The Incursion of the Odd Socks


Here’s the story of rainbows, realism and ruddy love.

As I write to thee, the smallest flakes of snow hath fallen, heralding the start of winter, harmonious decay, and a nation of miserable bastards. I hear the pitter-patter of the translucent star-like crystals hit the roof as I wonder why I started this paragraph with the word ‘thee’. And to think, I started the day with a rainbow and odd socks.

I’ve had one of those strange weeks, adjusting to life alone. Adjusting to thoughts of my parents on the fine green lawns of Sydney, bat watching as I try desperately to justify drinking old milk. I do recommend bat watching in Sydney. There are hundreds of them. They don’t do a lot, though. When I was there, I briefly considered gently prodding one with a stick to wake it up. To give it some life. But I feared it would tear my face off. They’re horrible. Except fruit bats. They’re so cute.

I was trying to make the food and drink last. Mum and dad didn’t feel it necessary to leave me with any food and drink money. Or bus fare. Or anything other than a message on the chalkboard saying ‘goodbye’. Written in a rush. I tried to convince myself all would be well. I had some milk that was long passed its use by date, but it wasn’t opened. So I figured it would be okay to use it as long as it didn’t smell funny. That’s how I often check to see if the food and drink is okay. Smell it, check for mould and throw it against a wall to see if it sticks. I imagine that one day I’ll have enough bread on the wall to sell as artwork to the Tate Modern.

I think it’s the loneliness that gets to you most of all. You spend so much time trying to keep the house in shape, you forget about being alone. But when you have a moment’s peace, you realize how lonely life can be. No friends. No one to talk to. A quiet internet. Nothing on television. All music sounds the same. It was a horrifying glimpse into what will be, sadly, my future. Did it change me? No. I’m stuck in so many ruts I’ve gotten lost and can’t find my way out. I often wonder where the fairy of good fate is, then I realize I probably made her up to keep me company. I tell you, it’s the loneliness that gets to you most of all.

I don’t even get any phone calls, except from call centres oversees. You see, in the ‘90s, we had the Jehovah’s Witnesses trying to change the world through hippy ideals. I often wondered if indeed they were hippies from the ‘60s trying to ruin the ‘90s as well. That was fine though, because we hid under the dining room table when they came knocking. They used to peer through the windows when you didn’t answer the door. I remember one time they did that and they saw me. I just sat there under the table and stared blankly at them. After a moment, I smiled. After another moment, I threw a blanket over myself. I think that worked.

They don’t come knocking anymore. Perhaps they got the message. The call centres are the new evil, the ‘10s equivalent of the Jehovah army. I’ve felt many times this week like playing Call Centre Roulette. See how long I can keep them talking. Just somebody to talk to. But you have to be clever about it.

“Oh, hello there sir, are you interested in our new insurance scheme that isn’t at all a scam?” “Not really, no. So how’s the family? I hope they’re well”. He, he, he.

It’s been a rather reflective week for me, I must say. I’ve managed to survive intact without causing any of the usual small fires (yet there are still ten days to go), and only suffered one minor injury. I burnt my finger on the toaster. But I shan’t complain about it. Because I’m a real man. Apparently.

You remember earlier when I mentioned that day I started with a rainbow, and that ended with snow? I saw that rainbow on the last day of the week. It was so, so beautiful. There was the blackest sky, and there, in the middle of it all, shining like a jewel, was a huge semi-circle of the brightest shades of red, blue and yellow. It was incredibly pronounced and made me think about the week gone by. Even about life in general. It summoned tears, not of sadness but of something else, that cradled the base of my eyes.

And that, my friend, proves I’m a real man. And that I think I’ll be okay. But mainly the aforementioned manliness thingamajig.

Now I’m off to find some matching socks…

“The soul would have no rainbow had the eyes no tears”, said American poet, essayist and librarian, John Vance Cheney (1848-1922).

Peace Out :|:

(I’d love to hear your thoughts on this post. To do so, you can leave a comment by pressing the bubble on the top right of this post and scroll to the bottom of the new page to where it says ‘leave a reply’. Likes and follows greatly appreciated. Thanks)


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