I put the dishwasher on before I left for work. I’m getting into cleaning up in the morning. I seem to have time enough and the willingness, then. Oh, okay, it is guilt. Of course, it is guilt. Sam cooks every night and my side of the agreement is to clean. Yes, sure that agreement, of course, means the night of the cooking. But, surely it isn’t so bad the next morning? It isn’t terrible? Not the spirit of the agreement? Maybe not?
When I wasn’t smoking, I had more time, sure, and that is why cleaning them in the morning was so easy. When I am off the fags again, I’ll have the time again.
Roz text me and said she’d be able to give me a birthday kiss, when we go to see mum on Sunday.
“Oh, what date is it?” I asked her.
“The 08th.”
“Oh, too late to send the other one a birthday card, hey?” I said.
“The other one being your only brother,” Roz replied.
“The one and only.”
Roz said, “You’ll have to call him.” Will, I had no choice. “Go on, call him. Wish him happy birthday,” she said.
I don’t know what she was implying, I don’t mind calling my brother. She likes to keep tabs on her brothers but, maybe, all sisters do? I don’t know.
I called Will a bit later. We had a bro talk.
“Happy birthday, bro,” I said.
“Thanks, Chriso,” he replied.
No, I don’t call him Willo.
We chatted for a while.
Everyone was head down and bum up at work. We all seemed to have plenty of work to do, and it was like a library all day.
Shayleen was out at the other sites speaking to the troupes.
Isaac the HR Director was in his office.
Jade and Kaia were huddled together doing HR stuff, I guess. They are a bit quiet when Shayleen isn’t around.
You know, Shayleen is the one. She’s exceptional, competent, smart, funny, worldly, beautiful. I know, I don’t say that often, ever, about HR staff, but she’d be a star in any organisation. The office is different when her wit and intelligence isn’t around.
Jude was pretty quiet too. I made eyes at from time to time, and he smiled back coyly.
I was kept with a steady stream of work from Christine who just kept sending stuff my way.
We ate Cauliflower Soup for dinner, with crusty toasted bread to dip into it. I’m toast tart, after Sam gives me the nod to start cooking. Two pieces each. Three pieces each. What would you say is too many pieces of toast for a bowl of soup? Sam is always trying to get me to cut down to two pieces each, but I resist. It’s three pieces each as far as I am concerned. All the way. No discussion to be had. Thick crusty white bread with lashings of butter, behind the back of my hand, it’s what makes his bland soup tasty. He harrumphs and protests, but I tell him to stick to soup making, Soup Slag.
We went to bed early and watch Q&A in bed.
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