theBoy had a pop-up play tent sitting in the dining room and both cats entered.
Articles from Harrangue Man
There's a term used in here in Australia and the United Kingdom by their respective public services—civil service in the UK—for when a servant is sent home on pay while issues are resolved.It's called "gardening leave" (1).I'm back in the garden. As an adult I've never been healthier in the head (2) but, well, cogs and sprockets of government and all that.
It was dusk and I was on a mission to the bin. The bin sits outside our gate.I was topless, wearing just PJ pants and a headband.I opened the gate and stepped into the full glare of headlights coming from the house opposite.I instinctively tried to suck in my tum but it can't have been a pleasurable sighting for the occupant of that vehicle.Maybe they thought I was off for a hearty run? I doubt it—it's nearly zero degrees. I may be insulated but I'm not that insulated.
With thanks to the French.The shitbox, our second car, which was once our first car, has gone to the wreckers. Long it sat in our drive in a proud Canberran tradition of having an un-roadworthy car left out the front of a house. Goodbye, sweet old white shitbox, you served your prince well.
I had a head check from a head shrink. It went well. I just have to go back for some training in coping with fight (slash) flight. I didn't cry. I didn't emote. I was even funny.It feels good to be almost healed.WFTW.
Following my epic collapse then recovery I shed any former-held notions of false modesty. In the past If I got praise I deflected and instead directed it to those people who helped me. A good report was because of the design, not the content, for example, even though the content rocked snot.Well that is done with. If I do a good job I am now mentally sage enough to accept what I did was awesome.
I honk up goobs in the shower. I do. It's not pleasant, not for anyone. I try to angle it so the lump flies downward and thus gets swirled away with the fetid soppings of my man coating but it's not always easy to tell success. You're naked, there's steam, hissing water, the lump is small and you just can't be sure if you don't see it go down that it didn't go down.I was in the shower.
We all have heroes growing up—people whose talent we wish we had. For me one of them was Bill Cosby. Not for his TV show but rather his stand-up, my Dad having brought back pirated cassette tapes from a field trip to Indonesia. We listened to them on holiday trips in the car. I listened to them alone in my room. I loved the Chocolate Cake bit so much I tried to write a Basic program on an Apple IIe to have the computer write on the monochrome green screen "Dad is great ...
One of our senior people is leaving. He's about my height and on the cusp of retirement. He's also one of the most approachable-yet-hard-working senior people I've met. When I first arrived in my new role I went to an event to support him and we had an instant connection. He was even kind enough once to ring me at home to tell me how much he liked something I'd written.I popped in to see him about some final work and, after we completed it, he asked how I was travelling. So I told him.
I was ambling towards the bus when a man glided past (1). He was dressed in standard middle-management-plus clobber of a suit plus tie but he also had on a helmet. The gliding was down to his electric skateboard.Yes, an electric skateboard. Not a proper skateboard that has had a motor added but rather a stout rectangular platform with robust wheels. It looked like a home-built job. There was no evidence of how he controlled it.