Awake Early

I was dreaming about D and a large red brick house where I had ended up with a car and a secret booty of some kind, which I was trying to sneak out of the house, in a cul der sac into the car in the middle of the night to get it away from… someone, I don’t know who... now... something. It wasn't so much fear as a sense of urgency to get it all done and to get away...

And then I was awake and the light was just beginning to seep into the room from outside, gentle and soft and early morning wishy washy. And I was like WTF? You know, trying to keep every last detail of the dream in my head so I could analyse it and work out what the hidden meaning was so I could understand what it was that I was really thinking. And um... er... ah? Going... going... don't you hate the way dreams fade so quickly. So vivid and real and then drifting away like so much mist. It's like trying to grab hold of steam.

I was awake just after 6am. I went to have a piss and Missy was at the door meowing. She came back in with me and got up onto the bed and curled up next to me. I stroked her fur with my finger tips and she purred.

I couldn’t sleep, because I can’t get rid of this feeling of impending doom, and the feeling that I have really mucked things up, and the feeling that I’m not going to get a job…

So, at 6.30 I gave in and switched on my laptop, actually, it was still on because I fell asleep in bed last night sometime in the wee small hours and I just closed it. Missy gave me a look like, Aren't we comfortable? You know, like cats do, which roughly translates as, I’m comfortable stop moving. Which would be a whine if it was coming from a human, but coming from a cat it would be a statement of incredulousness.

I read all about Tucker cars, the big failure of the fifties. My first entry on my list of Facebook “new posts.” Of course, it could be because GM, Ford and Chrysler ganged up on innovative and technologically advanced Tucker. Really, you say, that is unheard of. The latest example of one of the 51 cars in existence sold for nearly 3 million dollars. They would have made a great investment, as just a short number of years ago they sold for a couple of hundred thousand dollars.

At 7am I went and made coffee and muesli as I was getting a wee peckish and came back to bed.

I read more about Tucker cars. 51 cars made, 4 destroyed, only one car unaccounted for of the four destroyed. Not bad really. How many car companies can say that 92% of their entire product sill exists some 60 years later. Francis Ford Coppola owns two, he’s a lucky boy, but of course he made the movie Tucker: The Man and his Dream. And there is one in Melbourne. I presume, maybe, probably, could belong to Lindsay Fox. I have no idea really, but Lindsay Fox is our most famous car collector. I’d love to go and see it.

I tried to google Lindsay Fox’s car collection website, but it came up with errors and “the cars” section didn’t seem to go anywhere. I’m sure Lindsay Fox would be pleased to hear that, even if it isn’t him who owns the Tucker.

Shane got up at 8am. His stirrings suddenly bought me back to reality. Funny how reality can shift when one wakes three hours earlier than usual. And no, it is not mid morning. Oh yes, of course, it is a school day for some. Maybe, I’m not taking this job search seriously enough.

9am. Shane crunches his car into reverse and leaves for work. He crunches his car into reverse every morning. I don’t get it, if I crunched my car into reverse every morning, I’d try and select the gear slower, or something, to stop it crunching. Or I’d have my car looked at. I wouldn’t just go on crunching with abandon, gay or otherwise.

I think 9.15 is my favourite time of the day. The sun is, usually, just a comforting warm glow the air still smells dewy and sweet, the birds are tweeting and the day is in front of you, not yet spoilt with expectations, or disappointments. There is a lovely simplicity, as the morning eases into the day.

Just laying in bed is a tonic. It's funny when the day light is shining and the sky is blue, nothing seems quite so desperate and I just relax with it all and think job? What job?

Screw it. I'll get a job. I've got enough in the bank for some time yet, it's not desperate. Just relax. Chill. It will work itself out.

I mean, I ask you, how bad can taking seven, or so, months really look to a prospective employer?

I went travelling? Doesn't everybody do that at some stage, or other? Why is that so hard to believe? Yes, of course, okay, I know and you know that it is a lie, but they don’t know. Isn’t that what Australian’s do, they travel?

How hard can it be? They are all idiots, after all, all except you and me, of course.