Sickie Friday

I took the day off sick. May be, not such a great thing to do when you are into your notice period. But, I really did have a sore throat, have had one for a week and I thought I should seek medical advice and go have it checked out. Get some pills, or some potion, or something to remedy it with.

Then I spoke to Mark, who said stop being a fucking hypochondriac and don't blow your fifty dollars on a doctors appointment. It's winter, he said. Sore throats happen. For fucks sake.

So, I didn't go to the doc and I didn't go to work. And my throat is, actually, feeling better.

Diflam, it's good stuff. The bitch chemist gave it to me, the one who always says I should go to the doctor. I think I'll miss her.

I was home on my own. There is only so much masturbating you can do. No, really. I got despondent, in the afternoon, got a little housebound. Could I really spend my time at home writing? Have I really made a mistake, work wise?

I decided to go to Bolago, around 3pm. I called Mark, but he wasn’t answering. Decided I just couldn’t run up to Bolago, every time I got blue. Besides, he had guests.

I went for a walk, when I didn’t hear back from Mark. I walked down Gore to Johnson, along Johnson to Young. I went north down Young to look at some interesting apartments that seemed to be covered in graffiti. Along Kerr, over Brunswick, south up Nicholson, over Elgin and then directly right into Carlton. I forgot my camera, I meant to take it to shoot a pictorial, of my walk. The light was on full winter’s glow, colours on deep and smudgy. Time for high-collared coats wrapped tightly around you. Sometimes you just have to walk your troubles off. I think it is the steady rhythm of your feet that help steady your thoughts.

I walked along Barclay, up Faraday. I co so move to Carlton; nice wide streets, lined with trees. Left into Rathdowne, up to the Carlton Gardens. I walked along the gardens path with an old couple with multiple King Charles Spaniels, the type my Rottweiler ate, to the museum. I sat on the bench outside the Imax and contemplated The Dark Knight, it’s just been released, yesterday. There was a 5.50pm session, it was 5.10pm. I couldn't make the decision to wait forty minutes, it seemed like an eternity in the half dusk light.

I was walking back down Gertrude from Nicholson when Mark called and said, yes come up the guests had gone. I’m working in the cottage – putting in a new bathroom – you can watch TV and keep me company. I was at Brunswick Street. I quickened my step and powered home. My stuff was already packed from 3pm.

I got my computer, my camera, my phone charger, unfortunately not my toothbrush, fed the cat and left. It was 5.38pm, as I turned left into Johnson.

There was a sea of red lights in front of me, up Royal Parade and onto the freeway. As far as the eye could see, under the glow of the street lights on a shiny, black night. But it all moved surprisingly well, and I was in the country without delay.

I watched Rome and smoked pot, as Mark concreted the walls and added wood trim.

I was falling asleep, by the time Mark said, time for bed it’s 1.30am.