Here’s the story of contemplation, breakage, and tiredness.
People are always telling me to go and break one of my legs. I’m sure it’s not malicious, but I often wonder that if I did actually go on to break it, could I sue the person who threatened me with leg breakage for, I don’t know, something like ‘intellectual assault’? Yeah, they didn’t actually break my leg, but they tempted fate with such a notion, so surely I have a case? Hmm? No? Really? Oh. You see, this is why I’m not a lawyer. Well, that and the fact I’m hardly qualified. All I’m good for is putting my thumbs behind my braces and twiddling said braces. And I doubt that would work because I don’t actually own braces because this isn’t 1930. Sadly. I often wonder what somebody would say if the accident that had befallen me had caused both my legs to break. Then what would one say? I’d have to make something up. Go and paint your toast red. There you go. For the less violent among you. All three of you.
It’s a three-pronged point of confusion. The person could be wishing me well, which is sweet. They could be wishing me harm, which is nasty. Or they could be encouraging me to go out and break some legs. Very much the mobster method of choice. The ambiguity of the phrase leads me to wonder if the original person had any clue as to what they were saying, or if, indeed, they were over-analyzing it as much as I am. You’re really nervous about something. Somebody tells you to go and break a leg. Am I the only one who finds that a tad counter-intuitive? “Congratulations, you’re gonna be a daddy, go and bang your head off a brick wall”.
What happened to ‘good luck’? The phrase. Actual good luck deserted me some decades ago, which would have made me a negative age but I’m not really thinking very logically at the moment. My head is about wired as that time I tried to pop as much bubble wrap as possible in a minute with my head. What? It was 2003. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you how crazy that year was.
Of course, lesbians among you are undoubtedly shouting at me to correct the confusion with such a phrase. Saying ‘good luck’ before a play is considered bad luck, so the actors say ‘break a leg’ in the hope that you won’t break a leg, but for me, hoping somebody doesn’t break a leg is exactly the same as hoping somebody doesn’t get Ebola from a restaurant. It’s a strange thing to wish upon someone. I get that it is tradition, but surely there are better phrases than that. Did I say ‘lesbians’? Hmm. I think I meant ‘thespians’. Always getting those two mixed up…
From the land of my ancestors, dear old Italy, we have the alternative phrase, “In the mouth of the wolf!” to which one’s response is, “May the wolf die!” Hmm. I certainly prefer that. I mean, who likes wolves? The animal, not the football club. I mean, nobody likes them (*ducks for cover*). I don’t see an issue with wishing the wolf to die. It’s not as if they have wolves in Italy. Hang on, I’ll just check. Oh crap, they do. I really should research this stuff. I can’t help it, readers. I’m about as worn out as a penguin in Nigeria. They don’t have penguins in Nigeria, right?
I attended a training course this week. Who knew there was a six in the morning? You go to bed when it’s dark and you wake when it’s dark. It’s like the reverse of living in Iceland. I’d presume. As a result, I’m very tired. And sore. Very sore. Sore in places I didn’t know could be sore. Places I didn’t even know I had. I travelled on four buses every day this week and I just couldn’t stop myself from falling asleep. It happens to the best of us. You know when you just cannot keep your eyes open, when you are so unbelievably tired, your body forces you into a micro-sleep that you cannot stop from happening. Hmm, I don’t know what that’s called. I thought there’d be a scientific term for it, but there isn’t one. That annoys me. I want a term for this. ‘Irritating’ is my current favourite…
You know, I once suffered a hypnic jerk on a bus. That’s not a euphemism. It’s when one is asleep, dreams of falling and suddenly wakes up, startled and dazed. I’m very much the type of person who tries to make the best of such a situation. But even I was stumped as to how to make my startled gaze appear like a normal reaction. The best I could come up with is trying to swat a fly, but that doesn’t really work in the middle of winter.
They’re depressing, these micro-sleeps. Makes you feel so old. And I don’t want to feel that old until I’m at least 30. When I’ll start wearing cardigans and calling everyone ‘sonny’. And I’ll have to get one of those ear horns. Sorry, I’m thought dribbling. Thribbling if you will.
My training course went as well as can be expected. It’s not important, really. I had to brave the hurricane and snowstorm that battered that North of England this week, bringing down power lines, trees and fences, causing major structural damage, especially around where I live. But the hell of waiting at a bus stop in a hurricane didn’t matter when you consider the bigger picture. It wasn’t important that I put my back out carrying things. Or that my wrapping skills are about as tasty as my rapping skills. Or that I dropped a warehouse crate as I lost control of a trolley and gave up chasing the runaway killing machine. Here’s a top tip, readers, don’t employ me to work in your warehouse if there are valuables in there.
What mattered to me most of all this week was my crippling shyness. The blatantly obvious difficulties I was having in a sociable scenario left me exhausted and fragile. I’m not doing so well.
All week I had others commenting on how quiet I am. How much I don’t talk. My lack of any kind of voice. My inability to communicate effectively when carrying out basic tasks. My ineptitude at just about everything the modern man can do. People didn’t look on me as a friend, but as an exhibit in a zoo. It really makes you think. What does the future hold? I know the answer. I always have. It just hit home hard this week. I somewhat naïvely always believed that things were always going to change, but now I know they never will.
It’s all about adjusting to a world that you were never particularly interested in living in, but now realize that the little tent you set up, is home for the rest of your life. That bright green field over the hill is gone and you’ll have to cultivate your own. On land where nothing could possibly grow. It’s kind of a bummer, really.
When someone said to me at the beginning of the week to ‘break a leg’, I laughed. It was going to be a great, fun and interesting week. Yet the second I stepped into that classroom, surrounded by strangers including one very cute girl, I felt like I’d actually broken a leg.
It’s not been easy, put it that way.
I’m really tired and sore so I’m off to snuggle up in a giant blanket and attempt to recover. It’s been a strange and difficult week. I’m looking forward to a nice quiet few days. Hopefully. Just remember, don’t wish a broken leg on somebody. It’ll haunt them.
Okay readers, I’m falling asleep. I had better go.
Go and paint your toast red…
American novelist and short story writer, Sylvia Plath, (1932-1963), once said: “So many people are shut up tight inside themselves like boxes, yet they would open up, unfolding quite wonderfully, if only you were interested in them.”
Peace Out :|:
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