I read the Fletcher family history (brother) Will sent me. It is very interesting and I looked at it for quite a while. I am still pissed off with my brother and sister about the sale of my mother’s house. Don’t think you can get around me with obvious family history research.
6am. I go downstairs for muesli. I clean up the kitchen at the same time. It has to be done before Sam gets home, 6am seemed as good a time as any to cross it off the list.
The bedroom smells like farts, I think, when I return.
A bomb has hit the bedroom desk, I have the ice cream container, which I am currently using as an ash tray on the balcony, to shove all of the debris into, plenty of time.
6.45am. Go downstairs and make yet another cup of coffee, I don’t know, I have lost count. I take the fish and chipper rappers and the ice cream container and put them in the bin. I dry and put away all the dishes I washed earlier, while the coffee machine chugs through its sequence. The kitchen is spotless, as is required by Susan To.
I roll yet another joint. The morning is quite beautiful from my balcony. The morning sun is like honey.
I lay down on the bed next to Buddy.
10am. I wake up again.
I lay down with headphones and music.
Midday. I ate muesli.
Sam asked me if I’d done my walk, I replied that it was too cold. When I bothered to look up from my balcony chair, I could see it was a sparkling day. Grrrr!
Pretty much, after that, it was sleepy time. Right through. Out of it.
I, think, I got up at some point and fed Buddy. I propped the back door open for him, as it was a sparkling day, and whilst he looked out he didn’t go out.
I vaguely remember, Family Feud and The Project.
From what I can gather, Sam got home from Brisbane around 9pm. He woke me from a deep slumber.
It made me a fairly unresponsive target for the tsunami of criticism upon his initial return, as I was unconscious, and the initial unpleasantries were gotten through rather quickly, it would seem, with me being asleep.
Apparently, that little rat Buddy raced around in circles and couldn’t get out to the backyard quick enough, supposedly, he was holding on so badly. Of course, I got chastised for that. I could have damaged him.
Sam got to see everything, laid out bare, and I didn’t have to defend myself. And by the time I was fully responsive, he was only really interested in going to bed. Exhausted.
I said that I’d slept all day and that I probably couldn’t get to sleep, so I took my box of tricks and headed downstairs.
Sam came downstairs, after me, well, initially at least, I thought he came down to tell me off some more, but then I got the distinct idea that he came down for the joint itself. That’s my boy, I said quietly, under my breath. If only you were a pothead too, my life would be so much easier. He couldn’t really say much as Andy was in the kitchen messing around with his little bits of tat.
“Lovely to come home to be greeted by… then he did a rather unattractive impersonation of someone sleeping awkwardly.
“I didn’t know when you were coming home?”
“You didn’t care enough to ask.”
Oh that is not true, I distinctly remember finding out when he was coming home and mentally calculating what hour I was going to be in trouble?
“Oh come on, I’m sure I asked, you were just bad at replying.”
“Find where you asked me, and show me.”
I couldn’t.
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