Geoff the Stoic...

 

I was driving past one of the local schools. I was thinking how the school day seems to end a hell of a lot earlier than it used to when I was a kid. Or maybe in reality it doesn't. I always wanted the school day to finish approximately 30 minutes after I arrived and not at 3:30pm when it was scheduled to end. I didn't care much for high school. I still maintain that I would have been better going straight from primary school to working and travelling overseas. But there were these pesky rules and regulations that necessitated me turning up each day and attempting to pretend I cared. 

Anyway - my point is and I do have one - as I drove past the school I was thinking about one of the high schools I went to for around 18 months - I'm an ex army brat. The school always gave one kid the responsibility of ringing the end of day school bell. At Seymour High School, it was a kid call Geoff. He was in a lot of classes with me - most importantly the detestable math class that was at the end of the day. Geoff took his job very, very seriously. I took his job very, very seriously because the minute he stood up at 3:28pm every afternoon, in that dreaded math class, I knew that soon there would be a reprieve and I'd be able to get the hell out of working out the whole algebra, trigonometry and whatever whos-a-ma-jiggery problem I was pretending to be working on. 

Now, the thing with Geoff was he never ever rang the bell early. He was always on time...damn him. This is probably why he got the job. The school wasn't silly. He wasn't an army brat who would, undoubtedly, in a free spirited way who gives a crap way break the rules and ring the bell early and then try and look all innocent-like. No matter how many pleading looks we sent him, Geoff, stoic soul that he was, did his duty to the exact second and never wavered.   

So, what's the point of all this? Geoffs keep us on track. Wanna get off the track? Ask an Amarinda.

In the state of what-the-fuckery...

 

So life has been very weird, complex, difficult, different and sporadic for a while. But that happens. It's probably all to do with the tides, the moon, what colour undies you're wearing, what fruit is in season, the job market and complex stuff like that. It's been trying. But I also keep trying purely because as annoying as life can be, I can be more so.

 

Jobs have been weirdly sporadic and since being made redundant last year, I've done a lot of diverse things. I'm flexible like that. You wanna pay me? Sure I'll turn up. No, I'm not much fussed what I do for the money because I'm sure I'll be able to do it because like any hired gun flexibility is the key and hell, longevity is not an issue. Like Darth McVader above. Give me a moment and I'm sure I can take a crack at the unicycle thing. As for bagpipes? How hard can they be? 

I got a call from the temp agency today to do some work this week and next. It's essentially telling people where to go. You know - directions - go left, go right, go to the far queue. I said - sure, no worries. One day I may get a real job but due to this cycle of what-the-fuckery that I find myself in, I can be a temporary person once more. Pay me and it shall be.

 

Er, no...

 

So, I just came back from the hairdresser. I like going there as I can read all the trashy magazines, especially the old ones from last year. I like to read over the horoscopes to see if anything that was predicted in 2013 actually happened.  I'm a Scorpio. It was predicted the following would happen to Scorps...

- You will find the great love of your life - er, no.

- You will marry - see above.

- Great wealth will come your way - er, no.

- You will want for nothing as the universe will answer your every call - I may have been asleep and missed that call. Was a message left?

- Your dream job will come to you in an unexpected way - negatory.

- The end of 2013 and the start of 2014 is your year Scorpio. I will be golden - it's actually been pretty puce bordering on blech.

- You will experience great periods of happiness -  thank god for chocolate.

- You and your partner could expect a bundle of joy - hmmm, if I could find this partner I would ask him where this ' bundle' is and what's my share.

- Your inquisitive mind will lead you down paths that will see you accumulating great knowledge - er, no.

- You will be spiritually enlightened -  no, unless the spirits were alcohol based.

- You will want for nothing - uh huh. 

I like reading my horoscope but on the whole, it's pretty much a load of bullocks. The love of your life? You find him or you don't and the world still turns. Great wealth? Never known money to come to you without hard work. Dream jobs? Ain't no such thing. Happiness? You have to be happy with yourself or at least give yourself a break and accept you can equally stuff up or star. Horoscopes. Enjoy them but believe them? Believe only in yourself.

Jeez Louise...

I changed the route on my run this morning and ran through the city. Only problem with this is you can see your reflection in the shop windows when you run. Yeesh. While the fact you can run without dying is a good thing, you don't want to be looking at yourself when you do it. Scary stuff. It'd put you off exercise for life. Exercise. Don't look - don't see - just do it.

"Exercise is done against one’s wishes and maintained only because the alternative is worse." - unknown

Out of the slums...

I’ve been doing the family history when I have time on Ancestry.com. My mother had boxes of records and I’m bit by bit going through them – scanning, inputting and reading. Every so often I get messages from people, who are related in some far off way to me and who have stumbled onto me and my part of the family. It’s interesting. I’ve learnt that tracing back one branch of my family to 1025 to the Throckmortons – or the Throckers as I like to call them – once a titled noble destiny in the UK – that a huge spin off of people come from this family and that six degrees of separation does really exist.

I got a comment this morning from a woman related to the Anthes side of the family. It was in relation to a newspaper cutting dating back to 1905. It was a child neglect case in which a child was found in squalid/filthy circumstances living in the middle of a slum. No child then or now should have to live like that but having talked to Dad about his side of the family history and hearing about some of the rough as guts people who struggled at the turn of the last century to make their way in a world where there was no social welfare benefits and the slums were only for the strongest and the most rat cunning, I’m wasn’t surprised to read this 1905 article.

People were different back then. What appals us now, was part of struggling to survive in a bloody hard world back then. If you think you have it tough now, then I suggest you meander on back to the past and see how tough it really was. I know there were a lot of light fingered people in my family. I don’t have to read the police gazettes report of the time to believe it.  I know some of the women earned extra dollars ‘servicing’ Yanks who came to Sydney during the war. People did stuff to get by. I can’t condemn them. I look at the greedy and selfish around me and I wonder – firstly – how they would feel being descended from people who did what they had to do because there was no one to try and sponge money off of. And secondly – would those people have survived back then? I doubt it.

You are who you are. The truth is always just below the surface and it defines who we are as human beings.

              

Despite the odds, we still believe...

I was doing my normal Sunday morning swim, at the lagoon on the Cairns Esplanade, when this Chinese bridal couple and their photographer came along. It was early morning and they would have been getting some photos done before the general wedding chaos of the day began. I tread water, not wanting to photo bomb the all important pictures, and watched the couple. He was in this silver grey 19^th century type frock coat and he had such a proud, happy look on his face when he looked at his bride. She, in turn, looked quite lovely yet nervous in a strapless gown with a long train that she and the photographer worried a great deal about. When the bride and groom looked at each other with such blatant love in their eyes I thought to myself, yeah, this is what people want to believe in and why despite every setback, failure and facing the odds and still daring to try, that as humans we still believe in love and soul mates and not giving up on finding ‘the one.’ That's nice.

"He’s not perfect. You aren’t either, and the two of you will never be perfect. But if he can make you laugh at least once, causes you to think twice, and if he admits to being human and making mistakes, hold onto him and give him the most you can. He isn’t going to quote poetry, he’s not thinking about you every moment, but he will give you a part of him that he knows you could break. Don’t hurt him, don’t change him, and don’t expect for more than he can give. Don’t analyze. Smile when he makes you happy, yell when he makes you mad, and miss him when he’s not there. Love hard when there is love to be had. Because perfect guys don’t exist, but there’s always one guy that is perfect for you" ~ Bob Marley

Where have all the good men gone and where are all the gods.....

So, at work, a mechanic type person got a metal splinter in his hand. It was all very dramatic and apparently intensely painful and I expect if Steven Spielberg had been there he would have been caught up in the drama and optioned the film rights – that is if the splinter was an actual splinter and not a teeny weeny speck that I could barely see. The bloke in question was apparently in ‘massive pain’ – uh huh – and had to get it out or he was in danger of dying – so he told me. The thing is he couldn’t shove the sharp, splinter get-er-out-er-rer probe into his own hand because he knew it would hurt ‘terribly.’ I did what any woman worth her salt would have done when faced by a whiner, I took the sharp probe, grabbed his hand, plunged it in and flipped the life threatening splinter from his flesh in a matter of seconds. He howled. He pointed to the speck of blood this major surgery involved. Sigh…where have all the good men gone and where are all the gods?  

Ah, paperwork...

Every day at the temp job requires a plethora of paperwork –

1. Type all the crap from one piece of paper into a computer program.
2. Click on button that sends info to an official person in another office.
3. Print out all the crap you’ve typed in then staple it to the original bit of paper that you took the info from. Why? I dunno.
4. ‘Get email back from official person indicating you did not scan the original bit of paper.
5. Scan paper.
6. Get another email. You did not tick the box on screen that indicates work all completed. We have rejected your submission.
7. Tick box. Swear under breath. Re-send info to anal twit…I mean colleague
8. Get another email advising the date stamped on the scan is wrong. All info rejected.
9. Play with mobile phone for five minutes while muttering.
10. Stamp the proper date five times and re-scan.
11. Smile when an email comes back rejecting the scan with the five stamps as it’s ‘not policy’. One stamp must be in the left hand corner only.
12. Liquid paper out four stamps and paint two fingernails with the white liquid paper.
13. Email to say scan sent all the time knowing it hasn’t been because you are following a theory that they really don’t want the scan. It’s job justification for them.
14. Email back advising they have no scan.
15. You email back ‘Please see attached’ knowing there’s nothing attached.    
16. They email ‘attachment approved. Please file all paperwork.’
17. Look at bin. Contemplate options. 

Gotta be damned you know I wanna be damned ...

  

And I know that I'm damned if I never get out
And maybe I'm damned if I do
But with every other beat I got left in my heart
You know I'd rather be damned with you
Well, If I gotta be damned you know I wanna be damned
Dancing through the night with you
If I gotta be damned you know I wanna be damned
Gotta be damned you know I wanna be damned
Gotta be damned you know I wanna be damned
Dancing through the night
Dancing through the night
Dancing through the night with you 

(Bat out of Hell - Meatloaf) 

I heard this four times today. Kismet? Fate? Someone at the radio station asleep with their head on the replay button? Still a great song though...

Goss...

I know for sure when working as a temp/hired gun in any office, people – men especially - love to gossip. I find being the fill-in worker gives people the freedom to vent their spleen about what they hate, who they hate, what’s going wrong in the company, which manager sucks, who’s sleeping with who and "did you ever wonder what’s going on behind that locked door with the warning sign, Amarinda? Well, I’ll tell you but tell no one.” Sure, tell me. Sure, I’ll probably tell no one about the locked door, the people screwing around or  whose fiddling with the system, the accounts, the lady who comes in and looks snotty at everyone but ‘we all now she’s screwing X and Y and just wait until W finds out she lifts her legs in the air for anyone.' Nope, I probably won’t use any of it unless I can use it to my advantage of course. I’m not silly. Know where the dirt is and stow that goss for ‘ron. Even as a temp power is knowledge.

It’s not just being the hired agency gun that makes people feel they can spill their guts. It’s me personally. I attract gossipers just by saying ‘hello and how are you?’ Call it a gift. A calling. An inner light that shines from me inciting gossipers to let go and tell all. Today, let’s call him, er – Barry – came into the office. I never saw him before but I said hello and it was on. He told me so much dirt. Barry, is somewhat of a troublemaker and flouter of rules. Barry also makes sure that the ‘system’ doesn’t screw him over or he’ll go on sick leave, claim discrimination, declare legal action, sit with his legs up on the desk or just go into go-slow mode to make sure nothing gets done and everyone knows he 'knows his rights'. I like the Barry’s of the world. They’re useful. I’ve used information from the-Barrys-of-the-world.com.

Yes, it’s wrong to listen to gossip to store information. Yes, very wrong. Thankfully, wrong works for me. 

Nipplese...

So, today I said to a friend that there was no way he would say ‘nipples’ in a serious, structured and formal conversation that was important. How did this come up? Well, you know, friends talk weird, random stuff about nothing sometimes. 

Anyway, I walked into the office later. He was doing a phone referee check on me – you know – saying how amazing, sweet, adorable, conscientious etc that I am and he used the nipple word very skilfully in the middle of a sentence without missing a beat. I doubt the person on the other end of the phone even noticed. That takes skill and a healthy dose of competitive madness. It also indicates that people often don’t listen to what others say and we could all be talking nipplese.      

Couples can't multiply…now it makes sense…

So, I’m starting this new 12 week program that’s all about exercise – which I do a lot anyway of—running the esplanade at 6am on a Sunday morning crazy—so my mindset on that is established—and an eating plan. That I have problem with as I tend to be a random eater. I need a pattern, a focus and a plan. I stop short of calling it a set of rules because philosophically I’m against rules and I enjoy breaking them on a regular basis because I can.      

Anyway, I looked over the nutrition plan for the 12 weeks and it all looks good but for the fact it’s all designed for people who are in couples. What the? I emailed the mob who wrote the plan. Their theory is there are a lot of people in couples and it’s easier to make each meal a two person meal. I pointed out that there are a lot of single, overweight people who will now have to divide all meals into two and be left with half a tomato, an apple etc. I was annoyed by their couple-dom message that came back and that couples support each other in their fairytale existence of married bliss-cue-the-bluebirds-to-sing-and yes, that would explain the divorce rate—and that most people are in couples.

I thought what a load of bullshit, prejudice and what drugs are these people on and then I had an epiphany – people in a couple can’t mathematically multiply because they’re so used to everything being already for two that it if was singular they’d be stuffed and not able to add one and one together. Oh....I get it now. It's an affliction.  

Couple-dom and numeracy skills. They never mention that in the fairytales.