It all starts on Friday at around four pm. having had about , in this case, just over five hours sleep after working the Thursday night. I arrive home on the Saturday morning at eight ish, the dogs are barking and i can't wait to kick off those daisy roots, it's a matter of great urgency. I put the kettle on, then sink into an an easy chair with a mug of hot strong sweet tea, ohhh man, i can't tell you how that feels. But my time in heaven is short lived.
I re-heat the left-overs from Thursday's dinner, the chopped tomatoes i cooked my Bratwurst in, and pour them over a couple of slices of toasted gluten-free bread coated with melted Pilgrim's Choice that i've allowed the turn almost black under the grill. It's a taste i acquired quite by accident. I almost let it burn once, but not wanting to start afresh and feeling totally aghast at the thought of throwing food away, i ate it and really enjoyed it. It's a hot snack, a filler, that's all, it sustains me through the morning chores, Just.
At around one pm. i can be seen, come rain or shine, with what must surely amount to forty pounds in weight of shopping in my shoulder bag, trudging up that hill to my house. I get in, unload and put away my shopping a.s.a.p. because there's stuff for the freezer and vegies to refrigerate. Not to mention the fact that i can feel my energy-levels going through the floor.
I empty a bag of frozen Southern Fried Wedges into a baking tray and put them into the oven. Twenty minutes, on gas-mark six, sees them cooked and cooling on the side and another mug of H,S,S, tea is called for. I go switch my computer on and return to my cuppa downstairs.
By now i'm craving my fix. Crumpton Oaks, Farmhouse Dry, but common sense dictates that i eat first. Eventually, "FINALLY" with a plate of wedges consumed, i'm sitting in front of my computer. Mug at the ready, i open my Crumpton's, liquid gold. Yes'yes'yes. Who needs sex? From heaven to euphoria in just a few hours. An ejaculation of pure elation. Take me home momma and easy does it. Let weekend commence.
For the rest of day i drink some, read some, drink some, read some, doze at my computer, drink some more, and that's my Saturday.
Every so often i get tired of the drink induced state i find myself in on Sunday mornings. So i write, "a note to self" Give the Tramp-juice a rest. Tramp-juice? What? You may well wonder. Apparently seriously strong cider can be bought relatively cheaply and some street-dwellers use it to see them through the cold nights.
I won't of course. Well, not immediately. This mood, sometimes, will persist, then i act upon it.
This Saturday, as always, i'd read that note and thought "look! wtf? What else is there?" It's an escape, a bolt-hole, but finally, like today, maybe? It's time to give it a rest. Lol! Yeah. Maybe.
Yesterday was Saturday and where as i would have normally hammered a two and a half litre bottle i sunk just one mug-full. At least i woke up this morning feeling quite human, then found myself wondering what i was going to do with that two litres plus of now opened cider. But now i've eaten some wedges and the juice is flowing.
I'm enjoying my Crumpton's and mentally, i'm not feeling to bad. Maybe i just need to not drink on Saturdays.
Note to self...