The Aftermath

I went to sleep in 2021 inhabiting a vastly different reality to the new year I fell asleep into 366 days earlier. Mostly self inflicted. The way things are going, I'll be cleaning my cornices every day of the year.


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If you met yourself from the future, what would you ask your future self?
What if they wont tell you anything?


Not Procrastinating

I don't really have a new year's resolution for 2021, simply a principle. I want to get shit done faster, and spend less time on my butt.

Coincidentally, here's a few odd jobs I've completed since the year began.

I set up a place to mount my vacuum cleaner and charge it.

I set up a place to mount my vacuum cleaner and charge it.


I put these non-scratch pads on the bottom of my chair legs.

I put these non-scratch pads on the bottom of my chair legs.


I removed a dog door that for some reason led into the garage.

I removed a dog door that for some reason led into the garage.


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20th Day Off Work

Bird, bicycle, beer, book, beer, buddy, book, bicycle.

image 2173 from bradism.com

21st Day Off Work

A snippet of Nash's thoughts today:

Bird, Bird, Bird, Bird, Bird

image 2174 from bradism.com

(And last night too).

I sacrificed 20 minutes of my life to rescuing a bird. I suspect it will be euthanized. That doesn't mean it was a waste of time.

On Repeat Is Right

With some pandemic influence.

image 2175 from bradism.com

This year I might crack a century.

The Farmer's Market in the Time of COVID

I listened to a podcast about the aspirational class late last week, and sure enough this morning I found myself visiting a local farmer's market in order to spend more on what can be bought for less. Perhaps experiencing trays of local fruit and vegetables, along with enticing treats and organic coffee would make more vibrant the grey days of working at home, alone in my study with my computer and a Nestle brand coffee machine and Coles brand corn kernels. Here I could buy produce direct from the person who grew it - without wholesalers or middlemen - as long as I remained 1.5 metres apart from them at all times. The SEO optimised website had promised a sense of community, and as I passed between food trucks and ducked under 1.9 metre high gazebos there were genuine smiles from behind the face masks, unlike the real supermarket where the self-service checkout machines clearly fake theirs.

At least, I hope the smiles were genuine. Most of the clientele around us had a cultivated, shabby chic which kind of matched the odd-shaped heirloom tomatoes, the dry aged beef, and the undersized summer apples we passed, which in hindsight I can see were also a little shabby and definitely cultivated. It was easy to feel out of place, unlike my home, with my computer and a Nestle brand coffee machine. At least the pod machine doesn't try to sneakily upsell me tiny cookies after I start to pay for our morning cups.

image 2178 from bradism.com

The real test would be how did it taste? Would this experience uplift my sense of self beyond the dross of being an adult all the time, and living in 2021 to boot? My bag of nurtured capsicums, Lebanese cucumbers (a complete misnomer), a sealed plastic bag of lettuce leaves grown in the time-honoured, traditional South Australian way (hydroponically) all went into my Sunday salad. The first forkful, well, about as delicious as something can be considering the circumstances.

image 2177 from bradism.com

Hopefully if I keep checking in with the COVID Safe App every time I go the government will let me know how many pesticide free tins of artisan four bean mix I buy throughout the year.

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