The sound of the ceiling fan soothes my sleep, until 3.45 am when a jingle on my mobile phone jolts me awake, the sweetness of rest quickly dissipates, and then I hear the birdcalls.
I turn on the light immediately, for fear of a return to sleep, and I lay there and look at the walls or the ceiling. There is usually a play of light and shadow on the walls of my room, but this very early morning show, is just yellow stark. I drink the glass of water next to my bed, like a good girl.
I stretch my body outtt on the mattress.
Then I go to make a cup of tea, black and green with ginger and soymilk, I take it back to bed with me and slowly sip it, as I recover...
Dressing, brushing, washing,,,
I sit on a chair on the verandah to put my shoes on, the first light softening the shadows, and the birds active.
I get my bike out, and a very enjoyable part of the day starts..
As I slide down the driveway, I can see the Morning Star and immediately my mood lightens, and the cool brightening morning is a pleasure to glide through, there is a small dog that does yoga in the middle of a usually busy street...the sprinklers on the lawns that wet me a little, and the always different sunrise over the water, ummm...glorious, and I can't help the longing to go camping, stabbing my heart a little.
(Despite the constant feeling of fatigue from jolting myself out of sleep every morning, I will miss these bike rides when I move on.)
Then I clean the cop-shop - vacuum, dust, collect rubbish, scrub and wipe and mop.
I'm tickled to discover the cops are also good company, just like the crims I taught next-door at the prison were... lol, maybe I just like being around lots of men ;)
So now the day starts to vary some more in its patterns...today I got a call from a friend while I was still in town, and I went to her place, we were due to do a private house clean together.
We packed the car, drove there, but they were in Hawaii and had not left the key, so...
we were delighted, just like bad girls and, despite the loss of income,
we went to the beach : )
Onshore breeze, but a cool ocean, with waves, and the hot, hot sun,
I drift in a sweltering haze, becalmed and beguiled, all the flotsam and jetsum of daily struggle popping in the air above me...
A young man with a camera stalks us, so we drive further up the beach, ha haa - he followed us 'casually' but, then we left.
Back at her place, my friend slices mangos for the dehydrator, and I eat (suck) the seeds, yum!
Then I face the ride home in the stifling heat and head-wind, some days a 'Rocky' mood overtakes me, and I push that bike fast, today was one of those days,
the cold (kinda) shower was sheer bliss when I got home.
So, here I sit, with a glass of cold, dry white wine on ice, waiting for my daughters and housemates to come home and take this laptop from me...and cook dinner (I don't think it's my turn..)
I can tell you now, dear Reader, that I'll be going to sleep early.
Amen.
Monday..
Phew, it's nearly over, I cleaned from 5am to 3pm today. And I'm exhausted. For a few hours, we had no power, no electricity for air-conditioning or fans, as we cleaned, sweat dripped off us in bucketloads, it is now 7:52 pm and we have 76% humidity in 34C temperature (feels like 35.5C).
This is one fucking hot town!
And, I have to ride a pushbike at 4.30 am tomorow, for 4 km there and 4 km back, to do it all again.
My middle finger has a swollen knuckle, it is painful to move, and my elbow is hurting, too.
This is the truth, my reality, and all my fantasies are like pale wall flowers in comparison.
Just as much as the first day I described was.
I had a reply to an email, my disabled daughter's leg isn't being cared for, I'm afraid it will get infected again, and she won't be able to keep swimming, again.
They keep telling me how happy she is - fucking idiots, I am more aware than ever, that the forces for her early death are relentless, somehow it seems ok for her to suffer, and to die too early, but not for those with chromosomes in the normal range.
My youngest daughter, the childcare worker, came over, desparing because her pay of $15 p.hr has not gone up, despite her turning 21, and getting her accreditation.
Fucking slave-drivers!
I decided I will leave my foolish fantasies behind, live in the real world, and write some poignant letters to the editors of the newspapers,
(here fantasy intrudes, and I imagine myself as a revolutionary fighter for workers' rights, a renaissance of honest union power surging in my wake...)
I heard about another cleaner who does an extra hour of work everyday, for no pay, these bosses we have are clearly taking advantage of older workers, and their old-fashioned sense of generous fairness.
My co-worker washes our cleaning rags herself, and I suspect she bought the detergent I'd been asking for.
Fucking bastards!
They do this for casual rates, no more for weekends or after-hours, no sick days, no insurance, just the $20 p.hr, before tax. The gov pension only just covers rent, for my co-worker (which is for a caravan site).
And my Mum, the oldest cleaner in the State, I bet, she has worked all her life, and still can't stop, at 68 (fantasy intrudes, and I imagine having the money to give my Mum rest, comfort and beauty).
Something rotten in this world...to create so much misery.
And then, the crowning glory to my day, which could have been a stab too many,
but in line with my new found lack of fantasies (very nearly), I couldn't give a fuck.
I'm banned again at Godlike.
Which is why, dear Reader, you have been treated to this epistle of Freedom Fighting for Workers' Rights and an End to Slavery.
Amen.
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