11/15/2004 10:24:00 pm

TMI

Posted by Tom French |

More information than you need to know about my day today
(infact 2,774 words of it)

I woke up at 10am when my alarm went off. I set the alarm at 1:18am this morning thinking that 9 hours sleep should be enough (excuse my lazy maths). I fell back to sleep and woke up at around 10:05am when there was a knock at the door. I ignored it because I decided that it probably wasn’t for me and drifted back to sleep thinking about the uncomfortable excursion to the front door in just my boxers that would occur if I did go and answer the door.

I drifted back out of my sleep when I heard the knocker enter the house. I tried to work out whose voice it was that had come into my abode, “Was it Emily or Gemma?” I decided it was Emily. I ignored Emily’s “Hello”s, still thinking she’d be looking for someone other than me. Eventually when she knocked on my door, I thought I should declare myself awake. So on the second knock I grunted at the door. Martin game me some flowers.

After they left I got up and had a shower listening to Switchfoot. During my shower I tried to clean the red pencil off the shower floor that Hannah drew on Saturday night, I went over my schedule for the week over and over again and I watched a fly that was flying around the bathroom and wondered if it was the same fly that had been flying around the bathroom last night when I did my teeth. I wondered if it was cruel to lock a fly in a bathroom over night. When I finished my shower I was up to track four on the cd. I tried to stop it at the end of the track and was mildly put out when the guitar from track 5 came in before I could press stop.

After my shower I called Andrew to organise to see him this week. I stood on my bed trying to decide what I was going to wear today, while trying to sound normal and uninteresting, but genuine enough to be worthwhile.

Once I was dressed (I chose my brown shorts and green car crash T-shirt) I went and sat on the couch with my Bible to have my quiet time. I got distracted reading the bulletin from last night’s church visit. I started thinking about the way strangers have a much easier time getting through my defences, because I am too busy trying to figure them out and impress them to keep my guard up. Mum came home during this thought process, so I retreated back to my room to have my quiet time.

I read my Bible (Luke 9:28-36) and considered the Transfiguration. I thought about what a thoroughly overwhelming revelation about Jesus it was, and wondered how I would react. Then I realised that I have a much greater revelation of Jesus in the Bible (although seemingly less impressive), and I don’t get nearly as excited as I think I would if one of my friends turned white, a voice commended them from heaven, and Elijah and Moses turned up for a guest appearance.

I prayed my prayers, out of their usual order and as a result probably prayed for some things twice and some things I don’t normally pray for. I thought this was probably a good result for a little bit of mixing up the status-quo.

As I prayed I watched Mum hang out the washing and felt guilty that I wasn’t out there helping her. It didn’t occur to me that I may have been taking on a “Martha Mentality”.

As soon as I finished my quiet time I turned my computer on (according to daily ritual) and headed out to finish hanging out the clothes while the computer went through its seemingly infinite, mostly useless processes, before it becomes a mostly-functioning machine.

As I hung out the washing I considered how one best hangs out washing in tandem while causing minimal upset to my usual way of hanging out washing. It was a clash of washing hanging cultures, and I wasn’t sure how to hang with integrity. In the end I assimilated knowing that she had done way too much of the washing line to make my mark on the hanging procedures. During the process my mother invited me to go shopping with her today. I told her I would like to do that.

My mother went to have her morning tea and a shower before we went shopping, while I went to read my emails, check blogs and eat breakfast before we went exploring and raiding the plentiful world Woolworths. I read some articles at smh.com, noticed that there was no new blogging since I went to bed and that the emails didn’t change my life (although I did get an offer for a little social activity). I wondered if I had already blogged the fact that every time I check my email I look for the email that will change my life, whatever email that is. I’m sure if I took up some of the useless offers of enlargement and enrichment that arrive in my inbox I may just change my life, although I can’t think how my life would change apart from feeling stupid and disappointed.

I looked at my blog, wrote a comment and tried to work out who some of my unknown commenters were.

I couldn’t think of anything to blog so I blogged about the weather.

I then went outside to visit Mum who was reading the Good Weekend in the front yard and suggested that we went and had lunch as well as shop. She liked that idea and told me to eat some breakfast. I ate some yoghurt. She went have a shower leaving me an empty chair and a full Good Weekend.

I relished the sun and read. I started many articles and only finished one. All the others I stopped tantalisingly close to the end. I have an attention span that is almost long enough to be functional. I did notice that I’m not like many people my age. I have never slept in a park, or burnt a love letter. The Good Weekend let me know, that because of this, I didn’t reach 20 having done what most people have done by the age of 20.

When my mother was ready to go, I came back inside to check my email and the blogs. Nothing had changed.

When Mother and I set out for the shops it was about 1pm. Mum decided we didn’t have enough time or money to go shopping so we’d just have lunch. This seemed good.

At the Westfield car park I used my superior knowledge of the parking area to guide Mum to one of the best parking spaces in the centre. It was probably mostly due to being in the right place at the right time, but at least I knew how to get to the right place.

In the mall Mum and I had long discussions about where to eat while making the most of the $27 we had between us. We settled for Café Florence because neither of us wanted anything all that expensive.

Mum ordered as we sat at our outdoor table. I had my elbow placed just outside the shadowed area from the above umbrella, just so I could pick up a few extra rays as we waited. The food arrived and Mum told me about her sermon last night, I talked about and dissected my church experience yesterday and we discussed some preachers we both know and their quirks. David’s Dad walked past without a beard. It was the first time I had ever seen him without a beard in the 16 years I have known him. I realised that there had been more of David hiding under the facial hair than I had ever realised.

We came home to get ready for Hannah to go to her respite place tonight. Mum packed her bag and I rang up to book the car in to get the starter motor fixed. The girl who answered sounded friendly and I wondered if she was wearing blue overalls.

I found a letter that Ryan had sent me last week next to the phone. It contained a cut out print of a painting of a bum with some undies riding up the crack. The artwork was called Bottom, it made me laugh muchly.

I came into my room and checked my emails (nothing), and blogged about my waking up experiences and whatever came after that.

Just before I finished the post, the woman in the red car who drops Hannah home honked in her usual rambunctious fashion. It would scare me if I didn’t know she was so friendly.

I grabbed my keys and Hannah’s overnight bag and wandered out of the house having an internal argument about which a car to take. The Pulsar won. I collected Hannah from the red car and bundled her into the grey one. We the set off on our journey across Hornsby with the company of Triple M on the wireless.

At the respite house I parked the car, locked it and unlocked it too many times, and took Hannah in. Inside we were met by a carer whose name I have forgotten. Hannah gave me a hug and a kiss and I hoped that the carer (who was probably about my age and had a very impressive Irish accent) knew that I was Hannah’s brother. I thought if she didn’t she might think I was a really creepy white bus driver (all the kids that get dropped at respite places come in white buses).

When I left the house I wondered how someone would go about picking up a respite carer while dropping a kid off and I realised I wouldn’t know how to do it. I wasn’t surprised or upset by this thought at all.

As I drove home I wondered if writing about Fifi Box on my blog would increase my Google hits. Somehow the thought process evolved into thinking about all the exciting jobs I could have if life was a little different. I went to my computer and blogged.

I packed my bag and walked out of the house again. I walked to the shops listening to Switchfoot from where I left off this morning and wondered if I should blog the embarrassing things that happened to me yesterday or if they would reveal my hidden insecurities. Outside Homebase I saw person who was in my year at school and noticed they had a shaved head. My bag felt funny, I had a look, and I realised that I had walked all the way to the shops with my bag completely open. I was horrifically embarrassed. It felt like I had walked to the shops with my pants around my ankles. I did wonder if anyone has seen my Bible and Christian books and hoped that perhaps I had done some really passive evangelism. I wondered where the easiest place to blog about my bag might be.

I bought a Coke and walked into the shops. I looked to see if Sal was at her work (she wasn’t), and decided that it would be a hideously scary place to work. I was happy she was doing it and not me.

I went to Borders and wandered around and questioned myself as to whether idlely walking around Borders might be placing myself in the path of temptation in this temple of materialism.

Forgetting this I went to religious section of Borders and noticed that it was conviently (and symbolically) located next to the Business section, and that Bhuddism has more shelf space than Christianity. I read the foreword to the Book of Job written by Louis de Bernieres. I decided that he wasn’t a Christian and wondered how much of the introduction I could quote on my blog.

After Borders I headed across to the Library strategically trying to avoid the “professional beggars” of the Cancer Council and all the guilt that comes with them.

In the Library I looked to see if there were any books they by Jodi Picoult, I thought I might read a bit of one to see what all the fuss was about. The computers told me that they were all out and reserved. This didn’t answer my questions, but did further prove that there is a lot of fuss about. I had images of lots of women running around Hornsby and Epping libraries borrowing Jodi Picoult books in a crazed, estrogen and literature induced frenzy. I have no idea of the demographics of Picoult’s readers but of all the people who I’ve heard talk about her, they have all been women so naturally they must all be women who read her. I was quietly relieved that she was all borrowed out, as I could have preserved my masculine image while in the library.

I walked over to the newspaper section and finished my perusal of the Good Weekend still not finishing any of the articles.

Following this I pulled out my book New Issues Facing Christians Today by John Stott and embarked on a journey into the theological reasons for Christians to get involved in social action and welfare. I would often drift off into self-affirming theological musings of my own. When you consider theology on your own there is no one to disagree with yourself.

At one stage I got distracted a impulsively jumped out of my chair to see if there were any copies of The Economist around. I went back to my chair empty handed.

Eventually swapped to Captain Corelli’s Mandolin by Louis de Bernieres and wondered how much of it I could quote on my blog.

Every now and again I would get distracted by my arm on the chair and wonder if was getting any browner.

I left at the end of my second chapter and headed home. I walked past Phillip Ruddock’s office and considered acts of vandalism I could (but never would) do to it. I saw a man walking down the street who looked like Phillip Ruddock and I suddenly got excited and thought I could go meet him and we could become good mates. Then I noticed that the man was carrying a green Woolie's Enviro-Bag and I decided that Phillip wouldn’t carry one of them around.

When I got to the lights on the old side of Hornsby I thought about writing a song, which quickly evolved into poetry when I remembered I can’t play any instruments. I returned my dvd to the video store then got struck by the thought that I could write a really long blog post about everything I did in this mundanely commonplace day. I walked home composing the post in my head.

When I arrived home, I still had one track left on my cd so I un-packed my pockets and ventured out to the trampoline with my bag on and my earphones in. I decided to test the shock-protection on my diskman. I proceeded to jump on the trampoline with my Caribee on, listening to Switchfoot. I hoped the neighbours wouldn’t see me. Right at the end of the song my back pack exploded open and the contents went flying everywhere. I am happy to report though that the cd didn’t skip once.

I repacked my bag, put it on the ground and continued to jump. I wanted to see how high I could get. When I heard my neighbours talking I got scared and got off the trampoline.

I came inside and started this blog post. I listened to Dave Matthew’s Band while I wrote it.

Mum came and asked my to hang out some more washing with her. This time I was more assertive in my hanging style and we compromised and accommodated each other, creating a hybrid of out hanging styles.

I then hand washed my woollen jumpers and on inspection my the water afterwards I relised I am as dirty as I think I am.

I came back here to write this post.

At 8:40 I went and ate my dinner of Fish and Chips on the couch watching Four Corners which was about the siege in Beslan. That was depressing and made my angry. My chips had been over cooked.

Now I’m back in here, blogging, and I’m wondering how I’m going to finish this blogpost.

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