I Got Up Late

I got up late. I made coffee. I checked my messages. I poured my muesli into a bowl. I headed for the mull bowl.

Guido paid one of his rare visits. I didn’t organise it, I swear. Shane did. Earlier in the morning, Shane had broken his last cigarette to which I replied, Oh damn, we’ll have to get some pot now, so as not to waist the cigarette.

Sam is sick in bed at his place.

It was quiet, this morning. I lit a fire to take the chill out of the air.

Shane got up after 2pm and wanted it confirmed that it was still okay to get up and go straight for the mull bowl.

“Is it bad to head straight to the mull bowl, first thing after good morning?”

He hasn’t slept since Thursday night, he tells me after the first herbal gasper. Still on that relentless search for Mr. Right.

“No, it’s never wrong.”

Shane laughed. “Just because that was a rule for so many years, are you saying at no age it needs to be reviewed?”

“I don't understand the question? It is never too early to have a joint on a Sunday...” I held my hands in the air, “everything else being as it may. You know, in peace.”

Stoned on a Sunday at home, it has been awhile.

I decided not to say anything about the pot to Sam, so I can’t see him today. He’d be cross.

Choosing mari over him, he would say. But, he is sick and should stay in bed, and besides I don’t want to push my luck, the last thing I want right now is to be sick, that could set me off the work course by months. It’s true... possibly. I just have no want to work, still nothing. Numb. I’m praying on tattsLotto, that’s all I’ve got.

It doesn’t mean I have to be in stasis just because he is sick.

He’s taken tomorrow off though, he’s been to the doctor today, so that will make it hard.

Later, I fessed up to Sam, he didn’t seem too concerned. He’d been to the pharmacy and spent one hundred dollars on potions and pills, so he was feeling better, he was feeling more confident.