Sunday Morning

There is no milk, oh seriously, I think. I've been up 5 minutes. My head spins. Bugger it! I get my wallet and slide on my shoes, crocs,  grumbling. I head off to Coles. 

I put on Real Ibiza and wonder what they are doing on Gaza, when I am still grumpy about having to go get milk first thing in the morning. I wonder what it will be like when the Chinese invade? That makes me look at the day with new eyes.

6.45am. I get to Coles, I walk up to the door and nothing, it doesn’t open. I nearly walk into it in my just-woken-up state. The shop doesn't open until 7am. I look at my watch. Er!

I have 15 minutes to wait. Grrrr. Do I walk home, only to turn around to come back as soon as I get there, or do I wait? 

So, I walk to the nearest seat, which is across the road and down a bit to discover the biggest pool of bright orange vomit lying in front of it. Euw!

So, I head to the next nearest seat, in front of the old post office, to discover it is, of course, the tram stop as well, when the tram comes along and, despite me having my back to it and not reacting, it ding, ding, dings, loudly, after which it continues without actually stopping and I realise they were meant for me. Those ding, ding, dings. They don’t half piece your ears first thing in the morning, let me tell you. And now the cold is starting to seep into my skin. 

(I message my ex-boyfriend Mark for sympathy. He sympathises)

Anyway, I now have 2 minutes to walk to the big slidy doors. Nice chatting... er... journal. Blog? (I was saying that to Mark)

I have some lovely ambient music 🎵 though, so its not all tangerine vomit and ding, ding, dings. (Good thing I uploaded it to my iMusic yesterday)

I get milk and oranges and apples and butter.

Oh there’s a very chatty chick in a rainbow coloured swing dress talking overly animatedly to her male friend who is bare chested in tiny black shorts both chewing wildly passing me in Smith Street as I come out. Oh, I miss those days when they walk right up to me.

Oh, I should have bought two green bags, as I bought kilos of pink ladies and oranges, and with the milk too, I really needed two enviro bags just to even the load.

I think ma shoulder is going to drop right orf before I make it home. But it doesn't, I make it back.

Oh my, my hair is standing on end according to the shadow reflected onto my front door from the morning sun glowing behind me as I slide the key into the lock to open it. I should have looked in the mirror before I left.

I had that time when I rushed off to Coles to get something, early, and I was crossing Smith Street and I looked up and down for traffic then I looked straight across and I momentarily thought, Oh look some old dero is crossing the road toward me, and it turned out to be my own reflection in the big supermarket windows across the road. He laughs nervously.

But, as I say to David, repeatedly, no one cares. No one probably even noticed.

7.16am. I am home again.

I make coffee.

Otto and I sit together on the couch. Me with my laptop, Otto with his chew toy.