Back to Earth

I listened to Sam’s front door close as he left the house, right away followed by Shane starting to stir, as he got up to face the day. It’s like a chain reaction, as I will start to seriously think about getting out of bed when I hear the front door close as Shane leaves. It is just after 8am, which means Shane has about an hour till he leaves the house. Often, he leaves by 9am, normally always by 9.30am, at the latest, which is my rising and attempting to shine time.

I was thinking about the dope cookies I had to eat as soon as I got up.

This morning, after a weekend of late nights and drug taking, I fall back to sleep again and wake again sometime after 11am.

I come down stairs to Missy meowing constantly. She has taken up a commanding vantage point in the kitchen and she is not going to let up until she has been fed. She is obviously genuinely hungry, a fact confirmed by one of the last things I did Friday afternoon before I headed to the country was shaking her food box in my explanation of her feeding regime only to discover the said cat box had barely enough in it to feed her for Friday night, I wasn’t returning until Sunday night.

“Have I nice weekend,” I said without any kind of guilt pang, or any such thing.”

I looked at the fridge, I looked at the coffee pot, I looked at Missy. “Okay, okay, I’ll go get my shoes and my wallet.”

It was raining, so I grabbed an umbrella and left the house.

Pain.

OH. First, I needed to take a dump, though.

“Meow, meow.”

“Shoes, keys, wallet… oo, ah.”

“Meow, meow.”

“Oh cat!”

“Meow, meow.”

Hold my stuff, wobble my legs in relief. Eye-ball Missy.

“Meow, meow.”

“Oh shut up!” Put my stuff down, head to the toilet. 

I think I’d been holding on over the weekend.

This all might sound like a fairly uncomplicated operation, now doesn’t it. But, when you have just woken up, essentially, ha no coffee and are a little hung over from the weekend you have just had, it seems like quite an ordeal.

Not long after, I had my stuff in my hand and my umbrella raised above my head and I was out in the fresh day, rain gently falling down and a cool breeze to blow all of my stale day out of my hair.

Oo, pain. Really. I should have gone again. I find that sometimes happens, if you’ve been sitting around, spaced out on, well in my case. Trips, magic mushrooms and enough pot to put a football team to sleep, not really sticking to, shall we say, routines.

I decided to get Missy a chicken wing to eat. In fact, I’d get her two. If she is genuinely hungry, she won’t be fussy about the change of menu, she will just tuck in.

I decided to get a new packet of toilet paper, just so my hypocrite gene doesn’t kick in. If I am thinking that it is me who buys all of these products consistently, simply stopping buying them is not the answer. Then I am not putting in my fair share.

It was $14.49. The machine played up. I wanted to put in the cents, but go so into the coins I had in my wallet, I overshot and put in too many. Then I tried to put in more to make up everything over $10, but then my last $2 wouldn’t work, it kept falling through and it wouldn’t reject either.

“Bugger.”

Oh, pain. Gurgle.

I push my finger repeating on the reject coins button.

Oh, pain in my stomach. Gurgle.

I try the $2 again. Slip, drop.

Pain, pain, pain.

“Bugger, bugger, bugger.”

The laconic shop assistant comes over.

Gurgle. Gurgle.

“I’ll try another $2 coin.”

Pain pain pain. What?

It seemed to take her ages to walk around to the other cash register and back.

It fell through.

“I’ll try a $1 coin.” 

Hurry.

It didn't work.

Gurgle. Gurgle.

“I’ll try a 50c coin.”

Ouch, ouch, ouch. You have got to be kidding me.

None of them worked.

I’m in pain lady and I have to walk all the way home.

“I’ll try a note.” Ahhhhhhhhhh!

Oh, what do I do, sit down on the scanner and cross my legs.

The $5 note slipped in and for the first time there was a sound from the machine as it finally whirled back into life again.

Finally!

The walk home was fraught with anxiety