whoa!

Some days it’s hard to figure out how life got like this. Like what? Well, like some weird out-of-control personal assault from every direction. Monday is an NWD, non-working day. I’m not in Collingwood, but I am at my desk at home. I have a number of communications to make.

I email Kylie, Manager of Personal Lending at my bank, tell her I didn’t buy an apartment on Saturday. She commiserates, and answers my ancillary query about the blank counter cheque in my wallet, advises me to check if my car dealer will accept it when my new VW Caddy is delivered.

I ring the dealership, speak to my man, John. He suggests I avoid possible screw-ups by bringing a bank cheque instead. Later, walking the JRT, I pop into a small workshop in a side street to book the Jazz for a roadworthiness check on Friday. It’s nearing the time to advertise it for sale.

I email the Greta Football Club, ask them courteously to desist from sending me emails about pie nights and finals catering. Spam, spam, spam, spam.

I ring the couples counsellor, leave a trembly voice message that my good woman and I will not be seeing her on Friday: we have gone separate ways. I also leave voicemail for Saturday’s auctioneer, request a meeting to discuss my real estate needs closer to the MM office in Carringbush.

A steady stream of work emails; some I delete, some I deal with. People want attention. SKIPS needs me to go to Newcastle and Perth to train presenters in October and November. Dates and flights are twined around my MM commitments via an all-day tag match by phone, SMS and email.

I make four unsuccessful phone calls to Telstra’s support line to resurrect my Bigpond email account, mysteriously vanished in cyberspace months ago. I actually re-install Office, then try to negotiate the vagaries of my own computer settings to resolve the problem, but it’s all frustration.

In my real-time mailbox is a paper letter from Telstra telling me I’ve chosen to buy a T-hub for $360 via a repayment option of $15 a month over 24 months. When I upgrade my internet allowance the other day I am told that I will be given the T-Hub. Gratis. It arrives two days later. Fight brewing.

I unsubscribe from a weekly news magazine that begins as a six-issues-for-a-dollar offer and morphs into a full-on account that I must cancel. I’ve been lazy, let them fleece me for months. Their website’s links won’t let me unsubscribe; in the end I email their subscription department.

I cancel my gym membership, having met my contractual obligation. My job and the gym don’t fit. Cancellation warrants a phone call, an email and an online form that I must email back to them. Adobe email me to tell me my purchase a year ago of a program I never use will be automatically renewed soon. Tracking down the means to delete this renewal requires herculean perseverance.

Late in the afternoon I get an offer to write the content for a website. Am I interested? Yes, I am. Then a call from Bendigo about the double-page monthly staff newsletter I’m about to write for my former employer. The deadline is set for 10 October.

Tomorrow is a work day. Relief at last. Rock on.