Having Lunch

Just after Sam rubbed (the cold) moisturiser on my face (the cold waking me up, cold cream is my kryptonite), he bought the bulldog up around 8am, as he was barking at a jackhammer being used not so far away. Dogs are no longer able to bark in the 21^st Century.

I think the moisturiser thing on my face first thing in the mornings is sweet and I like it, despite how I might sound.

The bulldog and I slept together until 9am. Lovely. It felt like a slow morning.

Mark was up when I got up. Luke got up not long after. Mark went around to get lattes, pretty soon after that. I brewed coffee for myself.

I text Jack, he sent me a confirmation email. I went outside to have a smoke. I really don’t want to do it. Everyone was in the lounge, I couldn’t phone. So without a word, I emailed Jack back, told him I was sorry, I still had a bad cough from the cold I’d had and I didn’t feel up to the job. Sorry for messing him around. It was true, I’d had coughing fits all morning. No, really, I had. My ears are ringing. A formal interview with all the heads of department, and a very formal suit and tie office at that. No thanks.

It makes me feel like a failure, but who cares, I really don’t want to go and work in a very professional suit and tie kind of office for two months, maybe more, coughing my head off.

I’d rather play with Jill.

I reckon that is the only “get out of jail free” card I have with Jack this year, and I just played it.

I had to meet with all the execs, head of finance, head of HR, the current employee… who’d be feeling powerful and wanting to bring me down. I was vague, I was blocked up, I was coughing. No thanks, at any time, but especially after having smoked pot for the last week. Why have my last few interviews, scarcely any, read two, always come after periods of pot smoking? I’ve only had two in ten years, they don’t please me.

Just send me somewhere normal, Jack.

Now I feel depressed at my failure. I should have been able to go back to work like everybody else, after a nice holiday, you know act like a grown up.

Bored already.

But, there is always another job, that’s what I have learned from doing contract work. A couple of times I have turned down good jobs, only to have a better job come along shortly.

Mark, Luke and I ate lunch at Mezina, the old Smith Street post office. It was a glorious day, we sat out in the sun under the umbrellas on the footpath.

A lot of fat people walked passed.

A lot of hot people also walked passed.

A drunk told us his opinion of Lance Armstrong's apology, twice. A gutless drug cheat.

I’ll tell Sam about the job, tomorrow after Mark and Luke have left, when there will be less people here who would be on his side. He won’t be pleased.

I’d rather stay home with my bulldog, my new Randy Crawford cd, um, er, download, first time.

Sam came home as I was sleeping on the couch.

Mark and Luke went out somewhere.

We tried to walk The bulldog, he didn’t want to cooperate, until we turned for home.

Sam and I went to the supermarket and got ingredients for stir fry noodles.

We watched all the American sitcoms, you know, Big Bang Theory, Two Broke Girls, Two and a half men.

Sam went to bed at 11pm, late for “nana.”

With a full house, I never seem to get anytime to write. So, I sat up with the bulldog snoring next to me and bad TV on mute.

I decided not to say anything to Sam about the job. He didn’t seem that interested, I think I have, actually, said less to him about it than I though. I was just panicking. I’m just going to admit it here, and if he reads this he’ll know. It’s a good way to test if he still reads my blog. He doesn’t say much about it. And if he is, actually, still reading it… surprise.