I Don't Remember

I have a terrible long term memory. I really do. Sometimes the hypochondriac in me wonders "maybe I have some sort of early onset Alzheimer's?" I think it's a combination of genetics (a few of my relatives have mentioned that they have the same problem) as well as a kind of learned reaction that my brain has developed over my lifetime to help me cope with life's hard knocks. It is a blessing and a curse really. I find it fairly easy to forgive people for things they may have done, simply because after a while I can't remember exactly what it was that they did to upset me. Also, it's great for watching films and reading books that I've already seen or read before – I'm reading or watching and thinking, "this seems vaguely familiar", but I can't remember enough of it to know what's coming next. This is a big reason why I've taken to keeping blogs – if I write it down then I'm more likely to remember stuff. And if I don't, I can always read it later.

Songs, however, I can never, ever forget. My memory is full of a lifetime of songs, TV theme tunes and jingles from commercials that no matter how hard I try, I cannot erase from my mind. It is frustrating. I mean, how useful could this information possibly be:

You can't beat a Sao
Sao satisfaction
You can't beat a Sao, that's a fact
Sao brings out the flavour
Of any food you favour
You can't beat a Sao, that's a fact

Or:

Follow the arrow, just follow don't say no
Follow the arrow, they'll show you where to go
Arrows go this way, arrows go that
Arrows take you to an octopus, they take you to your hat

Or:

Feathers, fur or fins
Shell or scale or skin
If it walks on legs or flies on wings
If it runs or crawls or slithers or swims
It's got its place in the scheme of things
Feathers, fur or fins

I was bemoaning all this with friends recently, and one of them suggested that I should make up songs about the things that happen in my life, so that I can remember them. I'm not sure if that would work. I mean, how catchy is a song with lyrics like, "went to lots of meetings last year, la la la, also discovered that I quite like risotto, la la la", or, "Doo-doo-doo… my last pap smear was in 2003… yeeeeah yeah"? Maybe that's where folk or country and western songs originated? I mean, it's possible that Billy Bob BoJangle might never have remembered that it was 12 months since his separation and he could now legally get a divorce if a year ago today he hadn't crooned, "Left my skank of a wife for another lovely womaaan, wooah-oh, singin, the life of a ma-an on the run".

By contrast, my short term memory is fantastic. If you ever want to know what I had for lunch yesterday and exactly what time it was when I took my first bite, or how much Whiskas was on special for at the supermarket last week, then I'm your girl.

TGIF

Someone on my work Messenger account today had their personal message as "TGIF" (Thank God It's Friday). It got me wondering a few things. The first random thought was, "Does God like Fridays more than other days? Like, does he look forward to the weekend like everyone else?" My next thought was about how ridiculous my first thought was. But then I thought, "If [person at work] was so damn pleased that it was Friday so that they could have a couple of days off from working, then why don't they get another job? One they enjoy going to?"

I love my job. And I'm not just saying that in case someone from where I work randomly decides to see if I have a blog somewhere (unlikely – they probably have a life). When Friday rolls around, most of me is glad for the respite the weekend brings, but another part of me is disappointed that the work week is over. Does that make me a freak? Maybe. I always dreamed of having a job that I loved though – it has made such a difference to my outlook on life. Before I worked full time, I was often sad and depressed, and was never really sure why. Sometimes I wonder if that's still all lurking beneath the surface, and having a job is simply a distraction from it. I'm a bit scared of taking holidays, for that reason. I don't think that's the case though – I think most of the reason for the sadness was that I didn't feel like I had any reason for being here on earth, I had a shit job that any halfwit could do. Now I feel slightly useful occasionally.

How many people, at a vague guess, don't like their jobs? I reckon it would be a lot. Maybe even more than half. So then, is there a solution to that? Are they in the wrong job, or do they just have a negative attitude towards work that would carry through no matter where they were? I think it's sad. You spend so much of your life working, if you don't enjoy it, then that's a big part of your life you haven't enjoyed. It's just not worth it! I'm not sure what you'd do about it though. Changing jobs isn't all that easy sometimes, particularly with financial commitments or families to support. But even if you work towards your goal bit by bit, it's heartening to know that you'll get there eventually, and it makes working in a shit job a bit more bearable.

Congratulations to my brother, Luke, who just quit his job at Kmart that he hated, so that he could go to TAFE and get a trade. What a bold move – but one that will pay off in the end. Go Luke!

Swimming

Went swimming in the Leven River yesterday with K, Fanghead, Keith and Dan. It was so nice! Well, it was to begin with anyway. Not content with just swimming and relaxing, the boys decided to see whose penis was the biggest in a game of 'Who Can Swim With the Biggest Rock'. (Why don't men just pull down their pants and compare once and for all, instead of all this chest-beating? It'd save a lot of time.) Anyway, the winner was Dan, after a couple of near drownings. Not content with the result, Keith thought they should see 'Who Can Skim a Rock the Most Times'. Again, the winner was Dan. Then it got ridiculous with 'Who Can Bust a Rock in Half'. The testosterone was so thick I felt like I was asphyxiating. Then I saw a spider on a rock and Fanghead screamed the place down. Then K got a fish hook stuck in his foot. Then we saw an empty beer bottle, bobbing up and down, going on a journey down the river, past someone's slimy old shoe. The novelty wore off at that point, it was getting kinda gross.

Today I went swimming in the sea with Jason. What a difference! The water was so warm and clear, and there were waves to jump over. There were no spiders or beer bottles or cavemen antics. I am sure gonna miss having the ocean only 5 minutes walk away. Sigh. Where is there to swim in Launceston? The Cataract Gorge, with all the eels and car bodies and probably human bodies and submerged logs? Or the adjacent pool, where the lovely water temperature is undoubtedly linked to the amount of urine within, and you feel like you're doing the hokey-pokey rather than swimming because you can barely move for all the people? Bah!

The last time I went swimming in the Gorge, I swore I'd never do it again. I ended up covered in slime, and had some sort of mysterious skin rash the next day. And K nearly drowned trying to swim from one side to the other while carrying a rock as big as his head.

My Funny Valentine

It was Valentine's Day on Wednesday.

Traditionally, K and I do not celebrate this day. Whenever February 14th has rolled around in the past, we have pointed our noses in the air, and sneered in self-righteous disdain at others who chose to waste their money by succumbing to the wishes of advertisers, florists, Cadbury, Hallmark, etc. Let other couples be guilted into spending their hard-earned dollars in order to 'prove' their love for each other! Let others feel forced into superficial displays of affection! We felt far above such frivolity - almost to the point of ignoring each other for the entire day, just in case anyone got the wrong idea.

This year I spent the day at work as usual, watching colleagues receive gaudy packages complete with simpering love notes. Bleh. Riding Gus home from work, I shook my head at how some people blithely do what the media tells them to do, without thinking to question it. I was still scoffing to myself as I rode into the garage upon my arrival home.

What was that noise? Sounded like jazz music. Must be coming from next door, or across the road maybe... no, it sounded quite close. Perhaps K had left the radio on, or it was coming from a website he was looking at. Puzzled, I went inside, where I discovered the source of the music - our CD player. The table had been set for two, complete with wine glasses, placemats and candles. The house was clean, and I could smell a roast dinner cooking. K beamed at me, barely containing his excitement. I could hardly believe my eyes! Here before me was a man who, when asked if he loved me a while back, replied, "I told you I loved you on our wedding day... if anything changes, I'll let you know". And here he was busting out a mad Valentine's effort - I was stunned.

For me, the most startling thing from all of this was my gradual realisation that I really, really loved and appreciated the effort he went to. Me, the person who laughs in the face of romantic notions, the girl who has never received flowers purely because of the obvious scorn I have shown towards such 'nonsense', was actually quite chuffed that someone cared enough about me to go to so much effort. I have no idea why this particular year was different to any other, but I'm glad it was - we had a wonderful evening. We finished our dinner and sat drinking the wine and chatting for a while, then we went for a swim in the sea as the sun set behind the Dial Ranges. It was sickeningly romantic - but I had such a good time!

I shouldn't get too used to it - no doubt it'll be back to normal by next February 14th. And I don't mind that either. It was a wonderful evening, but mainly because I wasn't expecting it. What's so special about receiving flowers or gifts when you're fully aware that you're going to get them? Nothing. Of course you're gonna go to an effort for your partner if you think they'll be mad at you if you don't do it. And of course, there's the worry over whether they'll go to more of an effort than you will, or vice versa. The reason this year was so special was because neither of us had any expectations of each other.

Thank you, K. I love you.