Monday Night

I got a payrise today. I’m grateful, of course, but it’s a bit ridiculous when one’s mother has to “have a little chat” with one’s boss to get a payrise.

I was talking to mum about work, asking for feedback. When you work with family, the onus is on you to be thoughtful of your bosses feelings, as well as your own. When you work with family, you have to take care of two relationships in one.

So life has been pretty horrible for the last month or so, for me, and also for my brother. So he’s been a horrible shit to me – but now I feel like it’s my responsibility not to cause a fuss. I don’t want to make life worse for my poor brother…

So life gets worse and worse for me, and I tie myself in knots not to make it worse for the brother. And him… Does he give a shit that his behaviour is making me feel worse ? I don’t know. So I talk to mum.

Then mum tells me she thinks he is being unfair, and she wants to talk to him about it.

Then I get a raise.



Georges funeral was on thursday. This is what I tried to say. A lucky few people understood what I was saying through the tears.

Until I went to school, I had no idea what a “grandfather” was. There was Nana, and there was George. He was my friend.

A friend who loved and supported me throughout my life. He was never a “grandfather” in the common mold. He was more likely to play classical music than play games, would rather watch Wimbledon than throw a ball, hand me a novel rather than read me a bedtime story.

He was never overly free with praise. Yet a backhanded compliment from George was more treasured than the highest praise from another.

He was taciturn, grave and grumpy, but he was also the best dinner companion, the best trivial pursuit player, a brilliant photographer, accomplished painter, even a very competent forger. Anyone who knew him knows he cannot be explained, understood, labelled. He will also never be replaced, and never forgotten.

George was the smartest, wittiest, most educated (though he would have laughed at that), most creative person I have known. He could taste any dish once, name the ingredients, and replicate it perfectly. He once created a wonderful meal from baked beans and TVP.

He lived a wonderful, bohemian, exotic life, knew glamorous people, and introduced me to them as his “friend”. Adam says he’s never known a seventy year old with so many ladyfriends.

His only regret about dying was that it would upset those around him. I was upset that he would even consider dying. How could a man with so much life, so many passions, not continue to do those things forever. I couldn’t, wouldn’t give up on him.

So I have an apology to make. George, I am sorry I couldn’t let you go. I’ll look back and celebrate the wonderful love you gave, but I’ll never stop missing you.


So I kep thinking things are going to get better – maybe they will, but not yet. Mum and Dad’s car was totalled on their way home from a family meeting on friday night, they are ok, but Noddy, their faithful Mazada 121 will never ride again.

And my brother seems so stressed about what is going on in his life that he isn’t noticing how horrible he is being to me. Today we got asked to quote for 52 machines, because of my hard work. And I wasn’t asked to do the quote. This on top of being completely ignored on the big tender that “we” did last week. I’m asked to do free weekend work, but I get abused for asking for a few hours off to take my bunny to the vet. Rhubarb needs to have some more tests to see if he has any other signs of cancer. The sooner the better. If we find cancer, we have some hope of fighting it, at least putting it into remission for a few years. Without a diagnosis, we’re back to what happened to Fuzz Bucket. Dead before her second birthday, within one month of learning she had cancer.

And I am left feeling like a whinger. Like I should be tougher. I should be more considerate, more thoughtful. When all I can think about is crawling into bed, face first, and screaming into my pillow.

Does Life Get Any Better ?

I fucking well hope so.

George is dead. Mum rang to say he was going downhill fast, and a few hours later Mark turned up unexpectedly at the office – he didn’t want to have to tell me over the phone.

To anyone that didn’t know my grandfather, you missed out on knowing an amazing man. I’ll be writing a short peice to read at the funeral on friday, so more of that later.

Rhubarb my beautiful little rexy ratty rabbit has a tumour. It’s “only” a Mast Cell Tumour, which are common and usually benign in cats and dogs, but very rare in rabbits. The only rabbit I have ever known to have one was Fuzz Bucket, and it turned out to be a symptom of another form of cancer, that eventually killed her. So I am trying to be optimistic, but circumstances are mounting against me.

And now the coalition hold the balance of power in the senate. They don’t even need Family First to push through their appalling right wing policies.

One month has delivered another three years of fascist government, two dead grandparents, and a rabbit with cancer. Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck

What I’ve Been Up To

I posted this to the BunnyHuggers Group, but I thought it may be appropriate to put up here too. Noth that I have much of a fan base yet, but the people have a right to know why the blog hasn’t been updated much recently.

Work has been really hectic, we had 2 months without one of our team, now a replacement has been hired, and things are starting to settle down. The election is over, and though my team didn’t win our electorate, we went from 4% to nearly 17% of the primary vote, and I feel that we really made a difference. I believe that the Greens will have a big part in Australian Politics in the future, and I am proud to have been associated with such an amazing group of people. But more of that later.

Just after the election, my grandmother died after a long illness, and the family infighting and bickering over her estate was dreadful. Hopefully we can be friends again soon.

Grasshopper (the Hare), has finally had his testicles off. I’ve been putting it off for months due to worry that he wouldn’t handle the stress of the operation, but he came through with flying colours (the vet handed him back to me and said “two stone lighter” – I think he was saying that our little Chops was VERY well endowed!). Still very nervy and anxious, we are hoping that he will calm down and realise that he is not in danger of being eaten 🙂

This week, Mark was driving me to work on monday morning – in the wonderful wet weather we’ve been having, and were hit from behind when the car behind us slammed on his brakes and skidded into us. I suffered whiplash, and am wearing a very attractive collar to support my neck. And on Wednesday I found a lump on Rhubarb. Those of you that know me from way back will Remember Fuzz Bucket – she had mysterious lumps removed and sent for testing at least 4 times – eventually they diagnosed cancer, but it was too late, and she died just before her second birthday. So I am neurotic about lumps.

Rhubarb went to see Matthew the wonder vet yesterday. A fine needle aspirate showed signs of inflamed cells, Matt gave me the option to treat it with steroid cream and “see what happens”, or cut it out and send it to the lab. So he went straight in to surgery, I spent the day moping around Penrith with the lovely Simone, and we picked him up around 3. He’s eating and being his ratty self, more news around wednesday when we get the pathology results back.

So there you go, the Lara report. I miss you guys, and I hope everybody’s buns are well.