Middle of the Night

The guys have gone out tonight, to a birthday party. I went to bed early.

I just woke, TV is blaring with some deluded christian, momentarily, as I wake, in that moment between sleep and consciousness, there are two of us in the room and one of us is evangelical. Welcome to my nightmare.

I scramble around for the remote control, in a daze and clunk goes the teli. Silence.

My lap-top is next to me on the bed, it's stars in the black sky, screen saver activated. I swear, one day, I'll fall asleep and kick it off onto the floor. I wonder how hard it will bounce on the wooden floors? My cocoon, my swamp, my cave, only I'm protected.

I have just rolled a j and have just been down stairs to make coffee. The house is quiet. The coffee smells strong. The night is eerily still against the windows. I pull the doona over me. The noises of the night sound outside; car doors, rubbish bins, voices calling out what to do, where to go next. Silence. A lone pair of stilettos come clacking down the entire length of street; soft and distant, deliberate and loud up close, fading away again.

4am, Saturday night. I sit up against the wall, not one of my many pillows manages to get behind my back. The wall is cold. I shiver. I was in bed early, Saturday night, what's wrong with this picture? I should go out, now. I'd need pills to dance.

The street sweeper whirls past outside.

I smoke the joint on my own.

I must remember I still have good mates.