Last night I had the strangest dream … where, as is the way of many strange dreams, recent but separate scenarios from one’s waking life were mixed together into a not-quite-so coherent whole.
My dream centred around the illicit exchange of large amounts of cheese between black-suited gangster-types. It was quite apparent that we were dealing with the “cheese mafia” .
In the midst of the exchange loud singing intruded into the background. And not just any random singer – it was Elvis. And he was shouting more than singing. One of the gangsters quickly looked up to locate the source of the interruption. And then …
I woke up. Elvis was emanating from the clock radio which had not been turned off last night.
I think my sleeping self had made a brave effort to link another random experience into the dream, but it seems there just was not space to include Elvis in my dream too.
Sometimes even your unconscious decides enough is enough.

It’s budget time. I’m a bad budgetter. Not that I can’t live within my means (I can) but I always feel a bit out of control about my “finances”. I’m often surprised by things that maybe I shouldn’t be. Perhaps that means I’m more of a bad planner than a bad budgetter? And money freaks me out. Especially larger sums. Not to mention tax. Shudder. But it’s that time of year and unavoidable. Just not pretty.

Update: According to Albert Einstein (in my day-a-page desk calendar) “the hardest thing in the world to understand is income tax”. So, I guess, I’m not alone!

“Hey, hey, ho, ho. These IR laws have got to go!!!! ….”
“Johnny is a wanker!! Johnny is a wanker!! ….”
“Johnny. Johnny, Johnny. Out! Out! Out!” (I didn’t hear this one).
“What do we want? A fair go! When do we want it? Now! ….”
“Touch one. Touch all!! …”
And even “Ole, ole, ole!! …” (Has to be soccer-inspired, surely.)
There’s nothing quite like 80 000 people marching together to get some great chanting going.
One of my favourite sights is big, burly construction workers nipping in to grab a takeaway coffee to warm the journey.
And the smart red AEU rain ponchos.
(Yep – I was at the anti- IR legistation rally today.)

Just because you said it loudly – and several times – doesn’t mean I’m going to accept that ‘contradictive’ is a useable word.
It’s not.

I know you’ve been on the bed when you know you’re not allowed.
And I also know that you ‘accidently’ stood on my toast while you were there.
Don’t look at me all innocent-like.
Because I know.
No. I don’t have eyes in the back of my head.
There are, however, two paw prints in vegemite on my doona cover.
PS. I don’t think I really want that toast anymore. You can have it.

Because the lads have been booked in to mow the lawn.
And Daniel, no doubt, has a full line of laundry hanging out.
Still, I have $65.98 in book vouchers to spend (plus an assignment to finish) so it can rain all it likes.

My window at work overlooks a destruction/construction site and the view features a very tall and unsettlingly ‘sway-ey’ crane. At least twice a day this crane swings by the window behind me like a huge lumbering T-Rex and makes me jump. (One day the crane driver will notice us waving at him from afar.) In a corridor between office buildings I have a lovely view of the St Patrick’s Church spires.
Every so often a friend sends me updates about the adventures of the shiney black crow who is King of a Carpark somewhere in deep dark Canberra (and a feature of the view from his work window).
What’s yours?

And today’s new word is ‘creosote’.
It’s the nasty tarry build-up that accumulates on the inside of a chimney.
I think my chimney needs cleaning. Sigh.
I wonder if there’s a word to describe the process of cleaning a chimney that’s lost its outlet through the roofline – as mine has.
Knowing my luck, the only appropriate word will be ‘messy’. Big sigh.

At my work, people with birthdays look after their own morning tea.
Fortunately I share a birthday with a colleague, so the burden is relieved and I don’t have to stand by myself looking embarassed when everyone sings ‘Happy Birthday’. (Shudder.)
It’s been a (short lived) tradition over the last two years that I make and bring proper party food – Chocolate Crackles and Honey Joys. Apparently people look forward to it!
Today one of my colleagues, who is three months pregnant, gave me a catering order for her child’s first birthday party. Chocolate Crackles and Honey Joys (known in SA as Honey Crackles) are definitely on the menu. I may even stretch beyond my ‘melt and mix’ comfort zone and enter the realms of ‘spread and sprinkle’. Yes, fairy bread will enter my party food canon!

A few days of laughter, lunches and loot!
With another dinner to come.
I’m 36!!
(PS. The incredible string of parent-provided dud Tatts tickets moves on into its fifteenth year!)