Rich Dies

Buddy came inside this morning, while I was having a cigarette on the wicker chairs. When I looked around, Buddy and Sam were cuddled up in the middle of the lounge room floor. After Sam got up to make raison toast, Buddy looked alone in the middle of the lounge room, with a very sad face. Still, not to be perturbed, he just headed off quietly upstairs to find a bed to keep him warm. He is as silent as a mouse when he pulls that move. Sam tried to stop him, but Buddy was determined, so Sam said when he appeared minus dog at the kitchen door. 

“Go get him,” was the order.

“He’s your bulldog.”

“He’s your bulldog.”

I had to retrieve Buddy from our bed.

Sam said that the Waterdales will all be here for Xmas, more than likely, as we brushed our teeth. Sam wondered if he’d head OS to visit his parents, he’s been thinking about it for a while. 

“You know there will be drama.” 

He’s not one for drama. He has wondered if he should visit his parents over Xmas for some time now. I told him he should go if he wants to, he has mentioned it quite few times. I don’t want him to go, but I also don’t want to stop him going either.

I was leaving early this morning, before 8am. Well, I couldn’t have that, so I switched on my PC and pissed about on it.

There were a whole bunch of updates and the computer, of course, was slow to download them. They took forever after I’d finished what I was doing. I went outside and had a cigarette. I went outside and had a second cigarette.

It finished after 8.15, so I had to get my skates on. I still got to work by a minute after 8.30.

We had spongy, creamy, chocolaty layer cake for morning tea. Christine bought it in. I think it was her eighteen year olds birthday cake. I thought about Jason in his new birthday undies momentarily, as I held the spoon over the wedge of cake. Shake of the head. Focus on the triple chocolate portion. Push down the cutlery. The cake was nice, layers of sweet fat.

I ate sushi for lunch. No sweetie.

Sitting in the long line of traffic in Langridge Street, waiting for the impossibly short lights at Hoddle Street, I thought to myself, I drive like a burglar, I don’t need you to let me in. Who needs to be let in, if you drive intelligently, there is always some other doofas who doesn’t have a clue that us smart drivers can always take advantage of.

So don’t look at me, who has sat in the line of traffic for twenty minutes waiting for the green light, to give you anything. If you are stupid enough to get yourself into that mess, get yourself out.

I hate the traffic, it makes me grumpy.

Rich Waterdale died at 8.30am this morning. Mark called and left a message. I skyped him. Rich died with a nurse with him. (sister) Chris was on her way, but she didn’t make it in time. 

Mark is trying to change his flight back. The airline is being difficult, call centres and recorded messages.

Sam was home when I got home. We dunked Scotch Fingers in our tea.

“Oh, I made a few mistakes today.” I said to Sam, “I wonder why?”

He replied with his customary, “Er!”

as I passed him the joint.

Sam cooked stir fried vegetables and egg with bitter melon. I hate bitter melon, but he thinks it is good for us.

“I want to see the proof,” I said.

We sat on our fat arses and watched TV. No walking. No leaving the house.

I put together Rich’s funeral photos. Old Rich. Grumpy, cantankerous, generous, inclusive Rich. It must have been hard for him to accept all of his son’s gay lovers, but he did. All of us all say that he was always lovely to every one of us, no exceptions.