I write this post

I_write_this_post

I get up, having woken early as seems to be ‘the normal’ these days.  The red digits on the ceiling, from the special clock V bought me, had said it was 4.30 a.m. when I first woke.  I try to get back to sleep but the thoughts come rushing in, filling my brain and I know it is useless.  It all seems so dark and I remember that this is how it is, the summer so fleeting, the heat still here, unlike the UK now that I’m living in Milan,  but the mornings so dark.

The light has not come on in the lounge yet.  Since the power cut the other day, the timer should be reset but my laziness means that it is now about half an hour out.

I slip on my T-Shirt and shorts and sandals.  Switch the computer on and we (Rufus & I) go and get Dino from the kitchen.  They are as excited as always to be going for a walk.

There are fewer cars – more car parking spaces.  A & F leave for their holidays today and it seems that most of Milan has already gone.

I notice that the sprinklers, near the dog walk are on.  I had thought that, perhaps, they had been switched off recently to stop the puddles of water that result and permit mosquitoes to breed but it seems that they have turned them on again.

I see the normal homeless people in their normal homes – the benches that they sleep on during the night and I note that the lady who is always by the larger dog walk does actually get wet from the sprinklers although the ones near here have finished already.  I had always assumed that she knew one of the dry places to sleep – it seems not.  I am grateful that I am not in her place and try not to make too much noise as if this is her bedroom and I should not disturb her.  As normal, her fake Louis Vuitton bag securely tucked under her head which is probably, almost certainly, also a way to ensure it is still there when she wakes up at about 6.

There are lights on in some of the flats.  These must be people like A & F, I think.  Leaving early today to go back to their homeland; to their parents where they will spend the next 2, 3 or more weeks.  I am grateful I am not them either with that obligation to spend time there as opposed to somewhere else, although I realise this is a choice and every choice comes with some drawback – as my choice does, for certain.

Walking back, the streets seem a little busier than normal.  A few more cars, taxis – too early for the trams though – just.

We pass the newsagents and I am surprised he is not open.  It must be 5.15 now and he is normally open but, perhaps, like my favourite Saturday café, he is also shut until the end of August.  These are idle thoughts.  I have already been through various conversations in my head (or, when I forget myself, out loud).  I have re-written (in my head) another stupid email that I sent when I was far too tired, hoping that the one I sent was not as bad as I think it is.  Rewind and reset the answer I receive, or no answer, which may be worse or better, I’m not sure.

I see myself, in a few years, like the lady on the bench but worse, one of those people who sit on the pavement, talking to everyone and no one, having those conversations that have no meaning, make no sense to anyone except me, reliving something that had happened before, in the past or some future that only I can see.

I get back and make the coffee, sitting at the computer to drink it and see if there are any emails (checking the one I sent last night and wishing I had not for it served no real purpose and I am scared that it may mean a change to something that I already like – I really should listen to myself more and just not send emails, texts or anything else without doing a draft and sitting on it for a day or two – like the post that I wrote that Best Mate read and said ‘Wow’ but sits there in drafts, me unsure whether to post it or not).

I know that A & F are leaving, by taxi at 4.30.  It is now 5.30 ish I presume and they will be on the bus to the airport.  I text A, wishing him a good holiday.

I glance at the clock on the computer.  It must be wrong.  I check the clock on the phone.

It’s 3-fucking-55 in the morning!  It must have been 2.30 when I woke up and 3 when we went for a walk, the dogs being absolutely useless at telling me it is far too early!  I toy with the idea that I should go back to bed.  It’s now gone 4.  I still have the coffee to finish and, anyway, now, I will never get back to sleep and not because of the coffee either.  I know I will suffer later but there is little I can do about that.

I go back over the slightly strange things that I saw this morning – the sprinklers being on; the newsagent being shut; the fact that it was darker than I thought it should be – and then realise I’ve just sent a text to A at this hour!  Oh shit.  But I can’t send another just yet.  I shall have to wait until it really is after 5!  OK, so they may have been up, but maybe not.  Damn.

I write this post and next I will iron the jeans I need for today.

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2 thoughts on “I write this post

  1. Hi Andy-

    Nights like this are odd- I feel so alone when such nights like this occur. Well written _ I saw what you saw.

    Love Gail
    peace and sleep

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