Post XXIV

Good Humour Is The Health Of The Soul; Sadness Is Its Poison (Lord Chesterfield).

Oh, I really wish I wasn’t a total wimp. I mean, I really don’t like it. Getting emotional over the tiniest of things. I mean, there’s a world out there, some people call it an oyster, others call it a – hang on, what do others call it? I’ve only heard of oyster. I don’t like fish. Mollusc. Whatever it is. No, we need a new phrase. I like the word ‘trilby’. And I like trilby hats. The world is your trilby, now go and find your – erm, hatter? No, wait, wasn’t that the plot for Blade Runner? Never mind. What was I saying?

Ah yes, a television show I adore ended this week. That made me very sad. I think I am too attached to TV shows but when your life doesn’t have a lot going on in it, it really makes your options of things to do quite limited. I nearly cried when the show ended. I then thought about my reaction afterwards and started to wonder where my life went wrong.

Not a lot happened to me this week and, by ‘not a lot’, what I actually mean is absolutely nothing. I had to think back to the week prior to find a little snippet of something that happened to me. I think most people would crave a quiet life. But I think everyone likes something to happen in their life at least once a week.

The week prior, I had a meeting. I was quite scared about the meeting but not because of the content of the meeting. No, it was just my general fear of everything. From the moment I woke up, to the moment I got back home again.

This was my journey.

Knowing my forgetful nature, you can imagine my response to the question ‘when did you get up?’ Err, early. Yep. I’ll go for ‘early’. I was half-asleep. I remember that. One hit. Damn. I missed it. Another hit. Oh Lord, where’s that infernal noise coming from? I think I threw the alarm clock at the wall. I think it deserved it. Face down in the bed I eventually did a sort-of press up to peel my face off the pillow and I reach for my water. Three gulps and here come the butterflies. That’s a metaphor, not a magic trick. I don’t drink the water and so forth.

When does the bus arrive? What is the weather like? What will it be like in two hours? What type of coat should I wear? What if I can’t find my gloves? What if I forget my bag? What if I don’t but then forget my paperwork? What if I miss the bus? I check the timetable. I do that about five times. Maybe six. What if it takes me longer to eat my breakfast than normal? What if I trip over on something, who do I ring to cancel the appointment? Where’s the building where the meeting is at? Where’s the front door? What if I take a wrong turn? What if I say something wrong? How do I get around the fact that I struggle to make eye contact? He’ll think I’m not interested. I mean I’m not because he’ll be talking crap, but that’s regardless of the point. All this is going through my mind. My heart is racing.

I am a worrier. And a bit anal. But I’ve always disputed that. I mean, I bet loads of people set their alarm clocks to 17 minutes past eight or three minutes to the hour. No? Just me then? Ah. Well, I’m still adamant not everyone is something their name is an anagram of. Try telling that to my friend Esprit Tout. Ha, that’ll have you thinking.

So I leave the house on time. I head outside and through the hedge to the bus stop (yes, I said that – there really is no other way to get to the bus stop). I’m thinking ‘come on’, where are you? You’re supposed to be here like 25 seconds ago. Then I see it! There, on the horizon. The bus is nearly here. Except it isn’t. You see, I live in a house in a housing estate that has a ring road going around it and there’s only one entrance and exit. So, I see the bus come up through the entrance road. My stop was on the other side of that road. So I have wait for it to go around the ring road. To cut a long story short, I got the 20 past eight bus at 20 to nine. That didn’t help my non-existent confidence.

When I thought it couldn’t get any worse, I get on the bus and realize the metal is cold. Oh damn, I’ve forgot my gloves! Oh cruel hell, thou art a regal dumpling. It didn’t matter. I got off the bus 40 minutes later and found the building. And the meeting, I hear you ask. How did that go after all my panic and worry?

Well, as it turns out, they were a little busy so they rearranged it.

‘Fate is not quite as strange as it appears!’ said John McLeod (from Frames of a Sea Lover). I don’t think he’s ever met me before.

Peace Out :|:

(There is a link to my daily micro-blog on the left of this page and much better older entries on the ‘Archives’ page. Please be sure to tell people if you enjoyed this, please ‘Digg’ the best posts, and please ‘follow’ to get updates of the latest posts. Thanks).

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