Day 228: Good With The Bad

The really good news is that I got the letter about my first day of possible Jury selection. The really, really good news is it's on a day when I would ordinarily be at work. That is not such good news for work (they did not seem to share my enthusiasm when I let them know), but who, in any sane state of mind, wouldn't prefer a day of reading to a day of working. Unless reading is your work and you don't like it. The big question is: what do I wear? Will they want someone well dressed, quirkily dressed, corporately dressed or bogan dressed (the last, for the benefit of our Northern Hemisphere cousins, are more kindly known as people from an 'unsophisticated background', and I am sort of proud to find out that it is a term originating in Melbourne—we're so clever making up a whole word all by ourselves and making it famous). There is no percievable way to know what they will want. I suppose it will end up being dependant on what kind of trial, what type of accused, what type of crime it is. So I suppose I can only do what all fashion should be about and dress for myself. Everything is a microcosm of itself.

List_Addict               Irene
The really bad news is I had to deal with the builders this week. For those who don't know, greedy people are building an ugly house on the property next door to us and they are using weasley, slimy, lying builders to do it. I'm not making judgements here—just reporting facts. The monstrosity is built border to border and they needed to come onto our property to render it. They sent an email to ask for permission (big step, they were just going right ahead until words were bandied about and a sternly worded and ignored-by-them email was sent in April regarding the same and a long list of other evils), and when would be suitable. I said Thursday. BUT. As per the sternly worded and ignored-by-you email, you can't get into the backyard because the side gate is broken, the back gate is blocked by the tree you caused to collapse and die, and you aren't stepping your muddy workman boots an inch into my house. The foreman comes back with 'it's okay, we'll sort out the tree, lie lie lie'. And then at seven-thirty in the morning I have the renderers knocking on my door asking for access to the back yard. I'm civil, as I stand there in my jim-jams after having only gone to bed at four, explaining that, as I explained to the foreman, you can't get into the backyard because the side gate is broken, the back gate is blocked by the tree you caused to collapse and die, and you aren't stepping your muddy workman boots an inch into my house. They eventually get the idea that they will have to climb over the fence from the monster-house in order to render the monster-house. But then they go a step too far. Throwing some we-are-just-human-idiots hands in the air, they come up with this gem, spoken with a laugh: Oh, and it's not our fault if things in your garden get broken, we have to do our job. I think that if you are idiot enough to say something like that, then you are idiot enough to take the tirade you get in return. It astounds me how thoughtless people can be, and it reinforces my general hatred for the majority of them. Why is it okay to think you can damage my property because you have to work on a property I objected to and you were too greedy to allow construction space on your own land for? It is a priviledge for you to come onto my property, not your right. I don't care if you have to be suspended from a helicopter to get it done—it was your decision to build it that way. Needless to say I have had two days bad sleep with steaming ruminations about the whole situation. And worse, they didn't finish the damn thing so it all has to happen again. And this time it will be my fault because our house stayed in the same place while they moved theirs to within six inches of it, and now they can't access the flammable coating on the outside to render it. We really are horrible people.

The Outfit Dress: ModCloth Top: Op-shopped Hairband (worn as choker): CCJJSS Earrings: Lovisa Shoes: Op-shopped, Scooter

Photographer de Jour: Moi

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