Note 8

It's been a week since I posted anything, so I decided to write this much, then let auto-correct take the weight off your spine and a ranch house was both old and a ranch house.


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The Tic-Tac of Life's Unstoppable Clock

I finished a box of tic-tacs today. I don't remember when I bought them. March sometime, maybe before Marion Bay.

I was like, damn, it took me four weeks to eat a box of tic-tacs. In high school I'd do the same size box in four hours. How quickly things change over eighteen years.

Summer, Heel!

They say if you love something, set it free. If it comes back it’s yours. If not, it was never meant to be.

image 1686 from bradism.com

I guess summer loves me.

I wonder if my dog would come back...

Everything's Going to be All White

Yet another work day, another moment with the wardrobe to decide which shirt I would wear to the office.

The white one. Only worn once before, still crisp in colour and shape. It matched the pants I was already wearing. I calculated the hazards as I slipped it on. Smoothie for breakfast, curry for lunch. Two coffees. A juicy apple for morning tea. Rain. All might bring a stain of shame. Without care, anything could leave a mark on the cotton-ivory wasteland of my chest. I wouldn't be back in front of the wardrobe for ten hours.

I chose white. I chose risk. If you never take chances in life, are you truly living? I wanted to be my best me. My best me wore bright, white polos and brown slacks. My best me ate healthy breakfasts, and posted good journal entries.

I microwaved the frozen berries a few seconds longer than usual. The weather outside looked gloomy and I was aiming to make a smoothie that wouldn't freeze my fresh optimism for the day. I removed the berries from the microwave and a raspberry fell from the bowl and struck me between the tits, literally one minute and ten seconds since I put on the shirt.

Maybe I should have been upset, frustrated, angry. I laughed. I chortled a good minute before picking out a blue shirt which I wore the rest of the day without a fleck or smudge getting near it.

I thought about it, and I think this is how I'll react to my own death too. Every day I leave the house, presuming she'll be right. All it could take is one slip up, one mistake, and I'll be dying. And I'll laugh, thinking my final thoughts about goddamn journal jinxes and goddamn raspberries.


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Drip Feed

I think this is my fourth last-warm-Friday-of-the-summer cold brew so far this year.

I think this is my fourth last-warm-Friday-of-the-summer cold brew so far this year.

A Bladder Full Of Golden Syrup

Giant Anzac cookie on a big plate.

See size of oat for scale.

A sunny Anzac Day left me pondering my own mortality. For the first time in ten years, I wasn't able to eat my annual giant Anzac biscuit in one sitting. After two thirds, and three games of Rummy, I let down Vanessa and had to put the rest under plastic wrap. My stomach couldn't handle it. Even the muscles in my jaw felt tired. Is this because I'm growing old (as they shall not grow old)?

image 1689 from bradism.com

Man, in 2018, Anzac Day is a tricky one, everyone caught between respecting the fallen, and wishing for a world where we'd never killed each other in the first place. Wars have no winners. I'm thankful I live somewhere with peace, where I can hike up a hill on a sunny day, let my dog run free at the park, sit with my wife on the couch and watch basketball. I wish peace for everyone, recognising that might be too simple for our reality. But I'll do what I can, and hope that next year's giant Anzac biscuit finds us all in a better state, and that I can finish it.

image 1690 from bradism.com

If we ever get an annual public holiday to commemorate global peace, I wonder what cookie there'll be to celebrate it and how big Vanessa will bake it.

My Weekend In Melbourne

A mug of coffee on a table next to a notebook.

Coffee, Writing...


A man with the face of a little girl, and a little girl with the face of a man.

Family...