Dearest old friend...

It has been a long time. The words "I've missed you" sit at the tip of my tongue. I wonder, if I did speak them, whether either of us would believe me.

There was a time when you were the centre of my universe, I orbitted you like a satellite. You coveted me for yourself, and I? Well I certainly didn't object. I relished your constant scrutiny and contempt. I devoted myself to winning your ever unattainable approval. Our friendship was turmulous and intense. Not a moment passed in which I was not wrapped in your influence. Together we hated, desired and destroyed. Yet, remained inextricably linked.

When I think about our short shared past, I do so with a whimsical smile. Does this surprise you? My memories aren't tainted with the red hot abhorrence that coloured our time. I recognise you as an important, essential part of my past. No matter how hard I try to escape you will always be apart of me. Enscribed deeply at the heart of everything I do.

I write of you in past tense. Yet your haunting the corners of my life once more. I'm not surprised to see you. No more then you are that you have returned. I accept your return. I understand that it doesn't matter how long your absence spans you will always reappear.

So here we go again. Know however that things are different then they were. Much. As we shuffle to rediscover where each of this fit do know this. I'm not the same person that I was then.

I suppose I should say at least this, welcome back.

I'm all about instant gratification

Day One: So today is my first of thirty days without chocolate. On my Life List I included the goal "(20.) Go a whole 30 days without eating chocolate". Before today the longest I've ever gone without chocolate is probably about two weeks. I'm not sure how I'm going to go.

I only hope that if I have a breakdown and find myself unable to survive the cravings I retain my dignity. That is to say that I have my fingers crossed that this doesn't result in my taking up residence in Woolworth's confectionary ailse, stuffing my face with stolen chocolate bars while making suggestive noises in delight.

*Deep Breath* but that shouldn't happen. I hope. Well here goes nothing.

Day Two: Came this close to ruining the whole thing. Yes, I am telling you that I almost couldn't go TWO DAYS without chocolate!

In my defense it was more of a slip of mind. I woke up at 7 to get ready for work. Stumbled bleary eyed into the kitchen in search of food. Not finding any I decided to make a hot chocolate. I had the cup warming my hands and almost at my lips when I realised.

It was a sad moment to watch it pour down the sink.

Day Three: Surprisingly easy after yesterdays almost mishap.

Day Four: Even easier today!

Day Five: Ridiculously easy! Perhaps I should amend it to "30 days without junk food" so it is actually a challenge?

Day Six: You know what I like? Katy Perry's California Gurls film clip.
(See, thats how easy this is. I'm not even thinking about chocolate!)

P.S I just watched the film clip again. Change my mind. All of those lollies and chocolate bars definitely has me thinking about chocolate.

Day Seven:
Oops.

Let me paint you a picture:
Me: *standing at the coffee machine at work*
Co-worker: Rachael? Will you set up the fudge machine for me? I've never done it before. You're so supremely excellent that your bound to know how.
Me: Well seeing as I'm not only excellent but also benevolent and lovely I will certainly set up the fudge machine.
(I'm paraphrasing here...)

After three attempts I manage to get all of the pieces in the correct order and have it functioning. I then spoon the thick, creamy fudge into it and switch it on. Carrying the spoon and empty bowl to the sink, my mouth waters as the chocolatey smell fills my nostrils. Acting on instinct I dip my finger into the remanants of the fudge in the bowl. My tastebuds sing a course of "hallelujah" as I lick the thick fudge off my finger.

Me: Mmm chocolate. Hang on. S*** chocolate!

Day One Here we go again...

The realisation that my employers are benevolent people...

The fact that I have my manual licence is something that I try to keep quiet at work. I've had my provisional licence for almost a year in that time I've driven a manual car, well, never. The minute I passed my test I decided I was only going to drive automatic cars. This is an oath that I've maintained- except for the odd occassion I've had to drive the work ute. The few times that this has occurred have all been traumatic experiences. Blurs of embarrassing stalls, clutch dumps and my inability to turn off its handbreak.

So when my manager came to ask me whether I'd take the rubbish to the compactor. I shuddered.


Me: Uhmm. Sure. You couldn't find anyone else?
Manger: *small smile* Sorry you're the only one I have. How confident are you about driving the ute? About 90 per cent?
Me: About 60?
Manager: *bigger smile* we'll say you're 75 per cent confident. I'll take over what you're doing. Me: *stifles a sigh. Begins to walk away*
Manager: Oh Rachael? I'm not saying that you will run out of petrol, but the empty light is on, so...


I retrieved the keys, a radio and the new girl to accompany me. The trip to the compactor went surprisingly well. I didn't stall once. I didn't run anyone over and I bonded with the new girl.


Every employee is compactor trained during their induction. We're shown how to afix a wheelie bin to the compactor and how to mechanically lift it to empty its contents. The truth is, however, that after being trained noone ever goes to the effort. Reality is that we completely skip the wheelie bin part and throw the garbage bags straight in.

This isn't usually a problem. Every time I've taken the rubbish I've had a man come with me. Men who were stronger then either me or new girl. Thus we were forced to use the wheelie bin manouever.


Between both of our limited knowledge we were able to attach the wheelie bin and use a big medal lever to pick it up. What we weren't able to do was convince the bin lid to open so that the rubbish would slide out. After five minutes of us readjusting the position of the bin, it still would not empty.


We were looking at each other in frustration.
New girl: Maybe you need to tip it up further?
Me: I'm worried about doing that though. I don't want to be the person who manages to drop the wheelie bin into the compactor.


My advice? In a situation such as this, never say something like that. Fate heard me and literally giggled in delight. A heartbeat after I spoke those words, sure enough
the bin tumbled straight into the compactor.


Rumour has it that the compactor was broken after that and had to be taken away.


I was convinced that I was going to get fired. I held my breath for three days afterwards, ducking behind walls or into coldrooms whenever I saw one of the girls from human resources.


On the third day, I was feeling a little more confident and confessed to a couple of my collegues what had happened. Almost all of the conversations followed the same general path.
Me: So, I broke the compactor.
Them: *laughs* I heard about that. Was that you? What'd you do?
Me: I dropped a wheelie bin it.
Them: Oh yeah? I've done that at least four times. Did you climb in after it?
Me: Did I climb into the compactor? What?! No?!
Them: Yeah, that's what I do. At least you'll know what to do next time.
Me: Next time?!


I've heard my fellow employees make many complaints about my employer. But you've really got to hand it to them, they sure are forgiving...