6am. My eyes cracked open to the day. Day off. One of three days off this week, as I have chosen to take my ‘Wellness’ day before they expire on the 1st of December. A billion dollar law firm that cut its worker’s wages by 10% during the pandemic, and then didn’t pass on the 0.5% superannuation increase, (which in my book was shameful) which hasn’t been giving its workers any sort of meaningful pay rise, since, threw the peasant workers (clearly that’s what it thinks of us) of an extra day of leave, which had an expiry date attached to it, to boot, but I digress. I lie in bed and wonder about this going back to the office nonsense?
What am I going to say? Am I going to say I’m not coming back to the office? What if they say I have to? What do I say then? I’ve never really been good at those kinds of negotiations. Not such a good poker face.
Do I quit? My job is so easy, everything about it suits me, except going back to the office.
Bruno and I head downstairs. He goes out for a wee. I stepped outside to cut a fractured finger nail, and was immediately swarmed by flies. Don’t know why? Are the flies just waking up, I thought? There is a summery warmth to the air. I get a bulldog mouth wiping towel and swat the flies on the outside of the back door like a man possessed.
The birds were calling from the trees. Loudly calling. It is a sign of day break, I think, all the creatures stirring. Suddenly the birds call in a cacophony of sound, and then Milo appears meowing.
“The birds sure saw you coming,” I say to him. He rubs up against my calves as I open the door for him.
6.40am. I remember the mess in which I’d left the kitchen. Last night, after falling asleep on the couch. Sam cooks, I clean. I am under no allusions that I get the better deal and that I try to clean up as soon as I can, it seems only fair when Sam is tied to mealtime hours. Last night I didn’t.
I chose Nancy Wilson’s album, Naturally, by which to clean the kitchen this morning. I chuckle to myself. As a kid, well, teenager, it was my migraine cure music when I was an angst ridden teenager with a pounding head, (as opposed to being an angst ridden adult… but I no longer get migraine headaches) A couple of pain pills, a dark room, and Nancy Wilson Naturally and my migraine would go away, in an hour, or a couple of hours. The back of my hand laid on my forehead.
When we were teenagers, my Dad belonged to a record of the month club, and he used to let us kids a pick too, every three months, a month for each of his children. The record club albums came with different covers, exclusive packaging for the club members to that of the commercially produced product.
Two of the albums I chose were Janis Joplin and the Holding Company and Nancy Wilson, Naturally.
Recently, I worked out that the Janis Joplin record I chose was the first Janis Joplin and the Holding Company album, which I already had. And I worked out which was the Nancy Wilson album, and I can listen to it on Apple Music. The internet is a fascinating thing, because with a bit of time searching I managed to bring up the exclusive album covers, and the track listings, from those record club albums from all that time ago.
I’ve always said the first album I ever bought was Pink Floyd’s Wish You Were Here, followed by Queen’s A Night At The Opera, but, in fact, Janis Joplin and the Holding Company and Nancy Wilson’s Naturally were, actually, my first albums. And before those was a Patsy Cline record that belonged to my father on which my favourite track was Stop The World I Wanna Get Off.
What age was I then, when I loved that Patsy Cline song, not even a teenager. I can’t find that album. Or, can I? She can’t have that many albums considering what happened to her.
So, really, when I think about it, Patsy, Janis and Nancy welcomed me into the world of music, and really, who else would a young gay boy need to prepare him for life.
Funny the things you think as you are cleaning the dishes from the night before early the next morning with your headphones on. Hey?
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