Many people would say it was all hokum, but I’m a pre-enlightenment, superstitious kind of girl and am open to all sorts of unproven, unscientific theories about life, bumps in the night and so on. And numerology, at its most simplistic, is one of those indulgences. So days that add up to 5 always make me wary (I feel much the same about Wednesdays, by the way). And yesterday was one of them. A scratchy sort of day. The weather was, for want of a better word, shit. He was scratchy and I was scratchy. Me with the stress of unresolved work and he with frustration at not being able to walk and feeling cack-handed by age. It culminated in him falling up the stairs with his arms full of drycleaning. I could hear him foul-mouthing himself and the coats that he was treading on from my studio. I left him to it for a bit, hoping that the anger would pass. It didn’t and I got it both barrels soon enough. Heigh-ho. He was sorry afterwards. He always is, as indeed am I when I am equally irascible.
I trod in something on my way home. I suspect I did it coming up the back lane in the dark. It didn’t really smell, so it couldn’t have been a dog. And it’s rather orangey hue suggested a cat or even a fox perhaps. Though, I’ve no real idea what fox poo looks or smells like. (Though I’d rather it had belonged to a fox. I like them. Yesterday I dreamt of trying to save one.) It was a mucky job cleaning it off my boots nevertheless, much wrinkling of my nose. Serves me right for all that dark-time walking, eh?
