Things have been a mite stressful these past few weeks, so it has been a while since I've ventured to StatCounter to see how people were finding me. Above and beyond the regular number of the usual visitors and blog explosion cruisers was this - Warwick Capper Topless. It had been entered in many, many times and inexplicably, kept leading to this 'ere blog. I have no idea why* - I've never featured him, let alone mentioned him being topless and I'd prefer to keep it that way.
Still scratching my head and leaving Adam the electrician scratching his over why our sensor lights refused to turn on at night or blazed on all at once during the day and sometimes also started up the loo fan, I left him being silently stared at by Milly and Skipper and collected the mail. Yes, my fortieth birthday looming like a dried white dog turd on the footpath of my horizon on the 3rd of November, but I really didn't need a specifically addressed piece of junk mail from Laubman and Pank informing me, "It's now TIME for you, Katherine Lockett, to get your eyes checked. Ageing rapidly causes the eyes to deteriorate." Happy Birthday to me.....
Farewelling Adam, I again sat at the laptop. As with most writers, I'm constantly expecting rejection but to get nothing, not even an acknowledgement is really frustrating, especially when the editor's PA has given you their address to send stuff to and you've been talked up to said editor by someone with a bit of clout. I re-read some work I was particularly proud of and noted, with a sinking stomach, that I'd actually written Sunday Fail instead of Sunday Mail. That might explain the lack of contact then.
After power-walking my red-faced embarassment into scarlet-faced sweat on the treadie to nowhere, I showered, ate and felt much better. The sun was shining and the scent of the roses in full bloom on the way to the school were particularly lovely. I'm one of those dags who actually does stop and sniff roses.
Picking up Sapphire from school and sucking on an iceblock with her in the backyard is always part of the day I look forward to. We tell each other funny stories; ooh and aah over how cute the dog and rabbit are and invariably do our own peculiar version of arts and crafts - today it was Sapphire crocheting a bird's nest (long story) and me doing a very bad job of mending an old black chemise she wants to wear as a witch costume. Life was pretty nice and it would do me a helluva lot of good to keep remembering it.
Later on, as I was back on the net looking at Melbourne houses for sale, she was in her room doing guitar practice. After the usual scales and songs set by her music teacher, down the hall wafted, 'I was made for loving you baby, you were made for loving me....' KISS. On recorder, self taught. By a nine year old. In 2008.
She eventually popped out for a cold milk and milo and to ask me a question. "What's pole dancing, Mum?" An answer - despite not being approved of - was at least provided, but no solution was available to her next question: "Mum, where can I find a skeleton of a kangaroo?"
After dinner - a hastily prepared frittata courtesy of our chooks Hermoine, Luna and Ginny and with fresh herbs from our vege patch - I sat down to watch the news. To be honest, I don't watch the news, I'm really only interested in the weather forecast which appears in the last two minutes. Inexplicably and with monotonous regularity however, I end up paying attention to the boring blather on ore stocks and FTSes and when the actual weather segment is on, I vague out and miss the entire segment.
"So is it going to be hot tomorrow Mum?"
"I dunno love."
"But you just sat there and watched it!"
Perhaps I just need a block of Toblerone for my birthday. This one in particular - four kilograms for the bargain price of $149. I can't believe that my local, humble K-Mart has two.
* Perhaps even more distressing was that the search topics 'Lengthy Labias' and 'Bonnie Tyler's dog' also led here.