Oh Rumi. Rumi, Rumi. What are we going to do with you?
Cats are funny (read "you wonder if you'll wake up whole") creatures to live with. Anyone who has lived with a cat will be nodding at that. They twist the truth, they re-write the code, they shed fucking hair everywhere. Seriously. Everywhere. A genetically modified for extra hair -shedding woolly mammoth could not shed as much hair as a domestic cat. Seriously. They've done tests. You want to know why so many shuttle missions failed? Cat hair in the intake valves. Really.
Despite all of this, you worry when the giant trolling food hoover doesn't show up for one of the meals that as the designated human I am obligated to provide. When he missed breakfast as well, I initiated DEFCON3. This is as high as you can go without seeing blood. Actually DEFCON3 really just involved checking under the house again and calling my mother so I had someone to talk aloud to as I reasoned through the last time I saw him and could that large dog roaming the street last night have gotten past the hair defences and 50 million razor sharp claws and actually have possibly hurt my missing puddy wuddykins?
A million million (is that a pentillion? No, it's a billion. What was a pentillion then? A billion billion? Huh. Have to ask the maths ref again.... anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, OK maybe 3) scenarios played through my sluggish and understaffed mind. I made a coffee and sat pondering life's imponderables on the couch (ie no thoughts at all, just waited for the coffee to kick the motor over). Riley watched. I could see he was weighing up the variables and figuring out if he was going to get a walk or not. He decided the odds weren't good and went back to bed, leaving me with a creeping sense of guilt that I had been judged a bad human and Rumi had simply decamped to better feeding and shedding grounds. I wrestled somewhat with my conscience. Tried again to figure out when I'd last seen him. Couldn't. Was it breakfast yesterday? Had he come in at all in the afternoon? What matter did this make? If a cat doesn't want to be found, you won't find it. I let the matter drop. There were things to be getting on with, after all, I was up at the crack of 10am and a day doesn't just get underway by itself.
Laundry is one of those household chores I like in that a machine actually does the hard work once you put the stuff in and press Go. There was enough for a whole load just from all the towels. Made toast, squinted, hung out wet things, stumbled to bathroom to open cupboard for actual clothes for washing and scared myself shitless when I reached in and it was warm. So help me for a split second I thought the Alien mother had laid eggs in there and I was about to have something horrendous force itself down my gullet and gestate in my abdomen until killing me for food. But no, I had woken Rumi. Not quite so different normally from Rumi really.
Which was how I knew things were pretty serious and he had been in that completely dark cupboard for a loooooong time. He stretched, gave a yawn, and strolled off with eyes almost completely devoid of irises. He ignored me. He made no snide comments. He made no showy exit. He walked around the house, he walked outside around the yard and came back, and asked for some breakfast. I felt very contrite, I served the special Chicken/Tuna combo he doesn't get very often. He ate a little to show there were no hard feelings, drank some water and sat on the back step. Not cleaning himself, not anything.
Eerie.
A tumbleweed rolled through the tableau.
Riley, quite pointedly, was no where to be seen.
Rumi came back inside and ate a little more of breakfast. He sat and turned to me.
"Here it comes" I thought "the reaming to end it all."
He looked me in the eye for a moment and said, "Don't let that happen again." and left to lay under the house until dinner.
"I won't. I promise." I said to his retreating tail and went to unblock the washing machine of cat hair.
Showing posts with label Riley. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Riley. Show all posts
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Sunday, January 04, 2009
A Mediocre Daughter
The alarm went off at 7.30am this morning.
Why so early on a Sunday? You may well ask.
It was a misguided ploy to emotionally prepare myself for the 6.30am start tomorrow. It worked in that Rumi got fed and Riley and I went to the loo (not in the same place, obviously) but it didn't work insomuch as all of this was achieved in a mumbling stumble with eyes mostly closed and earplugs firmly in place so that we could all fall back onto the Heaven Mattress and slumber peacefully on for another 2 hours or so. I mean there's being conscientious about work, and then there's down-right silliness.
Last Day Blues
In atonement for this (pretty much expected) lapse and over the morning cuppa, I wrote out two lists - all the things for today and all the things for tomorrow when I'm back at work. As my little Sister's taken to saying "You need to bring your 'A' game." Ok, Game On.
Hence the two lists. They each were three quarters of an A4 page. Daunting. Even broken up into little steps and next actions - it still seemed too long. Then I noticed that the more little steps I used, the longer the freakin thing got - it's a zero-sum game. You can either have a really short snappy list with massively dense action lines, or nice sweet action lines of 15 or 20 minute tasks that you need one of those toilet-roll length scrolls to track. Nope, not today thanks. I'm still way mellow from spending time up at the farm.
Parents: You Get No Choice
I'd put off going to visit the folks. Sometimes it is easier to love people in the abstract than in actual smelly, moody, messy real life. But as Riley had gone home with them for a farm stay on NYE and I was missing him badly, it had to be done. Friday night I packed the car and headed up, and there was the most amazing sunset for the last 30mins of the drive. Really. I know they're on the taboo list for writing about so I'll just say it was operatic in scope and style and I had a near miss with an oncoming holden because I'd drifted towards the middle a little bit trying to soak it all up. That put me into a pretty chilled-out vibe (the sunset, not the holden). Mum had made a veggie pizza for me and Dad was already in his cups and $5G down in his imaginary friends poker game. It was cooler there and a cold breeze. Actually "breeze" is a bit of an understatement - the wind had pushed a branch through the laundry the day before I got there but after a few days at 40degrees, a bit of wind is no problem if it brings the temps under 30.
So anyway Dad cleaned up about three quarters of a bottle of whisky and mum and I cleaned him up playing "Frustration" (a card game where you have to complete sequential hands. This is the easy version - KA and I have a hard-ass version we play which we've dubbed "Cranky Pants"). Anyway the scores total came out at: Mum 2, J9 3, Dad 0. Unheard of. Much laughter and bagging-out of crap play was made.
Sadly Dad did not remember his crushing defeat the next morning, and refused to allow that it had come out that way. Mum and I had kept the score sheets for just such an eventuality, but he brushed these aside as fabrications. The power of the mind is a wonderful thing. Rather than dwell in the past, I gave him a haircut.
Made in China
I don't know if other people do this, but many members of my family have an aversion to hairdressers, so we have a bit of a DIY ethic for haircuts. Maybe its a White Trash thing. I don't know. Anyway, Dad had recently got himself some clippers (top shelf gear too - $12 he paid - new!) and didn't quite insist that I use them but whinged that I always cut his hair too short when I do it by hand. In a gesture of reconciliation for being a crap daughter generally and a moody bitch often, I consented. Well, you know the pleasure that can be had from holding a beautifully designed and constructed piece of technical or mechanical equipment? Something that seems a perfect amalgam of form and function? Right. Well these clippers are the exact opposite of that. I read the chinglish instructions - twice - and attempted to decipher the accompanying diagrams and then we were on. I fired them up and off we went. Enter the Clippers.
The Field of Engagement
My Dad has an almost spherical head and is pretty much bald. He has a Friar Tuck do - bald and shiny on top and a fringe of faded fine hair ringing his skull in line with his face. Dad likes to offset this feeble growth with what can only be described as a mammoth set of Fuck-Off Mutton Chops. These grow in the super-wiry white steel that now passes for his face hair and they stick out from his head much like Blinky Bill's ears. Needless to say, the clippers quailed at the job, but being of stout constitution I persevered at my Herculean task until it was completed. I then offered to run the Dragon Clippers of Death (albeit slowly and possibly painfully) over the acre of old-growth forest Dad keeps on his chest but this thoughtful gesture was rebuffed (somewhat rudely). Despite my concerns over the tools he looked pretty darn good at the end of this, but the really beautiful thing is that this entire procedure is always completed on the front porch so we can all enjoy the view and the "breeze". Oh yeah, farm folks do it casual.
In his own magnanimous act of reconciliation as I was leaving, Dad pressed upon me his two new prize DVDs - Dire Straights Live and Jethro Tull Live at Montreaux 2003 to watch and enjoy as best I may. Dad's not very good at initiating sharing, and he only got these last week - so it was a big gesture, and I couldn't refuse.
So today, instead of those do-gooder to-do lists, I've been pottering around doing craft and soaking up the vibes of Dad's tunes and you know, Jethro Tull can really rock a flute solo.
Why so early on a Sunday? You may well ask.
It was a misguided ploy to emotionally prepare myself for the 6.30am start tomorrow. It worked in that Rumi got fed and Riley and I went to the loo (not in the same place, obviously) but it didn't work insomuch as all of this was achieved in a mumbling stumble with eyes mostly closed and earplugs firmly in place so that we could all fall back onto the Heaven Mattress and slumber peacefully on for another 2 hours or so. I mean there's being conscientious about work, and then there's down-right silliness.
Last Day Blues
In atonement for this (pretty much expected) lapse and over the morning cuppa, I wrote out two lists - all the things for today and all the things for tomorrow when I'm back at work. As my little Sister's taken to saying "You need to bring your 'A' game." Ok, Game On.
Hence the two lists. They each were three quarters of an A4 page. Daunting. Even broken up into little steps and next actions - it still seemed too long. Then I noticed that the more little steps I used, the longer the freakin thing got - it's a zero-sum game. You can either have a really short snappy list with massively dense action lines, or nice sweet action lines of 15 or 20 minute tasks that you need one of those toilet-roll length scrolls to track. Nope, not today thanks. I'm still way mellow from spending time up at the farm.
Parents: You Get No Choice
I'd put off going to visit the folks. Sometimes it is easier to love people in the abstract than in actual smelly, moody, messy real life. But as Riley had gone home with them for a farm stay on NYE and I was missing him badly, it had to be done. Friday night I packed the car and headed up, and there was the most amazing sunset for the last 30mins of the drive. Really. I know they're on the taboo list for writing about so I'll just say it was operatic in scope and style and I had a near miss with an oncoming holden because I'd drifted towards the middle a little bit trying to soak it all up. That put me into a pretty chilled-out vibe (the sunset, not the holden). Mum had made a veggie pizza for me and Dad was already in his cups and $5G down in his imaginary friends poker game. It was cooler there and a cold breeze. Actually "breeze" is a bit of an understatement - the wind had pushed a branch through the laundry the day before I got there but after a few days at 40degrees, a bit of wind is no problem if it brings the temps under 30.
So anyway Dad cleaned up about three quarters of a bottle of whisky and mum and I cleaned him up playing "Frustration" (a card game where you have to complete sequential hands. This is the easy version - KA and I have a hard-ass version we play which we've dubbed "Cranky Pants"). Anyway the scores total came out at: Mum 2, J9 3, Dad 0. Unheard of. Much laughter and bagging-out of crap play was made.
Sadly Dad did not remember his crushing defeat the next morning, and refused to allow that it had come out that way. Mum and I had kept the score sheets for just such an eventuality, but he brushed these aside as fabrications. The power of the mind is a wonderful thing. Rather than dwell in the past, I gave him a haircut.
Made in China
I don't know if other people do this, but many members of my family have an aversion to hairdressers, so we have a bit of a DIY ethic for haircuts. Maybe its a White Trash thing. I don't know. Anyway, Dad had recently got himself some clippers (top shelf gear too - $12 he paid - new!) and didn't quite insist that I use them but whinged that I always cut his hair too short when I do it by hand. In a gesture of reconciliation for being a crap daughter generally and a moody bitch often, I consented. Well, you know the pleasure that can be had from holding a beautifully designed and constructed piece of technical or mechanical equipment? Something that seems a perfect amalgam of form and function? Right. Well these clippers are the exact opposite of that. I read the chinglish instructions - twice - and attempted to decipher the accompanying diagrams and then we were on. I fired them up and off we went. Enter the Clippers.
The Field of Engagement
My Dad has an almost spherical head and is pretty much bald. He has a Friar Tuck do - bald and shiny on top and a fringe of faded fine hair ringing his skull in line with his face. Dad likes to offset this feeble growth with what can only be described as a mammoth set of Fuck-Off Mutton Chops. These grow in the super-wiry white steel that now passes for his face hair and they stick out from his head much like Blinky Bill's ears. Needless to say, the clippers quailed at the job, but being of stout constitution I persevered at my Herculean task until it was completed. I then offered to run the Dragon Clippers of Death (albeit slowly and possibly painfully) over the acre of old-growth forest Dad keeps on his chest but this thoughtful gesture was rebuffed (somewhat rudely). Despite my concerns over the tools he looked pretty darn good at the end of this, but the really beautiful thing is that this entire procedure is always completed on the front porch so we can all enjoy the view and the "breeze". Oh yeah, farm folks do it casual.
In his own magnanimous act of reconciliation as I was leaving, Dad pressed upon me his two new prize DVDs - Dire Straights Live and Jethro Tull Live at Montreaux 2003 to watch and enjoy as best I may. Dad's not very good at initiating sharing, and he only got these last week - so it was a big gesture, and I couldn't refuse.
So today, instead of those do-gooder to-do lists, I've been pottering around doing craft and soaking up the vibes of Dad's tunes and you know, Jethro Tull can really rock a flute solo.
Saturday, December 20, 2008
House Sitting
I thought my house sitting days were behind me when I hooked up with Riley. The cat owners who needed their groovy inner-city apartments lived in and their fish cared for (with the side bonus of being welcome to raid someone else's bookcase/dvd collection) were to become but a faded memory of ephemeral good luck.
How wrong I was. In a good way (at last).
Dog owners like to go away sometimes too, and as Riley is of a very portable size and nature, we continue to have the odd job as house sitters. Last time the perk was a swimming pool, tonight it's a cable internet connection for entrees, followed by a Very Large TV Screen for mains. I am quietly confident Battlestar Galactica is going to look pretty darn good on that screen. Oh yes, yes it will.
So Say We All.
How wrong I was. In a good way (at last).
Dog owners like to go away sometimes too, and as Riley is of a very portable size and nature, we continue to have the odd job as house sitters. Last time the perk was a swimming pool, tonight it's a cable internet connection for entrees, followed by a Very Large TV Screen for mains. I am quietly confident Battlestar Galactica is going to look pretty darn good on that screen. Oh yes, yes it will.
So Say We All.
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Great Copy that works EVERYTIME!
As part of the research into my critic's comment yesterday (scroll down a little if you want to read that one first) I went looking for purposeful blogs and for possible topics of such a blog and gee-whizz there's a lot of overly sincere people writing mostly very dull things about nearly anything you can think of. So I constrained myself to about 2 hours looking only at copywriting. I must say that I did learn a lot in that time.
Hot Sex NOW
For example, I didn't realise how critical sub-headings are to the ongoing readership of one's copy. But many articles touched on or heavily emphasised this facet of writing. This seemed to jar a little bit with my view of the world, but then I discovered a hitherto unknown nuance - copywriting must be persuasive - it is promotional by nature. Anything else is just 'content'. Maybe this is where I've been going a little astray. I thought there was reporting, literature (or just fiction or story if you will) technical writing and then copy. Obviously my mental organisational systems have been limiting me. I read on and discover that not only does my copy/content not use enough sub -headings, but that when I do use one (as above), it's all wrong. Here's how that sub should have looked:
5 Tips to the Hottest Sex You'll Ever Have
1. Be really hot yourself
2. Get a really hot partner
3. Writhe around in a hot state of undress
4. Do it during summer
5. Buy my ebook for 27 kinky tips to set your love life on fire! Just $19.95 if you use this code: HOTMONKEYSEX
Wow. Do you feel the sizzle in that copy!? See that mad 'call to action'?! That is by-the-book AWESOME copy right there. Told you I wasn't wasting my friday night googling "monetise your blog for hot results now".
Mum rang last night in the middle of this mind-altering experience to give me an update on Riley (he's been moping around the house, bored and lonely - so he's gone for a mini-break to play on the farm until Sunday) and mum says "Are you doing anything special tonight?" and I am sitting in my jammies in front of the computer. I should have had the presence of mind to lie and say "Yeah I'm out at dinner with some friends" which would be a pleasant fiction for both of us. Sadly no. I say (with a bit more enthusiasm than it really warranted) "I'm reading about copywriting."
There's a cool pause.
"You're on the internet, aren't you?"
"Yes. Yes I am."
Another coolish pause.
"We found that bull that was missing. We put an ad in the paper, and it turns out he was about 3 kilometers away. He had gone up through Spicer's place but then must have cut through to the back of Joan's and kept going. He's up by Twohill road. Well worth the cost of the ad."
"Oh, I'm glad he isn't dead."
"Yeah, we'd started looking for a bad smell."
So after that call, I made a vodka & tonic and returned to the world of red, bold sub-headings atop numbered lists and people making outlandish claims about how much money they make EVERY DAY from ebooks and long copy and repeating the ask. Oh yeah, and the guy who insisted that no article of under 500 words should ever take more than 20 minutes to write. WTF?! - I mean I know 500 words is not all that long, but I can't even type that fast let alone compose a line of thought. oh, he says "I think about it and write it out in my notebook for a few days prior." "Oh", I think, "so lying to make the story better is still ok, and what I'm reading is story or copy - not reportage." Picky freakin bitch aren't I. How am I ever going to be tempted to click through to that ebook if I'm always thinking criticially?!
I learnt a lot about what people who call themselves "the best copywriter on the internet" think great copy on the internet is all about, but I don't think it's going to help me create the best possible 1500 words about the historic Cobb & Co Trail for a new tourism brochure that I need to give a client on monday . I think I'll risk not using the red bold sub-heads on that job.
In his defence, my critic apologised when he realised that his throwaway line had been a bit hurtful, but I honestly don't mind. I am long-time companion of self doubt and I think that's an ok thing to live with and make decisions with. He had a clear-hearted intention and besides, he's only little. As far as he's concerned the internet has always been there, it has always been huge, corporatised and socially networked, in a way he has been looking out for me - doddering dinosaur that I am.
We've strayed a little way this morning off the topic at hand and I've now been sitting in front of the computer (still in the jammies) for about an hour and Rage is coming to a close, which means it's nearly time to get the day officially underway. So let's wrap this thing up.
I really love writing. It is fun and it can be beautiful. I love swimming too, but not the same way. I can live without swimming for months at a time. I'm good at swimming and am naturally buoyant which helps (sometimes it rules to be fat!) although a lot of the time I like to just float and feel held by the water. That's what this blog is. It is my floating pool with a big sky all around and a nice breeze. I'm held here and it makes me happy. Sure there's the odd spider or frog fallen in, and sometimes the water is a bit frosty or i'm sick and can't get wet, but otherwise it is perfect.
So I think that's where I wan to be right now. Visualising this blog as a pool of surrender to physics and the sensuous nature of the physical world, participated in by the willing and friendly. So Come on in if you like, the water's gorgeous!
(BTW:Stay tuned for my up-coming SF thriller "Monkey Jockeys Riding Fascist Ex-Bankers" in which voodoo blood magic takes hold of a small community of Squirrel monkeys being kept for smuggling to rich collectors. These infected, possessed simians find deep roots and power in the spiritually weakened areas of New York (Wall Street) and take command of hollow primates to do their bidding. It's gunna rock out - really).
P.S. Buy my ebook NOW for 27 kinky tips to set your love life on fire! Just $19.95 if you use this code: HOTMONKEYSEX
Hot Sex NOW
For example, I didn't realise how critical sub-headings are to the ongoing readership of one's copy. But many articles touched on or heavily emphasised this facet of writing. This seemed to jar a little bit with my view of the world, but then I discovered a hitherto unknown nuance - copywriting must be persuasive - it is promotional by nature. Anything else is just 'content'. Maybe this is where I've been going a little astray. I thought there was reporting, literature (or just fiction or story if you will) technical writing and then copy. Obviously my mental organisational systems have been limiting me. I read on and discover that not only does my copy/content not use enough sub -headings, but that when I do use one (as above), it's all wrong. Here's how that sub should have looked:
5 Tips to the Hottest Sex You'll Ever Have
1. Be really hot yourself
2. Get a really hot partner
3. Writhe around in a hot state of undress
4. Do it during summer
5. Buy my ebook for 27 kinky tips to set your love life on fire! Just $19.95 if you use this code: HOTMONKEYSEX
Wow. Do you feel the sizzle in that copy!? See that mad 'call to action'?! That is by-the-book AWESOME copy right there. Told you I wasn't wasting my friday night googling "monetise your blog for hot results now".
Mum rang last night in the middle of this mind-altering experience to give me an update on Riley (he's been moping around the house, bored and lonely - so he's gone for a mini-break to play on the farm until Sunday) and mum says "Are you doing anything special tonight?" and I am sitting in my jammies in front of the computer. I should have had the presence of mind to lie and say "Yeah I'm out at dinner with some friends" which would be a pleasant fiction for both of us. Sadly no. I say (with a bit more enthusiasm than it really warranted) "I'm reading about copywriting."
There's a cool pause.
"You're on the internet, aren't you?"
"Yes. Yes I am."
Another coolish pause.
"We found that bull that was missing. We put an ad in the paper, and it turns out he was about 3 kilometers away. He had gone up through Spicer's place but then must have cut through to the back of Joan's and kept going. He's up by Twohill road. Well worth the cost of the ad."
"Oh, I'm glad he isn't dead."
"Yeah, we'd started looking for a bad smell."
So after that call, I made a vodka & tonic and returned to the world of red, bold sub-headings atop numbered lists and people making outlandish claims about how much money they make EVERY DAY from ebooks and long copy and repeating the ask. Oh yeah, and the guy who insisted that no article of under 500 words should ever take more than 20 minutes to write. WTF?! - I mean I know 500 words is not all that long, but I can't even type that fast let alone compose a line of thought. oh, he says "I think about it and write it out in my notebook for a few days prior." "Oh", I think, "so lying to make the story better is still ok, and what I'm reading is story or copy - not reportage." Picky freakin bitch aren't I. How am I ever going to be tempted to click through to that ebook if I'm always thinking criticially?!
I learnt a lot about what people who call themselves "the best copywriter on the internet" think great copy on the internet is all about, but I don't think it's going to help me create the best possible 1500 words about the historic Cobb & Co Trail for a new tourism brochure that I need to give a client on monday . I think I'll risk not using the red bold sub-heads on that job.
In his defence, my critic apologised when he realised that his throwaway line had been a bit hurtful, but I honestly don't mind. I am long-time companion of self doubt and I think that's an ok thing to live with and make decisions with. He had a clear-hearted intention and besides, he's only little. As far as he's concerned the internet has always been there, it has always been huge, corporatised and socially networked, in a way he has been looking out for me - doddering dinosaur that I am.
We've strayed a little way this morning off the topic at hand and I've now been sitting in front of the computer (still in the jammies) for about an hour and Rage is coming to a close, which means it's nearly time to get the day officially underway. So let's wrap this thing up.
I really love writing. It is fun and it can be beautiful. I love swimming too, but not the same way. I can live without swimming for months at a time. I'm good at swimming and am naturally buoyant which helps (sometimes it rules to be fat!) although a lot of the time I like to just float and feel held by the water. That's what this blog is. It is my floating pool with a big sky all around and a nice breeze. I'm held here and it makes me happy. Sure there's the odd spider or frog fallen in, and sometimes the water is a bit frosty or i'm sick and can't get wet, but otherwise it is perfect.
So I think that's where I wan to be right now. Visualising this blog as a pool of surrender to physics and the sensuous nature of the physical world, participated in by the willing and friendly. So Come on in if you like, the water's gorgeous!
(BTW:Stay tuned for my up-coming SF thriller "Monkey Jockeys Riding Fascist Ex-Bankers" in which voodoo blood magic takes hold of a small community of Squirrel monkeys being kept for smuggling to rich collectors. These infected, possessed simians find deep roots and power in the spiritually weakened areas of New York (Wall Street) and take command of hollow primates to do their bidding. It's gunna rock out - really).
P.S. Buy my ebook NOW for 27 kinky tips to set your love life on fire! Just $19.95 if you use this code: HOTMONKEYSEX
Thursday, November 20, 2008
A Damp State
Whatever the opposite of a drought is, it happened last night.
Flood is such a little word. It doesn't get across what huge stretches of angry brown water we're talking about. It doesn't get across the outside air turning into a wall of water for 8 or 9 hours and the resulting jostling for breathing space that causes on or in dry patches. You know it's wet when frogs are trying to get into the house.
Riley, Rumi and I sat on the bed into the wee hours of the morning. I was watching the rain turning into a lake on the front street and lawns and they were dozing - no biggie. The light would flicker off every now and then and each time spring back and that was comforting, but I thought "Somewhere, someone is really copping it" and sure enough this morning it turns out train tracks have been washed away, and we've gone from a state of emergency yesterday to a state of disaster today. I wonder what state we'll be in tomorrow after the next storm comes through tonight?
Perhaps a state of surrender.
Flood is such a little word. It doesn't get across what huge stretches of angry brown water we're talking about. It doesn't get across the outside air turning into a wall of water for 8 or 9 hours and the resulting jostling for breathing space that causes on or in dry patches. You know it's wet when frogs are trying to get into the house.
Riley, Rumi and I sat on the bed into the wee hours of the morning. I was watching the rain turning into a lake on the front street and lawns and they were dozing - no biggie. The light would flicker off every now and then and each time spring back and that was comforting, but I thought "Somewhere, someone is really copping it" and sure enough this morning it turns out train tracks have been washed away, and we've gone from a state of emergency yesterday to a state of disaster today. I wonder what state we'll be in tomorrow after the next storm comes through tonight?
Perhaps a state of surrender.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Didn't need the Evac Bag this time
Nature really ripped out a corker of a storm on Sunday arvo. It didn't seem too out of the ordinary where I was - windy, rainy, a bit of hail, plenty of water - pretty much a standard summer storm. But it turns out that I should be (and I am) very very grateful that my house still has a roof, because a lot of places don't. The storm was a lot more intense closer to the coast and the region has been declared an emergency zone. We got a concerned PM walking around and being emotionally empathetic with folks. The news told me that in Brisvegas it amounted to a Class 2 hurricane.
Holy Snapping Duckshit Batman!
Apart from the sensationalism and wow factor, the basic news is that Riley, Rumi and I are safe, dry and well. The house is a little musty from the humidity and all of us in the place at once, but there's nothing that a bit of cleaning on the weekend won't sort out.
Also, I've realised that my evac bag and process needs updating, but there were plenty of candles!!
Holy Snapping Duckshit Batman!
Apart from the sensationalism and wow factor, the basic news is that Riley, Rumi and I are safe, dry and well. The house is a little musty from the humidity and all of us in the place at once, but there's nothing that a bit of cleaning on the weekend won't sort out.
Also, I've realised that my evac bag and process needs updating, but there were plenty of candles!!
Friday, November 14, 2008
A Failure of Fun
I hit a wall this week. Ah, no - not in the car or anything. Emotionally. Is there a better way to say it? Plateau? No, it wasn't a levelling out. There's something that happens when tension builds up and frustration build up - and after a while you can't just keep working through it.
This week I had a nasty plot hump with the story, a bit of writer's block and "why am I doing this" and not reading, ok, well I'm sneaking some reading in, but no novels! Very little TV too and so it's just me and the blank page and the broken brain.
The word count has stalled at about 7300 (nearly my previous best of about 8/8500) it's hard not to wonder - am I choking? Do I really just not have this in me? Is this the best I can do?
Last night midnight saw me walking backwards and forwards throwing handfulls of papers into the recycling and asking Riley how nearly a whole nother year could have passed. He had no answers. How zen dogs can be. He's right of course, there are no answers, only choices and further questions.
Many other Nanowimo participants are already finished! Finished!! WTF?! Should I have chosen a different story? Should I too be transcribing song lyrics into my story or have a character count to a thousand? You think I'm joking, oh I assure you, these are but two of the fiendish tricks employed to plump one's word count.
Everything is taking so long to get out of my stupid head! But the time ranting and pacing last night was not completely lost. I had a little realisation. I'm missing the point. I've been clinging to my story and to my idea of what's ok. I'm at a writing version of Mardi gras with my metaphorical legs crossed and mouth closed. What a noob!
So rather than staying stuck on how to move Robin around Antrim, or what approach Soames will take to Eddie's abduction, I'm going to get back into it again and move through this invisible wall with my mouth open and my legs akimbo and get back to having a rip-sorting time.
And maybe just a few song lyrics.
This week I had a nasty plot hump with the story, a bit of writer's block and "why am I doing this" and not reading, ok, well I'm sneaking some reading in, but no novels! Very little TV too and so it's just me and the blank page and the broken brain.
The word count has stalled at about 7300 (nearly my previous best of about 8/8500) it's hard not to wonder - am I choking? Do I really just not have this in me? Is this the best I can do?
Last night midnight saw me walking backwards and forwards throwing handfulls of papers into the recycling and asking Riley how nearly a whole nother year could have passed. He had no answers. How zen dogs can be. He's right of course, there are no answers, only choices and further questions.
Many other Nanowimo participants are already finished! Finished!! WTF?! Should I have chosen a different story? Should I too be transcribing song lyrics into my story or have a character count to a thousand? You think I'm joking, oh I assure you, these are but two of the fiendish tricks employed to plump one's word count.
Everything is taking so long to get out of my stupid head! But the time ranting and pacing last night was not completely lost. I had a little realisation. I'm missing the point. I've been clinging to my story and to my idea of what's ok. I'm at a writing version of Mardi gras with my metaphorical legs crossed and mouth closed. What a noob!
So rather than staying stuck on how to move Robin around Antrim, or what approach Soames will take to Eddie's abduction, I'm going to get back into it again and move through this invisible wall with my mouth open and my legs akimbo and get back to having a rip-sorting time.
And maybe just a few song lyrics.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
Tunnel Vision
Riley and I were walking down the street this morning and it seemed like we'd been walking down the one street for a long time. Over and over again. There was the slightest sensation for a moment of being in a tunnel that has it's other end now joined to the entrance. Looping now and passing signs for turnoffs you'll never get to.
But actually I know that this morning is different to yesterday morning in a myriad of tiny ways and even though when we walk out the door we can only turn left or turn right - and that often feels very limited - well that's the same at every corner we come to on our walks and we end up seeing different things. This tree is blooming, that bird is odd, how weird are the clouds, the path has been brushed. LIttle things, but different enough.
It's at times like this when there is so little to take in, that I realise all over again how much I do take in. How much of this morning's walk I can remember (not reconstruct) and how much I am constantly learning about my neighbourhood just by walking around it. Then, being me, I turn this observation into a worry "I'm not stimulating my brain enough and I'll get wobbly and dim. Look how much it's noticing - my brain could be filling up on pointless information about yards and bins and cars!!"
What a drongo.
So I'm going to read more SciFi and fill my brain up with imaginary things instead!
A much better idea than watching the news I think!
But actually I know that this morning is different to yesterday morning in a myriad of tiny ways and even though when we walk out the door we can only turn left or turn right - and that often feels very limited - well that's the same at every corner we come to on our walks and we end up seeing different things. This tree is blooming, that bird is odd, how weird are the clouds, the path has been brushed. LIttle things, but different enough.
It's at times like this when there is so little to take in, that I realise all over again how much I do take in. How much of this morning's walk I can remember (not reconstruct) and how much I am constantly learning about my neighbourhood just by walking around it. Then, being me, I turn this observation into a worry "I'm not stimulating my brain enough and I'll get wobbly and dim. Look how much it's noticing - my brain could be filling up on pointless information about yards and bins and cars!!"
What a drongo.
So I'm going to read more SciFi and fill my brain up with imaginary things instead!
A much better idea than watching the news I think!
Friday, June 20, 2008
Can we find another Ace?
It's winter solstice time again. The mornings have been foggy on and off for the last two weeks - lending a slight air of mystery to our walks. It burns off by 8.30 and then the days have been largely clear and bright. I can hardly believe it's winter. The full moon is gorgeous in the bright nights and I'm looking forward to Spring when I'll have my outdoor-moon-chair set up. The yard is still not an enticing place to spend time, but it will get there eventually. Or I'll leave. You know how it goes. So for solstice tonight it's just some incense, a candle in the window, some pondering ont he cylces of our world and a good dinner.
Rumi the Giant Snow Cat has taken to eating Riley's dinner as well. Riley sits and looks on with a slightly sad face as if to say "If that's what you really want, I'm not going to stand in your way." Meanwhile, Rumi seems to be attempting to grow to rival Iorek Byrnison for the kingship of the Ice Bears, but somehow is unable to stand his ground against Tiger the three-legged tabby who's just moved in next door.
I have been forgetting things lately. I've found it difficult to connect the list of words I know I have somewhere in my head with the idea I'm trying to express. Also, just simple forgetting - leaving my lunch on the kitchen bench, completely erasing conversations, tasks that need doing, or things I intend to do. It's really confusing. The world has a different tone to it. I think I'm still remembering the important stuff - but who's to say?
Last night on the "7.30 Report" (go the ABC) there was a fairly sober interview with an Chappie about how the price of oil is just going to keep going up, and how urgent it is to start switching over to renewable resources and so on and so on. I sat on the couch, thinking how nearly everything in the house (and the house itself) is cheap-oil dependent. Me too. I'm cheap oil dependent, I think nearly all of us are. Anyway, I won't get onto this again, I'm pretty sure I've mentioned peak oil before, and immanent ecological downspin etc etc etc Al Gore etc etc etc Global Warming etc etc etc Carbon Footprint etc etc etc. It was just, to hear this step-by-step implications on the ABC and realise that these issues do still not have a mainstream understanding, was beyond sobering. It was shocking all over again. If Kerry O'Brien has to work that hard to get his head around it (or to feel confident that his audience has their head around it), and the pollies have gone back to ducking the issue, what hope do we really have? If we wait too late we won't even have the reserves to build the new infrastructure we need! Isn't anyone project managing this thing? There are critical paths people!
I'm not a big fan of humans generally. Obviously there are some stunning human achievements, but they just don't seem to make up for this greedy, self-destructive impulse that over-rides all in it's path. We could call it the Trump Factor. Like there's this idea in the back of people's minds that we've anthropomorphised "Mother Earth" into reality, and like all mothers we can either threaten her children or pay her off, and she'll back down. It's Trump Brinkmanship. we are going to fuck ourselves because we can't grasp the simple rules of the game, and we think that oceans of cash will sort it out.
*sigh*
Rumi the Giant Snow Cat has taken to eating Riley's dinner as well. Riley sits and looks on with a slightly sad face as if to say "If that's what you really want, I'm not going to stand in your way." Meanwhile, Rumi seems to be attempting to grow to rival Iorek Byrnison for the kingship of the Ice Bears, but somehow is unable to stand his ground against Tiger the three-legged tabby who's just moved in next door.
I have been forgetting things lately. I've found it difficult to connect the list of words I know I have somewhere in my head with the idea I'm trying to express. Also, just simple forgetting - leaving my lunch on the kitchen bench, completely erasing conversations, tasks that need doing, or things I intend to do. It's really confusing. The world has a different tone to it. I think I'm still remembering the important stuff - but who's to say?
Last night on the "7.30 Report" (go the ABC) there was a fairly sober interview with an Chappie about how the price of oil is just going to keep going up, and how urgent it is to start switching over to renewable resources and so on and so on. I sat on the couch, thinking how nearly everything in the house (and the house itself) is cheap-oil dependent. Me too. I'm cheap oil dependent, I think nearly all of us are. Anyway, I won't get onto this again, I'm pretty sure I've mentioned peak oil before, and immanent ecological downspin etc etc etc Al Gore etc etc etc Global Warming etc etc etc Carbon Footprint etc etc etc. It was just, to hear this step-by-step implications on the ABC and realise that these issues do still not have a mainstream understanding, was beyond sobering. It was shocking all over again. If Kerry O'Brien has to work that hard to get his head around it (or to feel confident that his audience has their head around it), and the pollies have gone back to ducking the issue, what hope do we really have? If we wait too late we won't even have the reserves to build the new infrastructure we need! Isn't anyone project managing this thing? There are critical paths people!
I'm not a big fan of humans generally. Obviously there are some stunning human achievements, but they just don't seem to make up for this greedy, self-destructive impulse that over-rides all in it's path. We could call it the Trump Factor. Like there's this idea in the back of people's minds that we've anthropomorphised "Mother Earth" into reality, and like all mothers we can either threaten her children or pay her off, and she'll back down. It's Trump Brinkmanship. we are going to fuck ourselves because we can't grasp the simple rules of the game, and we think that oceans of cash will sort it out.
*sigh*
Tuesday, May 27, 2008
Health Scare - Riley's Number Ones
In news just to hand, Riley was rushed to the vets this morning to attend to a possible relapse of bladder stones. Since the last surgery and subsequent recovery, Riley has exhibited no symptoms of crystallisation of his urine - the precursor to stones forming in the urinary tract and or bladder. However he started straining to urinate, and needing to do so far more frequently than usual and hence the express trip to the vet.
Thankfully a sample obtained (by getting between the dog and the tree in the carpark) showed a recurrence as unlikely, and a bladder infection as the most obvious cause of the symptoms. However, the infection may simply be masking the formation of crystals, so as his treatment progresses, re sampling and testing of the urine every 10 days or so will be undertaken. His treatment of antibiotics and anti-inflammatories has commenced, and Riley is currently in a stable condition and resting at his Leichhardt residence.
The owner is lightly sedated and recovering as expected.
Thankfully a sample obtained (by getting between the dog and the tree in the carpark) showed a recurrence as unlikely, and a bladder infection as the most obvious cause of the symptoms. However, the infection may simply be masking the formation of crystals, so as his treatment progresses, re sampling and testing of the urine every 10 days or so will be undertaken. His treatment of antibiotics and anti-inflammatories has commenced, and Riley is currently in a stable condition and resting at his Leichhardt residence.
The owner is lightly sedated and recovering as expected.
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