30th September — Hitting The Roof

I didn’t so much wake up as merely open my eyes. It had been a night where sleep and me had a disagreement along the lines that I wasn’t to be issued any. 

Instead, I spent a considerable portion of the night thrashing around like an electrocuted haddock, with scary movies playing on repeat in my mind. These things are inconvenient since it means I’ll spend most of the day looking like I’m trying to swallow the entire of my surrounding locale. 

I arose from the bed with the agility of a lamppost. Mary had made it downstairs and had the kettle gurgling away. This gave me a reason to attempt the perilous descent down the stairs. Perilous because my knees often forget they have the ability to flex first thing in the morning. 

Once down there, Mary and I don’t talk as such. It’s more of a glance, a nod and the first thing in the morning routine carried out with the automation of people who could do it with their eyes closed. Just as well, in my case. 

After the first pint of caffeine, I think about the day ahead. This being Wednesday, the day of humps. There’s work, which will involve meetings with people whose heads will float on my screen in the same manner that mine will on theirs. There’ll be messages, back and forth, in a chat window because that’s what human communication has evolved to in the modern workplace. 

I log on. There’s no commute. Unless you count the walk from my kitchen, up the stairs, through the door and into my home office. My desk is complete with the array of digital slabs identifiable as tools of work. Unlike the roofing hammers, chisels and spirit levels the roofers are using to repair our roof today. Theirs is actual work, mine involves turning up with a brain mostly awake and little else. I think I’d rather be a roofer. 

Work began. Although I felt guilty straight away. Tapping keys on a keyboard in a comfortable chair. Meanwhile, the roofers were up and down the ladders, doing actual work. 

The first meeting ended. And the first flurry of my roof sailed past the window. Along with timber batons along for the ride. Then, there was an ominous thump and crash of brickwork falling inwards. I ducked. An involuntary movement. I felt ridiculous in doing so. Meanwhile, the roofers were whistling while they worked. 

I sat back down, wondering how to repair fingernail marks in the ceiling. I sincerely hoped there’d be no more loud crashes. My underwear may not have been able to withstand the resulting deluge. 

While I type this, my roof is now looking more like a roof. The team is busy finishing off their day’s work. To do it all again on another roof tomorrow. Whereas I’ll sit in the quiet looking at my repaired roof, enjoying the silence.