The Stocking Filler (Late, or Very, Very Early)

I should complain about the weather more often: yesterday the mercury rose to summer-like levels.

It's 5:00 am and an anaesthetist is waiting in a small room. A cockroach observes from an air vent, waiting for the doctor to leave: there is a crumb on the floor with the cockroach's name on it. Or would be if the names of cockroaches could fit on the surface of a crumb.

Yesterday small lad was playing his new Lego Star Wars III game - this was his best Christmas ever, or he was imagining it (I paraphrase). Since Christmas, if it isn't the DS, it's the (actual) Lego. It's so nice to get Christmas presents right! Onya Santa! Earlier in the morning he rescued me from my 2am sleeplessness - he doesn't remember what happened, but he appeared around three, bleary eyed and looking for a cuddle, so I escorted him back to bed and lay down with him for a bit. It's the quickest way to get the light off, believe me. Aside from the back pain from sleeping on the edge of the bed, I had a lovely sleep. So did he, which works out nicely for everyone.

It's 5:02 am: Doctor Darling holds Gemma close in his manly arms as her tears dry prettily on her cheeks. They move apart and look deeply into each other's eyes, finally acknowledging their feelings for one another. Gemma tilts her head up, lips parted softly, and the breathless sexual tension is marred by the man in the front row eating popcorn with more noise than an industrial grader breaking up a road.

I surfaced somewhere around seven, but husbandly was sprawled in our bed, so it was off to the lounge with me. Sometimes I have trouble re-adjusting my sleep pattern. Meh. So it goes.

It's 5:10 am. There are cats. They are all thin. They sit in rows. They look alert. They do not shuffle. They watch us silently, us people hiding behind a gate. I expect Alfred Hitchcock to appear any minute. I hope he is walking some dogs.

Tonight I'm in the glory of Blood Bank, forever, amen, whatever. Whatever is, for the third year running, the most annoying word in the English language. Lucky it.

It's 5:20 am. Inside the room we watch the rain rill prettily down the windows, four girls in armchairs. By turns we feel: romantic, intellectual, consumptive or restless. It depends on how the light strikes us. Or perhaps it's the whalebone in our corsets.

Who reads this blog? Somebody must be, or I would have no stats (unless Google really is mucked up), but who are you? Not that I'm complaining, it's much nicer to have an audience rather than shooting these missives into the ether. But the country stats are weird (I'm geographically limited - I don't have many overseas friends). Please email me, go on, you know you want to....

It's 5:30 am. My alarm has gone off; the power is out and it is pitch dark. I have barked my shins on very piece of furniture in the house. I am trying to get to my phone, because the alarm is going off for a minute every five. It is annoying, but it will do as a torch. As I finally reach it (face down, I'm navigating by sound, not light), the alarm cuts off and out of the speaker comes James Earl Jones' voice reciting "The Raven". My hand stops, a foot, two feet - how can I tell? - above it. Well I'm not picking it up now. I've just stepped into a horror movie.

The sun is coming up. The mornings always look grey here. Our ground-floor windows face another five-storey building, and south, and haven't been cleaned in a very long while. Will you sleep better tonight, knowing that? You probably will. Unless your fevered brain is tortured trying to imagine finely-gritted windows imparting a grey tinge to the morning sky. Imparting. Tinge. Dig it.

It's 5:50 am in the airport and four security guards are running away from the terminal. They pelt across the tarmac as though the proverbial hounds have been released. Big Matty just took his shoes off at the check-in desk and the smell is terrific.

Is facebook a bad idea if friends read your entries, but never post any of their own? I had a friend comment (verbally, with mouths and everything) on something I'd posted, and then a guilty moment, because I thought I hadn't read my feed properly. I hadn't seen anything from my friend for, like, you know, ever. But when I got home, I hadn't missed any posts. So I wonder, is it a bit like watching someone through a window, to see if you can get a glimpse of them in their undies? Or picking their nose? (I suppose that depends on the friend). I don't really worry about twitter, so colour me contradictory on concerns.

It's 6:05 am. A man lurks in a rhododendron bush just outside a door. As people walk out he intones "You'll be baaack" in a deep voice. As they enter he squeaks.

In five minutes time I will get up and shut down machines. Then I'll start them back up again. It sounds rather futile, doesn't it? Then I'll put things away. Or not, because probably the phone will ring. And I will answer it. And I will have to do something because of the person who has rung me. I want a big red button in this lab. An emergency stop like we have at TAFE. I never cared about the big stop buttons when I was at TAFE, but now I don't have one, I'd like one. I'd like to hit the emergency stop button because it is all big and red and funky. But of course, I'd then have to explain why I hit it (because we have to call in an electrician to start everything up again), and I don't think a goofy grin and an "I felt like it, because the button is big and red and funky" would cover me.

It's 6:20 am. Heavens, is that the time?

It's time for me to stop fooling around in bits and pieces and start fooling around in earnest. (Not Ernest, I don't know where he's been aside from the squeaking as I came in to work tonight). Take care of yourselves, all ten peoples.

In the Red Corner

In the red corner we have barking Pomeranian crosses (who, without fail, manage to also start up at 2:15am (yes, am when the local feral cat wanders through).

In the blue corner we have the screaming neighbour. I spoke too soon yesterday afternoon - started in again around three, stopped at three-thirty, then her husband came home. Another twenty minutes worth.

I think they should square off, but I think it would be a bit much for the two dogs. I don't like cruelty to animals, so another idea bites the dust.

Do you want to be cool? Here's the definitive list.

My personal favourite on that list is "Learn to speak European". I won't make all of the obvious sarcastic comments, even though I really, really want to.

Ending on a preopisit preposition, and misspelling too! Love it? Yeah.

Trying really hard not to clone mimi smartypants, but this is just how I talk. So I give up.

Last night we watched Bulletproof Monk, or part thereof as it was small lad's bed time. We had started on My Fair Lady, but it was leaving me a bit cold. Plus I wanted to read some more of my book while t'yoong man was in the bath.

Anyway, Bulletproof Monk. I love Chow Yun-Fat in just about everything but this one was also leaving me a bit cold. I'd finished off my book by then, so it wasn't impatience.

Perhaps it's because my favourites of him are Croughing Tiger, Hidden Dragon (even with terrible American subtitles) and some of the odd Hong Kong martial arts films. The best one I ever saw was a buddy movie, no idea of the name, but he is such a goof and does it well (cue laughter). As far as Croughing Tiger, Hidden Dragon goes, if you want a real treat, hang out for the SBS translation whenever they show it again. They obviously bought the film in Mandarin so they could subtitle it themselves, because the depth to the story and beauty of the script really comes through. To wit, there appears to be a plot; I wasn't so sure on the DVD. Plus you get to see Michelle Yeoh looking splendiferous and kicking proverbials.

Bulletproof Monk, on the other hand, well, let's just say that the spiritual journeys of the young leads are a bit, well, dull and hackneyed. Yeah, they come through, yeah isn't love grand and they carry the torch on, the world is safe once more - but I just can't seem to buy it.

Since this morning as we left for school, t'yoong man decided to spill that his head has been itchy for five days, today's plan has gone out the window and instead I'm washing all of our bedlinen. There is a nit plague at school. I had a quick squiz at his hair this morning and found an egg without trying too hard, so here we go.

The most disappointing part of this is one of the other mothers had a whinge a few weeks ago about one of the kids having nits. The mother of said child got all huffy and started going on about how clean she was. Oh boy.

Really. Oh boy.

Get the point: infections (insectoid, bacterial or viral) don't care about your level of cleanliness, your societal status, your marital status, or how much money you have in the bank. If you are in the wrong place at the wrong time, you'll probably cop it.

Obviously for nits, the flu, tuberculosis, meningococcal meningitis, mumps, measles, you can take some basic precautions but really, if it's rampant, well, sucks. Others like Hepatitis B, C and the old horror HIV there are certain behaviours you can avoid but again, there are windows in every infection where the infected are unaware they are even sick - and can pass things on.

It's very sad that in this day and age people still associate disease with dysfunction. It's even worse - and not worthy of sad, but rather reprehensible - that dysfunction is associated with poverty, low education levels or laziness.

Yeah, sure you make the argument about sterotypes and you generally find disease in poorer areas - but try and think about it, 'kay? One, probably can't afford treatments. Two, just because you can't afford it doesn't mean you don't care.

One of the things I find hardest to get across to people is the concept of unaffordable anything. Since I work in a professional field, most of my workmates can afford what they need and, frequently, most of what they want.

The idea of literally not being able to afford to eat, wash or buy medicine is at best intellectually understood. At worst, it's a publicly politically correct agreement ("yes, yes, isn't that terrible"), while privately disagreeing ("they're just lazy" for example).

I have more, but I need to repair the creaks in my soapbox.

A lot more serious than when I started. Sucks budgies!