It's Freezing, Which Always Pleases David

I woke up at 4am and went for a wee. As soon as I got back into bed, Bruno came and stood by the bedroom door and wanted to go outside. So, I took him outside for a wee and a crap and then headed back upstairs after he was done and got back into bed.

I listened to Sam snore, stop breathing, snore, hold his breath, snore, hold his breath, snore. Usually, I just drift off back to sleep listening to him, but I couldn’t go back to sleep this morning. I am not sure why?

I got up at 4.45am. Ah, fuck it, my weekend has started anyway. Bruno came down stairs with me and slept on the couch next to me.

I make muesli and coffee.

It is quiet at this time of the morning, I kind of like it, like nobody else exists in the world. I do like it. On my own, do what I like. I like it.

I write my blog. I write some poetry.

I make more coffee.

I decide that I am freezing sitting on the couch snuggled up to Bruno.

7am. I built a fire. Ah, fuck it, for the second time this morning.

7.30am. Sam got up.

7.48am. We walk the dogs to the Carlton Gardens, it’s lovely in the morning. Then down Moor Street to Woollies. It is really cold. It is cold across my back.

8.34am. Buddy, Bruno and I are waiting out the back of Woollies while Sam shops for food. It’s chilly, cold. Oh, it is so cold, biting, icy, not getting warm cold.

The workers on the building site at 250 Gore Street are really keen to chat. Oh, seriously, no, I think. Let’s not even mention that they have demolished heritage buildings to build their piece shit block of flats.

“Yes, my dogs are beautiful. Yes, I think you should buy one. Yes, they cost a bit. Yes, it is true about the stubborn thing.” 

Seriously, I just want to chill and write my journal on my phone, arse on the edge of the garden bed, ignoring the cold, trying not to think about haemorrhoids. (Isn’t that the wife’s tale, the cold gives you piles) Bruno lying out, Buddy staying at attention. That’s how this should go. 

Besides, there isn’t a pretty one amongst them. The tradies. Their all on the old, fat side. No twenty somethings with tight work pants on, just old boys with paunches. Oh, if it hadn’t been cold, I might have been chattier. Sure.

I send David a message about it being Siberia. He calls me back to say just this minute he was going to send me a Siberia message. It always pleases him to hear it is cold in Melbourne, it justifies his move up north, I guess.

9am. We are home.

Sam has a head ache all day. He took the last Panadol’s.

11am. I go and do my TattsLotto – got to have something to dream about – and buy some more Panadol. Oh, we just can’t be out of them, everyone needs some pain killers to get through the years in these times. It’s essential.

Sam headed off to bed.

I eat tuna on toast and have a hot cross bun for lunch. I have to make my own, while chef is indisposed.

I re-write CJ novel draft all day. On my own, in the quiet.

It rains all day.

We eat tomato and meatball pasta for dinner.

I am home all day in front of the open fire, me and my two bullies, I can think of anyone else I’d rather spend my Thursday with. (with whom I’d rather, yes, I know)

Is it wrong to prefer the company of dogs over humans – Sam withstanding – no, of course it’s not. Get real, dogs are way nicer than people.

I always think it is weird that such pure of heart creatures would want to be friends with people, I have no idea why, but I’m glad they are. Humans need such a wonderful best friend with whom to walk into the future.