“Yeah, good onya,” said Sam.
Buddy has been sleeping with us the last few nights, as it has been really cold outside, and he seemed to be very comfortable stretched out with half the bed, while I hung onto a sliver of mattress on my side of the bed.
I got up and pulled on my track pants and hoodie, just at the same time I heard Andy heading downstairs. It was early and I didn’t feel like being social, nothing against Andy, it’s just if I am getting up early, I want to enjoy the early morning on my own, the solitude, the quiet, the peace, the stillness, of my own time. I lay back down in bed in my track pants and hoodie fully expecting to continue to toss and turn.
I woke again at 8.15am, just as Sam got out of the shower. “Nice, isn’t,” I said, I’m sure with a huge grin.
Sam bought me breakfast in bed, telling me that I needed to do stuff and not spend the day in bed.
“You need to get back into your exercise routine again,” said Sam. “You are getting…”
“What?”
“You know.”
“No I don’t.”
“Yes, you do?”
“Don’t beat around the bush…”
“Fat!” said Sam.
“Like a dagger to the heart, Brutus…”
“You are getting fat!”
“I’m am now bleeding from the wounds you have inflicted.”
“Don’t be dramatic…”
“I am chocking on my own blood. Gurgle, gurgle, gurgle! I thought you loved me?”
He kissed me on the forehead. “Don’t stay in bed all day.”
Buddy lay on one side of me. Fluff on the other. Milo lay across my legs. I wrote my pig story. (It is on my fictional blog, there is a link below, FletcherSatchel) It is coming very slowly, glacial, but it is coming. Bit by bit, every little piece is dragged from me, if you look closely you can just about see the scars in my skin. Inspiration is in a bit short supply, at the moment, I don’t know why? I was explaining it to someone at Rachel’s party the other day. One person laughed, the other tuned out. I wondered if I was boring? Maybe I am. Note to self, nobody wants to hear about your pig story. Sad, but true.
I watched a YouTube clip on the Bristol Fighter, when I couldn’t think of more pig story to write. (That is a car, not a plane)
Jill messaged me at 11.30am to ask if I was awake? Awake? She messaged me at 11.11am, as if I’d still be asleep at that time.
I’m awake, I replied. Still in bed, but certainly awake. Did I feel like a visitor?
Did I feel like a visitor?
I laughed to myself. Did I ever feel like a visitor? Ha ha. Sure, I replied. I forced myself. I can’t spend my days in bed writing, can I? No, I can’t. I must say yes to friends when they ask.
I extricated myself out from under 2 dogs and a cat, they weren’t moving for anybody and scampered into the shower. (I don’t think I had a shower yesterday? Lovely, isn’t it. My part towards saving the planet, well, that’s my story)
Sam, Jill and I went to Arcadia for lunch. In Gertrude Street. I think we are becoming quite the regulars. I ate beef vindaloo. Sam ate lasagne. Jill ate a burger, despite her, um, err, ah, how do I put this diplomatically? If I said Pritikin? Would that be enough?
Sam went back to work. His new job is a couple of minutes walk from home.
Jill talked me into accompanying her to the servo to check her oil and coolant. Did I want to accompany her, not particularly, but I kept that to myself. Apparently, girls still can’t do such things. Shouldn’t they be able to do this by now? Her car is over due for a service, which was the reason for the, apparent, urgency. I tried to explain that there is no substitute for a service, but I am not sure if I was being successful. I put oil in, it needed it. Jill insisted on buying coolant too, despite neither of us, really, knowing how to tell if her car needed it. She has a plastic bottle that has pink liquid, not the usual green, with two lines and some sort of hieroglyphics. What it meant neither of us knew? I’d read the manual, by the time we got back to my place.
“It has to be at the top line,” I said as I stepped from the car…
“Okay,” she said.
“But your engine has to be cold.”
“Oh.”
I closed he passenger side door. “Look in the morning.”
“Oh… but.” I could see she wanted to get me to do it, but a cold engine is a divine thing. Besides, I had more YouTube to watch and bed to get back to.
“First thing in the morning.” Buddy needed to lie down next to me in the big bed.
“I see,” she said. She curled her lip like Dame Edna, knowing there was nothing more to be said.
The afternoon was progressing fast and I had many hours to waste before Sam got home and started to organise me yet again.
Mitch was heading out to work when I got home. His aftershave lingers in the house long after he has gone. The front hallway smells of him, he has the room closest to the front door. It is quite nice, as far as after shaves go, so I am not complaining. He must be doing the arvo shift. I think I’ll always think of him as aftershave man. Everything about him must smell of the scent, even his undies, I’d guess.
Leonard flushed the toilet 5 times while he was in the bathroom having a shower. Why, you ask? Why I ask? Why would anyone need to flush the toilet 5 times? No idea. What is the problem with the toilet, I wanted to ask?
Andy is really vague, but then again, he smokes a lot of pot. Every night. Sam thought I’d be sucked back into the pot smoking vortex, but not as yet. Ha ha, Sam. So little faith.
I lit a fire early. I felt cold around 4pm. I’m guessing, I don’t need to specify that exactly, hey. I wouldn’t light a fire if I was feeling hot. It was just the time, I don’t usually light fires until dinner time.
I’ve still got a headache from my neck. Too much computer, Sam would say. And I am afraid he is right. Too much looking down at my laptop in bed. Too much sitting at my coffee table and writing on my computer. But, what are you going to do?
I lay in front of the fire with my big, orange cushion and listened to Gerald Levert’s last album. The Teddy Bear. It was peaceful, I dozed off, nearly, not quite, nearly. Buddy and me. Then Sam came home.
Another day down. A count down till when? What am I going to do with myself?
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