It wasn't my turn to work today since I worked last weekend, so it didn't make much difference to me when the boss declared that we would be closed this Saturday because Monday is a public holiday.
All week, I'd been nursing this new client that we were printing 650 stickers for. I sent the artwork to our sticker printers when I stayed late on Wednesday afternoon. When I heard nothing from them on Thursday, I assumed there were no problems. We had to deliver the stickers yesterday afternoon, so I got that sinking feeling when the printer called late yesterday morning with a problem. The text on the stickers were too small and the printer was fudging the job. Long story short, yesterday was spent calling to and fro and in the end it was arranged with the client and the printer: I would collect the stickers from the printer and deliver them to the client on Saturday morning. But when I BBM'd my boss, she was adamant: they would collect the stickers and take them to the client. So I was not going to work after all. I'm sure I lost a few brownie points there.
What a goddamned complicated life I have. I am so tired of living from crisis to bloody crisis.
I was up early this morning. Our new Philips alarm clock, which we can ill afford, works wonderfully. The alarm starts softly and gently becomes louder. None of that bone-jarring loud blast nonsense.
While I was snoozing, I had a dream about things in my past I had unsuccessfully tried to bury. When will I learn? Burying never works. On top of that, I had had to sleep in one position again all night. My neck is still stiff and sore. The heartburn alone almost killed me. When I was having my first cup of coffee, the sun streaming gloriously through the kitchen window, I discovered that I had a poem. And I wrote down this beautiful poem about my experiences with Gebhardt. Just like that. I find writings that are finished within a few minutes wonderfully crystalline, gleaming like a diamond.
Awake in bed after
spending a troubled night
fighting demons, I struggle
to remember your face
but I recall the way
you made me feel.
I told you all my secrets,
hoping that simple act of faith
would cure my affliction
but you serenely smiled
and went the other way
leaving me reeling,
torn open to face my pain alone
spending troubled nights
fighting one more demon.
I was glad that I was up early because I remembered that Geoffrey had started to resemble a tired, dirty mop again, so I phoned the doggy parlour and made an appointment. I only had to have him there at 9:00, so I passed time playing Dungeon Keeper 2. I took the twenty minute drive to deliver him alone because The One was still sleeping. On the way back, I stopped at the Clicks pharmacy that still owed us haloperidol from the previous time we got The One's prescription filled there. I was helped by a surly, middle-aged pharmacist. The roads were quiet and on the way back I decided to take Tom Jenkins Road, which is a charming cement road that has the most beautiful view over the northeastern suburbs. But then an idiot in a van from 1st Electrical sat on my ass all the way to the top and I had to gun the engine. I saw nothing of the view.
After he made a scene of passing me in Church Street I saw a taxi with the following, strange bumper sticker: "Tolerate a fool to avoid noise." Still trying to figure that one out.
The One was up when I got home and we had coffee, chatted, paged through some books. I made brunch consisting of toast with butter, Marmite and the last of our cheese, and managed to persuade The One to join me when fetching Geoffrey from the salon. We took Alfred along. He had been sad and puzzled all morning by the absence of his doggy friend. Geoffrey was nicely prettyfied and de-mopped. The two friends were overjoyed to be in each other's company again.
Driving back, I decided to try again with Tom Jenkins. This time, no one was behind me and we could enjoy the view. We imagined that the sea lay just on the horizon. Wonderful. But then on the way down past the Union Buildings in Eastwood, my phone suddenly rang. It was the call I had been dreading all morning. My boss, Wendy. They had picked up the stickers, but the stupid printers had gone and printed them on white vinyl instead of clear. Of course, it was assumed that I was at fault. Whatever. They delivered the stickers and the client accepted them. I could relax. Until Tuesday, when I have to face the boss and find out if it was my mistake or not.
We spent the rest of the day lounging about and we had a good afternoon rest. The One has just washed the dishes and is cooking dinner at the moment. Noodles with chicken and broccoli.
Vicky has started to become overweight despite the problem with her mouth. Lizz again has started losing weight. I think she finds the soggy pellets Vicky leaves behind revolting and refuses to eat them. We have been splitting their food and taking it away after they've eaten, because Vicky will just eat all day. Putting a cat on a diet... Why do I think that's not a good idea? Lizz is all lovey dove again and I think she'll be in heat again soon.
We are going to the Sammy Marks museum tomorrow with my sister, mother and brother-in-law. I can't see why I should keep them anonymous. Mother is Nonnie. Sister is Ilze and brother-in-law is Cas. In any case, we are going to the museum tomorrow. I have never been there and I am looking forward to our trip. Ilze is taking buns and cold meat. Tomorrow morning, I will be off to Woolworths early to spend some of our last cash on crackers, cheese and preserved figs to take along. Will try to get Roquefort and Camembert.
Written by I