You’ll definitely have noticed by now the decline in breakfast related entries on my journal over the past twelve months. The root cause of this has been the crack in my tooth which ran all the way to the nerve. Like most of my injuries, this appeared from the ether like the misdirected spell and neither filling nor crown were able to relieve the symptoms of pain whenever I bit down on something small and firmer than peach flesh. This excluded all the good breakfast cereals.

First thing this morning I munched down on berries, yogurt, and a bowl full of crushed up Weet Bix, rolled oats, and muesli complete with flaxseed clusters and pepitas. And I had no pain. Later, I sucked down mouthfuls of Bhuja nut mix with sultanas with no regard to which side of my mouth the nuts and grains should be masticated. This was amazing. For the first time in over a year I was able to chomp without lightning bolts of agony racing down my jaw. A shroud was lifted. I felt like I might not be a completely broken down human being existing on this planet out of habit.

And the secret to this turnaround? It was simply to pay an endodontist thousands of dollars to drill a small hole in me and extract out the pulp of nerves and blood vessels in my tooth that were connected to the pain centre in my brain. That was it! I can’t believe how easy it was. What else can I get root canaled? My hamstring tendon? My lumbar spine? My iliotibial band? My Western Bulldogs fandom 2007-2010? And after all that, my wallet?

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The woman with the fake tan stepped into my office, sat across from my desk and lit a cigarette.
At least, she would, sometime in the next 20 minutes. Smelling the future has advantages, but precision isn’t one of them.


Someone once told me, and I'm paraphrasing a little, "Brad, your journal entries are terrible but sometimes the last line is good."

Could this be correct? Is almost everything I write simply dross that delays a fleeting, tingly nugget of brilliant literacy?

To find out, I wrote a program to take the last sentence from 15 random entries and to combine them into, apparently, what will be my greatest journal entry ever.

The Last Sentences
What an empowering and humid day.

I may not have a nice whiff for the next few weeks, but today things have stunk as good as ever. I will get there, eat Sizzler, catch up with cousins, watch Bulldogs, eat more sizzler, drive home. Hopefully I didn't just earthquake jinx myself.

I microwaved my lunch in the office kitchen today like I was James Bond. It took me about five minutes to fill the sanitary bag with shampoo, but it should be at least five weeks before I've emptied it again. Oh, and did you know it's possible to talk on the phone for 30 minutes? The shell... it's actually a beard!
"A Mochary," he whispered.
Coffee and sunset has become like red and purple clothing, I like both, but never at the same time.

Good work you fucking moron.

So there I was, down $125 but happy at least in the balance of the world. And as I lay there, with practically the cooked contents of a children's petting zoo in my stomach, I realised why it was that the animals don't like Christmas, and why I do.

This Summer

This Summer has brought 400mls of rain, in between days of warm sunshine and greenhouse like humidity. When I lie in bed early in the morning I can fucking hear the lawn photosynthesizing. This bothers me, because I have to mow it, and I hate mowing. I mowed for two hours today and I scowled at every plant I passed.

The five day forecast is for up to 110mls of rain and a mean daily maximum of 27 degrees. That's terrifying. You can actually see the grass growing in the hours after a storm, thickening and creeping further and further up the back stairs.

I am never going to use the phrase "like watching grass grow" to describe something boring again. From now on it will mean "horrifying". Someone will be, like, "Brad, did you see one of the Western Bulldogs dislocate both his knees in the first quarter of Saturday's game?" and I will reply, "I did, I saw the super slow-motion replay and you can see the bulge of the tendons as they lose grip of the knee cap. It was horrifying. It was like watching grass grow."

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Key Point

I've had quite a few keyrings over my life so far. There's usually been a queue and - during my high school years - there has been a rotation too. So it was a little strange a month ago to notice that I had no keyring. I think the last one to be on there was a Western Bulldogs one but I haven't seen that one since September. My keys now said nothing about my personality except that I drove an Australian car.
Then Chow went to Europe and made it a competition to guess how many kilos he would gain while he was over there. I won, and yesterday in the mail I found this:

image 991 from bradism.com

Thanks Chow. Now the people at airport parking will have an insight into what makes me Brad.

Looking Alive

Another week down. Another Western Bulldogs reference inserted into a Rip It Up review.

Salary Cap

I'm excited about football.
The Western Bulldogs called me today. They wanted money. It was nice to speak to them.
I looked at the odds on Betfair for teams making the Top 8. The Bulldogs were 1.22, and assuming they make it payout would be at the end of August which is just under seven months. That seems way better than a term deposit. But there's always the risk they don't make it.

I think the only way they won't make finals this year is if I bet all my money on them making it.
They're playing an intra-club match on Saturday. If I could bet on them winning that I would.

Also I'm going to put it out there, not joining Fantasy Footy is like the best thing you can do to give yourself more free time over winter.

Not Pretty Enough

Since Thursday some time I've had two journal entries in my head for tonight, one for if the Bulldogs won and one for if the Bulldogs got thrashed.

I guess I was hoping - and I'm not saying life has been rough lately, but - with all the injury crap and work crap I've put up with the last 12 months I was hoping some of that energy might be channeling into the Bulldogs. Like, SURPRISE! Remember 2009? When you got railroaded into a shitty job and couldn't even lift weights or play basketball to relieve the stress? Remember it good, because that's when the Dogs won the premiership.

As discussed in a previous entry, I know I take following that team far too seriously in lieu of other passions, but it's for the best. My heart-rate was triple what any normal person's would be like watching the TV on a Friday night. I probably burned 1000 calories. At the same moment Vanessa fell asleep.

Still, I'm proud of my team. As someone who's been on basketball teams who finished top only to plummet out in finals, I know that failure and commitment don't correlate. There's always next year. When I wake up it will no longer be Winter.


I don't have a religion. I'm not a member of any social clubs, political groups, knitting circles or even sports teams at the moment. I have hobbies and interests whose priorities I interchange everytime procrastination rears. I don't really have an outlet for passion in anything I do. I wouldn't even have a problem giving up working in IT for the rest of my life if an economical alternative presented itself. There's no browser, programming language or operating system I feel the need to be fanatical about. My passion outlet, the one thing I am fanatical about without having any direct control over, is football. I love the Western Bulldogs.

I'm not even sure how I became so enamored with a club from a region that neither I or relative have any connection to. Particularly given they're so unsuccessful and unrewarding to follow. All I know is that I pay hundreds each year to watch them, be a member of their organisation and attend their games.

I am emotionally invested. It's why I get so jittery on week's like this, where they actually play finals and I have to decide whether I should believe that they have a chance. It's like a financial investment, imagine that you put $100 every month into shares of a company that have released two financial reports in the past decade. You'll get antsy.

Nevertheless, they lost today. Despite everything I did to try and not jinx them. I feel disappointed by the Bulldogs, but not let down. Like I was their Dad and they spent every hour talking about the game at home this week. Then when it was time to play they tried but didn't win. I feel like they did their best and didn't win, but we're not going to Pizza Hut on the way home.

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