Totally beautiful moments happen and disappear into the folds of memory. It can be a suprise when you make your bed – head.
Are you ready?
Have you got everything organised, sorted. Know where you are going and how you are going to get there? Ever let honesty get in the way of a good story? Ever discovered honesty is a good story? Wondered where to find the perfect organiser to match your perfectly organised mind? Sorted the washing and folded the dreams and packed it all so neatly away?
Have you managed to coordinate your daily schedule with the colour of your clothes? Have you parted your hair on the side that shows off your best intentions? Did you remember to pick up the baby clothes, the dry cleaning, the self-esteem and the present for your sister-in-law all before the cab arrived on Monday? Did you remember to put on deodorant?
Have you thought positively about your approach, your presentation and your smile? Have you planned how to monitor your spending and curb your appetite for destruction? Did you pack the blue suitcase or the black one? Don’t forget that you mustn’t swear or sweat. You simply must not think uncharitable thoughts unless they are out loud and you have an audience filled with like-minded bastards.
Whatever you do, remember to floss. And polish your shoes and your eyeballs.
Have you got everything it takes to make it in the big bad world of industrial commericalised dream procurement? Do you know all the lyrics? Are you a yummy mummy? Are you a dashing dad? Do you sing hopelessly in the shower but in that endearing way? Make sure it is just cute enough. Do you suspect that the project management of your offspring is tracking above expectations? Have you had a hair cut this week?
Do you own some eco-friendly devices or volunteer or create or give back? This is the recitation you forgot last time, “I am ready, I am the controller”. Have you thought about the way you walk and what it says about who you really are? Have you invested in property or shares or have you devoted yourself wholly to agricultural seachanges? Have you itemised your dvd collection and shopping dockets? Have you entered the realm of peace and spoken karmic goodness to your pancakes? Are you really ready? Have you got your self together?
Muuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuummmmmmm I did pooooeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.
Today we celebrate one year of Munch.
Trogdor is burning the villages because of it all, but we’re happy with the progress over the last 12 months. How do you spell all-colour-and-noise?
Snap had a run in with a pair of steppers wielded by a girl who was out of control. Someone should do something about that. Too many girls out of control. Then there is another story altogether this one called Puff but it doesn’t involve any smoke.
What a shame it rained on my parade.
There is only one expert in my non-expert opinion amongst my clever friends on the subject of coffee and that is Cafe Dave. Having said that, my opinion of coffee is that it is actually a valid line in our personal history books. It is marked upon my mind.
Once upon a time I couldn’t resist that coffee from that shop on the way to work and it always made me smile. Made me grin and walk faster up that little hill into Pyrmont. Dark days followed where only a truly large long black smashed on my tonsils along with vegemite turkish toast would get me through the Chatswood grime. The drama. Then nothing. Then an office with a coffee machine that no-one knew how to use. Oh the loss, the bewildered stares of the decaffeinated souls as they sipped their sludge like lowly slaves. I was amongst them of course and if it wasn’t for my emancipation I may have died under the weight of half-drunk coffee.
Life has flourished and now I have my own machine- how exciting! How frivolous! How beautifully ritualistic I can be over morning coffee now. True triumph!
But I don’t have paper cups. I do have to make it myself.
So I am outside the real coffee life, cradling the past in my sleep and wondering if anything will ever be so beautiful as that coffee from that shop on the way to work. You know the one with the figgy muffins?
Small blessings. Running late for a meeting in the office the other week and a friend rang and said “where are you? do you want me to pick you up a coffee?” How the tears of gratitude fell.
Sorry for this, I just had a long black tattoo that I had to get off my chest today.
Without that regular appointment you aren’t all that, Flash. Your right eye drops self-consciously downward and you see your legs beginning to fray.
You don’t twitch as you talk or stutter or rock but inside the crack crack cracking goes on. Someone swore and you thought it was a compliment and you misheard the price and thought it was free. Everything that was right is left behind and somehow what’s left is not at all right.
The lights change and the crooked man in the signal goes a sickening red. Bleep Bleep walk where you are told when you are told and don’t risk crossing any other way. Not today. Not now you are grown up and old.
Maybe once you laughed at the lights and the noise. Maybe you giggled when the clouds crashed around. Maybe you danced in the middle of the calm in the centre of a storm on the top of a hill with your arms stretched out like sticks of iron, with your proud soldier heart bursting brightly.
Maybe once but not now. Cos you know you aren’t all that, Flash.
I went for a walk the other day. Walking is less pretentious than strolling and far more forgiving than wandering. As I walked I wondered because that is less consuming than thinking and not even a bit like planning. By the end of the walk I had arrived at some other place. A destination governed by the wondering and unwavered by the walking. I was a bit tired and a bit more confused. Somehow night had crashed in dreadful silence from the sky to the ground and I hadn’t even noticed as I wondered and walked around. Oh dear.
I might never have found my way back from this private hotel california if it had not been for the neverending, whistling of the garden gnome and the juniper. The two of them, constant, whistling, whistling whistling whistling whistling whistling and more constant clamourous whistling. The gnome and the juniper. They were mad whistling for each other.
I picked up the whistling garden gnome and stuck him inside of Junipers cage. With much effort!
The two of them are silent now. I don’t know whether they are happy or sullen.
I’m not sure what irritates me more.
If you look closely – really closely there is an alien that lives on your face. It has probably always lived there but you only become aware of it when someone points it out. The alien has two eyes and no mouth. Having no mouth doesn’t mean it can’t speak it just makes it harder to tell when it is speaking (and not that other strange voice in your head).
The alien on your face doesn’t like it when you get a cold.
It particularly doesn’t like it when you get into a fight with your neighbour over who dumped a shoebox in your driveway. It isn’t a bad shoebox. No kittens or drugs or signed bank loans in it.
Regardless, you now have a bashed alien living on your face and the thing is not looking happy.
The best course of action at this point is to get a nose reconstruction. Consider it a day spa for the facial creation. Book yourself into somewhere that you really can’t afford and take the time off from work to truly indulge your wounded senses.
If after this prolonged exposure to sympathetic smiles and those chained ladies of the chemical companies, your alien still looks the same, you can apply for alien divorce.
Drive to KFC and park your car within 10 metres of the store. For a particularly quick settlement you can actually go inside but I wouldn’t recommend it. Anyway park outside and ensure you inhale deeply until your soul is soaked with the fat of deep fried chicken. Let it permeate your car, your clothing, your adenoids, your axis of evil. Divorce finalisation requires sustained exposure to repeated acts of cruelty, unfaithfulness or in this day and age, disagreement. Heheh or is it possible to have disagreeance?
Enough said. You will have successfully divorced your alien within one week and you can send me $50* for lighting the path.
*Should your alien return, this money is not refundable.