There is a Time Out wrapper on the stair. Someone ripped and dropped it. 8.50 and I have the first symptom of rage.
The raggedy man is ugly. There is a scar on his jowl. I can see it from where I sit, right now I can see it. It looks like someone sliced him one time. Miss Inoffensive is ugly. Her hair is fine. Can't you plump it up somehow? Can't you volumise it? Maybe she doesn't want to.
Maybe she doesn't want her hair to attract attention. She talks in a low whine. It says, I am not going to offend you. She was talking in the lunchroom about Aborigines but her comments had no substance. Something about a judge. Something about a case. You know she is sympathetic and can write in the substance for herself.
Is it a kind of ill-formed elitism to believe that you could write in the substance for just about everyone you meet? Were people really this unsurprising in the life I left behind?
My shirt smells strongly of the liquid B uses to "iron" clothes. It's entirely artificial. They did not think it worthwhile even to pretend to make it smell of flowers. It is odd that everything that has a floral scent smells like no flower you've ever come across. Because they could synthesise the flower smell, right? But it's just not worth bothering.
I feel caged. What else could I do? I think about that almost all the time but somehow it's as though there's a block someone has put in me, that the inability to figure out any way out of it is artificial.
I am thinking about a piece of art that I will paint. I have felt like I'm flourishing recently, albeit in a barely perceptible way. It's just that I feel like I'm going to die and that impels me. I am thinking about poker again: there are concepts at play. I know that if I nail them I will be made.
It worries me that I might not nail them before I die.
I do not have change for the machine. I was going to have a coke with lunch but I had no change. I realised I didn't care. I could just drink water. But I didn't. Just being able to was enough.
Do you have days in which you feel disconnected, and could you only get the dots joined you would truly see? No. I wonder sometimes whether I can feel any other emotion than vanity. And love for my childen. Which is the same thing, let's not kid ourselves.
I do not buy brand names. But I wanted a coke. I do not believe in God. But I want magic. I do not love myself. But I worship love.
I know. I could have picked the wrapper up. But I realise that only now: I was complicit because I wanted to despise another person. It is a long way to shore and I am treading water instead of swimming.