I woke up and saw that the clock said 12.20. I spun my head around and saw that it was dark out side. 12.20, dark outside, what time of the day was it? I was confused. I was expecting it to be Sunday, 12.20 fitted just fine, if it was daylight outside.
But dark?
I got home at daybreak, which was Sunday morning. 12.20 and dark meant it must have been... um... no! How could that be so? I've slept the whole day away and when I wake up, next daylight, I will be getting ready to go to work? It can't be TRUE!
Still thinking that my mind was fuddled and that there was some mistake, which would all come clear to me, I headed down stairs.
Missy has been fed, Sunday night, was what the note said on the bench. NO!
I ground beans and made coffee.
Bugger! This is why I much prefer to go out and have a big night on Friday. Then it would be Sunday morning and I have the whole day to recover and another sleep before the salt mines Monday morning.
After procrastinating about Nicholas' present, I headed to the chocolate shop in Brunswick and bought him a box of ten assorted truffles. Shane called me just as I'd finished shopping to say there was a warehouse sale at the Fitzroy town hall. I got there to find Shane almost buried under the clothes he was about to purchase. I bought five new work shirts, which I have been desperate for for so long.
I got to Nicholas' birthday around 7pm and we went to The Rose for dinner. We got to A Bar Named Barry some where around midnight and, strangely, the door bitch boy was only letting people in with ID. At the head of the queue was Alex, who was with us, said she was thirty two, mystified. He didn't care, no ID no entry. Just as we were digesting this information, a big, white police truck pulled up outside the club and, something like, ten police men got out. It was clearly being raided by the coppers.
We all had drugs in our pockets. Nicholas said afterwards, Good thing, otherwise I would have had to triple drop, if we were in the club. Big, beautiful Nicholas smile. And you never know where that would have led to.
We also had Fat Patty, a.k.a Bizarreo Woman with us - why are all drug dealers weird? - who had a bag of twenty in her pocket.
So we headed home and turned the music up and danced around the lounge room.
Fat Patty lagged behind, on the way back, and then did a disappearing act and freaked out, from what I can gather, roaming the streets, all reported back every fifteen minutes by mobile phone, until she too arrived back some hours after we did. Of course, that is just matter of course for her, it's me, me, me, all the time with that one. In any, every, conversation, she interjects with random comments, usually about herself, with big eyes, in an over dramatic way, which normally pulls you out of what's being said to wonder why she said whatever it is that she said. It's like cohabitating with a demented tourette'ee. I should introduce her to Guido - I wonder if he'll ever return - they'd make the perfect couple, except Guido likes them thin and young and, at least, 50% of the time with a dick.
I feel like shit. Drugs are bad, kids. Wait until you are an adult then you can fuck yourself up with impunity.
I just farted and crapped my track suit pants. Ooo! Do you believe it!!!!!!! In the ensuing palaver, I discovered that Shane left his pot on the coffee table. Now I really feel sideways.
Strawberry muesli is helping.
Damn that sick day on Friday. I'm really feeling as though the migraine Friday was a precursor to some kind of sickness. Gastro. Diarrhoea. I had the worst weekend, I was sick the whole time. Don't know what. Ending on, I crapped the bed, Sunday night, maybe twice, should pretty much cancel any further questions on the matter. It's not that much of a stretch. I don't take many sick days. Nobody will suspect.
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