Fine Mess

We ate Japanese curry for dinner.

We watched MasterChef.

 

4am. I woke up on the couch. My mouth had lost all of its moisture, I must have been sleeping breathing through my mouth, it took seconds for the dry skin on the top of my mouth and down the back of my throat to find some moisture allowing the skin to, actually, crease.

Well? I rubbed my throat. This is a fine mess, I think. I’m trying to think?  On the couch, in the dark, alone, it took me a moment, I am not ashamed to say.

“Where am…”

Oh yes, my first memory. I seem to remember some trouble at the end of the night, there were words, I have no idea what they are now, but there were definitely words. It seemed like like Sam was having trouble waking me up.

He’s even gone on strike, refusing to smoke it.

“I hate it when… when you are… like… this.” Maybe, I heard those. They came back to me in fragments

I wince.

I am sure Sam will have plenty to say about that, at a future date.

I sat outside and smoked a j. It was cold.

4.30am. I am sitting on the couch shaking it is so cold.

Time to build a fire.

“It’s the steps to the jet, Harvey, come on, one foot in front of the other.”

5pm. I smoked my second j, as the fire heated the lounge room.

I was hoping for more Harry’s Garage and the XJC restoration, but settled for Ricky Gervais at the Golden Globes.

5.20am. Milo cuddles up with me on the couch.

6am. I’ve done the dishes, crash bang, Japanese Curry pot, suds galore, and a wok to boot, I couldn’t have left that lot. The fire is roaring. Another j outside in the cold.

Back to the couch.

I want ice cream.

Don't look at me like that, it's the weekend.