Gertrude’s Diary #87 – The Days of Our Lives

I’ve just lost my post for the second time this morning.  I thought I was connected to the internet both times.  Both times I was not connected to the internet.  If you are using word press and you are not connected to the internet and you press save it does not save.  It anti-saves.  A bit like the anti-christ.  Actually, a lot like the anti-christ.

I’ve been up since 5.00 am.  Wildflower was recently given a small electronic organiser which she had managed to program to start beeping before dawn.  She of course slept straight through it, in the manner of young children.  In my sleep-befuddled state I couldn’t even open the wretched thing.  Finally I switched it off and put if somewhere safe, but even after I’d thrown it out the window I couldn’t get back to sleep.

I got up and took the bunny for a cavort on the front lawn.  He was unusually frisky in the cool, early morning air.   My usual rabbit wrangling tactics had no effect, which is how I came to be chasing him off the neighbours front lawn in baggy, hot pink pyjama pants, a singlet, sheepskin slippers and a black woollen shawl.   Oh the glamour.

I’d been trying all week to come up with an appropriate subject for this post.  I decided this morning to just take the easiest way and mine all the lowest moments of my life for material, and I think maybe the universe is telling me not to be so negative.  Just because it’s easy doesn’t mean it’s appropriate to write about things like having an accident on my bike that left me with two fat lips that WEREN’T ON MY FACE.  Or having a lovely brush with a gastric bug on Tuesday.  I certainly shouldn’t be writing about the family counselling I’m having with Wildflower’s dad.  Not that we’ve actually had a face to face session.  I’m not sure whether they usually take months to get the parties together, or whether it is indicative of how much work we have to do.  This week we spent 40 minutes on the subject of how we might GET THE REST OF HIS STUFF OUT OF MY FUCKING SHED.  I may still have some work to do.

I have to go and get ready for the office now, where I’ll meet with a consultant book-keeper who will go over our accounts with me, identifying every mistake I’ve made in the last 18 months.  I cannot begin to tell you of the joy with which this prospect fills me.   Look out for Sunday’s instalment which will be a travelogue about the delights of Mittagong.  If I don’t get hit by a bus before then.  I should be so lucky.

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