Author: Rob

Tough day energy-wise, sugars sleep and strains the culprits, feels like.

Woke at 4AM a bit hemmed in by a sedan in front: my fault, I wrongly expected it to move on after a toilet stop since that’s what cars there do, me having decided to move away from the selfish creep, inconsiderate bloke, loud music and what was bound to be, and would have been, a 2AM barking dog when I went to the toilet.

Drove and arrived here in the dark, quite warm air.

Looks weird, using the night setting.

Daylight now, very overcast and, preciously, dead quiet and peaceful. What I crave, and clearly have been traumatised by their absence.

So I’m on the thinner bed, my trusty mattress rolled up blocking a window beside me, at the end of its nights, and coffeed up not concerned for breakfast readying just this minute.

Again, river beside me, no traffic, no people, sky enclosed – precious peace.

Woke warm. The first coffee in the mornings is brilliant. When, though? Is 4AM too early. 4.30 isn’t. Today’s was 4.

Then north, petrol in Mogo and on to the river to cook oats but the place was full of cars. Sunday visitors fishing first thing.

Howling southerly barrelled through. Over the bridge to the other side.

Back to the south side for coffee, letting the aquatic centre patrons have their morning. Shower about 11AM.

Thoroughly boring, like that, all day.

Bought a mat and rearranged the mattresses. Using the Dune mat on the KMart mat as a test tonight.

Then to the rest area and the creep. I’m starting to really irk at this prick.

I cooked and ate dinner and the dickhead with a dog, in another van, went over to the creep, drinking. Then loud music. They did this literally beside a touring van, feet away.

Then I remembered the dickhead, he’d played music there loudly before. Before the creep moved in and ruined the place.

So I packed the van in last dim minutes of light and set up with the earthmoving equipment being used to redo this section of highway.

Where I am now.

I’ll have to move away.

Through the looking windscreen glass, seconds ago.

A bit every day. Acrylics bore me beyond that. Don’t have the magic or extraordinary reach of oils. Blunt force artistic trauma.