I still felt a little, oh how do I put it, hit in the head when I padded down the stairs to the kitchen. You know that jet lag feeling, there is the feeling of ringing in the ears and a thick head, without having either of those things. What would you call it? It's like having your brains pulled out of your head, stretched tight like elastic, hit with a timpani hammer and then relocated between your ears.
I don't know how else to put it.
The coffee was dangerously low, a little shocking upon first sighting. You know, considering my eyes weren't, exactly, focusing correctly and I couldn't immediately tell if there was enough, or not. Sharp inhale of breath. Pulled by the centre of my head to the pinnacle of the roof. Release, it's okay, we have enough beans.
I was talking on the phone to Jill at 9.30, when Sam was showered and standing at the lounge room door tapping his foot wanting to head to the country to collect Buddy.
That was a four hour round trip, up the Calder. It was cold, it was wet, the skies were grey and then they were black and then they were silver. The doors were nearly blown off the car when we stopped at the Calder Park servo to eat Maccas for breaky. You know, like you do on your days off. The wind swept across the flat planes and shot through the car park like a hurricane. It was that kind of wind where if you lay into it, it would hold you up. I love it, I am a wind baby. Not many people do, it freaks them out.
There was Kath, in her nylon stretch pants and her oversized cardigan, and Jude, with his post stylish crimson hair and his egg shaped figure, enjoying a lunch time treat of KFC at the local servo. Jude was commenting on the price of Macca’s macaroons.
“One macaroon,” her eyes widened, “two dollars.” Her eyebrows raised up and her forehead creased. “For one.” She waited Jude’s response and when it wasn’t forth coming. “Two dollars for one.” She was shaking her head. She left her mouth open like a guppy to, I assume, emphasise her point. She nodded and screwed up her lips. “Six for nine dollars.” She said the words carefully, as if, to make sure she said them correctly. She looked incredulous. She removed the plastic lid to her coffee and sipped at the rim of the cup hesitantly. She looked around the restaurant. She picked up a chicken nugget with her thumb and pointer finger, her remaining fingers raised in the air, and she nibbled at the breadcrumb covered meat.
It was sunny, but cool. Sam punched me on the arm as I lit a cigarette as we headed to the car. The wind moved the car across the freeway lane, as we headed around the Digger’s Rest bypass. The rain bounced across the road and the bonnet heavily, each drop bouncing and then splattering as they strummed the metal of the car.
Sam remembered the place I call “Canada,” the area where there are pine trees plantations. I was impressed.
There were huge puddles on the road, once we had turned off the freeway and were on the back roads. What are they? B roads?
Buddy stank like a sheep farm. He did his little bulldog dance when he saw us. Then he walked straight to the car, and where he usually waits at the car door sill to be lifted in, he climbed right in there, crawled his fat bull doggie arse up on to the back seat and sat looking straight ahead, as if to say, okay take me home.
Sam declared it an emergency shower situation and Buddy was bundled into the bathroom as soon as we got home. He looks adorable post shower wrapped up in a beach towel dripping wet.
The rest of the day was a blur.
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