Monday Monday

I woke up at 10.45, or thereabouts. It was nice and warm in my bed. I thought that Sam had added my Amish Quilt (my favourite and my dearest article of bedding that my mum made me, pretty much, as the last thing she did before her brain disintegrated) to the down doona and the wool doona we now have on the bed. I’m sure our weather is changing, has changed, global warming is real, as I have never needed such layers on my bed at night to feel warm.

I was toasty. I worried that my pumpkin had been cold in the night, having had to add the Amish Quilt. I don’t feel the cold, you see, and he isn’t so demanding on such things like that, until he is shaking, if you know what I mean.

Sam would point out to me later, when I asked him if he’d been cold, that the Amish Quilt was already on the bed and he didn’t add it to the bedclothes.

Oh yes, I remember, the Amish Quilt was on the bed Saturday night, when I hid the laptop under the pillows and pulled the doonas up around the pillows to hide my hiding spot, before we left for the beach.

I flattened out the large purple triangle and the smaller crimson rectangles and the green squares to make the pattern straight, as the quilt covered the bed. I remembered, as I lay in bed this morning.

I didn’t have to get out of bed this morning, so I didn’t. I got up and had a piss, but I raced back to bed straight away and dived back under the covers. Whoosh. Sloop. Pfffffff. Fttttttttt.

I poofed up the pillows (well, what else would you expect me to do?) and got the MacAir from my desk and sat up in bed and pissed around on line. I had to keep myself, pretty much, snuggled under the bedclothes, as it is still very cold in the mornings. I read the news. I don’t think I will bother reading the news if I have to pay for it online. I think when they start to charge for it online I will simply stop reading it, because it isn’t the news, lets face it. It is a collection of the worst things that have happened in the world that will sell the news services product and, hopefully, win the ratings. It is the world psyco drama, real or imagined, or manufactured, served up in such a way that will win whatever time slot it is presented in. If it was the news, it would be a well balanced representation of what had been happening in the world, which the “news” no longer is. The news should never have been included in the ratings war, because when it was it ceased being the news and started to be entertainment.

I had to cancel the wood delivery for Sunday, to head down to the beach. We are nearly out, and it is rapidly developing into an emergency situation. It certainly is for those among us who are from NSW. (it doesn’t take them long to convert to whingey NSW bastards, let me tell you) I was supposed to order it first thing this morning. Oh well. Bad me. Fuck it! I don’t have to work until Thursday. And I don’t feel the cold.

I didn’t have to get out of bed, even if Mark was visiting. I guess, it would have been good hosting, even if we have been friends too long for that. He does his own thing as it pleases him, which in turn means that I can do mine, of course. Sometimes, I wonder if it does work both ways?

It does with Sam.

I think that is what we all feel, however. We all feel that we don’t get to do our own thing, while the other people do. We all feel that? No doubt Mark feels that too. I guess, somehow, the realty is somewhere in the middle. That’s what life is, a compromise. That’s what life always is.

I chose not to feel guilty about staying in bed, so I didn’t feel guilty. It was warm and I was comfortable. I could lie there all day, if I chose.

Eventually, Mark came up and opened the door gingerly.

“It’s late in the morning,” he said. “I thought you were still asleep.”

“No, I am having a lie in.”

“A lie in?”

“Yes.” I kind of felt smug. I had no one to answer to.

“Don’t we have to order wood,” he said. He headed into the bathroom. “Get up, I am lonely.”

I was already getting up, when he said he was lonely. I had got out of bed once I had been spied lying in. It seemed only polite.

I came downstairs. Mark had made coffee. He was watching terrible midday television, as he likes to do. Mind rot television, that’s what I think. He had the lounge room fire roaring, despite the diminishing wood supply.

I put on thick socks, to match my tracksuit pants and thick woollen jumper. They were warm, woolly clothes for a warm, woolly kind of morning. Thick, comfortable layers, for a thick, comfortable day off. Soft, sloppy, thick, comfortable, wrapped up against the cold. I love that feeling, sloppy and layered and soft, it was that kind of day. I called the woodman, who would deliver on Wednesday. Wednesday? I drew in breath. Mark would be cold by Wednesday. I made mashed bananas on toast and more coffee.

Nothing to do, I love that feeling.