Wednesday, August 06, 2014

We don’t require your services any longer

I had my “magic drink” this morning. Metamucil, olive leaf extract, apple cider vinegar and a fish oil tablet. Why the hell not! I’ve put on 4 kilos since I gave up smoking a few weeks ago. I didn’t think anything could hurt at this point.

I left early, it is my second last day, after all. I wanted to get there at least on time, if not earlier. You know, put in some effort, best foot forward, so to speak.

I am still fascinated by Mick Jagger’s Goddess in the doorway, listening to it on the way to work, again.

I got there at 8.24. Voula was there, and of course so was Giselle, she would be. I can see it in her eyes, she’s a killer. You know, efficient to the fact that her self-worth depends on it.

Voula said good morning, Giselle didn’t, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from her screen long enough to say hello to the guy on his way out. Yesterday’s guy.

I need to sell myself better, I thought. Instead of Mr Laid back, I need to be more like Mr Efficient.

I got coffee.

I took a shit.

I went out just before 9am and had another cigarette, so much for putting my best foot forward. There was a girl out there with all her possessions spread out across the concrete with a rollie cigarette in her hand. A guy got out of a taxi and immediately asked her for some tobacco to roll a cigarette. Nerd. Conservative. Quietly spoken. Serious. Shy. (possibly the type to take a gun down the mall) She didn’t have any, but she offered to share her cigarette with him.

“You see, I deliberately didn’t bring my tobacco with me, so I wouldn’t smoke,” he said.

“It’s worked,” I offered.

“Pardon,” he said.

“It has worked well.” The first thing you did when you got to work was ask someone for a cigarette, buddy.

“Oh, yeah,” he said. (You’ll be the first I will squeeze the trigger on) I’ve got to be more careful with my humour, a lot of people don’t find funny what I find funny, I know that. He hesitated with what I’d said, slight change to the mouth in recognition, kind of a sneer and then he looked back at the girl.

The tray of pink iced buns arrived halfway through the morning. Tell me why I am leaving this job, again?

I’ve been pushed into the next partition now that Giselle has arrived. Pushed out, just like that. Actually, it isn’t bad at all, despite facing the door, nobody is checking on me and I have been writing my journal all morning. Lovely.

Maybe, I am slow, or just last week’s employee, or maybe Voula did tell me, but I suspect that Giselle has worked here previously.

Voula said she wanted a boy to work with, not a girl, when she was telling Christopher, the HR guy, but as soon as she and Giselle got together they seemed to turn into girlfriends.

They disappear off to lunch together without a word.

I want Giselle to fail, sure I do.

It’s 2.11 and I have done everything, such as it is. The filing is up to date. Voula and Giselle are checking the rest of the payrolls. Do you think I could do nothing from here to 4.30? It is possible.

Oh, I am bored. The last days are always difficult.

3.08. And the afternoon drags on, and all of the filing is done, even the extra amount Giselle handed me when I had, actually, finished, once they had finished the other payrolls. Shrug. Coy look. Glint. Shrug. Smile. As if to say she was sorry. My arse you are sorry, just thanking the universe that it isn’t your job this week. It will be soon enough.

OMG one hour and twenty minutes to go. It is so slow.

3.24. I’m going for another cigarette, I don’t care.

Giselle left at 4.20. Let’s face it, I didn’t have much to do for the afternoon. I don’t know what I am going to do tomorrow? So, I went and handed the keys to Voula and said I’d see her tomorrow. Voula doesn’t care, she said sure. So, I left at 4.20 something. I was on the freeway at 4.25 and halfway home by 4.30. Lovely.

At home, sometime around 6pm, Jack called to say that Christopher had just emailed him to say that they won’t need me tomorrow. Oh? Oh well, it was hardly surprising. Okay. That’s that then. I’ll miss seeing the elastic waistband of Christopher’s undies riding above the waistband of his pants, I thought.

He wears Aussiebums. Is that usual for a straight boy?

He’s sweet and softly spoken, handsome and is considerate to all the girls he works with, always going out and getting them lunch, or buying them chocolate. As far as I could ascertain, he lives on his own in Prahran.

I told Jack about being offered the job. He said that was interesting. I told him that I felt like I’d get depressed driving there every day. Jack laughed and said he thought he’d get depressed driving there every day too. It is nice having Jack, he is such an ally.

We ate fried rice for dinner.

Tuesday, August 05, 2014

The right decision?

I don’t reckon it was quite as cold this morning, as it has been on more recent mornings. Track pants. Dressing gown. Thick socks. What could I feel anyway, up on my own before 7am?

Santo has been pissing around in the mornings, unlike him, usually he is up first. It is funny how the dynamic can change so easily. I’ve been up first for the last week, or so.

I sneaked a ciggie downstairs first thing, while Santo was still in bed and before I prepared my muesli and headed back upstairs for a shower. I thought Santo would smell it, but I drank coffee and slipped into the shower before he did. I was surprised.

I left a bit late. I don’t know why? Just because I did. I was hoping there would be no replacement for me to train; hopefully Jack hasn’t been able to find anyone. Hopefully. Crossed fingers.

The traffic was light. The drive was easy. It gave me time to think. I was beginning to wonder if I had made to wrong decision. Had I? They offered me a permanent position, originally a 3 day a week role, but (the HR manager) was trying to get up a business case for full time to keep me. What was I going to get offered to do 3 days, if I had kept my mouth shut and didn’t say it was too far to drive? Had I let (HR manager’s name) talk? Was she going to offer me a lot to do three days? Had I stuffed it up? Had I really stuffed it up? I’m sure I would get depressed driving to Notting Hill on a permanent basis. It is okay for a short time with an end in sight, yes. But every day, day in day out, drudge drudge drudge, I’d start regretting it.

Of course, it is an unprovable dynamic, as I can never know what it is like to go for six months and not go for six months, at the same time. I can only ever know the decision that I made and forever be ignorant of the opposite decision, because I never did it.

Could we call it the Decision Quandary?

It is (my new assignment) next Monday. An old, much loved, assignment that I am returning to. Don’t think about anything else … just let it go, here I come.

All things considered, I hope I am going to get something worthwhile from (my new assignment)? Come on! I deserve it! I have been loyal to you above and beyond… Watch this space? We’ll see. I guess not. It is just a job and I am just a temp, don’t get ahead of yourself, Christian.

Come on universe, how about a payoff. Isn’t it time that things went my way, just because they can? Have I been lucky enough in my life already? Half the world doesn’t have enough to eat, after all.

Why do these things always happen? My way ahead has always been cluttered with other stuff, for a few years now. In this instance, it is another job that I feel unjustified loyalty to. If I didn’t have (my new assignment), I’d have been happy to accept the Notting Hill job. Case closed.

Why do I have impediments in place stopping me from making, what may be, the best choices? Why? I ask? Why? 

Oh? Listen to me. Slap, slap. Shake of the head. I turned down the job. I’m just stressing if it was the right decision? So what? Shut the fuck up! It’s done. Onward! Don't be a fucking baby.

Of course, there was a new chick for me to train. Giselle. Voula doesn’t want to train anybody, as she knows she isn’t that great. Oh yes, Giselle was all smiles and enthusiasm, but she had fingers like spiders and a ruthless look in her eyes. I ran through things with her and pretty soon Voula put me on other jobs… jobs she didn’t want to do after I had gone. Giselle was trained up, apparently.

Very into it, very efficient, she was too.

I was pushed aside to do the filing.

Santo went for a haircut on his way home.

I forgot to get the milk and the bananas on my way home. It was given to me as a chore, the thing I had to do. Santo called after the haircut to check on the status of the chore completion.

“Oh, no, I didn’t get it.”


I told him to go to the milk bar on his way passed and get milk. And maybe a banana – I had to think about the morning. He said that I needed to walk my fat arse and Buddy needed a walk too and besides the milk at the milk bar is too expensive. “Twice as much!”

We were going to the supermarket when he got home, did I have a problem with that? No honey, that’s fine.

“No, honey.”

We walked to Woollies, Buddy, Santo and I. Milk, bananas, papadams and ‘you know what’ cigarettes. It couldn’t have been easier.

When I came out of the supermarket, Santo said, “Let me look in the bag, I have to check what you have bought.”

He’s funny.

We ate noodles with mince meat for dinner. Those multi coloured rice noodles, you know, the ones that kind of have a filling. I guess I should ask Santo and stop sounding like such a dope.

Monday, August 04, 2014

My fingers are like ice

On these cold mornings – and by god hasn’t it been cold these last few mornings, that cold-like-I-am-cutting-you-with-a-blade Melbourne cold. It’s been cold ever since I read the department of meteorology say that the cold winter weather was behind us – Buddy likes to climb into my lap as I sit at the coffee table at my laptop. He cuddles right up to get warm. It is really cute until I loose all sensation in my feet, and my legs start to cramp, then he is usually, very unwillingly, slid to one side.

I’m drinking coffee and eating kaya toast, wrapped in a blanket.

There is a milky, morning sun. It is freezing.

A coffee, sweet breads, my beanie, my bulldog, my thick woollen jumper, we could be in a Paris cafe. Cobble stones, 2CVs. The clank of early morning. There are always whistles and car horns. The smell of a damp, big city, before the sun hits. Paris smells like rotting sandstone and the smell of fish mixed with dust.
 First thing in the early morning, when the big city is just basting in its own big city juices, before the early morning sun hits and the day breaks and the smell of bread makes it all new again.

Good morning. 8am.

Buddy and I wrestle for the blanket. He is like a hot water bottle against my left leg.

Jean Carne sings Love lessons.

Buddy snores. 8.30. He has some how rapped himself in most of the blanket, leaving me a very short corner. He doesn't object when I pull the blanket off him. He moves his head around, for quite some time, under the blanket like some crazed dwarf ghost, as we adjust, before he comes up for air. Big brown eyes. Big pant. Followed by a herumph and a collapse to the ground again, still with most of the blanket. 
My fingers are like ice.

We're almost out of fire wood.

I text David, Siberia. He was just telling me that he didn't think he could live through another Melbourne winter. He's thinking of moving north. Going to Mark & Luke’s at Xmas is a part of his research into finding work up there. He’s met some Guru who is willing to take him on, or something. You know, tap into the school of the hopeful, in the area, whatever dialect he chooses. Yoga. Transpersonal whatever. Then he’d think about buying a house in the area. Living up there, working down here, or something. It doesn’t really matter where he lives if he keeps doing the retreats. They are all out of Melbourne, often overseas. He’s away, then he’s home, it doesn’t matter where he comes home to.

Karise Eden sings Halleluiah. The 10am sun shines through my window and I am blinded. The joint smoke catches in the bright sun’s rays and curls and curls in a smoky veil.

I catch my bespectacled reflection in the laptop screen, Stay with me baby roars out of the speakers, Where did you go… 
My lip curls in the brightly lit reflection, the only discernible movement. Another billow of blue smoke obscures the screen.

I pull away. I am blind. My face is warmed. My world turns silver in the bright glow of the morning sun, shiny sparkling crystals dancing in my corneas.

Friday, August 01, 2014

Just because he is pretty much perfect...

... and because I have an undies fetish.

Do all gay men have an undies fetish? I think so. I'd like to think so, why the hell not. What is there not to like, I ask you? Men dressed only in small pieces of cotton / elastane / lycra / nylon / polyester / lurex / bamboo, what's not to like?

Or shirtless just in a pair of jeans, that's hot too. I love the way the waistband of the jeans fits across the top of the arse.
Free speech

Santo and comfy Buddy

Thursday, July 31, 2014

The fat kids are in charge of the candy shop, is that the new black?

The fat kids are in charge of the candy shop, is that the new black? The Haves making decisions for the Havenots? When has that ever been good for social justice? When has putting the mean rich kids in charge ever been a good idea? I want to know who voted for these guys? Come on, lets see ya? We'll be able to have a Royal Commission into it, once we are all totally sick of the stuck up posh kids, and we have kicked them out of the cubby house.

Why is that idiot Tell The Truth Tony and his treasurer Angry Joe making it harder for the lower socio economic population? Surely, in an advanced country, the government should be making it easier for the poorest in our society  Otherwise, why do we even have governments? With a Federal government, who now pretty obviously got into power on the back of a whole raft of lies it told, we now need an Integrity Commission, Highest Court in the land, type structure, that can investigate truth in politics and those who lie to get into power.

Tony the political prostitutor of daughters and his bunch of elitist Christian right wing thugs are trying to destroy the very fabric of Australian society. Its equality. Its fairness. By their very actions. Deliberately? It is hard not to think so. Why? To thank the evil overlord Rupert the Wrinkled and the evil Queen Gina the Giant for supporting him, the Mad Abbott, or as Prince Paul liked to call him, the resident nutter, the intellectual nobody, in his ascension to the highest office in the land. A fool on his throne.

Rupert the Wrinkled owns 70% of the voice of the land so as to brainwash the natives to make them compliant.

It can only be to create a poor working class as a thank you to big business who have supported the election of the One Term Tony Liberal government? A pool of cheap labour that will be supplied to  those who live in gated communities as fodder to run their individual capitalist machinery.

There is no other explanation why you would target the poorest members of society for the most savage treatment. 

And democracy fails all of us.

We now, practically, have a dictatorship, with Rupert the Wrinkled, and the likes of, as the puppeteers calling the shots. 

Our economy is not in a debt crisis, in fact, it is relatively strong compared to just about every other economy in the world. Angry Joe even admitted as much in a recent interview in NZ.

His exact words, “There is no crisis in the Australian economy, nor is it in trouble.”

Our welfare system is not in crisis. We spend comparably little on welfare compared to other advanced economies.

Our health system is also not in crisis. It is one of the best and one of the cheapest in the world.

No, big business wants to cut its expenses to make more and more money and Tony the Idiot, who big business installed in The Lodge to ensure it get what it wants, is willing take down whoever it takes to give the proprietors of capitalism whatever they want.

A democracy is rule by... um... who exactly for... er... um...who?

Do we really want the rich to get richer and the poor get poorer, in a modern, clever society? The few times that I have been to America and it has been a few over the years, visiting their big clever cities, I have never been able to see far enough passed the homeless people on every street corner to see exactly what the American dream looked like. Nobody ever seems to want to talk about that? Do we really want that in Australia... also?

Wednesday, July 30, 2014

Falling down like a sack of shit

I don’t know why I haven’t written about my sore hip and what caused it? I guess, I felt a bit like a dope. Or, I was just writing about other things, political things rather than personal things and now I have come back to the personal…

I think I have been preoccupied with this evil Federal Government and how Tony Abbott and his bunch of elitist Christian right wing thugs are trying to destroy the very fabric of Australian society. Utter Morons! 
Deliberately? It is hard not to think so. Why?

However, here goes.

The builders started work on renovations to my old neighbour’s house early Monday morning a week ago. Buddy was barking at the noise of their arrival and their morning start up, up the back by the gate that leads through to each of our gardens. We have always wire fences between the four houses up until this point up until Gordon sold his house. Now, we’re not quite sure what we are going to do going into the future. That may all have to change.

We blocked off the steps dividing the bottom part of our back yard to the top part of our back yard so Buddy would stay out of sight. So he wouldn’t make a pest of himself, which is unlikely. And so he wouldn’t get stolen, which is more likely. We used the hard metal mesh that we usually block Buddy from going down the side of the house. We placed two green plastic chairs on either side of the mesh, which was between them, making it impossible for him to access the top part of the garden.

I headed to work at 8am. So much for working Tuesday to Thursday. I really so wanted to have today off when I saw all the workers at my old neighbour’s, just to look after Buddy, but, I think, the blocked stairs seemed like a good compromise...

... the barricaded stairs was a good compromise until I got home and I decided to step over the barricade rather than take it down. The builders were likely to be back the next day, so why take it down. I stepped up onto the wall of the stairs, I stepped over onto the wall of the raised garden and I stepped down onto the wrought iron chair to step down onto the ground, but the wrought iron chair broke as I stepped onto it and I went “splat” onto the paving like a bag of shit. Crash! Onto my right hip and right shoulder, almost ending up in the pond. Ouch! Fucken ouch!

I was shaken. It was sudden and unexpected.

I went upstairs to get changed out of my work clothes. I got very cold standing there and started to really shake uncontrollably. I came back downstairs and lay on the couch and waited for the shaking to stop.

Then I decided not to be such a pussy and I lit the fire. It was hard work. I think I was in a bit of shock.

Poor me, poor me.

I was okay though. I held an ice pack on it all night, right up until I went to bed. Santo patted my head.

I got up at 4am, over heating, it had been one of those very cold nights and Santo put the column heater on in our room for the first time but we still had the three doonas on our bed. I was nervous that I was going to be in pain. And I was. I had trouble walking after I stood up. My leg hurt, very much. I went downstairs, it was difficult, the stairs were very difficult. I took Nurofen. The pain seemed to subside after that, when I woke at 6am it felt a bit better.

It still hurt when I walked though. I was really seriously wondering if I was going to be able to work.

It was hard driving to work the next day. My sports style car seats seemed to press on my hip and made it ache as I drove to work.

I took Nurofen every four hours. I didn’t say anything to E who I was working with, I just tried to get on with it. But all day I stressed about it, every time I got up it hurt. I stressed that I had really done some damage to my hip. And if I had, what did that mean?

I didn’t say anything to anyone, as I felt a bit like a dick, even though I thought I was limping noticeably. I really hit that paving hard, what if I had damaged my hip, fractured a bone, or chipped something? These things happen. I really stressed about it, quietly, to myself. Nobody noticed.

I had been thinking about heading to St Vincent’s when I got home to get an x-ray, just to put my mind at ease. I contemplated going to see Doctor Johnny, but he would only send me to a pathology centre to have an x ray. That would mean driving to see him and then if the last time for my toe…

… I fractured my small toe about a month ago, did I write about that? I’m not sure that I did? I kicked the wheel of my wheelie bin in the dark. It really hurt, but I digress …

…was anything to go by, then driving to Carlton for an x-ray. All of that would take a few hours, so I might as well just go to emergency and have it all done there. That’s what hospitals are for, after all. Our world class hospital system that Tony Abbott is trying to destroy, again, I am not sure why?

David called just as I got home. He said that I should go to the doctor.

When Santo got home not long after, I asked him if he’d come to emergency with me and he said he would. We put on our jackets and left. The Gertrude Street Projection Festival was in full swing, so there was plenty of interesting things to look at as we made our way up Gertrude Street.

We got served at the triage counter straight away. They said we would be taken in soon. And we were taken in soon. We sat in the clinic with two other guys and a girl, who all seemed to have problems with their feet that needed x-ray.

A medical assistant saw us first. She took all the details and asked to look at my hip. It was kind of feeling better by bow, probably thanks to the Nurofen every four hours, and there was no bruise and seemingly little swelling. The medical assistant said she wasn’t going to order an x-ray straight away, but she would wait for the doctor to see what he thought.

I wondered if I was waisting everyone’s time.

Not too long after the blonde doctor turned up and he asked me questions and looked at my hip. He said that the area that I indicated was an important part of the hip and the part where everything joined up, so he did want to have it x-rayed.

Not too long after I was taken to the x-ray room where W and P said they were just reading about my mishap. I was wondering if they were laughing. I wouldn’t have cared if they were, it is good to see the funny side. I had to remove my jeans and put on a gown. The x-ray was over quickly.

Not so long after, blonde doctor told me everything was okay, all clear. Yay!

It had taken just over two hours and it seemed very easy.

We walked back down the cold and windy Gertrude Street, I was feeling much happier by then. There were lots of people in the street gazing at the projections on the buildings. I still limped, but it was a limp of optimism by then.

We ate fried rice for dinner. Buddy came in and licked me as though he was trying to make this fallen soldier feel better. The open fire crackled.

Now two weeks later, my hip is still a little sore, although much much better. I have a really impressive purple/black bruise though on my right thigh. I have taken photos of it, which I was going to post, but now I have thought better about posting photos of myself with my pants around my knees. You’ll just have to take my word for it.
The seat in question

Monday, July 28, 2014

Evil Matriarch

My old aunt, Olive, from all accounts and calculations is turning one hundred years old. I think it is next week, the 06th. I should be wishing her health and happiness and congratulations on achieving such a milestone, when in reality I hope the poisonous old bitch is in pain.

Does that make me a terrible person? Lol.

What a piece of work! I love that expression. What a piece of work! She truly is a testament to the old adage, that only the good die young.

According to the modern day meaning of respect, (you know, you are breathing) she should be afforded all the respect in the world. She is 100 years old, after all. A grand old age.

According to the traditional meaning of respect, (you know, you earned it) I say bury her now, why wait until she is dead.

My mother always said that her aunt had tragedies in her life and that we should make greater allowances for her. My wonderful father, who rarely, almost never, said a bad word about anyone, (I take after him. Big smile) responded quietly with, She didn't need tragedies in her life to turn her into a bitch.

I still remember the day that Shane came into our lounge room, not all that long ago, and said, "Christian, Auntie Olive is here," and he saw me visibly shake. It was his Auntie Olive and not mine.

So Auntie Olive, one hundred years old. May you drop dead today and not make it to the milestone.

Monday off

Santo brought Buddy up to bed before he left for work in the morning. I fell back to sleep snuggly and warm. I woke up again at 10am. Buddy had his head resting on my thigh, sound asleep, snoring.

I sat up and leant against the wall. I could see the sun shining beyond the curtains. I could see that the sky was blue. I was so warm, so comfy. Buddy opened one eye and looked at me. I could have stayed there all day.

But... I soon decided that I had lay in bed long enough and that I should get up and, as Santo says to me, Do do do! It was time to eat, it was time to go to the dog park, surely. If I did nothing else...

My hip still hurts a bit, when I get up, mostly. Once I am walking, it is okay. I put my muesli in a bowl and headed to the shower. I had a big bowl of bananas to cut up and put on the top, once I was dressed.

I never told you about my accident, did I? I'm not sure why? Anyway...

I’d eaten my breakfast and I was putting on my shoes, when Buddy came running down the stairs from the bed. I didn’t even have to click his harness buckle at the bottom of the stairs to get him out of bed. I don’t know what he’d heard, but he’d worked it out. He wiggled, as usual, as I put his harness on him. He's smart. He can sense what I am doing. he doesn't miss much.

It was a lovely day at the dog park, sunny and warm. There were lots of dogs and lots of owners. Lily, the Basset’s, owner extolled the pleasure of seeing so many different types of dogs running around. She also had a wire-haired dog too, the name of which I also forget. It was Blair, or Bryce, or something like that, that kept the Basset on its toes.

It was a day for the owners to congregate in the middle of the park, as the dogs did all the exercise. Buddy and I didn't do our laps, like we usually do.

Olive, the black and white Frenchie, was adorable. She was getting way too excited jumping on 
Barney, the Jug (Jack Russell/Pug) she was harassing. Grrrrrrrrr!!! Her owner was too funny when he pulled her off, saying, You are getting just a little too Linda Blair on us Olive. Too cute, it was a great description.

I asked if I could take a photo, as my boyfriend wants to buy a fawn Frenchie and I quite like the black and white ones. He responded that his boyfriend wanted a fawn Frenchie but he got his way liking black and white ones better. Just a couple of poofs with their bulldogs. It didn't occur to me that he was gay up until that point.

Olive, the bulldog, made me think all about Olive the bitch auntie. I wrote about her later.

There was the Rough Basset, which I’d never heard of before. I’ve forgotten his name, it was something French.

The old girls turned up, as they want to do. Old Girl #1’s mental Jack Russell, yapped and bit at her obese Jack Russell as it is want to do.

I did photos all afternoon. OMG will my photos ever finish? It was sunny and bright and quite lovely, one of those sparkling days. The day slipped away, too quickly, I felt. Back to my pissy little job tomorrow, how disappointing, I thought. I should have done greater things, I could have, it is just a shame, really. Will I ever? I have to get passed the sense of disappointment, and it’s-all-too-late, first.

I spoke to Mark. He was sitting on his balcony in the sunshine up north. He talked about the big deck renovation he is going to do. He’s had a builder over to give him a quote. He thinks it will cost 40K. It is more than a deck. There is also a room under the deck and under the house, like a self contained guest's room. But it is the deck that will be the feature, out the front at the top of the steeply sloping garden.

I stupidly ate lasagne followed by apple cake in front of Mark on Skype. He, of course, had to comment. He didn’t believe me when I told him how much I weighed. 80 kilos when I am smoking. 85 kilos when I am not. It fluctuates between the two. He clearly thinks I weigh more. I'm not sure what he thinks I way?

“Are you happy with that weight?”

“No, I am not.”

Mark can't help himself, the job his mother did on him about gaining weight.

Santo rang several times during the afternoon telling me to take the mince meat out of the freezer, then to put it back, then to take it out again. He'd been out shopping for dinner and was clearly not able to make up his mind. It was funny and made me laugh. He laughed too, even if he said I could just keep quiet unless I wanted to organise the dinner menu.

We ate mince topped rice noodles for dinner, with chilli. It was nice.

Santo went to bed at nana time, 20.40.

I went to bed an hour later.

Santo got up and had a piss when I went to bed, walking like a Doctor Seuss charter to the bathroom and back again. It makes me laugh. He said my name, which was probably a rebuke for coming to bed so late. I said his name, but he didn’t want to talk. I can see his sideways looks, even standing at the toilet with his dick out in the dark.

In bed...

Sweet dreams, pumpkin.


Kisses and hugs.


Don’t let the bed bugs bite.

Grunt, grunt.