All I could do was to follow the light at the end of the tunnel.
Happy new year. Happy new year.
I’m not saying I’m about to give up my 3-4 times a week exercise sessions, but why can’t they be as much fun and the endorphin-high as good as what I got last night?
I’ve got a few options, but somehow the most appealing is the one wherein I sit at home and turn on the television. No crowds, no anti-social behaviour, no trying-but-failing-to-flag-a-cab-and-having-to-walk-for-ages-instead-all-the-while-cursing-the-city’s-lack-of-taxis – need I continue?
I had a lot of fun on Christmas, both day and night. So much so that I spent the entirety of yesterday thinking that if I never saw a glass of Champagne again until next Christmas it’d still be too soon.
A couple of weeks ago, six hours or so into a boozy work lunch (!), I found myself discussing Not Drinking with a colleague. He said he would give me $500 up front, and that if I managed to stay alcohol-free from 1 January to 31 March, I’d get to keep the dosh. If, however, I fell off the wagon, I’d have to return the $500 and, to make things really interesting, pay him double on top of the original figure. We agreed that I could take the weekend to consider and let him know my decision on Monday.
Of course, Monday came and in my usual fashion, I neither accepted nor declined. Because it felt odd to taking $500 from anyone, bet or no bet. You can tell I’m not a wheeler/dealer type, can’t you?
But I’m going to do it.
The decision was made as I found myself lying on the floor (my idea) with my friends taking these happy-snaps. Don’t all good ideas happen this way?
Yes, I will do it.
Anyway, remind me I said this on New Year’s Day.
Found myself at Pacha at ivy last night. Just when I thought I was getting too old to be at such places. It was mainly for the Hub who needed to see the place in action for an upcoming something. (I’m being vague, I apologise, but I can’t share more than that.)
As you can see, there was entertainment which I enjoyed but it did bring on the acrophobia and a touch of vertigo… (The quartet of feathered dancers on the ledge in the bottom left pic wore safety harnesses around their corseted waists.)
I was watching from a balcony, and I chose to remain there instead of joining the dancing throng below which means I got home unscathed (no squashed toes) and with barely a bead of sweat on me. Well, I did say I was getting old for this sort of activity so the outcome was perfectly acceptable.
More pics here.
I’m very glad the world didn’t end yesterday. It was the last day of work for the year… and no, I’m not excited about Christmas or New Year’s Eve or even the new year. I’m just thrilled to be having two weeks off!
Now I’m listening to Bing Crosby singing White Christmas and Let It Snow! Let It Snow! Let It Snow! and it’s not that I’m trying to get myself into the seasonal mood; it never feels quite like Christmas now in Australia after spending almost a decade in England. My father always used to put on a bit o’ Bing at this time of year. That’s all.
I don’t often bother with what others think. Not outwardly anyway. But recently I’ve been forced to listen to more than one third party view of something very personal to me and it’s been irksome. I know people just want to help, and they think that putting in their two cents means that they are, but you know what? Life’s not black and white. You can’t say “Blah… make it so. All fixed.” You know?
Things are moving in a different direction now. What I thought we would be doing next year is now looking less likely.
But then again, I don’t know.
No rest for the wicked…
(My work keyboard is disgusting! I should’ve taken a photo of the Mac’s keyboard instead; it’s pristine.)
I don’t normally use the dental kits hotels provide but when I saw the simple white toothbrush, I grabbed. Two. I would’ve taken more but I didn’t realise the until halfway through my stay at the Park Hyatt Sydney, and so I was only able to nab a couple.
Just plain white. My dentist gave me one years ago – I was unable to find it in the shops. Just plain white. How hard can it be to satisfy the most undemanding, boring customers out there? Just plain white. Now you know how much of a nerd I am.
When I lived in London, I used to call friends back ‘home’ when I was out; a lot of my calls used to take place in the early hours of the morning when I was tipsy and chatty. Now that I am living in the same country as family and friends, the calls don’t seem to happen as frequently. I know that sounds ironic and odd, but the fact is I hardly ever feel like talking on the phone – I have to psych myself up to do it.
These days, calls home are even scarcer because daylight saving has added an extra hour between Western Australia and New South Wales – it’s normally two hours and much easier to work around. On weekends, when I want to call, Perth is still asleep; when Perth is awake, I’m at the gym or having lunch or busy with errands; when I want to call before heading out for the evening, it’s naptime in the West. I just can’t seem to coordinate a time that works. I wish WA would get with the daylight saving/summertime programme.
Sometimes I just wish I could put up a ‘KEEP OUT’ sign on myself. People can be so curious just for the hell of being curious, when it’s none of their business, and all they want to do is fish for information that they can then parlay into frivolous chatter at their next Friday evening work drinks session. If there’s one thing I’ve learnt this year, it’s that people gossip far too easily. I would much rather hear about you when I’m talking to you, not about someone else. It reminds me of a saying I heard once along the lines of humans are divided into three types: those who talk about others, those who talk about events, and those who talk about ideas. There’s far too much of the people talking about others in certain circles at my office and it makes me a bit nauseous, frankly.
It was the work Christmas party last night. I’m glad that’s over and done with.
It’s been one of those weeks, harder than expected.
The Hub’s and my work lives contrast sharply these days – he has much more leisure time than I do, gets to choose when he works (or doesn’t, is perhaps more the point).
Last night, I was feeling frazzled and unwell (hello, razor blades for swallowing anyone?), desperate for sleep, and it didn’t help being woken by a tipsy someone whose return from a few hours’ drinking made him unable to comprehend how loud he was being now: blaring television accompanied by noisy kitchen activity to satiate the midnight snack pangs.
Was it Woody Allen and Mia Farrow who famously chose to live next door or across the street from each other (I forget which)? Because sometimes as much as you want to say, “This is my chosen person and what he does is cool with me,” it isn’t when you’re trying to sleep at midnight on a school night, is it?
This morning’s soundtrack: For Whom The Bell Tolls – Metallica
(It’s on low volume, trust me.)
If you can understand what things* felt like last night… Focus on the crushed, dying dark pink section in the middle of that bouquet, not the beautiful vibrant colourful blooms surrounding it.
* me, myself, I, life, the universe, everything
The antidote: Listen to Bloom by Gypsy & The Cat. It’s on now as I type. Argh! if only I’d remembered to do that then.
An immensely enjoyable time was had at The Metro last night with Deep Sea Arcade. Second time I’ve seen the band this year, and when will I get enough? When the next album is ‘born’, perhaps.
If I had to share one regret about my time in London, it’s that I didn’t take advantage of the live music scene at all. I went to a few concerts, but really I could’ve done so much more of that. Instead, I spent most of my time in bars, stimulating my senses in ways about which I’d be well served to keep schtum.