Last Day Of The Working Week

I got up at 6am. Bright and early, but since I had to go to work, it wasn’t anything special, just waiting to head to the salt mines. It was going to be warmer today, 27 degrees. Lovely. 

The house was hot, it was humid. Mark and Luke were asleep in the spare room where my shirts were. It felt bothersome that I had to sneak into their room and rummage through the wardrobe for a shirt. Who wants house guests, I ask you? So, I wore jeans and a polo to work instead. It was only going to be half a day, hopefully and it was the last day of the week, practically casual clothes Friday.

It was fresh walking to work. I got there at 7.30am.

Well, of course, I asked if the jeans were all right, Kirin said she hadn’t even noticed. I think it is a version of me always having a need to confess. I have actively work against me doing that, otherwise, I am just a blabber mouth. But then, kind of paradoxically, if I really know it is something I should keep to myself, I never tell. You can’t get it out of me. Iron trap. The danger zone is if I am in the process of changing from having the need to confess to lower my anxiety about something, to realising it is something I should never tell, if I am between levels, I have learned catch myself and to count to ten, figuratively, while that thought process is in progress, because there have been a couple of times where I have confessed the wrong thing. 

This morning I confessed.

Kerin and I worked away together. Kirin did whatever Kirin does. Shrug. 

I left work at 3pm. It Xmas, after all.

I came home to Mark and Sam cleaning the pond. Oh, er, it’s all very nice for your house guests to do a few chores, problem being, occasionally, they are known to not, actually, finish the task at hand. Grimace. I’d rather you didn’t do it at all, if you are going to leave it incomplete. 

You know, always needing something to do is an issue.

There was that time when Mark cleaned the house, which was really lovely, until I found one of my favourite green vases – I have a collection of green vases about which I am very keen – smashed in the bin a couple of days after he had headed home. Clearly a casualty of the cleaning process. I’d rather have my favourite green vase and a dirty house, thanks. 

However, with Sam involved, this time, I guessed that wouldn’t, actually, be the case.

Mark heated up leftover Xmas dinner, it tasted good.

Antony came over. We smoked an inordinate amount of pot.

We went to bed at 1am.