Fat Bunny

  • Centurion…

    There are 100 days left in the year and there is a lot to do, but I am not sure exactly what. I got out of the habit of writing lists at the farm because when there is one big job a list seems sort of pointless. The job was clear out several 100 tonnes of junk and 1000s of square meters of weeds, and that doesn’t really need a detailed plan of action.

    Now that I am down to the last 20 tonnes of detritus and the jungles have been pushed back a bit, it might be time to start making those detailed day to day lists. I mean who doesn’t love the little endorphin bump from running a pen through a finished task? The fact that it’s raining today and I can’t do anything at the farm is also seems like the perfect day to get back into lists.

    Maybe making a 100 day list is a bit ambitious? Even a list with a 100 items on it would be overwhelming. So the plan is to commit to 100 days of making a list in the morning while I have a coffee, nothing detailed just a few bullet points with achievable tasks for the day.

    Good luck Centurion.

  • Is that a Light?…

    After a couple of years of removing stuff from the farm it is now officially just back to a big job. I know this because every person who sees the property tells me so. “This is a big job” they say, “you should have seen it last week/month/year” I say, and we all laugh. Well I pretend to laugh, while I quietly die inside about how many hours/days/weeks/months it has taken just to get it back to being a big job.

    The amount of energy I have expended removing things from every corner of the place would have renovated the cabin twice over by now. Add to that the amount of effort my father used to make the mess in the first place and is it any wonder I’m have a bit of existential crisis about my life and what the purpose of it is. When my father died I really believed I was going to sell the farm, partly because it was an overwhelming task but also because I didn’t want to spend years of my life on the remains someone else’s dream.

    Over the last two years things have changed in so many areas of life that clearing and rebuilding the farm and cabin have become a necessity. The whole cost of living thing has obviously made the idea of a mortgage free existence a more appealing option, and the old dream of owning a small capital city apartment has now slipped away.

    The trauma and guilt that made doing anything in that first year so difficult has now become an occasional twinge instead of a constant immobilizing force. I still have bad days where it all comes back to me, and I don’t think I will be able to face living there, but there are now days where I feel a sense of calm and accomplishment as I slowly return it to the magical place that it once was.

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  • Long Time Between Drinks…

    Sorry it’s been a while but I was sort of busy, or kinda sick. And a few times I was busy, sick, and not dealing. I’m still busy trying to turn the farm into a habitable space, while juggling budgets and side hustles to pay for all those expensive materials required to build stuff. Who knew that building walls needed so many bits of wood? I only did after watching a couple of YouTube videos.

    But even after 20 series of Grand Designs I still had the hubris to claim I would be in by Christmas. I would love to blame getting sick, or discovering unexpected problems with the house, but that’s only half the story.

    I hate to leave you with a cliffhanger, but it’s important to take things slowly when returning to blogging. So I will need a little time to stretch and warm up before I go all Captain Ahab:

    “He piled upon the whale’s white hump the sum of all the general rage and hate felt by his whole race from Adam down; and then, as if his chest had been a mortar, he burst his hot heart’s shell upon it.”

  • Winter Days…

    June is usually a bad month for me, not least because it’s my birthday on the 8th, and while I’ve never had a healthy relationship with it as a day it kind of really started to become stressful about 17 years ago with the death of my stepmother. Her birthday was on the 6th of June (today), she died at 50 from cancer, and it pretty much sent my father into a depression for the rest of his life that he never recovered from.

    A year before she got really sick she came to visit me in Brisbane to see her first “grandchild”, she never had children of her own.

    And of course she was just as amazing with my child as she had been with me. She really would have been that magical grandmother every child dreams of, which is what makes it so hard to know that 2 years later she was gone, she passed away a few months before my second child was born.

    My father was always a better person with her around, and he would have found being a grandparent easier with her help. He was a good grandfather, but his sadness was always there. She was missed by us all, even the children who didn’t get a chance to know her.

    Happy Birthday Helen, we miss you.

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  • Yesterdays, Todays, and most of Tomorrows…

    If the question was how many “spoons” does 5 trailer loads of rubbish cost? The answer is definitely about half a weeks worth. Especially if it’s slightly damp rubbish, and has quite a few reptiles sleeping under it, mainly lizards luckily as the snakes don’t seem to like how quickly it has gotten cold round here and many bugger off to warmer places further down river.

    5 loads is absolutely exhausting, but it did at least give me an idea of how many more loads I need to do in the current zone I’m working on. Probably about 12-15 more loads should get me all the way back to the shed, and clear the driveway so I can drive up to the house, because I’m not lugging building supplies any further than necessary.

    Autumn is definitely here, and it is definitely the time to knock myself out over the the next few months, because while spring is pretty it makes this place an impenetrable forest. The plan is to get as much done as possible outside before it gets to cold, and then hopefully move to working inside for the coldest part of winter.

    But for now I’m going to lay down till Saturday afternoon and try to stock up a few spoons.

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  • There’s Your Problem…

    I went out to the farm today, and yes that after yesterday that definitely falls into the what the hell were you thinking category, but it was sort of unplanned. After dropping Thing1 at work, Thing2 and I went and grabbed a takeaway coffee, and possibly pastries (there was definitely pastries). Then with snacks and drinks in hand, and a child that didn’t want to go home I suggested a drive in the countryside.

    So 30 mins later we where at the farm.

    For the first time since my fathers death Thing2 actually wanted to go into the house, where we discussed what the plans for the house are going to be, and sat down to finish to finish our coffees. It all seemed to be going smoothly when I popped to the bathroom for a minute, only to return to a weeping child. So I’m really spreading the upset around this week. We hugged, and decided that was a enough facing things for day, and headed down to the village for a look around.

    A new art gallery has opened, and after taking bets on how many amateur Australian landscape paintings we would find, we went in. The gallery turned out to be a room, and the we won our bets on the artistic contents. While we politely looked at the pictures we made small talk with the woman running things. Yes our first visit, no not from far away, yes kind of local… and this is were I mentioned taking over the property just past the bridge, where of course she puts 2 and 2 together and still only manages to get to three. It seems she went to school with my stepmother, and was sad to here she died, and hadn’t seen my father about lately and asked if something had happened to him.

    Luckily I heard about this trick where you can prevent yourself crying by clenching your butt really tight, it’s great for when you don’t want to have weird emotional outbursts in front of strangers. I’m amazed how many butt cures there are for things, including hiccups. But I digress (often), we got out of the gallery of awkward silences and awful landscapes fairly unscathed, and headed for home.

    I’ve come to the conclusion that even having someone with me in the house doesn’t solve the not being able to be there for long issue. It’s a sensory thing that is only going to be solved by removing every internal part of the house and starting again. Which probably means paying someone to do the demolition because I can’t make much progress 10mins at a time. I can work outside for hours without a problem, so it’s definitely a house thing.

    Now that the weather has cooled, and the probate has settled I know I need to get out there at least a couple of full days a week. I think it’s going to be all outside stuff for a while though. I even considered putting a caravan out so the kids had somewhere to hang out while I was working, but that seems a bit insanely wasteful. I wish I wasn’t so pathologically against camping, even one of those enormous hipster tents can’t convince me that life under canvas is worth the effort. I’m to accustomed to life’s little luxuries, like floors and walls. Maybe I’ll put in a fancy tent for guests, because I do seem to know a lot of people who like that kind of thing, and it’s easier than having them in the house.

    I’m going to take a week or so doing paperwork and planning stuff, but after that I really need to get back out there and get back to work.

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  • Am I doing it Deliberately?

    Thirty minutes ago I managed to trigger a full on PTSD attack in the supermarket with my own voice… and I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.

    I spent the day yesterday with my X-Wife, happily doing her a favor but also selfishly spending a day with a grownup with a brain for the first time in quite a while. It was a several hour drive, with 90% pleasant chatting that was reminiscent of the GOOD OL’ DAYS and 10% regrets, parental fails, and general piss poor decisions. But I’ll take a 90% good anything at the moment, even if it involves eight hours at the wheel.

    After an adequate nights sleep, which also is a rare blessing these days, I woke up fairly exhausted from the previous day, but cracking on with the mundane nonsense that keeps a household functioning, dishes, laundry, shopping lists. Even the lack of milk for my morning coffee wasn’t much of drama, I just decided a walk to corner store would be a nice little break. I slipped on my shoes, grabbed my wallet, and opened the door… only to see the postie coming up the path.

    Now I order a lot of stuff online, because I live in a country town and have weird tastes, and all my bills arrive by internet, so I don’t have a fear response to envelopes as a rule. That is unless they are addressed to my late father, or from “the solicitor” as I refer to them. Today was from the later about the former, the final probate documents have finally arrived after almost 9 months. I think the limbo of the whole situation was playing into my denial quite nicely, if all the cars, property, accounts were still in my fathers name then obviously he wasn’t gone. These documents pulled that rug out from under me this morning before I had a coffee.

    I sent the closest awake child to the shop for milk, as my legs weren’t as keen on a walk anymore. So with a coffee, double shot with double sugar, I signed the last of the executor documents to sign everything over to the only beneficiary, me. Then I went back to cleaning, before waking one child for work, and the other for some made up reason so I could grab a random hug. Delivered papers, washed the car, drank more coffee, and just generally indulged in some quality distractions.

    Five o’clock rolls around, I’m a bit drained, so I decided it was a great time to go do some grocery shopping. See we are getting to the part where the story started, and definitely the reason for the title. I’m not a huge fan of grocery shopping at the best of times, which is normally why I take a child with me, to distract any moody spirals or spiteful outbursts, or to just make sure I keep my shit together as I tend to be in bodyguard mode with the kids around so I don’t focus on myself.

    It was all going so swimmingly, trolley loaded with 90% good food and 10% things that taste good… and then I got to the checkout.

    A quick explanation here: My father and I sound the same, indistinguishable to even close family on the phone. I also have quite a few of his conversational terms and affectations in social interactions.

    I’m popping groceries on the conveyor, doing the whole “bags please” and “had a good day” bit. Then the cashier asked if I wanted to use my discount, and I heard my fathers voice answer in that pleasant voice he used for anyone that was serving him… and I was back at the his bedroom door looking at his body. I managed to get out of the supermarket and back to the car by jamming my keys into leg hard enough to bruise myself quite badly.

    I’m home now, and I’m breathing normally again, even if I’ve managed to cry so much my eyes are stinging. I’m really hoping tomorrow I can just do nothing, or I’m hoping I can let myself do nothing, because I’m really not up to any more self inflicted damage this week.

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  • That House from Lethal Weapon 2…

    I was a man desperately in need of a metaphor or a simile. Or perhaps a definition of which is which?

    I tried all variations of falling boots, and life’s similarities to various roads large and small. I even looked into the weight baring nature of ungulates. But in the end I went with a pop culture/architecture reference, because I occasionally like to be true to my nature.

    The house in question is the Garcia House, Built in the ’60s by late California architect John Lautner.

    In the 80s masterpiece Lethal Weapon Zwei the house is being used by the South African Consulate to launder cash. After the corrupt Ambassador has his secretary and love interest of Sargent Riggs (Mel Gibson) killed, Riggs becomes hell bent on revenge, starting out by killing a house.

    Now that we are all caught up with the background for the metaphor let’s carry on. I’m the house, the delicate legs are my support, and Mel Gibson is life.

    The support system propping up my life are really that narrow and inadequate looking, and unfortunately unlike the house I am not firmly anchored into the rock of hillside behind. So when those supports at the front go I am 100% sliding into the ravine.

    Last year when my father died I could feel Mel Gibson wrapping those big arse chains around the base of those legs. Now as I wait for news about the x from the hospital and if they can get her heart rate back under control with drugs, or if she needs surgery, it feels like I can hear the truck engine revving as it gets ready to pull on those chains.

    I’m scared to death at the thought of having anyone else removed from my life prematurely, but the idea of it happening to my last remaining support adds a level of anxiety I’m not designed for. I’m currently ill with worry about the whole thing. Everything from not wanting to lose someone who was a big part of my life, to selfish stuff like being a coward about telling the kids if it goes wrong, and a 100 other scenarios in between.

    My emergency box of Valium is getting a hell of workout at the moment, and it’s not doing a damn thing.

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  • A Little Shelf Love…

    I’m being shelfish today and doing some shelf indulgent organizing.

    The CDs that rarely/ever get listened to are going in some boxes. I’m not getting rid of them yet, but they are going into storage until I decide what to do with them.

    Since embracing the music streaming apps I rarely use them anymore, and if I’m going to go to the trouble of using physical media it will probably be vinyl.

    I’m going to keep the shelves for the time being, or until I stumble across something that works better and has less of discount store flat pack vibe. So lets put some of my narrow books in it, and yes I did wander around with a book the exact depth and use it as a guide.

    I’m done for now, but since I need to look at every time I leave my room, there will be tweaks, or I will replace it with something else, probably sooner rather than later.

    Whatever I decide it gave me something to do while the kids were out, that didn’t require to much shelf reflection.

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  • Kitchen Tidy Part 1.5…

    Sorry for the delay, I’ve been a tad frazzled. My doctor put me on steroids and some other medications that have completely fried my ability to focus on anything for more than five minutes. I won’t use the word manic, but let’s just say confused enthusiasm has been ruling the roost.

    *see also pretty serious steroid induced insomnia and panic attacks.

    All of that meant instead of focusing on the simple job of sorting and cleaning the kitchen I have pulled half the house apart, and embarked on yet another sort and cull mission. You would think having already gotten rid of half my stuff over the past 12 months or so would have satisfied me, but it seems I’m still not where I need to be yet.

    Today I wanted to sort the plastic container cupboard of carnage.

    This of course is a quick job that will temporarily stack everything up nicely until the first time someone actually needs to get something out. Or… I could just fix the problem properly? and noisily.

    I went with noisy and properly, well my quick and dirty version of properly because it’s a cupboard in a 40 year old kitchen and even I know when to just do a “close enough for government work” job.

    I had to fight the urge to countersink the screws and paint the pine batons, but I really do have a thousand over things to do this week. However I reserve the right to come back later and give them a quick coat of paint, but only if I’m painting something else in the house and have some leftover.

    Not pretty, but it’s now functional and it now won’t make swear every time I have to get something out of it. Now I can get back to the rest of the kitchen, hopefully without having to construct anything else.

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