And Then There Was Monday

(Josh)

I woke up to some religious program at 4am. What truly bothered me was that I truly couldn’t remember going to bed to watch television. I actually couldn’t remember going to bed at all.

I woke up again at 8.55am, I hadn’t put the alarm on, Damn! So I called Beck to say I was going to be late. My head was spinning. Then I called back to say I might take the day as annual leave. I don’t really care either way, call me if that’s no good. Then I sat down on the floor and rested against the bedside table. I’m glad I had cleaned up the floor. Got my breath. Checked for dust.

I’m just wasting the day, I so don’t want to go to work.

Now I’ve rolled a joint, so if Beck calls…shit, shit, she still could, it’s only 9am – my head spins, the upstairs clock is fifteen minutes fast – she probably won’t be in yet herself. Cross your fingers…maybe I should wait a minute before I smoke the rest of it. I should get in the shower.

9.15 and I smoked the last of the joint. Here’s hoping. I know, if the phone rings I’ll do what I always do, not answer it.

Bad Christian.

Perhaps, I’ll type my journal; I do believe I’m home for the day. I’m just wasting my time, I know that. But I don’t want to go to work. No, I don’t. You can’t make me!

I smoked the rest of the joint.

She made me. She called back to say we had a meeting at 10.30 and that I should come in.

Rats!

My head was spinning.

Too fuckin cocky. Too fuckin whacked.

The joint. Oh, I haven’t got time to think about that now. It was the scraping off the ironing board and the coffee table, (pretty picture) barely likely to show up on any test, OF ANY KIND…um…er…my reality included. It was hardly anything, just a scraping. It was mostly tobacco.

Rats! Again!

Some hours later… yes, eight. I’d go with eight. Eight’s near enough. Twelve, thirteen. 11.30. 9am. 12 add 2 and a hlf…half.

Did you say joint?

I got to the meeting by 11am. Beck gave me sideways glances when I clicked my coffee-cup, twice. Espresso from the shop, sweetie. (no, I didn’t get you one) But it was happy families again by the time we hit our office. And then it was lunch.

I think I'm all right at the moment....

sure, i don't want to work any more. And I want a new place to live where I can live on my own.

Sure I feel like I am just wasting my life. I just don't see the point to most of this. Why am I wasting my intellect and my time, by completing a menial little job that makes a bunch of other people rich, while destroying my soul by extracting small chunks every day.

Life's f*cked and then you die! And sure I hate my life, but who doesn't?

...but I think I'm all right at the moment...

She whirled with me last week and she'll whirl again with me this week... is that why I can't remember anything today?

The weekend was good... it's not often that I get to make Luke stagger.

I emailed Shane… no, I wouldn’t have called the tone desperate, Monday afternoon. It was a treat. No, I don’t need it. It just mellows me like, man. Chill, will you.

Are you back from swanning around? Is the kiosk open tonight? I sooooooooooooooooooo hope it is!

Edgy, maybe. I rather prefer positive, opting for fortuitous outcomes.

I worked back for ½ an hour, at the end, but decided after that that was all the blood they were getting. And Beck scampered out the door just as fast.

Shane called me, he was in business. He home delivered it, even. You gotta be happy with that. Don’t know what this dope binge is all about, but I’m going with it. What else can you do? D, Tom, Shane and I partook. Just the sisters. Will probably be dry again…oh…giggle…probably…snigger… about the time you come, luv. You gotta hate that! But it’s all swings and round-a-bouts, doll. You just got to grab on at the good bit and hang on for as long as your frail human hands will allow you. Then ya flung off into the bushes and you’re smashed to pieces on the rose thorns. You just got to pray and hope that you are there for the good bits. Summer being what summer is. And winter being what winter is.

I say nothing more.

Everybody has gone now. Bad Christian, smashed on dope. Again. It’s becoming the story of your life missy, just quietly. No, I won’t tell anyone. No, there’s nobody here. Just you and me. No one can see in. No, they can’t.

Oh, I just can’t become this person. This person ultimately is tragic. I can’t be this person. Back on the merry-go-around, which Christian do I want?

And then I heard my cat crying at my feet. Bleat. Bleat!

She is warm and fluffy and purrs loudly.

Perhaps, I should give alcohol a go? What do you reckon?

Big smile.

Fiddly foe! I just got a new bag tonight. WHAT THE HELL DO I CARE!

I tried the licking our paws routine, at the mull bowl, together... nothing…niente…zip? But, of course, that was Red. Dear Red. Life is scampering by so fast I can hardly remember which cat I am licking my paw with at the mull bowl. Or not licking, which is actually the case now.

Grimace at Missy. She kicks at the carpet. Picks at lint.

Dear Red. Happy times.

The cat is grey and white. Her name is Missy. We updated? Do you remember any of this? I just wonder who I am talking to sometimes…er…um…

Are you keeping up?

Can you tell I’m still on my own? Makes me crazy introspective. And wicked with the muli! I tells ya! Smashed babe, smashed!

I just watched the cat-door creak backwards and forwards. Backwards and forwards. Backwards and forwards, tonight. You know when you come used to those melancholic sounds. It’s mesmerising. I was captivated for a…er…good hour, before I realised the cat had gone…off in a huff. Not enough attention.

I tell ya, I’d better skidadal off to bed. I have to get to work on time, tomorrow.

Nitie nite.

Stagger, stagger. Whoosh, weeeeeeee, the stairs turn. Of course, I knew they turned. I did! Did! Big exhale. I did you idiot!

Clunk goes the teli in my room. The picture lights up. I can feel the energy warm against my face, as my silhouette reclines up the wall.

The usual FBI warning. You know the drill.

Christian