Apropos of my last post, wherein I complained about the need for people to share every boring minutiae of their lives online, another person (not a celebrity, to my knowledge) has shared the details of her daily routine online, and - according to the tabloid morning television industry - been 'slammed' for doing so. The woman's name is Brooke Smith, and because she rises at an unseemly hour to do some preparation and make the coffee for her husband, and because she likes her house to be tidy before she goes to bed, she has to be 'slammed' for it. This post isn't about Brooke herself, but about the stupidity of people 'slamming' her. First up, why is it even news? Secondly, who's 'slamming'? I don't think I read one comment slamming the woman. I did read a lot of comments telling detractors (like those in the media, to wit, Today's Karl Stefanovic and Allison Langdon) to pull in their respective snide heads.
As I said in the above paragraph, why do we even discuss what someone else does in their daily routine? If it works for that family, and they're all happy and being fed, then it doesn't matter. It's not our business. It is not for us to make catty and unfunny comments about a return to the 1950s. I have no desire to return to that era (I was never there, I'm a 1966 model), but again, if the routine is working for someone, then it's working. Honestly, Stefanovic and Langdon, what the fuck happened in your lives to render you such a pair of miserable, mordacious, and derisive deadshits? Get over yourselves (although with the magnitude of your egos, it might be necessary to engage the services of a Sherpa). If you want to @ me, then here's my daily routine. Read this and decide if it suits your agenda:
1. Wake up when bladder, or dog, tells me to (usually between 0630 and 0700).
2. Take dog outside for a tinkle. Do my own tinkle in designated area for human tinkling.
3. Give the dog a few biscuits. Brew myself a cappuccino, which will be sipped whilst I read my social media feed for news and updates.
4. Shower and dress for work, if I am rostered that day. Try to get one of the household chores done, like sweeping floor.
5. Tell 15yo to get out of bed.
6. Tell 15yo to get out of bed.
7. Using an exceptionally loud voice, tell 15yo to get out of bed.
8. Ensure 15yo has had his medication and some breakfast, before he gets ready for school.
9. Work.
10. Write.
11. Tutor.
12. Gym - maybe.
13. Cook dinner if it's my turn, and feed dog. Or else remind 15yo to feed him.
14. Prepare tomorrow's lunches.
Good enough for you? God a problem? If so, too bad; I checked the cupboard where I store my fucks to give, and there aren't any. Cupboard is as bare as that of Old Mother Hubbard.
Sure, clowns who feel they must dump copious amounts of shit on people just looking after their household in the way that best suits their individual circumstances has put me in a piss-up-a-rope mood. But another thing has me feeling a bit, well, blue. Almost nineteen years ago, Mr Bingells and I brought a little baby boy to his new home. We were living in Lane Cove at the time. We pulled up in the residents' car park of the unit block, and I looked up to 'his' bedroom window, and could see a row of toys awaiting him. I recall those toys included a pull-along train with baby Sesame Street characters in the carriages. We introduced him to the delightful Asian man who ran the corner shop downstairs, and took him into our unit and introduced him to our pet cockatiels (both of whom have gone to that golden perch in the sky).
Today, we took that little boy, who is now a strapping young man, to the digs at the university where he is embarking upon study to become a high school teacher. We took him to a new home, one in which we are not living. It feels strange, but I know he will settle in well and have a good time. I am proud of the man he has become, and the choices he has made. I no longer have a little boy. I feel weird. I feel a mixture of nostalgia and pride, and some sadness. I didn't cry as much as I thought I would, because I was so excited for my son. Not having him living here feels strange, but I know we will become accustomed to the new arrangement.
My beautiful son, if you are reading this on your first night as a student on campus, we are so proud of you, and wish you all the best.
Much love from your family.
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