Every time I have a busy day I wake up with a cricked neck, aching teeth and a brewing migraine?
The first task of today is to scout around for rubbish (no hard feat, let's be honest) for the local newspaper photographer to arrange artfully around my feet as I pose incognito as the 'Typical Flemington Litter Bug.'
I feel like doing this (all that bending with tongs over reeking Red Rooster boxes, cigarette butts and half-filled beer bottles with the yeasty smell turning into parmesan vomit-pong in the festering humidity) about as much as I'd enjoy having my head flipped open and brains blended with a Bamix.
Still, as I sit here gingerly (the keyboard is so loud) typing this in my pyjamas; having just scared the courier answering the door in my aqua Crocs and stained long white-tshirt, I realise that I'm in a whingey frame of mind and have a few other 'How come....?' ponderings I'd like answered.
Well, maybe not answered today but sometime soon. Today I'd be happy with a partly-functioning head and an ability to bend over without clutching around madly for a handhold as I try to repress the stars dancing in front of my eyes and swallow the dry heaves back down.
How come .... people who believe in reincarnation have always been somebody really important in a past life? They always seem to be historic figures like Cleopatra, Genghis Khan, Beethoven or Galileo. Why weren't they ever the village idiot from Scunthorpe, 1187? A slave crushed under a stone during the construction of the Cheops pyramid or the first poor bugger to try curdled milk in a cave and die a long and painful death from food poisoning?
How come .... people who attend community meetings and whinge long and loud never offer to do anything to help? They say their bit and then sit back and cross their arms, waiting for the rest of us to solve it.
How come .... people who buy sixties-era flats made from besser-blocks and concrete slabs insist on calling them a-parht-ments?
How come .... every time I'm in a rush and in my nice clothes, I immediately find the one and only freshest and largest and most disgusting dog turd to tread into?
How come .... Steve Price, a slightly grumpier-looking Michael Keaton lookalike and Program Director of the new Melbourne Talk Radio keeps saying that he'll "Answer any call from a woman who'd like to work with us" but has never bothered to return any of mine?
On second thoughts, don't answer that. Even in this sorry state I know that women still have to be 'hot' looking for commercial radio and 'famous' for something like being Princess Mary's bridesmaid, posing topless after a Big Brother stint or currently shagging an AFL footy player not yet embroiled in a sexual/gambling/drinking/punching/drug addiction/nightclub incident.
How come ..... it's me that reaches into the fruit bowl and sinks my finger into the acrid ooze of the hidden fuzzy green orange?
The second task of today is to finish up a paid article for the paper (due yesterday)
Third an appointment to interview someone for the next article (due next week)
Fourth is to finish editing a commercial publication by close of business today
Fifth is to help two kids with their homework after school
Sixth is to prepare for the next Writers' Workshop at Sapphire's primary school tomorrow; and
The seventh is to attend the information session at our local high school that gets overlooked by ridiculously snobby parents who don't want to send their kids to an educational facility literally metres from their door because it happens to host some Somalian refugees and housing commission kids but instead pack their kids onto two trains and trams in order to attend a school on the other side of the city whose uniform costs alone could fund the annual expenditure of the local school's library book budget......
No matter. It's time to chew another couple of panadeine and set to scraping the dog shit out of my shoe.
Milly's at my feet, trying her best to look apologetic and I'm smiling. I'm gradually realising that happiness can be found in the weirdest of situations.
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16 comments:
God do I know where you're coming from. Can't do much about the idiots, Murphy's Law situations and plain community stupidity, but I can help with the neck crick. Sound strange, but rub hard on the outside joint of your thumb (either side) Massage down from the top of your thumb and the first joint using firm pressure. And let me know if it helps (reflex tip). With you all the way on this one.
All three symptoms of cricked neck, sore teeth and headache may indicate that you grind your teeth in your sleep. Worth checking out and considering night guard. Did wonders for me.
Also, I swear by my chiropractor!
First: the brewing migraine. You immediately took enough medication with plenty of water to kick this sucker all the way back to the hell it came from, I hope.
On reincarnation, I'd say the first poor bugger to try curdled milk probably discovered a new food group xcalled yoghurt and lived longer then the rest of his tribe/clan.
People in 60's flats probably call them apartments because in most people's minds a flat has dinky little rooms about the size of a shoebox, while an apartment sounds like it might actually have enough room to walk between your dining table and couch without bumping into either. It's all about feeling better about your situation.
You might be the one to find the fuzzy green orange in your fruit bowl, but too often I've been the one to find the fuzzy green mandarin or squishy potato ON THE SUPERMARKET SHELF! Yuk!These things are supposed to be checked and removed daily, but more often fruit is just turned over....
After reading through your list, I'm not at all surprised that you woke with a brewing migraine. You're a tooth grinder, so you've clenched your jaw all night in reaction to your subconcious stressing about the coming workload. I can understand keeping busy, but this seems like overkill.
Fortunately, you're not right-wing enough for MTR. My friend called it "Men in Toorak Radio."
I mean, sharing a mic with Andrew Bolt would get me locked up pretty quickly, diving over the desk and using my fingers to prod in his eyes and feel around the hollow cavity...
Pand, I'm about to give up doing any work today and will try your technique. With a plate of chocolate nearby too of course
Yep Vanessawith3, I've been a teeth-grinder for years and sleep with a triple-strength mouthguard after bit through two others and cracking my new crowns twice. It just astounds me that I'm finally doing the work I've dreamed of doing (although the 'unheard of riches' bit is a long way coming) and yet I still feel stressed about it!
River, yep, took my drugs, drank heaps of water and have kept uncharacteristically silent.
You're right Benjamin - after all it has ANDREW BOLT on it for chrissakes, but I thought I'd give it a burl after working on Adelaide and Perth radio for a couple of years. I wasn't even worth a call back!
Thank Christ for drugs I say.
Good points. I have to admit to calling our abode an "apartment" because it is too big to be called a "unit" or a "flat". I don't know why I have that mental distinction but I do. I do feel like a total wanker whenever the word exits my mouth but when I've tried using one of the other options they just don't seem to fit. Funny.
I used to get cricked necks regularly quite a few years ago Kath, yesh I remember when ... Anyhoo, the crick necks don't happen so much, hardly ever, but god they are/were a.pain.in.the.neck.
G'Day Kath,
There's nothing worse than rotting food and the picture of the mouldy orange reminded me of a gruesome experience at university when I opened a cupboard and found a loaf of bread that was so old and green that the thing was almost sentient.
I'm sure it spoke to me, saying "Come on punk! If you dare!"
I think I'm over it now!
AAAAARRGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!
I think I'm over it now!
AAAAARRGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!
I think I'm over it now!
AAAAARRGGGGHHHHH!!!!!!!!
Honest ...
:0)
Cheers
PM
Neck is even worse today... was trying to smile and nod during an earnest meeting at the Asylum Seekers' Resource Centre and nearly yelped out loud with the pain...
nothing worse than that hidden orange-shaped mushball *shudder* I hope you're feeling better!
I believe in reincarnation but I don't believe that I was not anyone important.
HOw come on the very afternoon of a job interview my car blows up on the roof of a car park. . . shit happens all over it seems. Although I count myself lucky that I don't get migraines. Fight the good fight Kath and that green acrid stuff .. I believe it's good for you! Seriously Kath, I do think you try to pack too much in. Choose your favourite causes and let someone else take up the slack with the rest. You can't do it all.
I meant, "I believe in reincarnation but I don't believe that I was anyone important."
"Flat" - british
Apartment" - American
So, it is another example of the aussie being americanised.
Come over, I can give a good massage, learnt from the 2 years of weekly visit to a physiotherapist.
Massage would be heavenly!
Had a better sleep last night and now just feel headachey and hungover. Chocolate, panadeine and coffee are required. In large amounts. Now.
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