Not in the mood

Ever since I quit working, every other weekend is spent like a vacation for me. I suppose one thing good about that is I get more time to be at home than any of the employees I know.

However, when weekends aren’t a bed full of roses, I simply can’t think of anyone whom I could find to really make my bad hair day go away. I don’t really seem to have friends who wake up before noon; hence I don’t normally have my breakfast buddy. Then again, this is not a big matter; a friend once told me that men never really look good in the morning anyways. Equally the same, I don’t think I know how to dress for breakfast anymore. It has been that long.

So when I woke up at six today, I staggered my way down the stairs and retrieved the almost finished Chardonnay in the fridge with a glass. Then I walked up the same way back to my room half awake and thumped the bottle on the table. I poured a decent amount and took a sip. I decided it was time to be grateful and celebrate all that I have now.

Then I sat on the floor with one hand on my tilted head and the other holding the glass and raising it to the ceiling. And I toasted my clever self, and drank.

To those who stick by me. To those who love me when I’m ugly. To those who forget my birthday but remember to put out my bedroom light. To those who never call in the middle of work but never fail to make sure I get chauffeured wherever I go. To those who don’t mind spending twelve straight hours with me. To those who hardly say ‘I love you’ but cannot imagine life without me.

To those who remember me thousands of kilometers away and to those who toasted with me at that moment, my beloved books and loyal clock, my humble bed and mighty wardrobe.

I inhaled deeply before gulping the whole glass in.

It certainly tasted just as bitter as it smelled.

Cheers.