Saturday

I yawn open-mouthed like a hippo. Again and again, until finally the nice young man sitting at the table next to us turns his head and looks. I don’t care, I can’t stop the yawning and the over-whelming tiredness; I’m exhausted and I can’t be bothered hiding it any longer.

My husband folds his hand over mine protectively, and we eat our steaks in silence, punctuated by grunts of happiness and hunger.

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Last night 10,000 men dreamt of mud, and 10,000 women dreamt of their homes and family. Possums mated above our home, hissing and chiacking under the waning moon. My cat checks in on me at 3.10am, to see if I am still sleeping; batting my hand with his love. I stroke him until the dreams come again.

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My blog at http://qldfloods.org/pattycam/brisbane-flood-2011-patty-beecham is receiving some amazing comments. It’s humbling to be privy to some readers own stories, in the private inbox. Thankyou for sharing your stories, and remember to keep a little piece of your heart flood-free, and visit it often.

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Waving off my sister-in-law as they drive north to unpack yet another furniture truck of mother-in-laws life, my legs suddenly buckle and collapse from under me, and I crash awkwardly to the footpath. Someone has pulled the string on my puppet legs, and I bruise my shins, knees, hands.

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Today my old mate from Townsville arrives. We’ll drink too much and talk too much, enjoying each other’s rare company, face-to-face. He has been in Brisbane scrubbing his brother’s shop in Archerfield – all week – and is clearly ready to go home. He’s had enough. We’ve all had enough.

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