It is a freezing morning. Brrrrrr!
I roll another joint. Nearly all gone. Shame, I think. Ah, not really. It is good to be done with it too. It is fun for a few weeks, but it is good to stop again before it becomes mind numbing. And it does become mind numbing.
Sam isn’t buying the one more “make up” bag due to the last 2 procured bags being rubbish, and the pot being very dry and crumbly, and breaking up into dust story. He isn’t buying it. Not for a second.
"Tough luck, buddy."
"Tough luck, buddy."
It is no more for me for the rest of my life, apparently. It is no longer just until the end of the year.
He's asked me alot about when I was going back to work? Who can say, doesn't cut it as an appropriate response. Apparently? Grimace. Who knew? He's spent long periods of time on aeroplanes to think, and apparently my reluctance to rejoin the work force was high up on the agenda.
He's been giving me an assortment of chores to do ever since he has been home. Clean the bedroom. Clean the toilets. Vacuum! Of course, vacuum. "I can't believe you didn't vacuum once while I was gone," so says Nurse Rachet. (Like not vacuuming for 2 1/2 weeks is even a thing)
At this point I giggled. "Come on, you were gone for 2 and half weeks."
Yes, well Matron was having no answering back on the ward, I can tell you.
I draw the line at supermarket shopping, that is his chore. As far as the kitchen goes, he does food, I do cleaning. I'll do everything else, but I can't go to the supermarket and do the food shopping, I just don't have that gene. I can do a lunch, maybe a risotto for dinner, here and there. I can bake a cake. But anything beyond that is a mystery to me.
At this point I giggled. "Come on, you were gone for 2 and half weeks."
Yes, well Matron was having no answering back on the ward, I can tell you.
I draw the line at supermarket shopping, that is his chore. As far as the kitchen goes, he does food, I do cleaning. I'll do everything else, but I can't go to the supermarket and do the food shopping, I just don't have that gene. I can do a lunch, maybe a risotto for dinner, here and there. I can bake a cake. But anything beyond that is a mystery to me.
The sun comes shining in through the lounge room window at 10.02, in a reassuring kind of way. Sam cooks me breakfast at 7am, avocado and eggs and smoked salmon. But I am hungry again. Now, I want muesli, no, donuts, no, a muffin from the bakery, it is morning tea, after all.
A mixed berry muffin, an espresso, and a hand rolled, and the sun suddenly comes out. Literally. Lovely.
Two birds fly over head, heading south, I kid you not, squawking as they go.
A mixed berry muffin, an espresso, and a hand rolled, and the sun suddenly comes out. Literally. Lovely.
Two birds fly over head, heading south, I kid you not, squawking as they go.
No comments:
Post a Comment