I just finished my last class in my first semester as an MA Communications (by coursework) student. All over. Well, except for the final piece of written work. As usual I shared the train ride home with Peter, the lecturer. Initially I found this to be really odd – what are the boundaries? Answer: the usual ones when conversing with another human being – but after thirteen weeks of chit chat I think I’ll miss the conversations. Will he get his book published? How many articles will come out of the thesis? When will Footscray get a proper book shop? Anyway, I’ve really enjoyed being a student again. I’ve been incredibly pleased with my marks. I’ve made a really lovely new friend (hi Esther!). And I feel like I’ve dusted out the cobwebs from a part of me which has been shut away for a long time. I’m pleased to have that part back.

After another particularly poor example of bad temper on the part of our dog, Miss Maisie, Justine, in frustration, wailed “We should’ve got a monkey.”
Monkeys, we believe, would make great pets.
They could be taught to make the tea.
Or do the dishes.
They would be handy to have about the house.
Instead we chose a dog. We thought she was cute. How were we to know?
To exchange : one dog, cute but cranky for one monkey with dishwashing abilities. All offers considered.

For the information of readers:
Haighs gourmet drinking chocolate is fantastic.
You can eat it straight out of the packet if you can’t be bothered with the whole heating milk thing.
Wonderful.

This morning I made up a new word.
Attempting to describe why our dog might last night have suddenly acquired a terrible limp (“It’s very sore ‘rita”, she said – in dogspeak) only to find it had magically disappeared this morning at the park when she met her ‘friends’, and coinciding suspiciously with the departure of one of her very favourite people, I came up with “psychosemantic”.
“What is that?” asks Justine.
“She’s manufacturing an ailment as a projection of her unhappiness about Josh going”, says I (wearing dog psychologist hat). “You know, psychosemantic?”
“So she’s obsessed with the meaning of things?” says Justine. “Really? That’s unusual for a dog.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I just don’t think you mean psychosemantic,” says Justine.
Harumphh.
Psychosemantic. Psychosomatic. Whatever. I think we all know what I meant.

This is what the innocuous notice in the mailbox said:

“M>Trains intends to carry out essential maintenance to the tram tracks in Droop St between Geelong Road and Ballarat Rd… over one night on Wednesday 1st October.”

This is what it really meant:

Between the hours of 11.45 pm and 5.05 am have several trucks replete with big, bright swirly lights park outside my house and unload any amount of extremely noisy machinery in order for walkie talkie toting maintenance guys to dig a big hole only to fill it up again, making NO DISCERNABLE DIFFERENCE to the bleary-eyed outside observer (who actually feels she participated every step of the way in the process) when she went to inspect the outcome the next morning.

V tired now.

My favourite words change all the time depending on moods and seasons and whatever else there is that helps to shape the way I experience the world around me – and probably what I happen to be reading at the time.
Today my three favourite words are:
abide;
linger;
resonance.
While I admit the first two can have some negative connotations, I like the way they can all stretch out and shape time. They can cross from the past to the present to the future. They can inhabit a liminal space which is full of possibilities. Maybe that’s what I’m really interested in at the moment – the idea of possibilities.

1. How not to arrive at your girlfriend’s nameday dinner.
Sweep into restaurant and while theatrically removing one’s ostentatious coat accidently knock specials board off wall which then wallops girlfriend on head with a really loud ‘clunk’. Ouch. It looked *really* painful from where I was sitting.

2. Awards ceremonies
Upon receipt of the “Anthony Malloy Football Tipping Competition Perpetual Urn” do not forget to thank assembled company for their support with a gratuitous but nevertheless earnestly felt “I luv youse all.” Sorry.

The feral spring wind has brought a new aspect to working on Smith Street. Along with the usual sounds of bargain hunters and traffic and trams etc is the crash and clatter of pavement advertising signs falling over. After each particularly vicious gust can be heard a cacophony of crashes down the street. Followed I’m sure by shop people rushing outside to stand them upright. Followed by another gust of wind and accompanying crashes … repeat in loop from 8.15 am to 5.30 pm

Andreas is our postie.
He’s about the most accommodating human being I’ve ever met.
Nothing is ever too much trouble.
He’s happy to wait without complaint while I count through the mail which should have all been tallied up before he arrives.
He has a lovely accent.
Everything is fantastic. Terrific. Marvellous.
Whatever we do is always much appreciated.
And he’s never short on a compliment.
Today’s was “You have a million dollar smile, Jacqualine.”
Then down the stairs and out the door.
Maybe one day he’ll learn that it’s the short, feisty red-haired one that’s Jacqualine, and not the taller, paler, more freckly one which happens to be me.
Nevertheless, my admiration remains undiminished!!

I have just received an invitation to extend the credit limit of my card to a mighty four thousand dollars.
Given that my card is currently all paid off (hooray!) an extra two grand would only mean a lot of extra potential debt.
But how much extra?
The last time the blank offered to raise my credit limit they gave me not the two thousand dollars I asked for but $20,000.
It was not a typo. I checked. And it was really hard to convince them that I didn’t want a $20,000 credit limit – just a measly $2000. In fact it was a lot harder *not* to have a $20,000 credit limit than to have one.
So, what are they really offering me this time?