Friends?

Writer's cramp

Oh, where am I? Of course, I fell asleep in my chair last night. Ouch! Stiff neck. What time is it? It's still dark. My phone says almost six. I do hate these long winter nights. I need to pee. Hope I can get there on time. Damn these old legs of mine. Oh, oh, oh! Made it, just. I wish I could poo, but no, just farted. I'm not taking that awful medicine. It's so embarrassing if I mess myself.

Wash my hands. Agh! Who's that freak in the mirror? Hair standing on end. Skin all blotchy. Pimples! At my age? Thought I'd left them behind years ago, but not me. Recycled teenager, that's what my college friends called me. Was that really twenty years ago? Don't remember much about the course. Performance Writing, still don't know what it means exactly.

The partying is what I remember. I didn't drink much and I certainly didn't do drugs. But try and get me off the dance floor or the karaoke. I dressed up for all the special nights. My Grim Reaper is legendary. The Mum in me kicked in at the end of the night, making sure everyone got home okay. D'you know, I wasn't so much a recycled teenager as a teenager for the first time. In the seventies I went from studying to motherhood with no fun in between.

I've got to get on with tidying this place. Ted will be over in a minute for our usual morning coffee. Ah Ted. I remember the first time we met. He knocked on my door to complain that my bins were still out and he couldn't get past with his scooter. Try complaining to the bin men. I'm on 'assisted bins'; they're supposed to put them out, empty them and bring them back in for me. They're a lazy lot.