Wednesday, 20 February 2013
The sunlight shone at me through the blinds. You’re stuck it said and put its finger all in my eyes.
I idly wondered about cutting the grass then immediately forgot about it. It was not for me. Maybe I should sit out in it and drink tea. Staring was ok- not one thing or another, and those were the things that were problematic.
Some old people rumbled by. The cat tried to sit on the keyboard again. I saw my screwed up face in the screen and thought this is not even depression.
I sat in the garden and looked at the grass. It really did need a trim. I’d left the tea bag in the cup- a development. A squirrel ran across the fence and did a spin and stopped, its beady eyes looking at me. ‘Hi’, I said. ‘How is it?’
He didn’t reply. I leant back in my chair; I had found it outside in the street- it was a wicker one with creaks and royal as hell.
The tea was stewed, with those dirty rim bits. The sun was pretty weak and winter was all in my bones but it felt ok, like a sensation. It was the jobcentre later so I should stock up.
‘How real are you?’ they would ask, and I would reply ‘Yes, I am dreadfully real’. Then they would give me some money. If I let it slip that I don’t exist then I’d be in big trouble.
I tipped the tea bag into the compost and headed back into the dark house, I’d had an idea for a poem which was probably a waste of time, so in that respect pretty appealing.
Squirrel, why are you stuck there like that?
What makes you go?
The phone rang- it was British Gas. ‘Hello, is Miss Hammond there?’
‘No’ I replied, ‘I haven’t seen her for ages’.
I hung up and went back to the poem but the mood was all broken. It was obviously time to start a blog.