Celebrating 100 years of electric trams in Melbourne at the Docklands
(that’s the fake getaway tram from the movie Malcolm on the right)

 
I need to figure out a way to make more money. Or, more accurately, to keep more of the money I’ve already got.

Last week was pretty tight in terms of finances, mostly because I’d just paid my rent but also a few extras (doctor’s visit, no Medicare). I put $40 aside in my savings to cover the cost of petrol for this week, which left just enough to get some staples.

Come Saturday, I had exactly enough cash to buy milk, cat food, and the smallest package of toilet paper available. I had enough food in my cupboards to make proper meals until Thursday, which is when I next get paid. So I figured I’d be fine.

But I forgot I had to visit Mrs T in the hospital Sunday, which meant I needed $3 for the parking meter. I got petrol on the way there, and, by some lucky chance, the bill came to $32, which meant I had $8 to add to the $6 in my regular account. Not enough to draw out of an ATM, but enough to get cash out when paying for petrol. So I got $10 — it felt like winning $10 in the lottery.

I figured I could buy some fruit and veg with the remaining $7, until I remembered that I still had to mail my sister’s birthday present. Which was already late. And which made me feel really bad because she’s already mailing mine (and her birthday is 8 days before mine). So now the $7 was accounted for.

Until the next morning, when I started my period and discovered I had no tampons. This, folks, was rock bottom: buy tampons or mail the guilt-ridden birthday package? No one should have to make that choice.

I went through a range of emotions until finally deciding that I would have to pay for tampons on my already-worn-out credit card, which I do not under any circumstances want to use. This made me very, very sad.

Then I remembered something very important: I have postage stamps! I did a little dance of joy.

I HAVE STAMPS!!! I HAVE STAMPS!!! Tons of them, in fact, in very large denominations. So I could mail the birthday package AND buy the tampons (and, it turns out, a tin of coconut milk for last night’s lentil dhal).

I was nearly as happy as when I had my picture taken inside the Malcolm tram (but not quite):

So, as you can imagine, I’m now working on a money-saving plan. This includes all sorts of tactics like not using CityLink to get to work (which is a $1 toll or so but adds up). And investigating a new phone plan. And selling more stuff on eBay/etsy. And working the streets. (Just kidding, Mom!)

good graffiti

 
Jenny asked for more information about the magpies, so here goes.

Someone at work got attacked by a magpie less than two weeks before me. I felt bad for her but thought this was a freak occurrence. Then we got a notice saying swooping season had started early. The very same day I went for a 20-minute walk in the afternoon and got attacked by not one but two magpies.

The first one grazed the side of my head and scared me but didn’t hurt me. I never saw it and didn’t realise what it was until I heard wings flapping after the swoop. My heart was racing, and I started running.

About five minutes around the corner and down another path, a giant truck blocked the road. I stood there for a few minutes, smiling and waving Queen-style to the truck driver because I couldn’t get around him. I was so focused on getting past the truck that I’d completely forgotten about swooping #1. As soon as the truck cleared the way, another magpie dropped down and got me in the side of the head — like I’d imagine a woodpecker to go about it — only this time drawing blood. I could tell because it stung.

My reaction was to turn around and stare at the sky(wherever the bird was) and yell in a really deep voice, “HEEEEEEEEEEYYYYY!” as if to say, how dare you, you naughty, naughty bird? Then I started running, like in those horror movies where they’re running forward but looking behind them.

It wasn’t until later (after ordering the really cool free brochure) that I learned running aggravates them and makes them want to keep swooping. Oops. And you should have seen my hair when I got back to work — I wouldn’t be surprised if the others thought I was having a roll in the hay on my break instead of being attacked.

Turns out the same magpie that attacked my coworker was the one that pecked my head — and drew blood in both instances. It’s a pity that her nest is near my favourite greengrocer. Now I only go there if I have a really big hat or an umbrella. Or am travelling in a group (and wearing a really big hat).

Turns out the shopkeepers are nonchalant about the swooping and coworkers have witnessed strangers being attacked in the road since my incident. I thought at least I was safe in my home suburb until last week, when a guy walked into a local shop I was in and said, “I’ve just been attacked by a magpie.” He then proceeded to tell how the magpie sat on his shoulder and kept pecking inside his ear. EEEEEEWWWWWWWWWW.

Now I’m really freaked out because they can get under hats and umbrellas. And now sunnies are essential because they can poke your eyeballs out! I know because the notice detailed where to go for medical attention if it happened.

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In other news, I’ve been working on a skirt this week, from a really cool remnant I bought at Lincraft for $2. I just need some help hemming it. I’ll post pics when it’s all done.