My tummy gurgles, and I grip the bridge of my nose and rest my elbow on the desk, internally attempting to wake up. Three cups of highly sugared coffee has done little but make me feel jumpy, and the warm sunlight streaming through the window is heating my back and making me drowsy.
A low murmur of good natured conversation floats across the office, and the weekend has become a comfortable haze of memory. All the faces of people have become jumbled and confused, and I am left feeling like I have just been through my own 'Fear and loathing in Las Vegas' even though I only had a small amount of alcohol, and limited amounts of other substances.
Lack of sleep is blurring my conscious thought and memory, and the drift in my mind is only counterpoint by the shallow ache in my shoulders, the rumbling in my stomach reminding me to eat, and a brain fuzz that I otherwise don't really want to disappear.
Good natured cheer swims inside me, and nothing - including the office dickhead (whom usually I would like to wrap a large iron bar around his forehead, heat it, and the do something else to him) can't seem to budge it.
Work has avoided me this morning, I have been cast adrift in the office, left to sit here and do nothing, strangely feeling that I might not have attended today, and nobody would have been the wiser. I have chatted amiably with a few persons who strolled past my desk on some errand, and then leaned over my partition, but they all fled quickly. They are seemingly able to smell an air of 'nothingness' around me, and some weird work ethic sucked them back to the place where they needed to rush off.
It's lunchtime now, and I feel I might go find some quiet tree to sit under and watch the city walk by on its luncheon break. I will enjoy that snoozy feeling that I am untouchable and work can go shove itself firm where the sun does NOT shine. The sun will warm me, and I might sleep, but mostly I will enjoy it.
Have a pleasant day my friends mine is wonderful.
The
busker stood in the shade of the
Myers awning. His guitar slung around his stomach, his flannelette shirt blue, and his bushman's hat pushed high on his head. Afore him utop a dog blanket, lay a bored looking
Blue Heeler, another
Bluey stood 2 feet in front causing pedestrians to walk around it. It also looked bored. The couple of broken
eucalyptus limbs looked limp in the midday heat, but finished off the 'Australiana' look..
He strummed his guitar and started into 'How much is that doggy in the window'. His accent was broad and guitar work sloppy but he was proud and confident:
"... HOW.. Much is that doggy in the window?
The one with the waggly ta-EL .." *strum guitar, pause*
"...waggly TA-IL ..." *stum guitar, look at dog pause*
*STRUM* ".. TA-il ... COMMON BLUE!" *pause*
".. WAGGLY ta-IL!" *STRUM*
*Dog looks round* "WOOF WOOF"
".. HOW .. Much is that doggy in the window ..
...I do hope that dog is for SA-IL" *strum*
*Pause - look at dog, about to say/repeat something...*
"WOOF WOOF!"
Sad. FUNNY! - but sad. I walked on, and heard a repeat of the above. I noticed the busker had about $3-$4 in change in his dog dish.. .