Salt of the Saturday

There's an unnatural salty smell in my living room.  Perhaps I've overdosed on the last Guess fragrance my mother bought me.  Or I've not been burning my Yankee Candles enough.

It can't have been from the local Chip Shop.  I've vowed only to have chips once a week (once every two weeks if needbe).

There's a cup of peppermint & nettle tea sitting at my foot.  This should help me sleep.

Considering I've been awake since 07.30 (it is now 00.46) I shouldn't need any help.

The dream team of myself, CBG and Claire closed up the cinema this evening.

To a degree I owe my job there to them.  I name dropped them in the interview, knowing them previously*.

So a soup stain on my trousers, a few pages further into A Clash of Kings and a bump into Grace at M&S. My Saturday is my Tuesday.  And it sounds mundane.  But I try still to look at the small conversations and simple tastes to help.

It's my neighbor's birthday.  I tried knocking on their door, but I think they're so swept up in karaoke from Les Miserables that I wasn't heard.  No matter.  At this point I no longer read into actions.  Bed calls and cares for me.

*I even know CBG's real name