This Time Today (3:16 PM)

3:16 pm
Tears of a Cloud

I remember when the pitter-patter of rain on the window was a beautiful soundscape to a relaxing time indoors. These days the pitter-patter has been replaced by a death-metal crescendo as mother nature tries to wash away the awful effects of humankind. It’s reported that climate change, as a result of human progression, has altered the severity of the weather. Harsher rainfall, devastating drought and the threat of distinction for some of nature’s wonderful species. As you get older there soon comes a time when nothing really surprises you anymore. Except for the weather. I guess that’s why everyone talks about it all the time, stating the obvious because it’s not afraid to change its mood whenever it feels like it.

Muddy Waters

This sort of heavy rainfall quickly finds its way to creating little rivers and dams through the garden. Flooding the flower beds and engineering gullies of mud and slush, uprooting delicate plants and exposing somewhat surprised worms. The boy dreads playing football in this weather, cold afternoons running through thick patches of foul-smelling mud chasing a ball that he would most likely never get to touch. Afterwards, he’d use a pen to scrape the squashed bodies of worms embedded in drying mud from his boots, checking to see if any were still alive, and throw them onto the garden to seek out a new life in suburban terrain.

Puddles of Hope

After the worms have been liberated, his skin cleansed in a hot shower and the cuts, scratches, and blisters have been Mercurochromed, he enjoys a few hours plopped into the bean bag. Gently falling in and out of snooze-land as the muscles retract and recover from exertion and exposure to the elements during the past few hours of ‘fun’. All in the name of recreation. I try to put in 20 minutes of recreation or exercise each day. It’s difficult when I’m trying to write, as the body is in constant conflict with the mind, one wants to get up and shake it all about whereas the other is having a breakdown and refuses to consent to such frivolity. I wish the aliens would get a move on, maybe they’re held up by a deluge of rain.

This Time Today (1:47 PM)

1:47 pm
Paying Attention

It’s astounding to think of how many books have already been written and how many more will be written. The numerous adventures and experiences documented in glorious prose for others to be amazed, bewildered and emotionally enlightened by. Suspense, crime, drama, comedy and every genre you can imagine. What makes a great story? Is it the writing or is it the premise of what may, or may not, happen next? Is the act of reading a book a distraction from everyday life or is it a guide to help with making it through the day? I guess it depends on what you’re reading and what your situation is. Discussing a mischievous cat who wears an amusing hat wasn’t that useful in getting me a mortgage.

Join a Group, or Don’t

The boy enjoys stories about outsiders. Those who are not part of the bigger group. Especially when they take off on an adventure, rescue an animal or an alien or simply befriend another lost soul. Says he has these kinds of experiences himself. He once asked Jenny Peterson if she would rather take the bus to school instead of getting a lift with her dad, she said she wouldn’t but she would like him to ride in the car with her if he liked. He never worked up the courage to say yes, but always makes sure he’s at the bus stop in time to see her leave.

Everything is the Same But Different

I could read books all day. There are always three acts to each great story, the premise, the conflict, and the resolution. Yet each individual story delivers its own unique journey. Whether it’s the characters, the setting or how it’s written, each story has something that only it can offer. Sometimes you read about how some literature academic has broken down the meaning behind a certain book or story and it’s completely different to what you thought it was about. I wonder what the author would say? Perhaps that it was written for each reader to interpret for themselves based on their experiences and level of intellect, or perhaps they’d simply agree and confirm that you are thick and unworthy of their art.

This Time Today (12:42 PM)

12:42 pm
Fad Diet

You can’t compose a major story of epic proportions when hunger takes control of your mind and gut. Food provides the much-needed vitality to get through the day. Healthy food is full of vitamins. Treat your body like a temple and your mind will reward you with clear and proactive thinking. I prefer to eat a light lunch. This provides me with enough energy to get through the afternoon without having to succumb to a food coma. Fresh salad sandwich, perhaps sushi, a Vietnamese roll or even soup. The plus side to working from home means I can avoid the temptations of fast food and convenient choices, like fried chicken, meat pies and triple-fried-whatever-that-is-in-batter. Nothing can compare to a homemade meal of fresh ingredients that have been bought with careful thought and consideration. Today I have… a half-eaten block of chocolate.

Tuck Shop Bliss

There is nothing more exciting to a school kid than the anticipation of buying lunch from the school tuck shop. The boy loves the responsibility of being in charge of feeding himself one day a week. Being able to hand his money over and receive as many items as he can. His usual swag includes a bread roll, two dim sims (for inserting into the bread roll), chocolate milk and as many redskins as his leftover sheckles can acquire. Not exactly sure how much protein and required vitamins are ingested from this buffet of choice provided by the school, however, I make sure there’s a daily intake of fruit and vegetables to assist with future years of colon care.

Exercising Freedom

He loves to run. That feeling of freedom and exhilarating momentum. Going somewhere without any concerns, worries or expectations. He’s tinkered with ball sports, the school football team, basketball, and cricket. He possesses anxiety towards being hit in the face with any type of ball, resulting in an instantaneous and somewhat uncoordinated response to balls coming his way. Once, he was in the final for the 50 metre sprint. When race day came he spent the morning consuming fluids to prepare his body. He won the race but never collected his ribbon as he ran all the way home. A urine-stained pair of shorts were in the rubbish bin that night.

This Time Today (11:58 AM)

11:58 am
Equality Rising

The midday sun is approaching. It’s that time of the day when you realise you’ve either accomplished a fair bit or have a lot more to do before the sun sets. It scares the hell out of me. I’ve written about a thousand words about a woman who misses a phone call which will change the course of her life. Save her from the miserable events about to happen. Not sure what those events are just yet. Does anyone? I feel like hiding under the bed until the animals take control of civilisation. The boy says lunchtime is his favourite time at school, it’s when social class, gender, and reputation have no meaning. Everyone is a target for the multitude of water balloons being projected across the yard.

No Offence

Tall, short, fat, skinny, blonde, brunette or ginger, everyone is considered an equal participant. No matter what they say about children in the playground, basic equality is achieved through the inhibition of unfiltered mindsets. Not to mention having the opportunity to score a headshot on an unsuspecting target. Splosh!

Fantasy and Fear

Those warm afternoons in the playground, running, shouting and flirting. Sharing stories with friends, some actual and some pure tales made up on the spot just to make you seem interesting. There was the one about the lone eyeball Scott Fenner kept in his pencil case. Apparently, it belonged to Scott’s older brother who split his head open and lost an eye as a result of a car crash. Scott would threaten his classmates with the intention of taking out the eyeball if they didn’t let him borrow their stuff. Nobody had ever seen the eyeball in question and Scott continued to have full access to whatever tickled his fancy. A combination of fear and intrigue kept everyone wary of Scott’s pencil case during classes.

This Time Today (11:02 AM)

11:02 am
Alcohol and Cordial

The boy said he probably won’t ever drink alcohol. It smells funny and he prefers cordial. Cottee’s is his favourite, especially the orange flavour. He likes mixing it with water in the large containers we keep in the fridge. Half an inch of the syrup and the rest water, then shaking it good and proper to mix the flavour around. He doesn’t like the ones that have solid bits floating around in them. Once, he was drinking a glass of cordial and a glass of milk at the same time, he soon found out how the digestive system works.

Red, White and No Clue

I prefer red wine to white wine. Something about the bitter citrus taste in white wine doesn’t appeal to my palette. Smells like rotten fruit, which I guess it is. Red wine seems to punch that taste out and I enjoy the rich flavour of spices. The boy likes the sound of the wine being poured into the glass and will often drop what he’s doing to observe and hear the glup, glup, glup of the pouring. Simple things.

Animals Shouldn’t Drink Alcohol

He found a bottle of Creme de menthe and used it to clean the fishbowl. He said he thought it would clean the water as it smelled like toothpaste. The two goldfish ended up as small bloated balloons in a psychedelic pool of green water with multi-coloured plastic coral floating around their lifeless bodies. He said he didn’t want fish as pets ever again, instead, he got a mouse who turned out to be pregnant and pretty soon he had eight mice. The mice were given to an animal welfare centre a few weeks later when he realised he couldn’t keep up with feeding, cleaning and coping with the all-night wheel running that the eight of them were prone to perform.

This Time Today (10:15 AM)

10:15 am
Coffee and Milk

Caffeine is a stimulant. It increases concentration and neuro-activity, however, after three or four cups within a two hour period I’m more like a toddler who’s consumed his weight in red cordial than a high functioning brainiac. Not to mention the effects of the sugar and whatever is in the milk these days. The boy likes milk, he likes it the most when it’s icy-cold and preferably when it comes in a good old fashioned glass bottle. He’s not keen on the plastic bottles as they form a crustation around the lid or the cartons with their ever-so-smart screw tops that fly off as soon as you twist them open.

Attention Span

I’ll use the energy burst from the caffeine to jot down three important tasks for today, this way I’ll have a set of goals to achieve and can remain on target without getting too distracted. Something to come back to. Discipline. Where did I put my eraser? Can’t remember seeing it this morning, maybe I left it somewhere yesterday, not sure. The boy could have taken it, he’s started creating pictures by filling a sheet of paper with charcoal and then using the eraser to etch in a drawing. He likes the different strokes and intensity he can achieve through rubbing the charcoal. The kitchen table is now a collage of charcoal fingerprints and eraser shavings.

Origins of Expression

He’s also started using coffee as paint. Experimenting with splashing and brushing coffee and water onto the paper. Some of the pieces are quite good. Landscapes, portraits and his version of abstract expressionism, although to be honest, sometimes I see a close resemblance to a cubicle wall in a public toilet. I’m not one to judge, art is art. Even in its most primitive form, which is where I guess it all started. Primitive beings chewing on betel nut and then spitting and swiping it across cave walls all in the name of art and communication.

This Time Today (9:12 AM)

9:12 am
Digital Distraction

It’s estimated that over three billion people use the internet. That’s a lot of computers, tablets and devices that people have purchased, borrowed or in some cases, stolen. I like to compose my stories on the computer. It means shuffling through pages from my notebooks for the ideas, comments, and remarks I have made on other occasions. Putting them all together in one digital file is a way to keep the thread clean and focused without having to carefully rewrite a new page in my best handwriting each time. The delete key is my favourite tool, it’s also a thorn in my side. Quite often after reading what I’ve spent the day writing I’ll be so disappointed by the babble I have spewed out that I don’t even think twice before hitting the favourite key to rid the world of the 3,000 words that are struggling to live as a coherent collective.

Postal Hors d’ouevres

Even with so much of the world’s population networking, conversing and connecting over the internet, it is one of the most isolated experiences of socialising I can think of. Every morning I spend up to an hour sifting through my email inbox deleting irrelevant messages, from third-party marketing companies, informing me that I have won, I have been chosen or did I know I was about to miss out on the opportunity of a lifetime if I didn’t sign-up today. Not a single sincere email from anyone I know or might want to know. I even check the junk folder in case an important email has found its way there by accident. Zilch.

Dumb and Dumber

The boy pays very little attention to the internet, he’s too busy making moon-buggies or customised space-explorers. I guess that’s a good thing as he doesn’t have the social pressure of having to check-in, like or comment on other peoples random banality gleefully posted for all to mock and snigger at. I haven’t posted for quite some time as the anxiety caused by not receiving any response resulted in me crawling into the fetal position for days. Now, there are video uploads, people are recording themselves talking about anything and everything, with little or no actual knowledge on the subjects. When that subject happens to be something as ordinary as opening a new smartphone box, you have to ask yourself, why did they bother? And better still, why did you just spend eight minutes watching that?

This Time Today (8:07 AM)

8:07 am
Get Going

The house is quiet. The debris of the morning escapades are sprayed, wiped and put away. Beds are made, clothes and linen are folded and toys are relocated to make way for walking space throughout the dwelling. I enjoy these quiet moments, allowing time to reflect and put the days’ tasks in order. We’ve all read enough of those motivational bestsellers about how to plan for success, however, none of them ever explained how to actually obtain success. Just what is the motivation focused on? Is it how to deal with your individual life choices and the circumstances of your reality or simply just staying motivated to read more motivational books? It’s most likely that publishers are receiving the blue ribbon.

Get Perspective

I’m hoping to get the story fleshed out today. Yesterday was productive but I’ve realised that some of the narrative isn’t working. Specifically the start, the middle and the ending. I really want it to have a clear path with an unsuspected twist towards the finale. I don’t want the story to end up as boring as bat shit as the boy would say. He likes stories that are exciting and adventurous and filled with interesting characters that take him far away from everyday life. If you can’t escape through your own imagination then what hope is there?

Get Outta Here

The pot of fresh coffee is ready. The boy’s been told to keep food and drinks away from the computer, yet here I am day after day in front of the screen sipping, slurping and consuming my daily intake. As if moving away from here for a few minutes for nourishment or rehydration might cause that one great idea to be overseen, forgotten or worse yet, never realised.

This Time Today (7:45 AM)

7:45 am
Words, Numbers and the Stench of Existence

The fresh smell of nature mixed with automobile exhaust fumes and yesterday’s garbage is an effective kick-in-the-head reminder that you are alive. Today. The conductor of the night seems to orchestrate the leftover stink of humanity into a sort of rock-opera that shocks you when you venture out the next morning. The wait for the school bus allows the boy to continue his conversation about how the aliens will one day surprise us all with an invasion and that knowing how to spell the words of numbers to 100 will be pointless in that scenario. I guess that’s true unless the aliens are a species with highly-evolved mathematical mindsets evaluating others on their ability to integrate grammar into complex calculations.

Outside Looking In

The allocated queue for the bus is in the Peterson’s driveway, they elected to provide this location as it’s a central point for the neighbourhood kids to convene. Mr Peterson leaves with his daughter Jenny, who is in the same class as the boy, eight minutes before the bus arrives, causing an excited manoeuvre by children when his VOLVO slowly makes its way down the driveway. I guess he leaves before the bus arrives so that he doesn’t have to drive anyone who missed the bus to school. We all wave as his car, with headlights on, drives off down the road. Jenny peers from the back seat window with a sullen look, as if she is longing to be part of the collective kerfuffle currently taking place in her driveway.

Talk Your Way Out

The boy enjoys the morning bus ride, meeting up with friends like they hadn’t seen each other for decades and discussing last night’s television viewing or who was going to win the cross-country run this week. The bus drives off and the parents saunter back to their homes to fulfill their roles as respectful adults and citizens. There’s no evident sign of extraterrestrial presence.

This Time Today (7:00 AM)

7:00 am
Breakfast with Aliens

An attack from Mars would cause less havoc than the early morning breakfast sequence in our household. Spilled coffee, half-eaten toast, and puddles of milky-cereal deposited across the kitchen. Plastic soldiers left on the table as if they were fighting off the invasion of whole-grain sludge. My boy enjoyed the ritual up to the point where it was time to go and brush his teeth. He’d plead that if he went now the aliens would win the battle and imprison everyone to work as slaves in the new world. Some mornings, I could see the benefit of this eventuation.

The War is Over

The soldiers looked battle-fatigued, ancient plastic toys that had seen more tours-of-duty than could possibly be sanctioned as healthy. Teeth marks on rifles, a few with missing limbs and one with no head at all. The headless soldier, out there fighting for freedom against the breakfast army of evil. The boy would return from the bathroom, with what seemed like no recognition of the battle that had taken place just minutes before, collect his soldiers and fling them into his school bag. For the next ten minutes, he would be transfixed by the explosion of noise, action sequences and endless spruiking for the latest toys on the television, interrupted every few minutes by an actual programme. 

Reduce, Reuse, Recycle

He always watched intently but never asked for whichever toy it was that was being repeatedly promoted on the telly. Sometimes he would make his own version out of cardboard boxes, old egg cartons and whatever was lying around the house. Empty tissue boxes had been made into a fleet of battle-ready jeeps, toilet rolls into space-guns and empty tin cans into robots and time-machines. I made the effort to keep what could be used as materials for future awe-inspiring feats of engineering and imagination.