Do Do Do

I woke up on the couch at 3am. I crawled in next to Sam, trying not to wake him. He might fall asleep within seconds of his head hitting the pillow, he might sleep like the dead, he might snore like a storm trouper (I so hope they do the gay storm trouper story line in the next Star Wars movie) but he has Vulcan senses when it comes to me crawling into bed stealthily. 

He steps out of bed like a zombie. He bends at the hips, looks at the bedside clock, straightens up, mumbles something to me about the time, walks off to the bathroom like a Doctor Seuss character, seemingly all fingers and toes. I get into bed while he is in the bathroom. He comes back like Frankenstein having just learned to walk. Nothing more is said.

I've got to do things today, fix the toilet. We have a new housemate moving in. Sam just decided that we have 2 spare bedrooms that shouldn't be empty. He moves in shortly. I will write about him in due course. (I'll have to think of a name for him?) Surely, I can replace a toilet washer and not have to call a plumber? Surely? -  I've just been reading about a woman who moved to the country for a year and she and her mother renovated the mother's 150 year old house, with no building knowledge what so ever? Surely, I can change a toilet washer? - Mark told me how to do it when he was here. I have just Youtubed it. It seems simple enough. I figure if I mess it up, and how badly could I mess it up, I call the plumber then to fix it. 

I have to go to the post office. The last of Lottie's bills lay forlorn in the bottom of my briefcase. I have no stamps. (Actually, I could go and do that right now, it would take 10 minutes, really)

Busy day. Good life.

Its a cool morning. The magpies are calling. My bare feet are chilly sitting out on my morning seat, on the back veranda, with no socks. I must go inside. Sam is in the shower, I don't want him to smell my joint, not this early, he'd have something, nay, lots to say about that. (They sure are giving me a cough, I have to keep that hidden too)

I must text my old boss and tell her I have left work, so I can do coffee any time. The chick that has the job that I wanted, my old bosses new 2nd in charge, has breast cancer, so my old boss might, just, with any luck, need a new 2IC, and I can just slip right in. Just while F has her treatment, of course. I always like jobs on a short term basis, anything permanent, I have to conclude, just drives me crazy. That seemingly never ending, never getting a break, feeling of being warehoused in offices of daytime despair forever... just seems to do my head in.

Then my father's words of twenty years ago always come into my head. "You're getting a bit old to be chopping and changing jobs the way you do."

Permanency in an office situation is the equivalent of suffocation. OMG! I can't really imagine how those of us who do the bone grindingly numbing peak hour run in cars for hours driving at 5 kph. I don't know how those people do it, any wonder there are space cadets out there. (Why would we waste money building EastLink, when the system you would be joining it to, doesn't work. CityLink is a carpark for most of the day?) My old boss works in the corporate world in the CBD. I was lamenting loosing my 5 minute walk to work, but a half an hour walk into the CBD is probably a much healthier proposition for me.

Silver linings.