Between the Sheets

Starting something is half the battle
Finishing means winning the war
I hate to lose.
Wake up early
Spend too much time eating breakfast and
Forget what your plans were for the day
Not that you could be bothered to do anything anyway.
The bath water goes cold while you’re busy surfing on your laptop for the much coveted Wii console that no-one has in stock, despite the fact that Christmas was weeks ago.
An abundance of missing socks purple and green spots and stripes, a kaleidoscope of possibilities.
Where on earth are the knee length ones with pink hearts?
You know the ones you got for 1.49 from the local store that time when you thought it would be good for you to impulse buy once in a while.
Maybe the lint goblin absconded with them again
The last time he did that they went missing for a week.
At least that means you don’t have to go shopping for much needed supplies.
Perhaps you can live off your excess body fat, could sustain you for a week you know, easy.
Suddenly you realise its tea time and you forgot to eat lunch
But on the plus side you did manage to watch every episode of the Friends omnibus on E4.
A quick nap to recharge the batteries I think.
Then the always difficult choice of what to have for tea.
You spread the take out menus on the table losing them instantly in the melange of magazines and newspapers, daily post, dirty dishes and old food remains which now houses entire colonies of new life.
So Chinese, Indian, Chippy, Pizza. Ooh there’s that new Taiwanese place, you hope they deliver coz collecting your take out, (hahaha) that would never happen.
None of this will matter if you can’t find the phone
Where on earth is it?
You could at least understand if you ever used it to yack on the blower to friends you don’t have
You find it wedged between the cushions on the settee probably left there from last nights take out foray.
You remind yourself never to eat Tai Green curry again.
You decide on pizza, all that gooey cheese the fat dripping down your chin, good job you decided not to wear your silk blouse and Egyptian linen pants (yeah right!)
Loosening your button on your faded jeans (washed too many times faded) you contemplate whether or not you have enough change left to get the bus to work tomorrow, ugh maybe you wont go, at least then you wont have to set the tape away for all your day time soaps.
A bath then bed alone again.
You silly cow, you have to leave the house once in a while if you want to meet someone.
The reflection in the mirror mocks you.
The grey hairs are nothing to worry about and you still have at least 10 years until you get your first wrinkle.

The days go by in a blur.
You’ve stopped going to work altogether now and you can’t remember the last time you tidied up or did any housework.
Why do today what you can put off till tomorrow.
Seems a bit pointless really.
Your food is ordered on line and delivered to your door.
You don’t even leave the house now
WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU!
You cry all the time but there is no-one to see your pain
No-one to notice how you spend your days wallowing in your own filth, your own despair.

The smell is unbearable the neighbours have started complaining.
They bray on the door but you do not stir.
There is nobody to call, no ‘keeper of the spare key’.
The police are called to break down the door.

And there I am.
Sitting in the chair as if I am watching telly with eyes that no longer see.
No-one will ever know the tragedy that is my loss yet nobody’s gain.
No-one will remember enough about me to write my eulogy
In end there is just an ending.
The beginning,
and the end,
and nothing between the sheets.

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