format paperback and my previous versions are in the small format. EXCUSE ME I MUST GO WASH MY HANDS REPEATEDLY OVER AND OVER. This is anal. I know it. And two of the books I DID buy were … I’m cringing myself to think of this …

… small format paperbacks to replace the perfectly good large format paperbacks I already own.

raindrops on roses

I am turning into quite the sporadic poster here. For which I apologise. …actually, I don’t. There will be no apologies! Damn the apologies! Damn them all to hell! Do I seem overwrought? I don’t feel overwrought. Apart from the bone-aching tiredness and the working and the travelling and the cold sore. Mmm, cold sore. My favourite form of herpes. (OK I am going to shut up now. Also, I don’t think it’s a cold sore, more a pimple just above my lip which has become malevolent and doubled in size. I think it may be sentient. Don’t tell it I’m talking about it.)

I have been to the Barossa this week, which is a wine region in South Australia. It was a lovely part of the country, also, the wine was a definite plus. Work conferences always go that little bit better with unlimited wine. Still, now I am back and to celebrate I bought a steam mop. Let’s get this party started.

Also, I went to Borders to buy a book and an Anne Geddes calendar (I CAN EXPLAIN, DON’T PRESS THE X, I CAN MAKE IT UP TO YOU, I SWEAR), and ended up walking up to pay with about five books. (I have new bookcases. which MUST BE FILLED.) Anyway. The guy behind the counter looked at me consideringly, then leaned across the counter and murmered, “Tomorrow we have 20% off everything. Would you like me to put these aside for you?” I promptly replied, “Certainly! I was not at all considering buying these! Please hide them behind the counter!” Score. Oh yeah, and the calendar. Look, it’s not about the babies. I can take or leave babies. Usually I leave them, which makes things easier for everyone. However, of all the small format calendars, this was the only one where the calendar bit goes Monday to Sunday. All the other calendars go Sunday to Saturday. This is the format of my current work calendar, and it drives me INSANE. I glance at my calendar at work, think, “Oh that project isn’t due until Wednesday,” then realise it is due Tuesday because the damn SUNDAY at the start of the week has thrown off my mojo. So through 2006 I will be staring at babies squashed inside flowerpots and dressed as bees. This is the price I pay for being sacreligious and refusing to start my week with the Lord’s day. I’m happy with it. Doodling moustaches on the babies won’t send me to hell, right?

the northern lights

Again I return! Yes, you didn’t know I was gone. I was, though. I was in Woolongong and then on the Gold Coast, for work. You hate me. You do! You should! However Woolongong was NO FUN as we were staying too far from the beach, also, weather was shithole and not much better than Melbourne. However the restaurants were very good and we ate lots of good Asian type things. Go Woolongong. Like Sydney, only further away.

On the other hand, the Gold Coast was great and I seriously, seriously need some annual leave. Seriously. It helps that my boss gave me one of the mornings off and I got to bask in a lounger and read holiday-lite reading material (in my case, Terry Pratchett) and swim in the pewl with its own waterfall thing. Also, from walking along the beach at 7am, I have a strange sunburn which is fierce on one shoulder and gradually fades to nothing on the other side of my body. 7am, people. I am whiter than the underside of a penguin. Except, now, with a jaunty red stripe. Mayor Pengiun! Miss Kentucky Penguin!

Next week I’m going to the Yarra valley and the week after that, the Barossa. It’s the national roadshow extravaganza! Starring, me! Don’t you wish I would stand up and talk to you for two days straight? In the end, I was so sick of the sound of my own voice that I was taking requests from the audience for accents. Unfortunately all my accents sound the same. Heh.