Varying Levels of Excitement for 6 Quick Dick Tricks - A Dirk Darrow Investigation

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The woman with the fake tan stepped into my office, sat across from my desk and lit a cigarette.
At least, she would, sometime in the next 20 minutes. Smelling the future has advantages, but precision isn’t one of them.


2019 So Far

Feels like my fingernails are growing way quicker than they used to.


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House of Vanessas

It took me until the last week of the Fringe to convince Vanessa to join me in the mirror maze.

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In the end I got about twelve Vanessas in there.

It's All Connected

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I sat on the top deck of the airport bus, looking down upon the congested lanes of the freeway. We must have passed a thousand drivers. Each car was different. Blue paint; red paint. Roof down; baby seats. Leaning over steering wheel at 10 and 2; leaning back and orientated via a pinky. Mobile phone in left hand, by thigh; mobile in right hand, held to ear.
If this was a simulation then surely two of those cars would overlap. The randomiser would hit the same pattern twice. I’d see it.
Every car was unique. Each driver an original.

The gym, lunchtimes on workdays. There are pegs to hang your trousers and polo shirts on. You’ll pass them on your trips to the water fountain. You’ll see a striped shirt hanging loose above long, white chinos and before your right brain can process it your left brain says: Hey! That’s me!
The right brain can’t be convinced fully either way.

My physio has told me I’m not walking correctly. My legs are pulling my body. My posture should be less reclined, like my core is driving my legs. Is this why the UberEats coupon distributors by the railway station never attempt to get my attention? They don’t even try.
I’m doing it wrong.

Brad's Autumn Journal 2019

I have now been journaling my thoughts on the internet for over half my life.

To celebrate, here is half an

Sentences I Would Never Have Written Ten Autumns Ago

What better way to kick off Autumn than with this excellent, gigantic and vegan salad at a women's football match?

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Not pictured: Donuts.

And then it rained.

A Routine is as Good as a Holiday

The daily grind cops a lot of hate, but I spent three days in Melbourne two weeks ago and my poop schedule is still all over the place.

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In my twenties I lived for adventure. I traveled around the country going to music festivals. I asked around on Fridays to find out where the weekend’s house parties were. I went to bars and even clubs, and sporting events and I socialised with strangers and it made me feel good. I liked being able to reflect back over the past year and define myself by the experiences I’d had.

In my thirties I find experiences stressful. Am I having enough fun? Should I be taking photos? If I don’t share at least a snippet of this on my phone to other people, did it even happen? And the opportunity costs! If I go to this cafe, what if I miss out on a highly rated other restaurant that I’ll never have a chance to visit again? What if I don’t see all the sights? What if my favourite song actually doesn’t feel as moving live as it does on the sound-engineered record?

These days I live for routine. Planning ahead, making sure every part of my day will be like an array of aligned dominos just waiting for me to knock them over and surf the dulcet clack-clack-clack all the way to the next day. I always have a delicious fruit smoothie for breakfast. I know when my coffee and gym will fit between work meetings. Incidental exercise always happens at the right times of the day. I never need to iron a shirt at the last minute, or work out what to eat for lunch, or find myself bored.

This routine isn’t clockwork. On the contrary, every week I find ways to rearrange and tweak it, defrosting fruit before bed, adding new recurring meetings to my work calendar, switching fabric softeners. That’s what truly makes me so excited by my routine, not the fact that I enjoy all the mundane parts of my life, but that I am able to schedule them so seamlessly to make more time for more routine.

Melbourne sometimes seems a bit much.

Melbourne sometimes seems a bit much.

Maybe my dependence on routine for my self-fulfilment is the reason I didn’t find my most recent vacation particularly enjoyable. I tried to plan my days there too, where I would buy yogurt and cereal for the AirBnB, when I would get my steps in, how to keep my carry-on luggage below the 7 kilogram limit. It didn’t help both my flights were delayed considerably. No holiday plan survives first contact with a budget airline.

On my final day in one of the world’s most livable cities I found myself unexpectedly needing to buy lunch and falling apart trying to decide what to eat, how many calories I should allow, how much I should spend. I ended up consuming an over-cooked and underwhelming chickpea burger for $20 on the corner of two dead downtown streets, then arrived at the airport over an hour too early for my flight home.

The best thing about a routine is that if you fail to appreciate your breakfast, your walk, your coffee, your conversation, you know that the next chance to savour it is only a day away.

Seven Years Toll

Seven years ago today Vanessa and I got married.

If I was to think about everything that decision has cost me...

I would say it adds up to about $7 in greeting cards. Although this year I did splurge on the $2 one with glitter on it.

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