The man-boy slumbers. He sleeps tucked into the corner, half curled into a ball, the blankets drawn up almost over his head. This subconscious cocoon-building developed through years of living as an introvert in an urban environment with four siblings, two parents and various pets. When the world is closing in, you create techniques to block it out.
This evening we will make pizza from scratch. He is determined to craft a pizza that has never been attempted before. Peanut butter pizza or pizza with dinosaur eggs and baby toes (his words, not mine). I am making my own - something nice with basil. I know he will mock my lack of bravado but at least we may having something to eat at the end.
I should be working on my web site course but the wind has gone out of my sails. No doubt I will lunge over the finish line next week with a patch work web site and attached rambling essay. I’ll finish, but I no longer care. Spatial awareness is not my strongpoint. I accept that.
On Thursday we had a staff day out to the horse races in Perth. I had never been to any races before and found it both fascinating and disturbing. The range of punters was the best thing: old couples clinging on to each other as they walked over the uneven grass; desperate men with huge guts clutching their betting slips so that the sweat from their palms seeped into the paper; young yuppies pretending to be aristocrats, the women dressed in cocktail dresses and stilettos, their jutting shoulder blades spelling out their bodies’ desire for a decent feed.
The horses were smaller than I thought they would be, but they were beautiful. We saw one horse fall and I was gripped with a sick feeling, wondering what on earth I was doing there. At the end of each race the winner was brought through to a special area, his body glistening with sweat and his skin shuddering to keep off the flies.
The work clan had been split into teams to see which one could boast the most success with their choices. A series of poor £2 bets left our contingent with 50 pence. I placed two bets of my own and won nothing. The second time the horse I chose came second. I chose him because he was called Named At Dinner, and as a rule I like dinner very much. Overall it was a hot day and I was feeling a little out of sorts. I wished I could have gone with John because his enthusiasm for the atmosphere and the people watching would have given my spirit a lift (although he admits he likely would have behaved like a madman, making wild bets and kicking at the ground when the horse failed to come in).
I work in a strange place. Where else would your boss walk past and, on his way out the door, call to you, “I’m off to have lunch with the Queen; I’ll be sure to remind her that it’s Canada Day.” Our show starts 1 August but I’ll be getting Sundays off this season so I’m hoping to get lots of festival photos and attend a few shows. I’ve already decided that after this show I need to re-evaluate my priorities and figure out in what direction I want to wander. At the moment at work I am constantly frustrated because there is so much I could do but my day-to-day duties get in the way of me achieving what I feel is some greater, untapped potential. I cannot move forward and this leaves me feeling vacant and listless. Like the fight just goes out of me.
In other news Omi is feeling much better. She is back at home and slowly gaining back her strength. Family and guests from Germany have been visiting and my parents took them to the WORLD FAMOUS WILLIAMS LAKE STAMPEDE (I like Capitals). I have also been given a thorough description of just how hot it is. “It was thirty----seven---degrees,” said my mother, drawing out the sentence to churn up the heat. Does this mean all the Saskatoon berries are going to shrivel up? I do like saskatoons. When I was living at Chimney Lake I stored a small amount of them in the freezer so that in the winter I could smell them and be transported back to summer.
I have resorted to talking about the weather so that means I should go.
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