Tuesday, June 11, 2013

My Baby is Flying Away from me

I had trouble sleeping last night. So did Sam. I thought it was me who was keeping him awake with my tossing and turning, but apparently not. Things look different in the middle of the night in the dark as the whites of our eyes reflect the one candle worth of light. I just didn’t seem to be able to switch my mind off. I was thinking about Mark telling me he was running out of money and that probably means that he will be wanting to help himself to my money again, from my account which is still attached to his internet banking. How do I get him to disconnect my account from his banking without insulting him?

I worried about selling mum’s country house, in this market. But we just did it. I don’t think my sister is quite so reliant on her inheritance as I am. She's made good investments during her working life and I have none.

I got cross about my brother Will just borrowing the money that was supposed to be coming to me, more recently. And there we have it, I think it is my brother’s business' money problems that are encouraging my sister to sell off the assets.

I’m worried about the nightmare that is work tomorrow, at the Loser Foundation and nightmare Elaine. I so hope she doesn’t want me to do her end of financial year figures? I guess she will, it will be the full nightmare, I can just feel it. You know how it goes, fat losers always want the world.

This was all in the middle of the fucking night! I tossed and turned.

Oh, it is just me, coming down, feeling second rate? I’m sure I’ll get through it and, really, who cares if I don’t, I have enough cred at work to weather one disaster.

But, it still stopped me sleeping, which I find really hard to handle, as nothing stops me sleeping, normally. I don't, actually, mind waking up in the middle of the night when it is that dreamy, relaxing, floating relaxing feeling, when I can glance at the bed side clock and think to myself, lovely another six hours to go, but not when it is wishing otherwise.

I don’t like stressing about things. I never used to stress about things, but something has changed in me and I seem to stress more than I ever did.

Is it just getting older, when you know the world is fucked and people are fucked and that they can easily affect you with all of their nonsense? Is that it? Experience brings you stress? Knowledge takes away your naivety?

Sam got up and went to work at the normal time. I stayed in bed, pulling the doona around me and drifting back to sleep. I remember him saying good bye to me. I remember blowing him kisses over the folded over edge of the doona.

I woke a little later, still worrying about everything. I sat up in bed and did my blog, which I wanted to do last night, but which Sam told me to stop doing.

I stayed in bed until 1pm, when I had to do an EOY webinar with work. I came downstairs to do that and it went until 3.30pm.

I spoke to Jill after that. I told her that we went to Macedon, I don't know why, it was just stupid really. And she kept asking me questions about it. Stupid me, I wish I had just told her the truth. That was just dumb.

She said that Lachlan has given up, that he hasn’t got any energy to go on. I told her that I should go and talk to him because I feel the same way. She laughed. I laughed. But, you know, while it isn’t exactly true now, Lachlan is 94 and almost fifty years older than me. And quite frankly, I’m not at all sure I have 50 years of energy in me. I just don’t think I have the energy to keep going to the Loser Foundation to deal with the likes of Elaine. I just want to tell her to die.

“I’m with you Lachlan, just let go, babe.”

He had a men’s wear shop that my mum used to take me to as a small boy, before I ever knew his daughter Jill. So I have known him for almost as long as the difference in our ages.

So at 4.30pm, I just had to leave the house. I went and bought a couple of Macaroons from Maccas and then walked down Smith Street and did my tattsLotto. 20 million. Can you imagine?

It was dark and overcast and strangely quiet in Smith Street.

Late afternoon, just me, Buddy, the fire and silence. It was very quiet.

At 5.47 Sam messaged me to say he was in a small plane just leaving Sydney. I hate little planes. I told him to message me as soon as he lands.

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