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Archive for March, 2016

I finally picked up my Deed of Instrument today.

"I should frame it up. It is testament of my abject failure to participate in life. My life was soooo screwed up then."
"I'm glad you know that. I felt that it wasn't polite to tell you then."

😂

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Overlord called me RSM (ie Regimental Sergeant Major) yesterday.

"She's the one person clean up crew. We send her in after the carnage."

What he didn't say is that sometimes I show up to keep peace too….then end up having to take one for everyone.

I need to do less things at the same time.

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People who call me at 7.30am to ask me a legal question should not be allowed to decide that they don't possess enough mental faculties to digest my answer halfway through it.

If I can summon enough mental faculties to explain the law on deductibles to you at 7.30am while getting my kid into his school uniform and doing the dishes from breakfast, you bloody well hear it all the way through and pretend to understand while you are at it.

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"Mummy, I have thought of a new thing I could be when I grow up. I could be a bookmaker!"
?!!?
"Sure, you could be a bookmaker. But I am pretty sure that's illegal."

Life with a fuzzy cat friend.

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Highlight of my day

😁

*
I took over a set of submissions this morning.

Said I to Secretary A at 3pm –
"I've been drinking since 11am. This has got to be a new record."

:S

I turned it over in 5 hours though, after a lot of tortured crying and screaming and foot stamping and wanting to stab my eyes out with a blunt pencil. So all is good in the world, except for my throat which has been threatening to go since that jug of sangria at lunch.

Oh well. Can't win all the time.

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Is it always about a boy?

While telling D a story about how I came to acquire a taste for dessert wine, it occurred to me that most of my beer drinking stories do in fact involve a boy: Boys I loved, boys who loved me and very often not at the same time.

A life full of bad timing, perhaps? Or maybe I feel too freely, too intensely, too carelessly, too empathetically.

I sit and watch the ambient light glistening in my glass, remembering nights of sitting on a kitchen counter eating dahl and bad attempts at singing in Hindi, messages written with lipstick on napkins, his arm around me waltzing through an empty restaurant, eating fried chicken at a 24 hour joint, quiet conversations at the back of taxis.

The wine and the memories swirl together warming me, drawing a smile on my face, colouring the wine in a more vivid gold, lifting each sip out of the mundanity of a Tuesday evening pre-Wednesday madness drink.

I live fervently. I regret nothing.

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Incredibly out of depth at a seminar. But I guess that's the fun of attending these seminars, right? Getting a feel of how the other side swings.

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